Monday, October 28
It had been a good day for the defense.
I had walked a man right out of the courtroom.
I had turned a felony battery charge into a righteous case of self-defense in front of the jury.
“Would you then claim I attacked you, like you have with the defendant in this case?
The prosecutor objected and the judge sustained.
But that was all it took.
The judge knew it.
The prosecutor knew it.
Everybody in the courtroom knew it.
I notched the NG after less than half an hour of jury deliberation.
It wasn’t my quickest verdict ever, but it came close.
That is, drinks all around.
The Redwood was no country club but it was convenient.
I had parked in a lot on Broadway.
The traffic lights were with me and I followed the street into the tunnel that went under Bunker Hill.
I was halfway through when I saw the reflection of blue lights on the tunnel’s exhaust-smoked green tiles.
I checked the mirror and saw an LAPD cruiser behind me.
I hit the blinker and pulled into the slow lane to let him pass.
But the cruiser followed my lead into the same lane and came up six feet behind me.
I got the picture then.
I was being pulled over.
I waited until I was out of the tunnel and took a right onto Figueroa.
I pulled to a stop, killed the engine, and lowered the window.
In the Lincoln’s side-view mirror a uniformed officer was walking up to my door.
I saw no one else in the patrol car behind him.
The officer approaching me was working alone.
“Can I see your license, car registration, and proof of insurance, sir?
I turned to look at him.
His name tag said Milton.
“You sure can, Officer Milton, I said.
But can I ask why you pulled me over?
I know I wasn’t speeding and all the lights were green.”
“License, Milton said.
“Well, I guess you’ll eventually tell me.
My license is in my pocket inside my coat.
The other stuff is in the glove box.
Which do you want me to go for first?”
“Let’s start with your license.
“You got it.”
I handed Milton my license and then went for the glove box.
Soon enough the officer had all he had asked for.
“Now are you going to tell me what this is about?
I know I didn’t "
“Step out of the car, sir, Milton said.
“Oh, come on, man.
“kindly step out of the car.
I threw the door open, aggressively forcing Milton to take a step back, and got out.
“Just so you know, I said.
I spent the last four hours in the Redwood but I didn’t have a drop of alcohol.
I haven’t had a drink in more than five years.”
“Good for you.
yo step to the back of your vehicle.”
“check that your car camera is on, because this is going to be embarrassing.”
“You want me to walk a line?
Count backward, touch my nose with my finger, what?
I’m a lawyer.
I know all the games and this one is bullshit.”
Milton followed me to the back of the car.
He was tall and lean, white, with a high and tight haircut.
I saw the Metro Division badge on his shoulder and four chevrons on his long sleeves.
I knew they gave them out for five years of service each.
He was a veteran Metro bullethead all the way.
“You see why I stopped you, sir?
Your car has no plate.”
I looked down at the rear bumper of the Lincoln.
There was no license plate.
“Goddamn it, I said.
Uh… this is some kind of a prank.
We were celebrating I won a case today and walked my client.
Daly, Mills, Bernardo… it could have been anyone.
“Check the trunk, Milton said.
Maybe it’s in there.”
“No, they would need a key to put it in the trunk, I said.
“That’s bullshit.
I know the law.
I’m not in custody I can make a call.”
I paused there to see if Milton had any further challenge.
I noticed the camera on his chest.
“My phone’s in the car, I said.
I started moving back to the open door.
“Sir, stop right there, Milton said from behind me.
He snapped on a flashlight and pointed the beam down at the ground behind the car.
“Is that blood?
I stepped back and looked down at the cracked asphalt.
The officer’s light was centered on a blotch of liquid beneath the bumper of my car.
It was dark maroon at the center and almost translucent at its edges.
“I don’t know, I said.
But whatever it is, it was already there.
Another drop of what I now assumed to be bodily fluid of some sort hit the asphalt.
“Write me the ticket for the plate, Officer Milton, I said.
But I am not opening the trunk.”
“Sir, then I am placing you under arrest, Milton said.
Put your hands on the trunk.”
I’m not "
Milton moved in on me, grabbing me and spinning me toward my car.
He threw all of his weight into me and doubled me over the trunk.
“You’re under arrest, he said.
He then leaned across to buckle me in.
“You know you’ve got the option to’t pop launch the trunk, I said.
You have no probable cause.
I could’ve driven through whatever it is.”
Milton pulled back out of the car and looked down at me.
Exigent circumstances, he said.
There might be someone in there who needs help.”
He slammed the door.
I watched him go back to my Lincoln and study the trunk lid for some sort of release mechanism.
Finding none, he went to the open driver’s door and reached in to remove the keys.
The lid went up and an interior light went on.
Milton supplemented it with his own flashlight.
Milton tilted his head to talk into the radio mic on his shoulder and then made a call.
Probably for a homicide unit.
I didn’t have to see into the trunk to know that Milton had found a body.
Excerpted from THE LAW OF INNOCENCE.
Available from Little, Brown and Company, an imprint of Hachette Book Group, Inc. Unlock Access to AARP Members Edition
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