Death on a High Floor Read Online Free PDF

ridiculous.”
    “Robert, do you remember what you told me right before we did our first jury trial together?”
    “I told you a lot of things.”
    “One of the things you said was to keep in mind that the average juror in Los Angeles makes less than $50,000 per year.
    “Yeah, I remember that.”
    “How much did you make last year, Robert?”
    “Sixty hundred fifty thousand dollars.”
    “So five hundred thousand dollars is what? About seventy-five percent of what you pull down every year and ten times what they take home? A lot of jurors are going to think that’s worth killing over, even for you.”
    “Okay, okay,” I said. “I get it. I get it. But I still can’t do what you’re suggesting. You’ve tampered with evidence.”
    “If you didn’t kill him, the coin isn’t evidence of anything and, therefore, no evidence has been tampered with.” She said it with a wry smile. We both knew it was an utterly horseshit argument.
    She didn’t wait for me to respond. She reached over, picked up the flip, and held it out to me. “Take the fucking coin, Robert.”
    When I didn’t reach for it immediately, she continued to dangle it there in front of me, waiting.
    Finally, I took it from her and dropped it into the right-hand pocket of my suit jacket. “I’ll think on it,” I said. “But I’ll probably just give it back.”
    Jenna changed the subject.
    “Ready to talk about lawyers now?”
    “I guess we should. Who should I hire?”
    “Me.”
    “We’ve been through this. You don’t know enough.”
    “I’ve done seven long jury trials. Six of them with you.”
    “None was a criminal trial.”
    “Don’t you remember? I also spent six months on loan to the Criminal Division of the U.S. Attorney’s office. I tried four federal criminal cases to verdict. All convictions.”
    “They were misdemeanor drug trials. Pigeons on a fence.”
    “Maybe so, but I learned the ropes and the rules.”
    “Just help me find a good, experienced criminal defense lawyer, okay?”
    “I want to do more than that. You’re my mentor. I want to help you.”
    “I’m truly touched, Jenna. But I can’t risk it. For the lead, I need somebody with deep experience. But if it’s okay with whoever that turns out to be, you can be second chair.”
    She sighed. “Okay, I figured that’s what you’d say. This morning, while you were still asleep, I called Oscar Quesana. He’s agreed to join the team.”
    I cringed inwardly at the word team. Whenever I thought of criminal defense teams, I thought about defendants who were obviously guilty. Like O. J. Simpson.
    “Quesana’s always struck me as slow,” I said.
    “He is. But he’s slow like the tortoise, you know?”
    “I don’t know, really.”
    “We have an appointment with him at two o’clock at your office.”
    “I’d rather he came here.”
    “He can’t. The media will see him.”
    “Oh.”
    I sat for a moment, thinking. “Jenna, why are the media people out there so interested in this? Simon wasn’t famous. Not even a little.”
    “He was prominent, Robert. He had been on a million mayoral commissions and like the Times said, he had just been elected honorary chair of the opera.”
    “Who in this town goes to opera?”
    “Lots of people.”
    “Do you go?”
    “That’s not the point.”
    “All right, fine. I still don’t understand it. But how am I supposed to get to my office? That thing outside is like a man-eating blob.”
    “You can escape in the trunk of my car.”
    “I’m not doing that!”
    “Robert, I’m joking. I parked my car in your garage facing out. We’re going to open the garage door and drive out slowly. The Blob, as you call it, will part. They’ll take your picture in the car. Nothing to be done about that. Other than that, it will be fine. Trust me.”
    “Okay.”
    Suddenly, my brain returned from some kind of vacation-from-logic it had been on.
    “Jenna, how do I know that you didn’t kill him yourself?”
    “Why would I