“Law offices of Michael Haller and Associates,” Lorna said when she picked up. “How can I-”

“It’s me. What’s up?”

“Mickey, you have to get over to Van Nuys Division right away.”

There was a strong urgency in her voice. Van Nuys Division was the LAPD’s central command for operations in the sprawling San Fernando Valley, on the north side of the city.

“I’m working the south end today. What’s going on?”

“They have Lisa Trammel there. She called.”

Lisa Trammel was a client. In fact, my very first foreclosure client. I had kept her in her home for going on eight months and was confident I could take it at least another year further before we dropped the bankruptcy bomb. But she was consumed by the frustrations and inequities of her life and could not be calmed or controlled. She’d taken to marching in front of the bank with a placard decrying its fraudulent practices and heartless actions. That is, until the bank got a temporary restraining order against her.

“Did she violate the TRO? Are they holding her?”

“Mickey, they’re holding her for murder.”

That wasn’t what I was expecting to hear.

“Murder? Who’s the victim?”

“She said they’re charging her with killing Mitchell Bondurant.”

That gave me another great big pause. I looked out the window and saw Mrs. Pena coming out through her front door. She held a wad of cash in her hand.

“All right, get on the phone and reschedule the rest of today’s appointments. And tell Cisco to head up to Van Nuys. I’ll meet him there.”

“You got it. Do you want Bullocks to take the afternoon appointments?”

“Bullocks” was what we called Jennifer Aronson, the associate I had hired out of Southwestern, a law school housed in the old Bullocks department store building on Wilshire.

“No, I don’t want her doing intake. Just reschedule them. And listen, I think I have the Trammel file with me, but you have the call list. Track down her sister. Lisa’s got a kid. He’s probably in school and somebody’s going to have to take him if Lisa can’t.”