“But he was slow to give it to you.”

“Damn slow. A month goes by, then two, then four.”

Donnally figured out right then what Hamlin must have. The settlement check from the city would’ve been made out to the Sheldon Galen trust account, separate from Galen’s own money, where it would be held for the benefit of the client—and Galen had embezzled it. And to do that he would’ve had to falsify accounting records and launder the funds into a form in which he could use them himself. He might even have had to forge checks to make it appear that the payments were made to Fischer when they were actually made to himself. If caught, not only would he have lost his bar card, but he would’ve ended up as a real jailhouse lawyer, doing his own bullet in the county jail.

“Finally, I go over to Galen’s office and he says he’ll have it in a week. A month goes by. I head over there again. I tell him to have it tomorrow or he’s gonna have a long meeting with the dog.”

“I heard you threatened to sue him.”

Fischer laughed. “By then, I’d had enough of lawyers. He must’ve come up with that tale to go along with his Fischer-loaned-me-the-money story. I go back the next day and he’s got it. In cash. Two stacks.”

“He tell you where he got the money to pay you back?”

“Didn’t stay around long enough.” Fischer reached down and patted the pit bull’s head. “Me and the dog grabbed it and got out of there.”

Chapter 18

Donnally’s cell phone rang as his truck tires rolled over the circular sideshow skid marks in the intersection at the end of Tink Fischer’s block. The dope dealers playing dice on the corner glanced over as he passed. Through his rearview mirror, he watched them return to the game.

It was Takiyah Jackson.

“I need to know the rules.”

“About what?”

“Sheldon Galen called, said he wants to pick up some files so he can make Mark’s court appearances for the next couple of days.”

“Has he filled in like that for Mark before?”

“Yeah. He’s the guy Mark always called, but only when he was sick or had a calendar conflict and needed to have a case put over. Galen never needed the files for that. Just an e-mailed copy of Mark’s calendar so the judge could set a new hearing date.”

Donnally turned onto Third Street, which ran through the industrial district toward downtown. It wasn’t worth the risk of getting caught in a backup on the Bayshore Freeway.

“What do you think is going on?” Donnally asked.

Jackson laughed. “The same thing you do. He’s trying to poach Mark’s cases.”

“I take it he wants to study up fast and then convince the clients he’s up to speed and ready to go.”

“Especially with the in-custodies. A lot of them were waiting for Mark’s calendar to clear so they could get their full day in court. And the ones Galen wants are all in-custody.”

“How would the money work if Galen substituted in?”

“If there’s a retainer balance in Mark’s trust account, it would get transferred to Galen. He’d make the client come up with the difference between what’s there and the amount of the original retainer.”

“So he starts out fresh with the same up-front money Mark began the case with.”

“The three files he wants are probably worth fifty grand altogether,” Jackson said. “I checked. There’s about twenty left in Mark’s trust account from these clients.”

Donnally thought of Bohr pretending to spit upon hearing Sheldon Galen’s name.

“I don’t get why the clients would go with Galen,” Donnally said. “For the same amount of money, they could get someone good.”

“It’s because Galen is known as Mark’s go-to guy. Say Mark gets hired by the main defendant in a codefendant case. If there were just two defendants, Galen would get the call. If there were three or four or five, Mark would work down his list, usually drawn from the folks at the Frederickson Building. What these other defendants never realized was that Mark brought in attorneys not to advocate for them, but to control them, to keep them from rolling on his client.”

“What happened to loyalty to one’s client . . . what do they call it?”

“An attorney’s duty of zealous representation,” Jackson said. “Around here, it was what you might call situational. It was situated with whoever’s paying the bills. And that whoever was Mark’s client.”

Donnally felt too many thoughts crisscrossing. Galen had motive. In one quick move he could both get himself out from under the embezzlement hammer and take over Hamlin’s practice.

Beyond Galen, who knew how many defendants had realized too late that Hamlin had corrupted their lawyers and set them up to take falls, and which of them might’ve wanted to get even after they did their time, or reach out and touch him from prison.

And finally, and maybe most important, why was Jackson telling him things she might not have even admitted to herself when Hamlin was alive? After all, she profited from those betrayals and ethical violations every month when she accepted her wages.

Instinct told him not to press her any further.

“Set up a time for Galen to come by,” Donnally said. “I’ll be there. And make copies of the files, except Mark’s notes or any defense investigation, that way he can’t learn enough about the cases to do anything more than just kick them over.”

“But how you gonna keep him from looking at the files before he leaves and notice what’s missing?”

“Don’t worry.” Donnally hit the accelerator. “I’ll take care of that.”

Chapter 19

Sitting behind Mark Hamlin’s desk, Donnally noticed Sheldon Galen’s face harden as he walked into the office and spotted Detective Ramon Navarro sitting on the couch. Galen flinched at the metallic click when Takiyah Jackson closed the door behind him, then came to a stop and glared at Donnally.

Janie’s description had been dead-on. Galen looked like a greyhound, maybe a whippet. Narrow shoulders. Dark eyes. Prematurely gray at forty. So stiff and skinny Donnally felt like he was looking at a manikin.

“Your appointment as a special master doesn’t authorize you to disclose attorney-client privileged matters to the police,” Galen said. He pointed a forefinger at Navarro. “He shouldn’t be here.”

Donnally patted the three file folders he centered on the desk. “I haven’t talked to him about these.” He opened his hand toward one of the chairs facing the desk. “He’s here for another reason.”

Donnally watched Galen glance back and forth between the chairs and files, as though evaluating the risks. He imagined Galen was asking himself whether it was worth subjecting himself to whatever Donnally had in mind in order to walk out later with the files and the money they represented.

Galen rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, then took the four steps forward and sat down.

Navarro stayed seated where he was, didn’t rise and take the chair next to Galen. The plan was for him to inflict a kind of side pressure to keep Galen off balance, with Donnally pushing from the front.

Galen unbuttoned his suit jacket and tugged at each pant leg to preserve the creases, and did so with such flourish it seemed to Donnally to be a performance, for reasons he didn’t know, but for whose benefit he did.

Contrary to what Galen might have had in mind, what the theatrical gesture engendered in Donnally was revulsion. He imagined Galen making the same moves in court, each time with a different meaning. One time to show annoyance at an adverse ruling, the next time as a way of providing the jury with a silent commentary on the testimony of a prosecution witness, and the time after that to impress a client with his confidence even though he was outnumbered in a hostile environment.