The Good Client Read online

  The

  Good

  Client

  A Legal Thriller

  Dan Decker

  Grim Archer Media

  Copyright

  Text Copyright © 2020 Dan Decker

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Grim Archer Media, a publishing imprint of Xander Revolutions LC

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  For my parents.

  Contents

  The Good Client

  Copyright

  Dedication

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

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  Author’s Note

  Books by Dan Decker

  About the Author

  May 29 - 3:56 am

  My phone buzzed on my nightstand, rousing me from a dream that put me back in law school with Professor Brown. She and I had routinely gone the rounds in her Constitutional law class. That was what I had been doing when I had been awoken by my phone.

  I was annoyed at the disturbance because I had been winning the argument. As the dream faded, I could not even remember what we had been arguing about.

  As I regarded my cell phone through bleary eyes, I considered just going back to bed, but I left it on at night because I frequently got calls or text messages from clients when they were in trouble.

  That’s why they pay me the big bucks, I thought with a wry snort. A criminal defense lawyer has to take his clients where and when he can.

  I read the text message:

  “Mitch. I need you. Can you come over?”

  Britney?

  I was wide awake before I saw this number was not saved into my phone. I rubbed my eyes to push away the sleep and then stared at my phone screen, trying to understand what was going on.

  Who was sending this message?

  I only gave my cell number out to friends, family, and current clients. Anybody who would contact me should be saved into my phone contacts.

  Am I willing to start taking new clients in the middle of the night without the answering service as a filter?

  I narrowed my eyes.

  Especially those who invade my privacy?

  I had a toll-free hotline for new clients, but employed an answering service to take the calls after hours. They never sent me text messages or called me by my first name, so this was not from them.

  I set my phone down and decided this was something that could wait until morning. If they wised up and called my hotline, I would help them when the answering service gave me a ring, but this was an invasion of privacy I was not going to tolerate.

  My phone buzzed again just after I closed my eyes.

  “This is an emergency. I need your help. Please.”

  I sat up in bed and stared at the message for several long moments, trying to decide what to do.

  I am already awake, I thought as I stood and walked to the window of my bedroom to open the blinds so I could look out. The clock on the wall told me it was almost four in the morning.

  The person on the other end was distressed and had the audacity to address me by my first name, yet they were not programmed into my phone.

  A former client with a new number?

  After hesitating a minute longer, I typed in a message.

  “Who is this?”

  The reply came back a moment later.

  “Timothy Cooper.”

  I stared at the message, wondering why my nerdy law clerk was sending me emergency messages in the middle of the night. He reportedly went to bed early and woke up early and spent all his free time studying.

  What is he doing up at this hour?

  “What’s going on?”

  A reply came back almost as soon as I had sent the message. “I cannot get into it now. Please just come.” He included his address.

  Cooper was a smart fellow. He should have guessed I would not have his number saved in my phone. I would have been far more responsive if he had identified himself in his original message.

  He seems rattled.

  “Is this a legal or personal manner?”

  I expected the reply to come back immediately, but it was several minutes before my phone dinged again, by that time I had already splashed water on my face and gone to the bathroom.

  “Both.”

  I had pulled on some jeans and was about to pull on a T-shirt when the thought occurred to me that I should put on a business suit. It was a mark of how tired I was that it only took me now to think of it.

  What has Timothy Cooper gotten himself into?

  I wanted to be my best if the police were on hand when I arrived. I had spent the better part of a decade crafting my image, so it was best to act as if this were a life and death situation, though I could not imagine in my wildest dreams what Timothy Cooper had done.

  Five minutes later I headed down to my Porsche. I backed it up in neutral from my garage without starting the engine so I didn’t disturb my neighbors before heading out.

  May 29 - 4:17 am

  I was glad I had put on the suit as soon as I pulled up to Timothy Cooper’s apartment complex. Three police cars were parked outside the four-story building.

  However improbable it seemed, I had a feeling they were there for Timothy Cooper.

  After I parked I tried to figure out what was going on, hoping I would get a clue before I got out and became involved in the situation. Timothy was a first-year law student and seemed the most unlikely person to get into trouble with the law. He was a straight-A student—which was saying something in law school—and he was hardly the type to party.

  I doubted he even had a girlfriend.

  Or ever had a girlfriend.

  His apartment complex was one of the more expensive in the area, but still run down. I imagined it was not unusual for the police to make a late-night call to this location from time to time.

  I waited in the dark with my lights turned off but with the engine idling, wondering if any of the police officers would appear from inside to see what I was up to.

  Nobody did.

  After a minute or two I opened my car door and turned off the engine but still sat and listened. The night was quiet.

  What has Timothy done?

  I almost didn’t hire him. Despite his impressive resume, I had not been able to see him practicing as a criminal defense attorney.

  The guy just had no charisma. No presence.

  Personality was everything when you got in front of the jury.

  Juries would find his clients guilty just because he looked wea
k. I shut my car door and engaged the car alarm as I walked up to the building.

  It is a good sign there is no ambulance. I grimaced. Unless the cops are waiting for the coroner.

  There was no doorman on duty so I rang the buzzer and waited. Timothy had not included a suite number, so I wasn’t able to call up to him. I was hesitant to let him know I was here until I knew more. I could still walk away and Timothy would never be the wiser.

  I pulled out my phone and saw I had not received any new messages during my drive.

  The seconds ticked by as my imagination ran wild.

  Drugs? Something keeping him up at night? Maybe his neighbor had gotten in trouble and he was calling for them?

  Drugs seemed most likely.

  Not to describe Timothy as homely, but I had overheard him mention to Ellie, my secretary, that he had not been out on a date in months and that he had no plans to start a personal life while amidst the pressures of law school.

  It had been a long time since I had done any low-level drug work, but if Timothy had gotten in over his head because of academic pressures, I would do what I could to help him.

  The night was brisk but not cold, it would have been pleasant enough if not for the rude awakening.

  An ambulance pulled up while I waited for the doorman to come. At the same time an elevator inside the building opened and a police officer stepped out.

  I did not recognize the man but he must have known me because his eyes narrowed as he approached.

  He hesitated at the door and waved me back as if he expected me to rush him as soon as the door was open.

  I gave the man my most disarming smile, it was the same one that was plastered all over the city on billboards.

  “I did not expect to see you here,” the cop said through gritted teeth. He still had not opened the door so I raised a hand to my ear and acted like I could not hear him.

  He repeated himself, but I shook my head and still kept my hand on my ear.

  The ambulance parked in front of the building, the paramedics got out and came towards us with a gurney between them. It was a bad sign they were not in a rush.

  I stepped out of the way as the officer opened the door to let them through.

  “What floor?” asked a serious-looking female paramedic who was in her mid-fifties.

  The cop looked at me and hesitated before finally looking back at the impatient paramedic who also glanced at me. I saw recognition in her eyes but she did not care who I was.

  “Fourth floor,” the cop finally said. “Room 418.”

  The woman went ahead, leaving control of the gurney to the younger male paramedic. She pushed the button for the elevator as the other joined her.

  The officer blocked my way when I tried to step inside.

  “This is an active crime scene. No admittance.”

  I looked around. “I don’t see officers cordoning off the area. There is no yellow tape. My guess is that if there is a crime scene it is up on the fourth floor. Who is to say that I am not here to see somebody on the third floor which is presumably unaffected by what you got going on up there?”

  While I had been talking I pushed past, making sure to not touch the man, but also making it clear by my tone and demeanor that if he did touch me he would regret it. The cop was young, so he was obviously still early in his career.

  I hid a smile as I slid past and went to wait by the elevator with the paramedics.

  The door dinged and the paramedics got on. They looked at me as if they expected me to push on after them, but I smiled without mirth.

  “I’ll get the next one.”

  By that time the police officer was beside me again, red in the face. The female paramedic must have overheard our exchange because she gave me a dark look. I gave her a gracious smile, almost hoping she would say something. She must have thought better of it because she shook her head and muttered something I could not quite make out.

  “Nice night, isn’t it?” I said cheerfully after the elevator door had shut. “It’s a perfect temperature outside.”

  The officer did not respond. My phone dinged as the seconds ticked by while we waited for the elevator to return.

  When I made no move for it the officer looked at me, some of the color had returned to his face.

  “Are you going to get that?”

  “Nah, I get those all the time. The thing drives me nuts. I really should get rid of it.” I shook my head. “I hate technology. It seems those companies are always finding new ways to drive me crazy.”

  While I had spoken I had watched the police officer’s reactions to my words. I had jabbered nonsense because I wanted him to underestimate me.

  Given what I knew of the situation it wasn’t much of a stretch to think that Timothy Cooper was going to be on the other side of him.

  When the elevator door opened, I motioned for the officer to go ahead.

  “I’ll wait for the next one.”

  The officer glared at me. “No really, it’s fine, there’s plenty of room. Let’s take it together.”

  I went in and pushed the button for the fifth floor before turning to him. “You wanted the fourth, right?” I pressed the fourth as well before he could respond.

  “I thought you were going to the third floor.”

  “If I recall correctly, I said how do you know that I am not going to the third floor? Well, I am really interested in going to the fifth floor.”

  The cop grumbled something I could not make out.

  I was tempted to ask what he had said, but decided against it. I was being a little too flippant. I tried to treat everybody with respect. But sometimes, when I was faced with a character while low on sleep, my less than respectful side came out.

  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to set aside my frustration so I could take a hard look at the situation Timothy Cooper had gotten himself into.

  When we arrived on the fourth floor I motioned for the officer to get out. He stared suspiciously at me while he did, turning to face me while the elevator doors shut, as if he expected me to get off at the last moment.

  It was only then that I pulled out my phone and checked my text message.

  “Where are you?” Timothy had sent. “This is getting bad.”

  “What room are you in? DO NOT SAY ANYTHING. If you have already said something, I am going to skin you alive. You should know better.”

  “You are here. Good.”

  “Do you have a password on your phone?”

  There was a long pause, during which I arrived at the fifth floor and got out.

  “No,” came the reply.

  I tried not to growl. Some things are just common sense.

  “Put a password on your phone now. Do not send me another message until you do. Ideally, your phone should be encrypted, but we will start with the password.”

  I walked down the hallway until I found the stairs. I was not yet ready to go down because I wanted as much information as possible so I went in with the best plan I could. I also wasn’t in the right frame of mind yet. I still needed to shake off the last remnants of sleep.

  A message came. “Done.”

  “Do they know you have been in contact with me?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. Here is what is going to happen. They are probably going to take away your phone. They are going to take away everything you have. Let it happen. Do not worry about any of it, at least not for right now.”

  I sent the message and tried to figure out what my next step ought to be. I had intentionally not asked for details but I needed to know what I was walking into.

  The communications should be privileged, but I wasn’t going to trust to that, especially not in the heat of the moment.

  If the fool had thought to encrypt his phone this might have been easier. My instruction to password protect his phone had been done more to protect me than him. If it wasn’t encrypted it was already too late.

  From now on I was going to require eve
ry employee to encrypt their phone. Of course, I expected this would be the first and last time I would ever have an employee call me for criminal defense work.

  “Ok. What next?”

  “Our communications should be privileged, assuming you want me to be your attorney. Are you retaining my services as your attorney?”

  The message came back instantly. “Yes.”

  “In a typical situation I would have you pay a retainer and sign an agreement, but we do not have time. We will go over the details later. I am assuming you are willing to pay. Correct?”

  While this might have seemed a little self-serving, I just wanted to make sure that I had evidence to back me up if I needed to prove an attorney-client relationship had formed. What I had already done should have been sufficient, but I liked to be thorough.

  “I will pay whatever I can. My dad can wire you the retainer.”

  “Please be succinct in response to my next question. Assume the cops will read it so admit nothing.”

  I waited.

  “What are we dealing with here?” I sent a moment later.

  It was a minute or two before Cooper replied.

  “My roommate is dead on his bed. Somebody blew out his brains.”

  May 29 – 4:33 am

  I stared at the text message. I represented accused murderers all the time. I had never thought Timothy Cooper would be one of my clients, certainly not for something like this. There were a hundred questions I wanted to ask, but now was not the time and I certainly did not want to create a record that somebody could discover.

  “Good job with your answer. I assume they have not arrested you yet since you are still texting me. Does it look like things are heading that way?”

  “I don’t think it will be long.”

  “What room are you in?”

  “418.”

  I had been so preoccupied with the officer that I had not remembered the room number but I recognized it now as the destination of the paramedics. I would not have forgotten the number had I not been tired.

  “I am coming,” I sent back. “Remember, do not tell them a thing. Even if it seems innocuous, do not say one more word to them. Just inform them that you are now represented by an attorney and that I will be there shortly.”