Incriminating Evidence by Sheldon Siegel Page B

ago.
    “It didn’t work out,” he says.
    No big surprise. He talks about business for a few minutes. He tells me he’s just handled a matter for a man who was exposed to asbestos forty years ago. As always, Fast Eddie is the hero of his own story. “The defendant settled for five million bucks,” he boasts. “My client’s estate is going to get a nice piece of change.”
    So are you. Fast Eddie will collect one third of the money as his fee. Too bad his client died seven years ago and won’t have a chance to enjoy his newfound wealth.
    “Mike,” he says, “I hope we can put our differences behind us and handle Skipper’s case in a professional manner.” Grandpa Ed is here to make everything all better.
    “Of course,” I reply.
    The lizard grin broadens. “That’s just what I was hoping you would say.” He slides into the ergonomically correct leather chair that looks as though it was borrowed from the space shuttle. It doesn’t jibe with the rolltop desk. He offers me coffee and buzzes his secretary. It’s a warm day. You would think he would be more comfortable if he took off his jacket. No chance. His navy suit seems to be surgically attached to his body.
    A moment later, his secretary appears with two small bone-china coffee cups. She looks as if she were taken intact from a feature article in Cosmo . I take a drink of the scalding espresso. It’s tastier than the Maxwell House we pour over at Fernandez and Daley. Ed takes out a gold fountain pen, removes the cap and pulls a white pad of paper out of the top drawer of his desk. He’s all set to go. “What have you found out so far?” he asks.
    “Not much more than you’ve read in the papers.”
    He leans back in his chair, takes off his glasses and says, “Skipper wants me to take a significant role in the case. He wants my input on strategy and all major decisions.” He replaces the cap on his pen. “If it goes to trial, you’ll sit first chair and try the case. I’ll be Keenan counsel.”
    In California, death penalty cases are divided into two parts. First there is a determination of guilt or innocence. If the defendant is found guilty, the trial proceeds to the penalty phase. The penalty phase attorney, known as Keenan counsel, is almost always different from the trial attorney. It’s good to show the jury a fresh face, and the penalty phaseattorney often argues that the trial attorney was incompetent. If the same lawyer handles both parts of the case, the lawyer might have to argue that he or she screwed up.
    “I want to address one other issue,” I say. “The only way I’m going to represent Skipper is if I have full authority to make all final decisions on strategy. I have told him this. Is that clear?”
    “I was thinking we’d make it more of a partnership.”
    “Not good enough. I get to make the final calls on strategy or I’m walking.”
    “Let me talk to Skipper about it,” he replies.
    “There is nothing to discuss. I make the final calls on strategy or I’m out.”
    He pauses for just a moment and says, “I understand.”
    I decide to change the subject. “How well do you know him?” I ask.
    “We see each other socially. We’re both members of the P.U. Club and the Calamari Club.” The Pacific Union Club is housed in the old Flood mansion across the street from the Fairmont. It takes decades to get in unless you’re well connected. People from my old neighborhood don’t get in at all. The old-moneyed gentry of San Francisco gather there to play dominoes. The Calamari Club is even more exclusive. It’s a group of about two dozen politicians, labor leaders, businesspeople and lawyers who meet for lunch at a restaurant at the Wharf every Friday and decide who’s who and what’s what. Its existence isn’t exactly a secret, but it certainly isn’t well publicized. You can buy your way into the P.U. Club, but you have to wait for somebody to die before you can get a seat at the table at the Calamari Club.