“Jeez, look at all of these people,” Lorna said. “Don’t they know that a not-guilty verdict doesn’t mean she’s innocent?”
“That’s bad etiquette, Lorna,” I said. “You’re never supposed to say that, especially when it’s your own client you’re talking about.”
“I know.”
She frowned and shook her head.
“You’re not a believer, Lorna?”
“Well, don’t tell me you are.”
I was glad I was wearing sunglasses. I didn’t want to reveal myself on this one. I shrugged like I didn’t know or it didn’t matter.
But it did. You have to live with yourself. Knowing that there was a solid chance that Lisa Trammel actually deserved the verdict she got made things a whole lot better when I looked in the mirror.
“Well, I’ll tell you one thing,” Lorna said. “Our phone hasn’t stopped ringing since the verdict came in. We’re back in business big time.”
Cisco nodded approvingly. It was true. It seemed as though every accused criminal in the city wanted to hire me now. This would’ve been great if I had wanted things to continue the way they were going.
“Did you check out the closing price on LeMure yesterday on NASDAQ?” Cisco asked.
I gave him a look.
“You following the Street now?”
“Just wanted to see if anybody was paying attention and it looks like they were. LeMure dropped thirty percent of its value in two days. Didn’t help that the Wall Street Journal ran a story connecting Opparizio to Joey Giordano and questioning how much of that sixty-one mill he got went into the mob’s pocket.”
“Probably all of it,” Lorna said.
“So Mickey,” Aronson said. “How’d you know?”
“Know what?”
“That Opparizio would take the nickel.”
I shrugged again.
“I didn’t. I just figured that once it became apparent that his connections were going to come out in open court, he would do what he had to do to stop it. He had one choice. The Fifth.”
Aronson didn’t look as though my answer appeased her. I turned away and looked across the crowded yard. My client’s son was at a nearby table with her sister. They both looked bored, as if forced to be there. A large group of children had gathered near the terraced herb garden. A woman in the middle of the circle was handing out candy from a bag. She was wearing a red, white and blue top hat like Uncle Sam’s.
“How long do we need to stay, Boss?” Cisco asked.
“You’re not on the clock,” I said. “I just thought we should put in an appearance.”
“I want to stay,” Lorna said, probably just to spite him. “Maybe some Hollywood people will show up.”
A few minutes later the main attraction of the day came out the back door, followed by a reporter and a cameraman. They picked a location with the crowd in the background and Lisa Trammel stood for a quick interview. I didn’t bother to try to listen. I’d heard and seen the same interview enough over the past two days.
After Lisa finished the interview she broke away from the media, shook some hands and posed for some photos. Eventually, she made her way to our table, stopping to ruffle her son’s hair on the way.
“There they are. The victors! How’s my team doing today?”
I managed to smile.
“We’re good, Lisa. And you look fine, too. Where’s Herb?”
She looked around as if searching for Dahl in the crowd.
“I don’t know. He was supposed to be here.”
“Too bad,” Cisco said. “We’ll miss him.”
Lisa didn’t seem to register the sarcasm.
“You know I need to talk to you later, Mickey,” she said. “I need your advice on which show to do. Good Morning America or Today? They both want me next week but I have to pick one because neither will take seconds.”
I flipped my hand as if the answer didn’t matter.
“I don’t know. Herb can probably help you with that. He’s the media guy.”
Lisa looked back at the gathering of children and started to smile.
“Oh, I have just the thing for those children. Excuse me, everybody.”
She hurried off and went around the corner of the house.
“She’s sure loving it, isn’t she?” Cisco said.
“I would be, too,” Lorna said.
I looked at Aronson.
“Why so quiet?”
She shrugged.
“I don’t know. I’m not so sure I like criminal defense anymore. I think if you take on some of those people who have been calling, I’ll stick with the foreclosures. If you don’t mind.”
I nodded.
“I think I know what you’re feeling. You can do the foreclosure work if you want to. There’s going to be plenty of that for a while, especially with guys like Opparizio still in business. But that feeling you’ve got does go away. Believe me, Bullocks, it does.”
She didn’t respond to the return of her nickname or anything else I had said. I turned to look across the yard. Lisa was back and she had rolled out the helium tank from the garage. She told the children to gather around and started filling balloons. The TV cameraman moved in to get the shot. It would be perfect for the six o’clock news.
“Now, is she doing that for the kids or for the camera?” Cisco asked.
“You really have to ask?” Lorna responded.
Lisa pulled a blue balloon off the tank and expertly tied it off with a string. She handed it to a girl of about six, who grabbed the string and let the balloon shoot six feet above her head. The girl smiled and turned her face up to gaze at her new toy. And in that moment I knew what Mitchell Bondurant was looking up at when Lisa hit him with the hammer.
“She did it,” I whispered under my breath.
I felt the burn of a million synapses firing down my neck and across my shoulders.
“What did you say?” Aronson asked me.
I looked at her but didn’t answer and then looked back at my client. She filled another balloon with gas, tied the knot and handed it to a boy. The same thing happened again. The boy held the string and turned his cheery face up to look at the red balloon. An instinctive, natural response. To look up at the balloon.
“Oh, my God,” Aronson said.
She had put it together, too.
“That’s how she did it.”
Now Cisco and Lorna had turned.
“The witness said she was carrying a big shopping bag on the sidewalk,” Aronson said. “Big enough to hold a hammer, yes, but also big enough to hold balloons.”
I took it from there.
“She sneaks into the garage and puts the balloons up over Bondurant’s parking space. Maybe there’s a note on the end of each string so he’s sure to see them.”
“Yeah,” Cisco said. “Like, here’s your balloon payment.”
“She hides behind the pillar and waits,” I said.
“And when Bondurant looks up at the balloons,” Cisco concluded, “bang, right on the back of the head.”
I nodded.
“And the two pops somebody thought were gunshots but were dismissed as backfire were neither,” I said. “She popped the balloons on the way out.”
A dreadful silence fell over the table. Until Lorna spoke.
“Wait a minute. You’re saying she planned it that way? Like she knew if she hit him on the top of the head it would throw the jury?”
I shook my head.
“No, that was just luck. She just wanted to stop him. She used the balloons to make sure he paused and she could come up behind him. The rest was just dumb luck… something that a defense lawyer knew how to use.”
I couldn’t look at my colleagues. I stared off at Lisa filling balloons.
“So… we helped her get away with it.”
It was a statement from Lorna. Not a question.
“Double jeopardy,” Aronson said. “She can never be tried again.”
As if on cue Lisa looked ov
er at us while she tied off the end of a white balloon. She handed it to another child.
And she smiled at me.
“Cisco, how much are they charging for the beer?”
“Five bucks a can. It’s a rip-off.”
“Mickey, don’t,” Lorna said. “It’s not worth it. You’ve been so good.”
I pulled my eyes away from my client and looked at Lorna.
“Good? Are you saying I’m one of the good guys?”
I got up and left them there and headed toward the backyard bar, where I took my place in line. I expected Lorna to follow me but it was Aronson who came up next to me. She spoke in a very low voice.
“Look, what are you doing? You told me not to grow a conscience. Are you telling me you did?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered. “All I know is that she played me like a fucking fiddle and you know what? She knows I know. She just gave me that smile. I saw it in her eyes. She’s proud of it. She pulled the tank into the yard so I would see it and I would know…”
I shook my head.
“She had me wired from day one. Everything was part of her plan. Every last—”
I stopped as I realized something.
“What?” Aronson asked.
I paused as I continued to put it together.
“What, Mickey?”
“Her husband wasn’t even her husband.”
“What do you mean?”
“The guy calling me, the guy who showed up. Where is he now for the big payday? He’s not here because that wasn’t him. He was just part of the play.”
“Then where is the husband?”
That was the question. But I had no answer. I didn’t have any answers anymore.
“I’m leaving.”
I stepped out of the line and headed toward the back door.
“Mickey, where are you going?”
I didn’t answer. I quickly passed through the house and out the front door. I had arrived early enough to grab a curb slot only two houses down. I was almost to the Lincoln when I heard my name called from behind.
It was Lisa. She was walking toward me in the street.
“Mickey! You’re leaving?”
“Yes, I’m leaving.”
“Why? The party’s just starting.”
She came up close to me and stopped.
“I’m leaving because I know, Lisa. I know.”
“What do you think you know?”
“That you used me like you use everybody. Even Herb Dahl.”
“Oh, come on, you’re a defense lawyer. You’ll get more business out of this than you’ve ever had before.”
Just like that, she acknowledged everything.
“What if I didn’t want the business? What if I just wanted to believe something was true?”
She paused. She didn’t get it.
“Get over yourself, Mickey. Wake up.”
I nodded. It was good advice.
“Who was he, Lisa?” I asked.
“Who was who?”
“The guy you sent me who said he was your husband.”
Now a small proud smile curled her bottom lip.
“Goodbye, Mickey. Thank you for everything.”
She turned and started walking back toward her house. And I got in my Lincoln and drove away.
Fifty-four
I was in the backseat of the Lincoln cruising through the Third Street tunnel when my phone started to buzz. The screen said it was Maggie. I told Rojas to kill the music—it was “Judgement Day” off the latest Eric Clapton album—and took the call.
“Did you do it?” she asked first thing.
I looked out the window as we broke clear of the tunnel and into the bright sunlight. It fit with the way I was feeling. It had been three weeks since the verdict and the further I got away from it the better I felt. I was on the road to something else now.
“I did.”
“Wow! Congratulations.”
“I’m still the longest long shot you’ll ever see. The field is full and I’ve got no money.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re a name in this town and there’s a certain integrity about you that people see and respond to. I know I did. Plus you’re an outsider. Outsiders always win. So don’t kid yourself, the money will come.”
I wasn’t sure integrity and me belonged in the same sentence. But I’d take the rest and, besides, it was the happiest I’d heard Maggie McFierce in a long, long time.
“Well, we’ll see,” I said. “But as long as I have your vote, I don’t care if I get another.”
“That’s sweet, Haller. What’s next?”
“Good question. I have to go open a bank account and assemble a—”
My phone started beeping. I had another call coming in. I checked the screen and saw that it was blocked.
“Mags, hold on a second, let me just check this call.”
“Go ahead.”
I switched over.
“This is Michael Haller.”
“You did this.”
I recognized the angry voice. Lisa Trammel.
“Did what?”
“The police are here! They’re digging up the garden looking for him. You sent them!”
I assumed the “him” she referred to was her missing husband, who never quite made it to Mexico. Her voice had the familiar shrill tone it took on when she was on the edge of losing it.
“Lisa, I—”
“I need you here! I need a lawyer. They’re going to arrest me!”
Meaning that she knew what the police would find in the garden.
“Lisa, I’m not your lawyer anymore. I can recommend a—”
“Nooooo! You can’t abandon me! Not now!”
“Lisa, you just accused me of sending the cops. Now you want me to represent you?”
“I need you, Mickey. Please.”
She started crying, that long echoing sob I had heard too many times before.
“Get somebody else, Lisa. I’m done. With any luck I might even get to prosecute you.”
“What are you talking about?
“I just filed. I’m running for district attorney.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m changing my life. I’m tired of being around people like you.”
There was no response at first but I could hear her breathing. When she finally spoke, her voice had a flat, emotionless tone to it.
“I should have told Herb to have them maim you. That’s what you deserve.”
Now I was silent. I knew what she was talking about. The Mack brothers. Dahl had lied to me and said Opparizio had ordered the beating. But that didn’t fit with the rest of the story. This did. It had been Lisa who wanted it done. She was willing to have her own attorney attacked if it would deflect suspicion and help her case. If it would help me believe in other possibilities.
I managed to find my voice and say my final words to her.
“Goodbye, Lisa. And good luck.”
I composed myself and switched back over to my ex-wife.
“Sorry… it was a client. A former client.”
“Everything all right?”
I leaned against the window. Rojas was just turning on Alvarado and heading to the 101.
“I’m good. So you want to go somewhere tonight and talk about the campaign?”
“You know, while I was on hold I was thinking, why don’t you come to my place? We can eat with Hayley and then talk while she does her homework.”
It was a rare invite to her home.
“So a guy has to run for DA to get invited over to your place?”
“Don’t press your luck, Haller.”
“I won’t. What time?”
“Six.”
“See you then.”
I disconnected and stared out the window for a little while.
“Mr. Haller?” Rojas asked. “You’re running for DA?”
“Yeah. You have a problem with that, Rojas?”
“No, Boss. But do you still ne
ed a driver?”
“Sure, Rojas, your job is safe.”
I called the office and Lorna answered.
“Where is everybody?”
“They’re here. Jennifer is using your office for a new client interview. A foreclosure. And Dennis is doing something on the computer. Where have you been?”
“Downtown. But I’m heading back. Make sure nobody leaves. I want to have a staff meeting.”
“Okay, I’ll tell them.”
“Good. See you in about thirty.”
I closed the phone. We were coming up the ramp onto the 101. All six lanes were clogged with metal, moving at a steady but slow pace. I wouldn’t have had it any other way. This was my city and this was the way it was supposed to run. At Rojas’s command, the black Lincoln cut through the lanes and around the traffic, carrying me toward a new destiny.
Acknowledgments
The author wishes to thank several people for their help during the writing of this novel. They include Asya Muchnick, Bill Massey, Terrill Lee Lankford, Jane Davis and Heather Rizzo. Special thanks also go to Susanna Brougham, Tracy Roe, Daniel Daly, Roger Mills, Jay Stein, Rick Jackson, Tim Marcia, Mike Roche, Greg Stout, John Houghton, Dennis Wojciechowski, Charles Hounchell and last but not least, Linda Connelly.
This is a novel. Any errors of fact, geography or legal canon and procedure are purely the fault of the author.
And for more Michael Connelly…
Please turn this page for a preview of The Drop, available in October 2011.
One
Christmas came once a month in the Open-Unsolved Unit. That was when, like Santa Claus, the lieutenant made her way around the squad room, parceling out yellow envelopes like presents to the squad’s six detective teams. They contained cold hits, the lifeblood of the unit. The teams didn’t wait for callouts and fresh kills in Open-Unsolved. They waited for cold hits.
The Open-Unsolved Unit investigated unsolved murders going back fifty years in Los Angeles. There were six thousand of them. The unit consisted of twelve detectives, a secretary, a squad room supervisor known as the whip, and the lieutenant. The first five teams of detectives had each been randomly assigned ten of those fifty years. Their task was to pull from archives all the unsolved homicide cases, evaluate them and submit long-stored, long-forgotten evidence for reanalysis using contemporary technology. All DNA submissions were handled by the new regional lab at Cal State. A match between DNA from an old case and that of an individual whose genetic profile was carried in any of the nation’s DNA databases was called a cold hit. The lab put cold-hit notices into the mail at the end of every month. They would arrive a day or two later at the Police Administration Building in downtown Los Angeles. Usually by 8 A.M. that day, the lieutenant would open the door of her private office and enter the squad room. She carried the envelopes in her hand. Each hit sheet was mailed individually in a yellow business envelope. Typically, an envelope was handed to the pair of detectives who had submitted the related DNA evidence to the lab. But sometimes there were too many cold hits for one team to handle at once. Sometimes detectives were in court or on vacation or leave. And sometimes the cold hits revealed circumstances that required the utmost finesse and experience. That was where the sixth team came in. Detectives Harry Bosch and David Chu were the sixth team. They were floaters. They handled overflow cases and special investigations.
The Fifth Witness: A Novel Page 43
