The Golden State’s capital ended up in Sacramento due to the availability of hotel rooms in the 1850s. In the intervening century and a half, the city continued to be considered by many as more convenience than capital. Sacramento City Hall was a brick-and-mortar representation of local politics. The old building faced I Street and was elegant, open, and welcoming. The new addition loomed over the original building. The glass faces and cold surfaces smothered the old public hall’s era of civility and birthed a time of power mongering, lobbyists, and self-promotion.
John and Paula asked for Brice Winnow’s office, and a harried young woman told them he was in the city council chamber. She rushed away after jabbing a finger in the general direction. Winnow stood on the elevated dais where the city council members would reside when the council went into session later in the evening. Winnow’s sleeves were rolled up, revealing muscled forearms and the hint of a tattoo that bled from beneath the starched shirt.
Winnow gave no sign of surprise at the detectives’ arrival. “Here to try to condemn city hall?” he said.
“Wouldn’t do any good,” John said.
“Make sure the council members have copies of the district maps,” Winnow directed a staffer.
“We need a couple of minutes of your time,” John said.
Winnow put his hands on his hips. “I’m in the middle of something here. Can’t this wait?”
Paula stepped forward to the dais where Winnow stood. “Are you an attorney?”
Winnow arranged papers at Councilwoman Margolis’s seat, glanced at Paula, and said, “Do you need one, Detective?”
“Where’d you go to law school?” she asked.
“You want to be an attorney?”
“Too much deception and too many half-truths in that profession, for my taste. So where’d you say you went?”
Winnow cracked a slight grin. “I didn’t say. Tell me, why the sudden interest in my educational accomplishments?”
John picked up one of the white binders, noted that the title was for a redevelopment project in the North Sacramento corridor, and tossed the thick volume back on the desk. “You came to see Zack Weber in lockup. Signed in as his attorney. I didn’t know the city provided lawyers to lowlife computer hackers like him.”
“I didn’t hear a question there,” Winnow said.
“Why’d you come see him?”
“It wasn’t a city matter. A private one. I’ve helped Zack on legal matters from time to time.”
“Like what?” John said. The detective poked around at documents on the desk, rearranging them with a fingertip.
Winnow’s jaw muscles pulsed. “That’s attorney-client privilege. And could you stop messing with the proposal materials?”
“That privilege only applies if you’re an attorney,” Paula said.
“Check with the State Bar Association,” Winnow said.
“Why don’t you come with us while we check?” she responded.
“I don’t think that’s gonna happen,” Winnow said. The cords of his muscles tensed as he crossed his forearms. Defiant, untouchable.
“I think I can make it happen,” Paula said.
“You do and you’ll find yourself unemployed. My staff has better things to do,” a voice called out from behind Winnow. Councilwoman Susan Margolis approached. Her sharp features looked more hawkish in the harsh chamber lighting.
Paula craned her neck up at the politician. “Did you do a background check on Brice here before you took him on?”
“Excuse me?” Margolis leaned over the dais. “Who do you think you are? Does Chief Patterson know you’re here, harassing my staff?”
“We’re here investigating a homicide. We have a few questions for Mr. Winnow,” John said.
Margolis straightened and kept her eyes on Paula. “Then ask them and get out of my chambers.”
“I thought this was the public’s chamber,” Paula said.
“I’ll be having a talk with the chief about your poor representation of the police department.”
“That’s Officer Newberry,” Winnow said.
“Detective,” Paula corrected.
“Whatever,” Margolis said.
“What did you and Zack Weber talk about?” Paula pressed.
“I told you, that is privileged,” Winnow said.
“Why’d he kill himself after you left?”
“Huh, sorry to hear that,” Winnow said. His face remained locked in a dispassionate veneer.
“I can tell you’re all broken up about it,” Paula said.
“Enough!” Margolis pounded on the surface of the wooden dais. “Out.”
John and Paula walked up the center aisle of the council chamber and made for the exit.
“Shame about Zack. He was always a bit too altruistic for his own good.”
John turned to see Winnow grinning.
“Zack left us a message before he died,” John said.
Winnow’s face changed. Something darker appeared.
“Didn’t know that, did you?” John added.
“I’m sure it was little more than the rantings of a haunted man.”
“Maybe. Why do you think he mentioned you?” John asked.
Winnow’s complexion went ashen for a heartbeat, then recovered to its usual pallor.
That was the tell John waited for. “Like I said, we’ll be in touch.”