I held my hand up in a stop there gesture.

“The guy was innocent. I should’ve seen it. I should’ve done something about it. Instead, I just did my usual thing and went through the motions with my eyes closed.”

“Bullshit.”

“No, no bullshit.”

“Okay, go back to the story. Who was the second guy who came to her door?”

I opened my briefcase next to me and reached into it.

“I went up to San Quentin today and showed Menendez a six-pack. All mug shots of my clients. Mostly former clients. Menendez picked one out in less than ten seconds.”

I tossed the mug shot of Louis Roulet across the table. It landed facedown. Levin picked it up and looked at it for a few moments, then put it back facedown on the table.

“Let me show you something else,” I said.

My hand went back into the briefcase and pulled out the two folded photographs of Martha Renteria and Reggie Campo. I looked around to make sure the waitress wasn’t about to deliver my martini and then handed them across the table.

“It’s like a puzzle,” I said. “Put them together and see what you get.”

Levin put the one face together from the two and nodded as he understood the significance. The killer-Roulet-zeroed in on women that fit a model or profile he desired. I next showed him the weapon sketch drawn by the medical examiner on the Renteria autopsy and read him the description of the two coercive wounds found on her neck.

“You know that video you got from the bar?” I asked. “What it shows is a killer at work. Just like you, he saw that Mr. X was left-handed. When he attacked Reggie Campo he punched with his left and then held the knife with his left. This guy knows what he is doing. He saw an opportunity and took it. Reggie Campo is the luckiest woman alive.”

“You think there are others? Other murders, I mean.”

“Maybe. That’s what I want you to look into. Check out all the knife murders of women in the last few years. Then get the victim’s pictures and see if they match the physical profile. And don’t look at unsolved cases only. Martha Renteria was supposedly among the closed cases.”

Levin leaned forward.

“Look, man, I’m not going to throw a net over this like the police can. You have to bring the cops in on this. Or go to the FBI. They got their serial killer specialists.”

I shook my head.

“Can’t. He’s my client.”

“Menendez is your client, too, and you have to get him out.”

“I’m working on that. And that’s why I need you to do this for me, Mish.”

We both knew that I called him Mish whenever I needed something that crossed the lines of our professional relationship into the friendship that was underneath it.

“What about a hitman?” Levin said. “That would solve our problems.”

I nodded, knowing he was being facetious.

“Yeah, that would work,” I said. “It would make the world a better place, too. But it probably wouldn’t spring Menendez.”

Levin leaned forward again. Now he was serious.

“I’ll do what I can, Mick, but I don’t think this is the right way to go. You can declare conflict of interest and dump Roulet. Then work on jumping Menendez out of the Q.”

“Jump him out with what?”

“The ID he made on the six-pack. That was solid. He didn’t know Roulet from a hole in the ground and he goes and picks him out of the pack.”

“Who is going to believe that? I’m his lawyer! Nobody from the cops to the clemency board is going to believe I didn’t set that up. This is all theory, Raul. You know it and I know it to be true but we can’t prove a damn thing.”

“What about the wounds? They could match the knife they got from the Campo case to Martha Renteria’s wounds.”

I shook my head.

“She was cremated. All they have is the descriptions and photos from the autopsy and it wouldn’t be conclusive. It’s not enough. Besides, I can’t be seen as the guy pushing this on my own client. If I turn against a client, then I turn against all my clients. It can’t look that way or I’ll lose them all. I have to figure something else out.”

“I think you’re wrong. I think -”

“For now I go along as if I don’t know any of this, you understand? But you look into it. All of it. Keep it separate from Roulet so I don’t have a discovery issue. File it all under Jesus Menendez and bill the time to me on that case. You understand?”

Before Levin could answer, the waitress brought my third martini. I waved it away.

“I don’t want it. Just the check.”

“Well, I can’t pour it back into the bottle,” she said.

“Don’t worry, I’ll pay for it. I just don’t want to drink it. Give it to the guy who makes the cheese bread and just bring me the check.”

She turned and walked away, probably annoyed that I hadn’t offered the drink to her. I looked back at Levin. He looked like he was pained by everything that had been revealed to him. I knew just how he felt.

“Some franchise I got, huh?”

“Yeah. How are you going to be able to act straight with this guy when you have to deal with him and meantime you’re digging out this other shit on the side?”

“With Roulet? I plan to see him as little as possible. Only when it’s necessary. He left me a message today, has something to tell me. But I’m not calling back.”

“Why did he pick you? I mean, why would he pick the one lawyer who might put this thing together?”

I shook my head.

“I don’t know. I thought about it the whole plane ride down. I think maybe he was worried I might hear about the case and put it together anyway. But if he was my client, then he knew I’d be ethically bound to protect him. At least at first. Plus there’s the money.”

“What money?”

“The money from Mother. The franchise. He knows how big a payday this is for me. My biggest ever. Maybe he thought I’d look the other way to keep the money coming in.”

Levin nodded.

“Maybe I should, huh?” I said.

It was a vodka-spurred attempt at humor, but Levin didn’t smile and then I remembered Jesus Menendez’s face behind the prison Plexiglas and I couldn’t even bring myself to smile.

“Listen, there’s one other thing I need you to do,” I said. “I want you to look at him, too. Roulet. Find out all you can without getting too close. And check out that story about the mother, about her getting raped in a house she was selling in Bel-Air.”

Levin nodded.

“I’m on it.”

“And don’t farm it out.”

This was a running joke between us. Like me, Levin was a one-man shop. He had no one to farm it out to.

“I won’t. I’ll handle it myself.”

It was his usual response but this time it lacked the false sincerity and humor he usually gave it. He’d answered by habit.

The waitress moved by the table and put our check down without a thank you. I dropped a credit card on it without even looking at the damage. I just wanted to leave.

“You want her to wrap up your steak?” I asked.

“That’s okay,” Levin said. “I’ve kind of lost my appetite for right now.”

“What about that attack dog you’ve got at home?”

“That’s an idea. I forgot about Bruno.”

He looked around for the waitress to ask for a box.

“Take mine, too,” I said. “I don’t have a dog.”