Free A Criminal Defense by Steven Gore Page A

make a few calls first and see if any of the courthouse gossips know if there was anything going on between them. Maybe a fight over a case or fees or something. Some kind of falling out. Give you something to work with.”
    Donnally nodded. “It’s tough to go after a witness cold, especially a lawyer.”
    Navarro grinned. “You mean a professional questioner like yourself has no chance against a professional liar like him?”
    â€œMy professional days are long over. Now I’m just a guy who runs a café.”
    Donnally pointed at Navarro’s plate, then took a bite from his own. They didn’t speak again until they’d gotten a few mouthfuls down.
    â€œWhat did you turn up from the apartment?” Donnally asked.
    â€œA few latents, but none from the kitchen. Somebody did a helluva clean-up job. The people in the other half of the duplex were out of town, and neighborhood canvass got us nothing at all. Hear no evil, see no evil. But we haven’t given up. We’re looking for some local kids who hang out in the park across the street at night.”
    â€œWhat’s your thinking about the hairs in the bathroom and the rope left behind?”
    â€œMaybe they got panicky or something made them rush at the end.” Navarro smiled again. “Like you used to say, nobody gets murder right the first time. It takes practice.”
    â€œYou sure this was a first time?”
    â€œAt least in terms of MO. I’ve never seen anything like it in San Francisco before.” Navarro took a sip of tea. “It’s so bizarre the loonies are all coming out. A couple of them called the tip line. Apparently a conspiracy of Martians and Scientologists did Hamlin in.”
    Navarro reached into his briefcase again. Donnally expected him to take out the legitimate leads from the calls. Instead, it was his department-issued iPad. He turned it on, tapped an icon, and handed it to Donnally. It displayed a story about Hamlin’s murder on the home page of the San Francisco Chronicle .
    â€œYou’ll love this,” Navarro said, pointing at a second paragraph.
    Donnally read it to himself.
    â€œIt is a monumental loss to the legal community of San Francisco,” District Attorney Hannah Goldhagen said late this morning. “We’ll miss his intelligence, his aggressive advocacy, and his humor that informed as much as it entertained. I can guarantee the people of San Francisco we will find and prosecute whoever murdered him to the fullest extent of the law.”
    Donnally passed it back. “She had to say something other than good riddance. It’s Bay Area politics in its most perfect state.”
    Navarro’s fists tightened on the table. “That bitch has never prosecuted anyone to the fullest extent of the law. She’s spent her whole career oiling the hinges on the revolving door.”
    â€œAnd somehow I get the feeling you’re hoping whoever did Hamlin in is one of those who slipped through.”
    â€œYeah. With him holding it open.”

Chapter 13
    D onnally noticed the letter-sized envelope protruding from under the doormat as he reached into his pocket to dig out his house keys. He bent down and rolled back the corner of the rubber pad, then squeezed the envelope by opposite edges and picked it up. The words printed on the paper inside showed through when he raised it up toward the porch light: “Follow the Money.”
    What do you think I’m doing? was his first thought. His second was Who gave you the right to come to my house?
    He unlocked the door of the two-story bungalow and followed the distant light through the living room and into the kitchen where Janie was working on her laptop at the table. Handwritten case notes from her psychotherapy sessions at Fort Miley lay next to it. He set the envelope on top of the newspaper lying on his side of the table, then kissed her on the forehead.
    â€œWhat’s that?”