Free The Whole Truth by James Scott Bell

fifteen hundred dollars from the client. But he well knew most of the time that things settled. DUIs were a volume business. You could scrape by if you got a lot and pled out most. But this was the only DUI on Steve’s plate. He started counting the days when LaSalle would get out and hand him five more grand. At the very least he could have a good long talk about what happened, what kid was burned in that fire. And why LaSalle was contacting him now, after all these years.
    Steve spat out a form motion for reduced sentence and credit for time served, to be used in the Mendez sentencing.
    On Thursday afternoon he was in his office and got a call.
    â€œWanted to check in,” Sienna said. “I hadn’t heard from you.”
    â€œWhat? Was I supposed to call you?”
    â€œI’m checking to see if you’re okay.”
    â€œSure I’m okay. Why shouldn’t I be okay?” He stopped himself.
    â€œLook, sorry, okay? I was sort of on the downslope back there. Now maybe I’m on the upslope. A paying client and everything.”
    â€œLaSalle?”
    â€œYou’ve got a good memory.”
    â€œIt was only a week ago.”
    â€œYeah, LaSalle.”
    â€œWhat’s he want?”
    â€œI don’t know yet. He’s not out.”
    â€œYou may need some help.”
    Steve laughed. “You would still consider working with me? After the way I treated you?”
    â€œLet’s just say I’m still looking for some work.”
    â€œWhen do you want to start?” He imagined her walking into his office again, saw her at the door. Keep hope alive, Reverend Jackson.
    â€œAnytime,” she said.
    Go for it. “How about now?”
    â€œNow?”
    â€œHow long will it take you to get here?”
    An hour, as it turned out. She was dressed in a soft blue blouse with a silver cross necklace, and jeans. She had her hair down. It was long and silky. Made Steve think of a Fourth of July picnic, and the green flecks in her eyes were sparklers.
    â€œDo you know anything about dead bodies in California?” Steve asked.
    â€œIt’s nice to see you too,” she said.
    â€œCome on in.” He closed the door behind her. “The law of exhumation. As in, if I want to have a body exhumed, what do I do?”
    â€œYou want me to find out?”
    â€œThat’s what I hired you for, isn’t it?”
    â€œHired?”
    â€œI’ll cut you a check right now.”
    As she typed away at the computer, researching in a California-specific legal database, Steve looked at her silver cross.
    â€œSo, are you a Catholic like Madonna?”
    She kept her eyes on the screen. “Nobody’s a Catholic like Madonna.”
    â€œGood point. Catholic?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œFundamentalist? Evangelical?”
    â€œChristian.”
    â€œTheocratic government type? Or laid-back, pro-choice type?”
    She cast a quick look at Steve. “You want me to research here, or talk about religion?”
    â€œYou ever heard of multitasking? Come on, I’m interested.”
    â€œYou know, don’t you, that under California law you can’t ask me that question.”
    â€œAs a basis for employment. I’m just asking as a fellow human being. I still qualify there, don’t I?”
    She stopped typing. “Okay. You have to file a request with the court and cc the county coroner’s office. There’s a form with points and authorities. You want me to print it?”
    â€œYou’re very good,” Steve said.
    â€œI’ll take that as a yes.” She hit the print command and Steve’s printer started spitting pages.
    â€œMaybe now would be a good time to formalize our agreement,” she said. “How does fifty an hour sound?”
    â€œExpensive.”
    â€œI’ll take that as a yes too.”
    â€œOn a per project basis,” Steve said. “I don’t want you billing me while you’re