Excerpt: Counting Electric Sheep

Counting Electric Sheep
By
Joe Zeff

It was a cold, wet blustery March afternoon in Los Angeles, and I wasn’t really looking forward to taking on a new client, but business was business, and the rent had to be paid. My new client, if that’s what he turned out to be, hadn’t bothered to make an appointment, he’d just shown up and told my secretary, Berengaria, that he wanted to see me right away. Naturally, she’d told him to wait and come in to “see if I were free.” He’d pressed a business card on her, and she’d brought it in. Now, I was looking at it. His name, it appeared, was J. Woodrow Howe, L.L.D., Esq. A shyster. Just what I needed. Still, the card was an expensive one, and I recognized the name of his firm. Not that I’d done business with it before, but it was an old, well-established firm, and should be able to pay a stiff fee. I like that in a client. I took a deep breath, blew it out and said, “OK, Green Eyes, I guess we’ve stalled long enough. Send him in.”
Berengaria Sanchez is a red-haired Latina with green eyes, but I don’t keep her around for her looks; she’s a smart woman and knows how to keep my office running smoothly. Without a word, she left to usher Mr. Howe in.
Mr. Howe, it turned out, was short, pudgy and balding with one of the most pathetic comb-overs I’d ever seen. I wondered briefly, if he had a sense of humor, but quickly decided that he probably didn’t because if he did, he’d have seen long ago how silly his head looked. Either that, or he was exceptionally vain. He was wearing a lawyer-suit in black that looked like it had set him back a bundle, with a powder blue shirt and red power tie. The suit fit him like a glove, which was a somewhat unfortunate because it set off his rounded shoulders and pot belly a bit too well.
He came in and held out a hand. “Good afternoon, Mr. Griffin. I see you have my card.”
I took his hand and shook it, finding it just as flabby as you’d expect. Good afternoon, Mr. Howe; I’m Kent Griffin, in case you were wondering. How can I help you?”
“You understand,” he started off, “that anything we say is confidential, and not to leave this room under any circumstances.”
“No, I don’t,” I replied. “Not unless you hire me, and even then, I can’t agree to keep criminal knowledge secret.”
He frowned. “I’m afraid I must insist.”
“Look, Mr. Howe, I’m not in the habit of flapping my lips at random. I’m as good at keeping secrets as almost anybody you know, but as a licensed detective, there are some limits on what I can keep to myself, just as they are for a lawyer. Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell anybody anything I don’t have to just for the fun of talking.”
He thought for a moment, then nodded. “Very well, I think we can proceed on that basis. Mr. Griffin, my firm has been directed by a client—a very old and respected client, I might add—to assist in the defense of Mr. Brian Fletcher, and to hire you to investigate the case. I would have been here earlier, but I was in court all morning with the arraignment.”
“I see. What is Mr. Fletcher accused of?”
“He’s been arrested on fourteen counts of burglary.”
“I take it he doesn’t have an alibi?”
“Alas no, Mr. Griffin, I wish he did.”
“And you want me to find out who’s responsible?”
“No, I don’t. There’s no need for us to do the Police Department’s job for them. All that’s needed is for me to provide a reasonable doubt for a jury. Your job will be to investigate certain specific points under my direction.”
I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Howe, but I don’t work that way. If that’s all you want, you’d be better off going to the Continental Detective Agency and hiring one of their operatives. They’ll do the type of job you want, at about a third of my rate.”
“You have a high opinion of yourself, Mr. Griffin.”
“With good reason; I’m not your run-of-the-mill gumshoe, you know. You say that one of your clients asked you to represent him, right?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Griffin, but I’m not at liberty to say, and you don’t need to know that.”
“OK, fair enough. Why don’t you give him a call, then, and see what he says?”
“That’s not possible, I’m afraid. He’s never available during regular office hours.”
“Right” I thought. “At least I know it’s a man.” Then, out loud, “How did you get your instructions?”
“The same way we always do: I received an electronic communication this morning with the instructions. I must say, I was a little astonished by it; I don’t normally handle criminal matters, but the instructions were most specific. I was to deal with the matter personally, and you were to do the investigating if possible. I was also instructed,” he continued in a dry tone, “that Mr. Fletcher was to receive the bill.”
“So, you got an email this morning from an invisible client who wants me on the case. Usually I like to know who I’m getting my instructions from, but as long as the check comes from your firm, I can overlook that. Look, counselor, you want to get Mr. Fletcher off, you want me to help and I’m more than willing to, if we can find a way to work together. I don’t want to tell you your business, but there’s something I’ve got to point out to you. Now, there’s three ways to get somebody off the hook. The first one, of course, is to provide an alibi and prove it, but from what you’ve said, that’s not in the cards. The second one is the one you’ve mentioned: reasonable doubt. That can work, but it’s always risky; what one jury finds reasonable, another laughs at. I’m not saying you shouldn’t use it as a fall-back, but there’s a better option: prove he didn’t do it because somebody else did. And, as I said, the nice thing about it is that reasonable doubt is waiting there in the wings in case it’s needed.”
He gave my speech the consideration it deserved. “As I said, Mr. Griffin, I’m not exactly a specialist in criminal law. What you say makes sense—or at least, it seems to. And, I’ll admit, giving you your head allows me to concentrate on the legal aspects of Mr. Fletcher’s defense. I think we can work together on that basis, on one condition.”
“And that is?”
“I will undoubtedly need to have witnesses questioned and their statements checked; if you have no objection to performing those services as part of your investigation it will simplify things immensely.”
It was my turn to think things over, although mostly for effect. “Yes, I think I can live with that.”
“Excellent, Mr. Griffin, I think you can consider yourself hired.” He drew an envelope out of an inner pocket and held them out. “Here is a retainer—I hope you’ll find it sufficient—and a disk with all the information we have, as yet, on the case. I know better than to expect daily reports, but I do hope you’ll keep me informed.”
I took the envelope, but didn’t open it. Time enough to do that when I was alone, and I didn’t want to look too eager; he might think I was more interested in the money than the case. “I’ll get back to you, Mr. Howe, as soon as I’ve had time to look this over and check a few things.”
“Very good. And now, if you don’t mind, I need to get back to my office. I expect to have a busy afternoon.”
As I watched him leave, I wondered just how much of the afternoon would be spent refreshing his memory on criminal procedure. After he left, I spent a few minutes looking out my window toward LA Interplanetary, hoping to see a takeoff or landing, but I was out of luck. As I watched, I wondered if Mr. Howe realized just how much he’d told me about his client. Not only did I know it was a man, I had a fairly good hunch just who it was.