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He did. He kept it all on his laptop and he kept a hard copy in the old portfolio he carried. But they’re both gone. The police made me look everywhere in here but they’re gone.”
    I nodded. The missing calendar was going to be a problem but it wasn’t insurmountable.
    “What about files? Did he have any in the briefcase?”
    “I don’t think so. He kept all the files here.”
    “Okay, good. What we’re going to have to do is pull all the active cases and rebuild the calendar from the files. I’ll also need to see any ledgers or checkbooks pertaining to the trust and operating accounts.”
    She looked up at me sharply.
    “You’re not going to take his money.”
    “It’s not—”
    I stopped, took a deep breath and then started again in a calm but direct tone.
    “First of all, I apologize. I did this backwards. I don’t even know your name. Let’s start over. What is your name?”
    “Wren.”
    “Wren? Wren what?”
    “Wren Williams.”
    “Okay, Wren, let me explain something. It’s not his money. It’s his clients’ money and until they say otherwise, his clients are now my clients. Do you understand? Now, I have told you that I am aware of the emotional upheaval of the day and the shock you are experiencing. I’m experiencing some of it myself. But you need to decide right now if you are with me or against me, Wren. Because if you are with me, I need you to get me the things I asked for. And I’m going to need you to work with my case manager when she gets here. If you are against me, then I need you just to go home right now.”
    She slowly shook her head.
    “The detectives told me I had to stay until they were finished.”
    “What detectives? There were only a couple uniforms left out there when I drove in.”
    “The detectives in Mr. Vincent’s office.”
    “You let—”
    I didn’t finish. I stepped around the counter and headed toward two separate doors on the back wall. I picked the one on the left and opened it.
    I walked into Jerry Vincent’s office. It was large and opulent and empty. I turned in a full circle until I found myself staring into the bugged eyes of a large fish mounted on the wall over a dark wood credenza next to the door I had come through. The fish was a beautiful green with a white underbelly. Its body was arched as if it had frozen solid just at the moment it had jumped out of the water. Its mouth was open so wide I could have put my fist in it.
    Mounted on the wall beneath the fish was a brass plate. It said:
    IF I’D KEPT MY MOUTH SHUT I WOULDN’T BE HERE
    Words to live by, I thought. Most criminal defendants talk their way into prison. Few talk their way out. The best single piece of advice I have ever given a client is to just keep your mouth shut. Talk to no one about your case, not even your own wife. You keep close counsel with yourself. You take the nickel and you live to fight another day.
    The unmistakable sound of a metal drawer being rolled and then banged closed spun me back around. On the other side of the room were two more doors. Both were open about a foot and through one I could see a darkened bathroom. Through the other I could see light.
    I approached the lighted room quickly and pushed the door all the way open. It was the file room, a large, windowless walk-in closet with rows of steel filing cabinets going down both sides. A small worktable was set up against the back wall.
    There were two men sitting at the worktable. One old, one young. Probably one to teach and one to learn. They had their jackets off and draped over the chairs. I saw their guns and holsters and their badges clipped to their belts.
    “What are you doing?” I asked gruffly.
    The men looked up from their reading. I saw a stack of files on the table between them. The older detective’s eyes momentarily widened in surprise when he saw me.
    “LAPD,” he said. “And I guess I should ask you the same question.”
    “Those are my files and you’re going to have to put