The Lincoln Lawyer by Michael Connelly Page A

wrote a note to himself before continuing.
    “Mr. Atkins produced a folding knife with the blade open, which he said had been found on the floor next to the intruder. The officers handcuffed the suspect, and paramedics were called to treat both Campo and Roulet, who had a head laceration and slight concussion. Campo was transported to Holy Cross Medical Center for continued treatment and to be photographed by an evidence technician. Roulet was taken into custody and booked into Van Nuys jail. The premises of Ms. Campo’s apartment were sealed for crime scene processing and the case was assigned to Detective Martin Booker of Valley Bureau detectives.”
    Levin spread more photocopies of the police photos of Regina Campo’s injuries out on the table. There were front and profile shots of her face and two close-ups of bruising around her neck and a small puncture mark under her jaw. The copy quality was poor and I knew the photocopies weren’t worthy of serious study. But I did notice that all the facial injuries were on the right side of Campo’s face. Roulet had been correct about that. She had either been repeatedly punched by someone’s left hand-or possibly her own right hand.
    “These were taken at the hospital, where Ms. Campo also gave a statement to Detective Booker. In summary, she said she came home about eight-thirty Sunday night and was home alone when there was a knock at her door at about ten o’clock. Mr. Roulet represented himself as someone Ms. Campo knew and so she opened the door. Upon opening the door she was immediately struck by the intruder’s fist and driven backwards into the apartment. The intruder entered and closed and locked the door. Ms. Campo attempted to defend herself but was struck at least twice more and driven to the floor.”
    “This is such bullshit!” Roulet yelled.
    He slammed his fists down on the table and stood up, his seat rolling backwards and banging loudly into the glass window behind him.
    “Hey, easy now!” Dobbs cautioned. “You break the window and it’s like a plane. We all get sucked out of here and go down.”
    No one smiled at his attempt at levity.
    “Louis, sit back down,” I said calmly. “These are police reports, nothing more or less. They are not supposed to be the truth. They are one person’s view of the truth. All we are doing here is getting a first look at the case, seeing what we are up against.”
    Roulet rolled his chair back to the table and sat down without further protest. I nodded to Levin and he continued. I noted that Roulet had long stopped acting like the meek prey I had seen earlier in the day in lockup.
    “Ms. Campo reported that the man who attacked her had his fist wrapped in a white cloth when he punched her.”
    I looked across the table at Roulet’s hands and saw no swelling or bruising on the knuckles or fingers. Wrapping his fist could have allowed him to avoid such telltale injuries.
    “Was it taken into evidence?” I asked.
    “Yes,” Levin said. “In the evidence report it is described as a cloth dinner napkin with blood on it. The blood and the cloth are being analyzed.”
    I nodded and looked at Roulet.
    “Did the police look at or photograph your hands?”
    Roulet nodded.
    “The detective looked at my hands but nobody took pictures.”
    I nodded and told Levin to continue.
    “The intruder straddled Ms. Campo on the floor and grasped one hand around her neck,” he said. “The intruder told Ms. Campo that he was going to rape her and that it didn’t matter to him whether she was alive or dead when he did it. She could not respond because the suspect was choking her with his hand. When he released pressure she said she told him that she would cooperate.”
    Levin slid another photocopy onto the table. It was a photo of a black-handled folding knife that was sharpened to a deadly point. It explained the earlier photo of the wound under the victim’s neck.
    Roulet slid the photocopy over to look at it more