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cars and a black BMW coupe that was being hauled onto the bed of a truck from the police garage. Jerry Vincent’s car, I assumed. Two other uniformed cops were just beginning to pull down the yellow crime scene tape that had been used to cordon off the parking level. One of them signaled for me to keep going. I saw no detectives around but the police weren’t giving up the murder scene just yet.
    I kept going up and didn’t find a space I could fit the Lincoln into until I got to the fifth floor. One more reason I needed to get a driver again.
    The office I was looking for was on the second floor at the front of the building. The opaque glass door was closed but not locked. I entered a reception room with an empty sitting area and a nearby counter behind which sat a woman whose eyes were red from crying. She was on the phone but when she saw me, she put it down on the counter without so much as a “hold on” to whomever she was talking to.
    “Are you with the police?” she asked.
    “No, I’m not,” I replied.
    “Then, I’m sorry, the office is closed today.”
    I approached the counter, pulling the court order from Judge Holder out of the inside pocket of my suit coat.
    “Not for me,” I said as I handed it to her.
    She unfolded the document and stared at it but didn’t seem to be reading it. I noticed that in one of her hands she clutched a wad of tissues.
    “What is this?” she asked.
    “That’s a court order,” I said. “My name is Michael Haller and Judge Holder has appointed me replacement counsel in regard to Jerry Vincent’s clients. That means we’ll be working together. You can call me Mickey.”
    She shook her head as if warding off some invisible threat. My name usually didn’t carry that sort of power.
    “You can’t do this. Mr. Vincent wouldn’t want this.”
    I took the court papers out of her hand and refolded them. I started putting the document back into my pocket.
    “Actually, I can. The chief judge of Los Angeles Superior Court has directed me to do this. And if you look closely at the contracts of representation that Mr. Vincent had his clients sign, you will find my name already on them, listed as associate counsel. So, what you think Mr. Vincent would have wanted is immaterial at this point because he did in fact file the papers that named me his replacement should he become incapacitated or… dead.”
    The woman had a dazed look on her face. Her mascara was heavy and running beneath one eye. It gave her an uneven, almost comical look. For some reason a vision of Liza Minnelli jumped to my mind.
    “If you want, you can call Judge Holder’s clerk and talk about it with her,” I said. “Meantime, I really need to get started here. I know this has been a very difficult day for you. It’s been difficult for me – I knew Jerry going back to his days at the DA. So you have my sympathy.”
    I nodded and looked at her and waited for a response but I still wasn’t getting one. I pressed on.
    “I’m going to need some things to get started here. First of all, his calendar. I want to put together a list of all the active cases Jerry was handling. Then, I’m going to need you to pull the files for those-”
    “It’s gone,” she said abruptly.
    “What’s gone?”
    “His laptop. The police told me whoever did this took his briefcase out of the car. He kept everything on his laptop.”
    “You mean his calendar? He didn’t keep a hard copy?”
    “That’s gone, too. They took his portfolio. That was in the briefcase.”
    Her eyes were staring blankly ahead. I tapped the top of the computer screen on her desk.
    “What about this computer?” I asked. “Didn’t he back up his calendar anywhere?”
    She didn’t say anything, so I asked again.
    “Did Jerry back up his calendar anywhere else? Is there any way to access it?”
    She finally looked up at me and seemed to take pleasure in responding.
    “I didn’t keep the calendar. He did. He kept it all on his laptop and he