Tarza.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember that.”
“Well, you do remember, don’t you, that Tarza tried to flee to Chicago when he was the target in a murder investigation? For murdering the managing partner of his law firm?” The sarcasm was so thick I could have cut it. And although it was tempting to respond in kind, I decided to stick to the facts because I had no idea where, exactly, this upsetting conversation was going.
“He wasn’t trying to flee, Detective. He was going to see a rare coin dealer to try to get to the bottom of things.”
“Well, whatever. When he got back, we arrested him. I was one of the arresting officers. I testified briefly at the preliminary hearing. You cross-examined me.”
Once he put it in context I did vaguely remember him. He had testified for something like two seconds. But I really didn’t want to get into a further discussion of the case with him.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “I still don’t recall your testimony.”
“Well, it’s a long time ago now. Six years, maybe?”
“Something like that.”
“Not long after that trial I left the LAPD and joined the UCLA force.”
“Well, welcome to UCLA School of Law, Officer. Let’s sit down, and you can ask me what you want to know, not that I know very much.”
CHAPTER 10
T he interview with Officer Drady took about ten minutes. We covered pretty much the same territory I had covered with everyone else. I went out of my way to mention that the coffee had smelled odd to me. Drady sniffed what was left in the pot, wrinkled his nose and suggested I toss it. I reminded him that if there was something wrong with it that had made Primo sick—like some weird fungus on the beans—it could be evidence. But he said Skillings had already collected samples and was going to hand them over to the police, so there was no need to keep it. Overall, he didn’t seem particularly interested in that aspect of the story.
I also decided it was time to mention the supposed treasure map. He raised his eyebrows on that one but didn’t press for more details about the map. When I told him it had gone missing, he helped me look around the office for it and confirmed it wasn’t there.
As the interview was wrapping up, I thought to myself that the death had been awful, but the conversation about it with Drady had so far seemed rather anodyne. Then I berated myself for using that word, even in my head. It’s one of those ten-dollar words law professors use to impress each other, and all it means is ordinary, inoffensive. It’s certainly not a word I would ever use in front of a jury.
Which is exactly when the interview began to veer toward the offensive.
“So,” Officer Drady said, as he slapped his notebook closed, “what’s Robert Tarza doing these days?”
The truth was that Robert and I, despite his having been my mentor and close friend for close to a decade, were no longer on the best of terms. I hadn’t spoken to him in several years. But I certainly wasn’t going to share that with this asshole detective.
“Well,” I said, “I haven’t talked to him lately, so I don’t really know exactly. Litigating in his downtown law firm, I suppose.”
“He’s lucky not to be up in Marin County instead, if you ask me.”
“Which is what, Officer, a veiled reference to San Quentin, which, if I recall correctly, is in Marin?”
“Didn’t intend it as veiled, really. I still think he had something to do with the murder of the managing partner all those years ago.”
“You don’t think all the others who were convicted had anything to do with it?”
“Yeah, I do. But I don’t think it was the whole story.”
“What do you think the whole story was?”
“I’m not sure, but to be candid, I think you had something to do with it, too, Professor.”
I stared at him for a moment in disbelief.
“I didn’t, Detective. And if you don’t have anything else to ask me about today’s situation, I have a lot of
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember that.”
“Well, you do remember, don’t you, that Tarza tried to flee to Chicago when he was the target in a murder investigation? For murdering the managing partner of his law firm?” The sarcasm was so thick I could have cut it. And although it was tempting to respond in kind, I decided to stick to the facts because I had no idea where, exactly, this upsetting conversation was going.
“He wasn’t trying to flee, Detective. He was going to see a rare coin dealer to try to get to the bottom of things.”
“Well, whatever. When he got back, we arrested him. I was one of the arresting officers. I testified briefly at the preliminary hearing. You cross-examined me.”
Once he put it in context I did vaguely remember him. He had testified for something like two seconds. But I really didn’t want to get into a further discussion of the case with him.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “I still don’t recall your testimony.”
“Well, it’s a long time ago now. Six years, maybe?”
“Something like that.”
“Not long after that trial I left the LAPD and joined the UCLA force.”
“Well, welcome to UCLA School of Law, Officer. Let’s sit down, and you can ask me what you want to know, not that I know very much.”
CHAPTER 10
T he interview with Officer Drady took about ten minutes. We covered pretty much the same territory I had covered with everyone else. I went out of my way to mention that the coffee had smelled odd to me. Drady sniffed what was left in the pot, wrinkled his nose and suggested I toss it. I reminded him that if there was something wrong with it that had made Primo sick—like some weird fungus on the beans—it could be evidence. But he said Skillings had already collected samples and was going to hand them over to the police, so there was no need to keep it. Overall, he didn’t seem particularly interested in that aspect of the story.
I also decided it was time to mention the supposed treasure map. He raised his eyebrows on that one but didn’t press for more details about the map. When I told him it had gone missing, he helped me look around the office for it and confirmed it wasn’t there.
As the interview was wrapping up, I thought to myself that the death had been awful, but the conversation about it with Drady had so far seemed rather anodyne. Then I berated myself for using that word, even in my head. It’s one of those ten-dollar words law professors use to impress each other, and all it means is ordinary, inoffensive. It’s certainly not a word I would ever use in front of a jury.
Which is exactly when the interview began to veer toward the offensive.
“So,” Officer Drady said, as he slapped his notebook closed, “what’s Robert Tarza doing these days?”
The truth was that Robert and I, despite his having been my mentor and close friend for close to a decade, were no longer on the best of terms. I hadn’t spoken to him in several years. But I certainly wasn’t going to share that with this asshole detective.
“Well,” I said, “I haven’t talked to him lately, so I don’t really know exactly. Litigating in his downtown law firm, I suppose.”
“He’s lucky not to be up in Marin County instead, if you ask me.”
“Which is what, Officer, a veiled reference to San Quentin, which, if I recall correctly, is in Marin?”
“Didn’t intend it as veiled, really. I still think he had something to do with the murder of the managing partner all those years ago.”
“You don’t think all the others who were convicted had anything to do with it?”
“Yeah, I do. But I don’t think it was the whole story.”
“What do you think the whole story was?”
“I’m not sure, but to be candid, I think you had something to do with it, too, Professor.”
I stared at him for a moment in disbelief.
“I didn’t, Detective. And if you don’t have anything else to ask me about today’s situation, I have a lot of
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