The Hearing

by John Lescroart

Saddened by the thickness of his slow student, Freeman went into teacher mode. 'Because we needed the judge to see that letter, Cole. We needed him to know as a fact that Glitsky was Elaine's father – that's why him helping your defense, bucking his own police force, is so significant. We also needed him to know that our friend Mr Torrey slept with her. But mostly it goes to his character, which we've been trying to get out for reasons that Mr Hardy might be better able to explain. Because say what you will, Torrey outranked Elaine and in our culture, that smells enough like sexual harassment to make Hill wonder. Also, just between you and me, it didn't hurt for Pratt to hear about his little indiscretion, either.

  'Basically,' Freeman's smile was terrible to behold, 'we're just screwing with them, Cole. Screwing with them because they screwed with us. We're showing them this case isn't going to be a political victory lap ending with you on death row.'

  And indeed, across the courtroom, the two prosecutors were studiously not talking, sitting as far apart as they could possibly get as they arranged their water glasses and other important items on their table.

  'But the most important reason, by far, really wasn't any of that. Since we really don't have a shred of evidence that somebody else in fact killed Elaine, the next best thing is to prove that Elaine's life was at least troubled and complicated. She had man trouble, work trouble, law trouble. Personal issues. She might have been killed by an unlucky random event like a mugger, that's true, but now it's definitely in his mind, and very strongly, that she wasn't your average Jane Doe walking back to her office on a Sunday night. With so much going wrong in her life, so much obvious angst that she was actually leaving the country on the next day, what would you think?'

  'I'd think it's a pretty big coincidence that she got killed that night.'

  'Right. It makes the odds a lot better that one of these people had a reason to kill her.' He shrugged. 'To tell the truth though, Cole, I don't want to bring you down, but none of it proves anything really. Certainly, it doesn't prove that you didn't do it and that's the whole point here. But it's got to give the judge some pause at least, and that in turn will maybe give us a little more stage to dance on and that, my friend, that's the name of the game.'

  Glitsky the cop had his own jobs this morning.

  His vision had shifted since he'd read his daughter's letter, and suddenly Hardy's theory of the previous night played to all the unrelated variables. Elaine had discovered something. Someone she trusted had recently made her lose all faith in the law. She had once slept with Gabe Torrey. She was in the middle of an investigation involving Dash Logan, who hung with Visser, who'd been with Cullen Alsop.

  This was no longer a universe of possibilities. They were no longer searching the city for an anonymous trigger man. Glitsky could concentrate his efforts on limited targets. Hardy's theory might yet prove unfounded, but before he would abandon it now, Abe was going to test its limits.

  Neither comfortable nor welcome at the Hall of Justice, he set himself up in the Solarium. Everyone on the team, with the addition of Jan Falk, had checked in by seven thirty. He'd passed around the letter, told the story. By eight, Amy Wu was off with Gina Roake to interview the various witnesses who'd come forward in the Abby Oberlin will contest. If Gene Visser had threatened any of these people…

  Curtis Rhodin had a good friend in the Attorney General's office. Hardy and Freeman thought that Curtis could talk to his pal and bring him up to speed with the confluence of all these events. Elaine had been looking at Logan's files when she'd been killed. The AG's office didn't have even a remotely good relationship with the DA anyway. Based on Torrey's relationship to the murder victim, it might be disposed to believe that Logan's files held evidence of a DA cover-up of some kind that had somehow resulted in a murder. It was all nebulous and unfounded, but it was also provocative and a capital murder, and these traits tended to get a judge's attention. They were hoping for a search warrant on Logan's office – and this time not a warrant directed at a few folks who happened to be Logan's clients, but at Logan's whole practice. At Logan himself. This was a long shot since they had no active case – but at the very least, it might shake up the principals and force one of them to do something rash.

  Jon Ingalls was going to find both Visser and Logan and serve subpoenas on them so that they would be in the courtroom if Hardy got to where he needed to call them. Then, accompanied by Treya and maybe Glitsky after he finished some phone calls, Ingalls was going to check with more restaurants and hotels. Glitsky was convinced that somebody must have seen Elaine that night. He didn't believe she'd been walking alone through a deserted downtown at 1 a.m. She'd been walking with her killer.

  But Glitsky, Hardy and Freeman were all in accord that their best shot, not only of finding any evidence, but of introducing this entire line of inquiry at the hearing, lay in the Cullen Alsop/Ridley Banks/Gene Visser/Jan Falk connection, whatever that might be. Falk was going over to court with Hardy and Freeman, a critical link should they need him. He hated Torrey and the whole DA apparatus and was on their side, an invaluable police witness who was hostile to the prosecution.

  But hating wasn't going to be enough, and Glitsky was on the phone to Paul Thieu now, pitching his idea. Copies of the lab and crime scene reports on Cullen Alsop that Thieu had managed to get were in front of him. 'Right,' he was saying. 'I' know that. But the lab wasn't looking for any specific print, were they?'

  'Abe.' Thieu kept his tone reasonable. He wanted to help because he liked and respected Glitsky, but he had to keep an extremely low profile or his own position would be threatened. And going to the lab on a murder case to which he was not assigned and asking for a rush re-analysis of their data wasn't low profile. It would get around the building. 'What am I supposed to ask them? It was a room in a flophouse. I read the report, too. They didn't clean the place too often. There were dozens of good prints. The maids, past tenants, you name it. They're not going to run every print in the room.'

  'But on the bag itself? Paul, I'm reading it right in front of me. There was another print that wasn't Cullen's. One.'

  Thieu's frustration came through the wires. 'It wasn't computer quality, Abe, and it didn't match anybody who was around or lived nearby when the police arrived. No match.'

  'I know. But if a print was clear enough, it could be run against the database.' This was the state computer file of people with criminal records, against which the lab compared crime scene fingerprints. It was a useful database that could produce matches quickly and cheaply. But you needed a nice, clean print. The print on the bag was partial and blurry. Enough for a skilled and trained human to compare, but not for the computer.'

  'You're telling me you want to do a hand search with this? It'll take a month and-'

  'No. A single comparison. Visser. That's all.'

  This wasn't that difficult a request. Visser was a private investigator and a former policeman. His fingerprints would be on file. Thieu was sure he could find a set of them somewhere, possibly even in the homicide detail itself, and run them to the lab for comparison within a half hour, although how long they'd take to get to it…

  'Don't ask,' Glitsky commanded. Tell.'

  In the courtroom, Hardy was taking all the time he could with the death of Cullen Alsop. On the stand was Saul Westbrook, the young public defender.

  'So Mr Alsop was in jail for six days before he informed you that he'd struck a deal with the District Attorney with regard to this information about the murder weapon. Is that right?'

  'Yes.'

  'And during those six days, did you have an opportunity to meet with him?'

  Westbrook looked into his lap and consulted some notes he'd brought with him. 'I met with him twice, once here in the Hall of Justice, and then again the next day, in the afternoon, at the jail.'

  'And were these long discussions?'

  'The first one, here at court, wasn't too long. We talked about his plea, his parole situation, logistics.'

  'And how about
the second one, at the jail? Was that longer?'

  Again, the young man consulted his notes. 'Yes. We talked for a little under an hour.'

  'And during that discussion, did the name of the defendant in this case, Cole Burgess, come up?'

  'Yes it did. The two men were acquaintances. Cullen heard he'd been arrested for murder and wanted to know if I knew anything about it.'

  'And what did you tell him?'

  'Only what I'd read. That it didn't look too good for him.'

  'Did he mention a gun at all?'

  'No.'

  'And yet, Mr Westbrook, just four days later, you met Mr Alsop again after his plea bargaining arrangement with the District Attorney's office. At that time, did you mention this oversight to him? That he hadn't mentioned the gun to you before?'

  'Yes I did.'

  'And what was his response?'

  'He said that he thought it might be incriminating if he told me he'd ever had the gun. He didn't want to get involved with a murder charge.'

  'But obviously, sometime in the intervening four days, he decided that it would be all right to disclose this information after all, is that true?'

  'Well, apparently that was what he decided.'

  'But he never discussed this legal matter with you, his own attorney?'

  'No, he did not.'

  Hardy walked back to his table and got himself a sip of water. This wasn't going anywhere. He'd been hoping something would occur to Westbrook on the stand that would shake things up a little, but he'd gotten to here and the well was dry. Hardy caught Freeman's eye and after only the slightest hesitation, David nodded. Hardy turned back to the bench. 'Your honor, my associate has a question or two for this witness if it please the court.'

  Hill didn't like it, but then again, he didn't like anything. 'Mr Hardy, you know the rules – one witness, one lawyer. And this is your witness.'

  'Yes, your honor. And if you wish I'll have Mr Freeman write his questions out for me to ask Mr Westbrook, but in the interests of time…'

  Exasperation was Hill's middle name. 'Once, Mr Hardy,' he said wearily. 'Just once, only once, as in never again once. Mr Freeman, you may proceed.'

  Freeman stood at the defense table. He spoke with an exaggerated calm. 'Mr Westbrook. You've just testified that Mr Alsop never discussed this rather significant legal matter with you, is that right?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  And suddenly Freeman's head came up and he exploded. 'WELL WHY NOT?' He came around the table, charging. 'Did you ever ask your client who he talked to about this urgent matter? Weren't you concerned that he just decided on his own to subject himself to the possibility of being charged with murder?'

  'Objection!' The attack had come out of nowhere and caught Torrey flat-footed, so it took him a moment to respond, and now he stammered out, 'Hearsay and speculation.'

  But Freeman was on his horse, galloping. His voice still boomed. 'Everything about Cullen Alsop's deal with the District Attorney, his release from jail and his death is supremely relevant.'

  The courtroom hung in silence. Freeman had his hands on his hips facing the judge. He was completely out of line and totally confident, and Hill bought it. 'Objection overruled,' he said.

  Freeman bobbed his head curtly, thanked the judge, then turned and pointed to the naive, sweet, stunned Westbrook. 'You met your client after he made his deal, did you not?'

  'Yes, sir, I did.'

  Freeman moved up close to the witness box, and pressed his attack. 'Why didn't you ask him about it?'

  'I don't know.'

  'You don't? I think you do, sir.' The words flew out staccato fashion. 'You knew that this deal stunk, didn't you? That it would come back and bite him. Didn't you?'

  Flustered, unsure of exactly what the question meant, Westbrook stammered. 'Well…'

  Torrey was up, yelling, 'Objection!'

  As though he'd proved an important point, Freeman spread his arms in triumph. 'Yes,' he said. 'And now it has. No further questions.'

  'I don't know what you did just then, David,' Hardy said, 'but it sure was fun to watch.' The court was in a recess after Westbrook stepped down. They hadn't left their table, although Cole had gone back with the bailiff to use the bathroom, so they were alone. Freeman didn't show any sign of glee over his performance. He lowered his voice. 'We need a fact here pretty soon or we're dead. If I were Hill, capital case or not, I would have called it already and our boy's going to trial.'

  Hardy turned around and surveyed the courtroom behind him. No Glitsky or Treya. No Logan, either. He thought he'd recognize Visser if he saw him, and didn't. The musketeers were out on their errands. He drew little circles on the legal pad in front of him. He thought he knew so much about this case, but for the life of him he couldn't figure a way to get his vital information in front of Hill. 'We've got to start talking about these tenuous connections and hope the judge stays interested.'

  Freeman shook his head, disagreeing. 'Nope. We need facts,' he repeated. 'Now.'

  Hardy stopped scribbling. 'Is Ridley Banks part of this yet, his connection to Cullen? Both of them either dead or missing. Those are facts.'

  Unconvinced, the old man clucked. 'Slim pickin's,' he said.

  But until Glitsky or someone else hit some pay dirt, it was all they had.

  Jan Falk was obviously a surprise both to the prosecution and to the judge. After he'd been sworn in and had described his position as an undercover narcotics officer, Hill stopped Hardy and beckoned him up before the bench. 'Mr Hardy, as far as I can tell, your last witness brought nothing of any substance to this party. Now I have been granting you extraordinary latitude up until now, and will continue to do so because of the gravity of this case, but I'm not going to tolerate any more fishing expeditions. If you've got something to get out of this witness, it had better become damn clear what it is in a short period of time, or I'll dismiss him. Am I making myself clear?'

  Hardy swallowed, although his mouth was sand. 'Yes, your honor.'

  Treya opened the top left-hand drawer in her old cubicle at Rand and Jackman. It seemed so long since she'd worked there. Her face fell. 'I know, I know, I know I didn't lose it. I'm just so tired, my brain's not working.'

  Glitsky put a hand on her shoulder. 'Didn't you get much sleep?'

  She turned in the chair and laid a gentle palm against his face. 'Stop.'

  He kissed her, then straightened up and sat against the edge of her desk. 'All right,' he said. 'Let's go back to where you were when she gave it to you.'

  'I was in her office.'

  'Where we've been looking at files all this time?'

  'Yes.' Elaine got up abruptly. Glitsky followed her across the hall into the now familiar room, where she went and stood by a low file cabinet. 'This was where I was. She was carrying her leather shoulder briefcase and came in and…' She closed her eyes, trying to bring it back.

  Glitsky, content to watch the subtle changes in her face, let her be.

  'I was holding – that's it – I had a stack of files I was holding and she threw the briefcase on the desk and took out a manila folder and handed it to me while we were talking. Her meeting. She had to run.'

  'So it was with your other files?'

  She nodded. 'But I was going home too. It was almost dinner time.' She took a breath, closed her eyes. 'And first thing next morning I heard about her, and then everything else…'

  'You never filed it.'

  They crossed back to her cubicle, and she sat again, thinking. Suddenly she spun the seat and slid the chair across the small space to a horizontal bank of metal file cabinets. Opening the bottom tray, she sighed with relief. 'Here we go.' Reaching down, she pulled out a loose bundle of folders, perhaps twenty of them. She opened the top folder, sighed again, and handed it to Abe. 'This is the one after she got back from Logan's. It looks like a business ledger, a check register,' she said.

  Glitsky was flipping through the xeroxed pages, twenty or thirty of them. At one of the pages, he
stopped, a puzzled look on his face. 'It's missing some entries here,' he said, flipping to the following page. 'A couple more here. What do you think that's all about?'

  She took the pages and studied them. 'I'm not sure. Voided checks, maybe,' she said. 'What do you think?'

  'I think it's funny,' Abe said. 'A little bit funny.'

  36

  Jan Falk's testimony had only the most tenuous relationship to Cole Burgess, but by the time Hardy was done with him, after three o'clock in the afternoon, he felt certain that he'd forged another link in the chain that bound all these disparate elements to the murder of Elaine Wager.

  Over a near-constant clamor of relevance objections from both Pratt and Torrey, Judge Hill let Hardy make his case. The Cadaver spouted a constant flow of overruling rationalizations, and all of them taken together assumed the force of a mantra.

  'Mr Torrey, this is a capital case. I'm going to let it all in and sort it out at the end.'

  'Mr Torrey, this will go a lot faster if you just let Mr Hardy do what he has to do.'

  'Yes, I realize that defense counsel is arguing his evidence, but you're the one asking for the death penalty, and if you get it, Mr Torrey, every single layer of appellate court in this country is going to review it. They're going to want a complete record of all the issues and I intend to give it to them.'

  'Ms Pratt, if as you say this line of questioning is irrelevant, how could it possibly hurt your case to hear it?'

  'I know my job, Mr Torrey. I will throw out what doesn't belong here. You'll have to trust me on that. But I've told you I'm allowing extreme latitude here, especially after this morning's revelations in Ms Wager's letter to Lieutenant Glitsky.'

  Hardy knew that no judge had ever been reversed for giving the defense what it wanted. He couldn't say whether it was Jeff Elliot's Examiner article, or the judge's time-tested views of the integrity of the DA's office, or Elaine's letter, but whatever had caused it, suddenly the Cadaver appeared compelled by the argument that events surrounding Cullen Alsop's overdose were somehow key to Cole's guilt or innocence.