Chapter 20
Regis Cahan was in full swing. He had an early hearing, and then planned to spend the balance of the morning and afternoon seeing clients and catching up on neglected work. Regis had woken late and rushed out of his apartment, without benefit of juice, coffee, or morning papers.
Prior to his hearing, other lawyers jockeying for position on the court’s calendar were discussing the recent slayings and newspaper accounts. His attention was on the good things he was going to say about his client, so he only half listened and absorbed nothing. Regis was able to maintain his status as the first case was called, even though two or three other lawyers concocted outrageous stories to try and leapfrog him. His presentation took a half hour. The results were as expected, and he headed back to the office.
Talk of Manson type hippies roaming the dark streets dominated the radio. Cahan tired of the wild sightings being reported and found an oldies station. He caught the end of “White Rabbit” followed by “For what it’s worth.” The music and words transported him back to a more honest time. He caught a reflection of himself smiling in the rear view mirror. Jesus Christ, he thought, I’ve driven into a time warp. Manson and Grace Slick on the radio. I hope my computer still exists. By the time he parked and headed for the office, he had forgotten about his musings. The computer was still present.
Gina Drozler worked for an hour and a half, prior to getting ready for her day job. She made a hearty breakfast, as she had every morning for her husband and children. A rushed shower afterwards, then dress for success. The schedule gave her a half hour to relax at the kitchen table, alone. She sucked down coffee and read the morning papers.
The stories on “Zola’s” and the Donas slayings grabbed her attention. She read every word; it took her twenty minutes. Gina used the final ten minutes to put finishing touches on her appearance. She liked to look good for her boss. Nothing sexual. It was a pride thing. She tucked the morning daily under her arm, and took it to work.
Gina arrived early, as always. Household chores at work too. Make coffee, clean desks and tabletops, arrange magazines in the waiting area, and turn everything on. The copy machine took five minutes to warm up. She didn’t know why, but accepted it as a fact of life. House in order, she sat at her desk and began the grind. The newspaper was behind her on the floor.
Cahan arrived a short time after Gina had begun her grind. She followed him into his office with a steaming cup of coffee. Regis sat and immediately reached for the cup. He took a sip and said, “Thank you Gina, my sweet. Has anyone told you yet that you look stunning today?”
Gina answered, “Nope, you’re the first.”
Cahan continued, “Well, you do. Run away with me after work?”
Gina replied, “Sure. If you give up all the other women.” Regis didn’t answer. Gina said, “Too bad,” and returned to her desk.
As the secretary pulled her chair out, she saw the newspaper. She picked it up and returned to Cahan’s office. Gina was going to tell him about the articles, but the outer office door opened. She went to the waiting room, then returned to inform Cahan a client had arrived. The paper was placed back on the floor and Gina resumed her drudgery. Other clients and work monopolized most of the day. The headlines gathered dust.
Near closing time, Gina began her end of day chores. Clean the coffee pot, check the toner, wash cups. During one of her back and forth trips, she eyed the floor bound herald. She retrieved it and laid it on her desk. When Regis finished with his last client, she would mention the contents to him. Gina sat and tried to save her nails.
Cahan’s door opened. He escorted a short, balding, S&L embezzler to the outer area. Together they looked like Mutt and Jeff. Gina thought Regis still looked happy. The banker must have retained him. Walking back past his secretary’s desk, Cahan paused. “What’s with the newspaper? You’ve had it all day? Want ads?”
“No. I wanted to show you something.”
“Well, grab the paper and come on into my lair.”
Gina followed him into the office. As both were sitting, she said, “Have you read the paper or seen the news today?”
“I must confess I have not. I woke up late and have been running all day. Why?”
“You know there was another murder, actually four murders, two nights ago?” the secretary asked.
“Yeah. I heard it on the call in shows. The nuts and kooks were coming out of the woodwork. I switched channels to some good old fashion rock and roll, and protest music.” As he finished the sentence, Cahan raised a clenched fist and mantra’d, “All power to the people.”
Gina smiled at him. He made the drudgery fun. She periodically wished she was old enough to have taken part in and enjoyed those days. “You’ll never grow up, will you?”
“God I hope not. I can’t imagine anything worse.”
His secretary continued, “Anyway, read these articles and let me know if anything grabs you.”
Cahan frowned. “You want me to read all of this? Just tell me.”
“Jesus, you’re the lawyer. Didn’t you ever take a speed reading course?”
“Of course not. Do I look like the speed reading type?”
Gina chuckled and said, “No. My mistake. Please just read the articles.”
Regis rolled his eyes and did an Art Carney shtick with the papers. Then began digesting the information. Gina waited patiently. Ten minutes later, Cahan refolded the issue and returned it to his secretary. “Okay, I read it. So tell me what’s so important.”
“Didn’t you read anything that rang a bell?”
“No. Four people were shotgunned to death. A guy hiding in the bathroom heard somebody yell something. So what?”
Gina glared at him like he was a misbehaving child. “I can’t believe you. I thought you remembered everything.”
Regis issued his perfected, questioning look, “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t you remember the paternity from last week?”
“The Hispanic kid? Yeah. What about him?”
“When I came back in right after he left, you asked me about some word. Remember?”
“Yeah. Some Spanish curse. ‘Maricon.’ Or something like that. So what? There’s nothing in these articles about anybody yelling Spanish threats.”
“Don’t you remember what I said, when you asked me if I knew what it meant?”
“No. I don’t. What did you say?”
“Many cones.”
Regis stared at his secretary. His serious glare sent little fright ripples down her spine. He reached across his expansive desk and grabbed the paper. He found the article that mentioned the words and read it again. “Many cones.”
He stared at Gina for a long time. “Jesus Christ. You said those exact words.” Cahan ran his fingers through his long, black hair, concern dripping from his brow. “Why’d you wait all day to show this to me?”
“Jesus, Regis. You’re scaring me. It was just a coincidence. I didn’t think it was really important. Just a coincidence that I said ‘Many Cones.’ You said he was a nice kid.”
“Yeah, he was. But then he changed. Remember what he called you, and the girl he got pregnant? Remember the scene he made?”
Panic was edging into Gina’s voice. “Regis! What are you saying? We had some kind of serial killer up here. It was just a coincidence, right?”
Cahan realized he was pushing her. It was time to exercise some of his practiced calm. “Yes. It’s probably just a coincidence. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. He’s not a serial killer.”
“So do we do anything? Do we call anybody?”
“No. I... I don’t think we do anything. He was my client. Everything he says or does up here is privileged. Don’t worry. He’s not a serial killer.”
“It is a coincidence, right? I mean the words.”
“Yes... I’m sure it is. Are you okay?”
The secretary spoke calmly, trying not to worry her boss. “Yeah. I’m fine. We’re fine... We’re not going to be stalked, are we?”
Cahan shook his head. “No. There won’t be any stalking. We’re acting like Mr. and Mrs. Chicken Little.”
Gina laughed softly and relaxed for a moment, then stirred. “I’d better get going. Are you leaving or staying? I have to make dinner.”
“I’m going to stay for awhile. I have some things to finish. Thanks for the A bomb.”
“Yeah, well, you should stay abreast of current events.” Gina realized the big, fat set up as soon as she lobbed it. Cahan let it pass. It was too easy. He smugly flashed a Cheshire cat grin. “Bye-bye Gina.” She left in good spirits, shaking her head.
The grin was masking serious concerns. As soon as Gina walked out, it vanished. Cahan tried to recall the things Morales had said. Things Gina didn’t know about. Something about sending his people. Something about people getting paid back. Gina had left the paper on his desk. He grabbed it and reread the article. “Many Cones.” A Spanish word easily misunderstood. Probably uttered by someone in a rage, during payback time. Great. Now what?
Cahan went to a filing cabinet near Gina’s desk. He pulled Ricardo’s file and returned to his office. He found the intake sheet. No prior criminal record, no gang activity, no history of violence. Lived with his mother, aunt, and uncle.
Regis sank back and scratched his long hair again. It didn’t make sense. You didn’t wake up one morning and decide to become a killer. He copied Ricardo’s name, address, and phone number in his pocket-sized black address book. He wasn’t sure why, but it seemed like the proper thing to do. He returned the file to the cabinet.
Back in his office, Cahan stood looking out the windows, lank arms crossed. I can’t communicate things I learn from a client in private, unless it involves overt actions or words plainly evidencing a future crime. Was what he said and did overt? Yes. Did it plainly evidence a future crime? No. Not at all. Too many jumps had to be made. It was a heated argument. That’s all it was. And all of it was in private. Privileged. Even the scene with Gina. She was part of the privilege. Still, something’s not right. Regis left the windows, double checked all the office paraphernalia, locked up, and left.
Cahan found a decent eatery and spent a couple hours drinking, dining, and thinking. Alone. The food was good. His thoughts weren’t. No decision. He didn’t know what to do. The restaurant wasn’t busy, and the staff left him alone. He left a generous tip. Next stop, the “Fine Time.”
Regis strolled the length of the bar and sat in the middle of the horseshoe curve. Ramon was engaged in a lively conversation with Ray Grandisha. Cahan heard bits of it as he walked behind Grandisha, but not enough of it to discern the topic. They were both smiling, so it couldn’t have been too deep.
Ramon looked like a bartender, Cahan thought. Somewhat tall, thin, clean shaven, dark complected, dressed in a white shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, black pants. An open face that gave the appearance of understanding everything.
As Regis was settling into the bar stool, Ramon stopped the conversation, transported a Black Jack and water to him, exchanged brief pleasantries, rang the ticket, and returned to the conversation with Grandisha. It appeared as though the discussion continued without missing a beat. Bar room banter. Nothing like it.
Cahan had just received his third Black Jack when Carol Lombard joined the Lieutenant. She had a quick drink and they left. Both were grinning like young newlyweds at the end of the reception.
The accumulation of alcohol didn’t block silent appreciation of Carol’s twin assets. For anyone. Regis wondered if she realized she had the same name as a famous movie star. Probably. Grandisha was old enough to remember.
Ramon did busy work. Other patrons came and went, but a good number stayed. Ramon was somewhat aloof with everyone else. No one joined Regis at the bar.
Cahan felt a bit hurt when the bartender didn’t come and chat with him. It passed quickly. Christ, I’ve had enough to drink when I start to think like a ten year old. He drained the Black Jack, cleared his ticket, and maneuvered his frame off the comfortable bar stool. As he was walking out, the solution to his puzzle popped in his head. It was simple. He should have thought of it right away. Maybe the alcohol freed his mind.