The Amazing Harvey (6 page)

I jumped up from my chair. “That means you're in?”

She blew out a sigh. “I suppose.”

I jumped out of my chair. “Thank you, thank you.”

“Sit.”

I sat.

Hannah said, “I want letters from your family and friends, attesting to your character. We'll need those to reduce bail if you're arrested.”

“Thank you for saying ‘if.'”

“I'm going to write the DA, offering to surrender you. That way, they won't just show up and slap you in handcuffs.”

“That doesn't sound as good as the ‘if.'” I stood up and started pacing.

She said, “Have the police searched your apartment yet?”

I stopped pacing. “They're going to?”

“I want our detective to search it first.”

I sat down across from her. “Why do we need a detective?” Which I can't afford.

She uncrossed her legs. “I use an ex-cop. He knows what the police look for. We'll need him to do some other investigating as well.”

I have no idea how I'll pay this guy,
but
“Okay.”

Hannah said, “By the way, if there's anything in your apartment that shouldn't be, now would be a good time to have a spring cleaning.”

I turned up my palms. “Trust me, there's nothing offensive in my apartment except some bird droppings.”

Hannah stood up and tossed her yellow pad onto the desk. “One last thing. Are you aware that criminal lawyers get paid up front?”

Uh-oh.
“Why's that? So you don't get stiffed if your client ends up in jail?”

“Yes.”

I grimaced. “You could have sugarcoated that a little.”

“Harvey, do you not have the money?”

“I've got most of it.”
If you consider thirty percent to be the definition of “most.”
“Maybe we could work out a payment schedule?”

She gave her head a quarter turn, looking at me skeptically. “I've never done that.”

“I'm good for it. I've got magic gigs lined up. And I substitute teach. Hey, we magicians really understand devious. Maybe I can do some detective work for your clients.”

Hannah rubbed her eyes with her fists. “I have to think about all this.”

 

CHAPTER NINE

 

Next morning, I called for substitute teaching work.

Zippo.

I asked for Charlie Nelson, the supervisor who usually comes through for me. When he got on the line, I said, “Charlie, I've called for two days and they've said there's no work. Hard to believe every teacher in Los Angeles has broken out with ‘healthy.'”

He cleared his throat. “You know the drill. I got seniority issues. I got unions up my ass.”

“I need work. I've got some serious bills.”

“Well … let me look into it.” From the tone of his voice, he may as well have said “If I were Pinocchio, you could feel my nose from where you're sitting.”

Does he know about the cops? I don't want to educate him if he doesn't. Am I being paranoid? Screw it. “Charlie, is this about the cops?”

I could hear his chair squeal. “I guess maybe someone said something to somebody.”

“I haven't been accused of anything. They just asked me some questions. It's not fair.”

“Let me look into it.”

“You already said that. Charlie, I need this.”

“I'll see what I can do.”

I clunked down the phone and called Marty Levin, my magic agent. As soon as he answered, I said, “Marty, it's Harvey. I need work.”

“And good morning to you, too.”

“I mean it. I got bills to pay.”

“Oh. That changes everything. None of my other clients have bills.”

“Is there anything for me? Anything?”

“Sorry, Harvey. Not in the next few weeks.”

“I
really
need this.”

He sighed. “All right. Let me shake the trees.”

I speak “Marty” well enough to know that meant “Not a prayer.”

*   *   *

Later in the morning, I showed up at Hannah's office. I didn't want to call first. If she was going to blow me off, maybe she'd reconsider if I was standing right there.

When I opened the door, she was on the phone, pacing as she spoke. Hannah looked at me, then went back to her conversation.

When she hung up, she said, “Harvey, I can't take your case. I'm already swamped, and you obviously can't afford a lawyer.”

I felt my chest tighten. “I'm good for it.”

She shook her head. “I'll get you a public defender who won't charge you.”

I swallowed. “I don't want a public defender. I want you.”

“I'm sorry. It's business.”

I nodded slowly, to give myself a few seconds to think. “Okay. Business. How about this? I'll write you a check for three grand. That's almost all my savings. That means I'm totally committed.”

“I told you. Criminal lawyers—”

“Get paid in advance. Look, what will it take?”

She crossed her arms. “Wait a minute. How could you afford Nadler?”

I gritted my teeth. “My mother was going to give me the money.”

“And…”

I looked at the carpet. “She said she'd only pay for him. Not anyone else.”

Hannah rubbed the front of her neck. “Harvey—”

“I don't want Nadler. I want you. I'll work in your office. I'll try to send you business. I'll do your laundry.”

I got a crack of a smile.

I produced a red silk handkerchief and held it out to her. “How can you resist someone who makes hankies out of thin air?”

I almost got the rest of the smile.

“Hannah, please. I really need you.”

She stared at me.

I raised my eyebrows, trying to looking like a pet store puppy dog who wants to go home with the customer.

Hannah slowly shook her head. “Well, I hate sending anyone to Nadler.…”

I smiled, nodding.

She said, “Maybe I could use a little help in the office.”

I made a pull-down
Yes!
gesture. “Excellent! I can use my magic skills to find new angles on your cases.”

“Nice thought, but what I really need is someone to file, answer the phones, and run errands.”

We had something of a negotiation, considering I had no leverage whatsoever. I agreed to work in her office full-time, except for substitute teaching, since that put money in both our pockets. Hannah also agreed to let me off for my magic gigs. That wasn't much of a give on her part, considering I hadn't worked in a month. And most of the gigs were at night.

I lost the last negotiating issue, about bringing my bird to the office.

*   *   *

When I got to her office the next morning, Hannah pointedly looked at her watch and said, “It's nine twelve. My office opens sharply at nine.”

Well, aren't we off to a good start? “Sorry.”

She waved at the papers lying on her desk, her chairs, her filing cabinet, and the floor. “I'm way behind on filing. Most of these are stacked by client, and they should be in chronological order. Please check to make sure they're correct, then punch them into the proper file. Each file has three sections—one for my notes, one for correspondence, and one for court documents. Got that?”

“Absolutely.” Sort of. In truth, my filing skills peaked at stuffing overdue bills in a drawer.

Hannah opened her desk drawer, took out a metal punch that cuts two holes in the top of a page—and handed it to me. She said, “When everything's clipped in, put the files in the cabinet, alphabetically by client. If there are multiple files for the same client, then put them alphabetically by matter, and then chronologically if a single matter has more than one file. I'm expecting a delivery of some documents in the next few hours. When they come, take them to Kinko's and make two copies. They're sensitive materials, so you have to do it personally. Don't just hand them to a clerk.”

She picked up the phone and dialed a number.

I looked around at the stacks of papers on every available surface. While Hannah yapped on the phone and paced, I picked the smallest one I could find. The client's name was Arnold. It said: “B and E”—whatever that meant. Oh. Breaking and entering. I sat cross-legged on the floor and started to sort the stuff by dates. Ow. Shit. Paper cut. I sucked on my finger.

It took about ten minutes to get the papers in order and punched. Guess that wasn't so bad. I went to the file cabinet, took out the file, then sat on the floor and started to clip them in. Oh, wait. I forgot I was supposed to separate the correspondence and notes and other crap. I let out a sigh.

Maybe Mom really could afford Nadler.…

After I clipped Mr. Arnold into his file, I grabbed another stack and noticed the papers had my name on them. I glanced over at Hannah. She was lost in a phone call. I turned my back to her and took a peek.

At the top was a copy of the police report on Sherry Allen's murder. My pal Sergeant Morton's handwriting could use a Rosetta Stone. Either the victim's address was 4529, No. 9, Kester Avenue in Van Nuys, or he wanted to put 45,299 Jesters in a Vat of Ice. From what I could decipher, she was twenty-four years old and worked with autistic kids. Cause of death was strangulation.

No location for the father of her son. Child turned over to foster care.

I turned the page and saw a photo of the murder scene. My breathing stopped. I quickly looked away.

Then glanced back.

She was nude, lying on her back, tied spread-eagle to the bed. Her eyes and mouth were open wide, like she was shocked that this was happening to her.

How could someone do this to another person?

How could they think my DNA was there?

Hang on.…

I studied the picture. Something's off.

What is it?

The way her wrists were tied to the headboard with rope. There's something …

What?

I kept staring. There!

The rope. That's it.

I took the photo over to Hannah, who was still yapping on the phone. She gave me a look that said, Why are you not filing?

I held out the photo. She scowled at me, then put her hand over the mouthpiece. “You're supposed to be clipping materials, not nosing into the files. Especially yours, which you can do on your own time.”

I said, “She wasn't really tied to the bed.”

“Excuse me?”

“Look.” I pointed to a small gap in the rope loops around her wrists.

She held up her hand, signaling me to hold on, then finished the conversation. Hannah let out an impatient breath. “What is it?”

I pointed at the photo and said, “Look at the gap in the rope. When Houdini let an audience member tie him up with rope, he flexed his muscles. No matter how tightly they cinched the ropes, when he relaxed, it created enough slack for him to slip out. See that space around her wrists? It's a fake. Maybe some kinky thing. She could have easily gotten loose.”

Hannah took the photo, squinched her eyes at it, then looked up. “So she probably knew the killer.”

“Exactly. Maybe it was rough sex, but it probably wasn't rape.”

“Get me the file.”

I grabbed the rest of the papers off the floor and handed them to her.

Hannah thumbed through, stared at a page, then looked at me. “You're right. The coroner said it's not clear whether it was rape or just rough sex.”

I grinned, saying, “Let's go look at her apartment.”

Hannah backed up. “What?”

“Maybe we'll find something the cops missed.”

She laughed. “So, Mr. Sleuth for a Day, you're going to waltz in and solve the case?”

“Yep.”

She shook her head. “You can't go to the crime scene.”

“I'll wear latex gloves.”

“I'm not worried about prints. The cops have already released the scene.”

“So what's the problem?”

“There's probably a thousand of them, but let's start with this. Her neighbors see you; then in court, they say you look familiar. In the minds of a jury, that could place you at the crime scene.”

“I'll wear a disguise.”

Hannah rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that won't be suspicious. Why don't you put on a kimono and tell them you're Japanese?”

“I was thinking I'd go as a dog.”

“Unless you use a doggy door, they won't let you in.” She shook her head. “You have no right to be there without a court order.”

“Then we'll have to rely on my charm.”

She twisted her mouth. “Drop the ‘we.'”

“Hey. We might find something important. I mean, I might find something important.”

“This is stupid. If you're not going to listen to my advice, I can't be effective as your lawyer.”

“You wanted a detective to help with the case. Who's better at figuring out mysteries than a magician?”

“If you get caught, you'll be in even deeper shit.”

“Then I won't get caught. Look. I already found something in the photo that the cops didn't notice. Who knows what I'll find when I actually go there?”

She stared at me. The phone rang. She didn't answer it. “You committed to working here full-time.”

“I get an hour for lunch, don't I? When you go to your mysterious meeting?”

She glared at me.

Why's she so touchy about those meetings? A shrink maybe? Hardly a big deal these days. Isn't having a shrink kinda like making a fashion statement?

Hannah shook her head. “I guess you're free to be an idiot on your lunch hour. I don't want to know about it.”

“Then I guess I can't thank you for something you don't know about.”

She wagged her finger at me. “If you screw up your case, I'm resigning.”

“Okay, okay.”

“Be back at two fifteen. Sharp.”

Ja wohl, mein Führer.