Free The Lincoln Lawyer by Michael Connelly Page B

wait, though, because Raul Levin called back just before I was allowed entrance. If Faire had seen me right away, I wouldn’t have gone in with the added ammunition.
    Levin had told me that the man in room 333 at the Travelodge had checked in under the name Gilberto Garcia. The motel did not require identification, since he paid cash in advance for a week and put a fifty-dollar deposit on phone charges. Levin had also run a trace on the name I had given him and came up with Hector Arrande Moya, a Colombian wanted on a fugitive warrant issued after he fled San Diego when a federal grand jury handed down an indictment for drug trafficking. It added up to real good stuff and I planned to put it to use with the prosecutor.
    Faire was in an office shared with three other prosecutors. Each had a desk in a corner. Two were gone, probably in court, but a man I didn’t know sat at the desk in the corner opposite Faire. I had to speak to her with him in earshot. I hated doing this because I found that the prosecutor I was dealing with in these situations would often play to the others in the room, trying to sound tough and shrewd, sometimes at the expense of my client.
    I pulled a chair away from one of the empty desks and brought it over to sit down. I skipped the pleasantries because there weren’t any and got right to the point because I was hungry and didn’t have a lot of time.
    “You filed on Gloria Dayton this morning,” I said. “She’s mine. I want to see what we can do about it.”
    “Well, we can plead her guilty and she can do one to three years at Frontera.”
    She said it matter-of-factly with a smile that was more of a smirk.
    “I was thinking of PTI.”
    “I was thinking she already got a bite out of that apple and she spit it out. No way.”
    “Look, how much coke did she have on her, a couple grams?”
    “It’s still illegal, no matter how much she had. Gloria Dayton has had numerous opportunities to rehabilitate herself and avoid prison. But she’s run out of chances.”
    She turned to her desk, opened a file and glanced at the top sheet.
    “Nine arrests in just the last five years,” she said. “This is her third drug charge and she’s never spent more than three days in jail. Forget PTI. She’s got to learn sometime and this is that time. I’m not open to discussion on this. If she pleads, I’ll give her one to three. If she doesn’t, I’ll go get a verdict and she takes her chances with the judge at sentencing. I will ask for the max on it.”
    I nodded. It was going about the way I thought it would with Faire. A one-to-three-year sentence would likely result in a nine-month stay in the slam. I knew Gloria Dayton could do it and maybe should do it. But I still had a card to play.
    “What if she had something to trade?”
    Faire snorted like it was a joke.
    “Like what?”
    “A hotel room number where a major dealer is doing business.”
    “Sounds a little vague.”
    It was vague but I could tell by the change in her voice she was interested. Every prosecutor likes to trade up.
    “Call your drug guys. Ask them to run the name Hector Arrande Moya on the box. He’s a Colombian. I can wait.”
    She hesitated. She clearly didn’t like being manipulated by a defense attorney, especially when another prosecutor was in earshot. But the hook was already set.
    She turned again to her desk and made a call. I listened to one side of the conversation, her telling someone to give her a background check on Moya. She waited awhile and then listened to the response. She thanked whoever it was she had called and hung up. She took her time turning back to me.
    “Okay,” she said. “What does she want?”
    I had it ready.
    “She wants a PTI slot. All charges dropped upon successful completion. She doesn’t testify against the guy and her name is on no documents. She simply gives the hotel and room number where he’s at and your people do the rest.”
    “They’ll need to make a case. She’s got