The Lincoln Lawyer: A Novel by Michael Connelly

hotel room number where a major dealer is doing business.”
    “Sounds a little vague.”
    It was vague but I could tell by the change in her voice she was interested. Every prosecutor likes to trade up.
    “Call your drug guys. Ask them to run the name Hector Arrande Moya on the box. He’s a Colombian. I can wait.”
    She hesitated. She clearly didn’t like being manipulated by a defense attorney, especially when another prosecutor was in
     earshot. But the hook was already set.
    She turned again to her desk and made a call. I listened to one side of the conversation, her telling someone to give her
     a background check on Moya. She waited awhile and then listened to the response. She thanked whoever it was she had called
     and hung up. She took her time turning back to me.
    “Okay,” she said. “What does she want?”
    I had it ready.
    “She wants a PTI slot. All charges dropped upon successful completion. She doesn’t testify against the guy and her name is
     on no documents. She simply gives the hotel and room number where he’s at and your people do the rest.”
    “They’ll need to make a case. She’s got to testify. I take it the two grams she had came from this guy. Then she has to tell
     us about it.”
    “No, she doesn’t. Whoever you just talked to told you there’s already a warrant. You can take him down for that.”
    She worked it over for a few moments, moving her jaw back and forth as if tasting the deal and deciding whether to eat more.
     I knew what the stumble was. The deal was a trade-up but it was a trade-up to a federal case. That meant that they would bust
     the guy and the feds would take over. No prosecutorial glory for Leslie Faire—unless she had designs on jumping over to the
     U.S. Attorney’s Office one day.
    “The feds will love you for this,” I said, trying to wedge into her conscience. “He’s a bad guy and he’ll probably check out
     soon and the chance to get him will be lost.”
    She looked at me like I was a bug.
    “Don’t try that with me, Haller.”
    “Sorry.”
    She went back to her thinking. I tried again.
    “Once you have his location, you could always try to set up a buy.”
    “Would you be quiet, please? I can’t think.”
    I raised my hands in surrender and shut up.
    “All right,” she finally said. “Let me talk to my boss. Give me your number and I’ll call you later. But I’ll tell you right
     now, if we go for it, she’ll have to go to a lockdown program. Something at County-USC. We’re not going to waste a residency
     slot on her.”
    I thought about it and nodded. County-USC was a hospital with a jail wing where injured, sick, and addicted inmates were treated.
     What she was offering was a program where Gloria Dayton could be treated for her addiction and released upon completion. She
     would not face any charges or further time in jail or prison.
    “Fine with me,” I said.
    I looked at my watch. I had to get going.
    “Our offer is good until first appearance tomorrow,” I said. “After that I’ll call the DEA and see if they want to deal directly.
     Then it will be taken out of your hands.”
    She looked indignantly at me. She knew that if I got a deal with the feds, they would squash her. Head to head, the feds always
     trumped the state. I stood up to go and put a business card down on her desk.
    “Don’t try to back-door me, Haller,” she said. “If it goes sideways on you, I’ll take it out on your client.”
    I didn’t respond. I pushed the chair I had borrowed back to its desk. She then dropped the threat with her next line.
    “Anyway, I’m sure we can handle this on a level that makes everybody happy.”
    I looked back at her as I got to the office door.
    “Everybody except for Hector Moya,” I said.

Eight
    T he law offices of Dobbs and Delgado were on the twenty-ninth floor of one of the twin towers that created the signature skyline
     of Century City. I was right on time but everyone was already gathered in a