Bosch let her go the rest of the way by herself. Maggie McFierce was already at the lectern and she smiled warmly at her witness as she went by. This was Maggie’s moment, too, and I read her smile as one of hope for both women.
We’d had a good morning, with testimony from Bill Clinton, the former tow truck driver, and then Bosch taking the case through to lunch. Clinton told his story about the day of the murder and Jessup borrowing his Dodgers cap just before they became part of the impromptu lineup outside the house on Windsor Boulevard. He also testified to the Aardvark drivers’ frequent use of and familiarity with the parking lot behind the El Rey Theatre, and Jessup’s claim to Windsor Boulevard on the morning of the murder. These were good, solid points for the prosecution, and Clinton gave no quarter to Royce on cross.
Then Bosch took the stand for a third time in the trial. Rather than read previous testimony, this time he testified about his own recent investigation of the case and produced the Dodgers cap—with the initials BC under the brim—from property that had been seized from Jessup during his arrest twenty-four years earlier. We were forced to dance around the fact that the hat as well as Jessup’s other belongings had been in the property room at San Quentin for the past twenty-four years. To bring that information out would be to reveal that Jessup had previously been convicted of Melissa Landy’s murder.
And now Sarah Gleason would be the prosecution’s final witness. Through her the case would come together in the emotional crescendo I was counting on. One sister standing for a long-lost sister. I leaned back in my seat to watch my ex-wife—the best prosecutor I had ever encountered—take us home.
Gleason was sworn in and then took her seat on the stand. She was small and required the microphone to be lowered by the courtroom deputy. Maggie cleared her voice and began.
“Good morning, Ms. Gleason. How are you today?”
“I’m doing pretty good.”
“Can you please tell the jury a little bit about yourself?”
“Um, I’m thirty-seven years old. Not married. I live in Port Townsend, Washington, and I’ve been there about seven years now.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a glass artist.”
“And what was your relationship to Melissa Landy?”
“She was my younger sister.”
“How much younger was she than you?”
“Thirteen months.”
Maggie put a photograph of the two sisters up on the overhead screen as a prosecution exhibit. It showed two smiling girls standing in front of a Christmas tree.
“Can you identify this photo?”
“That was me and Melissa at the last Christmas. Right before she was taken.”
“So that would be Christmas nineteen eighty-five?”
“Yes.”
“I notice that she and you are about the same size.”
“Yes, she wasn’t really my little sister anymore. She had caught up to me.”
“Did you share the same clothes?”
“We shared some things but we also had our favorite things that we didn’t share. That could cause a fight.”
She smiled and Maggie nodded that she understood.
“Now, you said she was taken. Were you referring to February sixteenth of the following year, the date of your sister’s abduction and murder?”
“Yes, I was.”
“Okay, Sarah, I know it will be difficult for you but I would like you to tell the jury what you saw and did on that day.”
Gleason nodded as if steeling herself for what was ahead. I checked the jury and saw every eye holding on her. I then turned and glanced at the defense table and locked eyes with Jessup. I did not look away. I held his defiant stare and tried to send back my own message. That two women—one asking the questions, the other answering them—were going to take him down.
Finally, it was Jessup who looked away.
“Well, it was a Sunday,” Gleason said. “We were going to go to church. My whole family. Melissa and I were in our dresses so my mother told us to go out front.”
“Why couldn’t you use the backyard?”
“My stepfather was building a pool and there was a lot of mud in the back and a big hole. My mother was worried we might fall down and get our dresses dirty.”
“So you went out to the front yard.”
“Yes.”
“And where were your parents at this time, Sarah?”
“My mother was still upstairs getting ready and my stepfather was in the TV room. He was watching sports.”
“Where was the TV room in the house?”
“In the back next to the kitchen.”
“Okay, Sarah, I am going to show you a photo called ‘People’s prosecution exhibit eleven.’ Is this the front of the house where you lived on Windsor Boulevard?”
All eyes went to the overhead screen. The yellow-brick house spread across the screen. It was a long shot from the street, showing a deep front yard with ten-foot hedges running down both sides. There was a front porch that ran the width of the house and that was largely hidden behind ornamental vegetation. There was a paved walkway extending from the sidewalk, across the lawn and to the steps of the front porch. I had reviewed our photo exhibits several times in preparation for the trial. But for the first time, I noticed that the walkway had a crack running down the center of its entire length from sidewalk to front steps. It somehow seemed appropriate, considering what had happened at the home.
“Yes, that was our house.”
“Tell us what happened that day in the front yard, Sarah.”
“Well, we decided to play hide-and-seek while we waited for our parents. I was It first and I found Melissa hiding behind that bush on the right side of the porch.”
She pointed to the exhibit photo that was still on the screen. I realized we had forgotten to give Gleason the laser pointer we had prepared her testimony with. I quickly opened Maggie’s briefcase and found it. I stood and handed it to her. With the judge’s permission, she gave it to the witness.
“Okay, Sarah, could you use the laser to show us?” Maggie asked.
Gleason moved the red laser dot in a circle around a thick bush at the north corner of the front porch.
“So she hid there and you found her?”
“Yes, and then when it was her turn to be It, I decided to hide in the same spot because I didn’t think she would look there at first. When she was finished counting she came down the steps and stood in the middle of the yard.”
“You could see her from your hiding place?”
“Yes, through the bush I could see her. She was sort of turning in a half circle, looking for me.”
“Then what happened?”
“Well, first I heard a truck go by and—”
“Let me just stop you right there, Sarah. You say you heard a truck. You didn’t see it?”
“No, not from where I was hiding.”
“How do you know that it was a truck?”
“It was very loud and heavy. I could feel it in the ground, like a little earthquake.”
“Okay, what happened after you heard the truck?”
“Suddenly I saw a man in the yard… and he went right up to my sister and grabbed her by her wrist.”
Gleason cast her eyes down and held her hands together on the dais in front of her seat.
“Sarah, did you know this man?”
“No, I did not.”
“Had you ever seen him before?”
“No, I had not.”
“Did he say anything?”
“Yes, I heard him say, ‘You have to come with me.’ And my sister said… she said, ‘Are you sure?’ And that was it. I think he said something else but I didn’t hear it. He led her away. To the street.”
“And you stayed in hiding?”
“Yes, I couldn’t… for some reason I couldn’t move. I couldn’t call for help, I couldn’t do anything. I was very scared.”
It was one of those solemn moments
in the courtroom when there was absolute silence except for the voices of the prosecutor and the witness.
“Did you see or hear anything else, Sarah?”
“I heard a door close and then I heard the truck drive away.”
I saw the tears on Sarah Gleason’s cheeks. I thought the courtroom deputy had noticed as well because he took a box of tissues from a drawer in his desk and crossed the courtroom with them. But instead of taking them to Sarah he handed the box to juror number two, who had tears on her cheeks as well. This was okay with me. I wanted the tears to stay on Sarah’s face.
“Sarah, how long was it before you came out from behind the bush where you were hiding and told your parents that your sister had been taken?”
“I think it was less than a minute but it was too late. She was gone.”
The silence that followed that statement was the kind of void that lives can disappear into. Forever.
Maggie spent the next half hour walking Gleason through her memory of what came after. Her stepfather’s desperate 9-1-1 call to the police, the interview she gave to the detectives, and then the lineup she viewed from her bedroom window and her identifying Jason Jessup as the man she saw lead her sister away.
Maggie had to be very careful here. We had used sworn testimony of witnesses from the first trial. The record of that entire trial was available to Royce as well, and I knew without a doubt that he had his assistant counsel, who was sitting on the other side of Jessup, comparing everything Sarah Gleason was saying now with the testimony she gave at the first trial. If she changed one nuance of her story, Royce would be all over her on it during his cross-examination, using the discrepancy to try to cast her as a liar.
To me the testimony came off as fresh and not rehearsed. This was a testament to the prep work of the two women. Maggie smoothly and efficiently brought her witness to the vital moment when Sarah reconfirmed her identification of Jessup.
“Was there any doubt at all in your mind when you identified Jason Jessup in nineteen eighty-six as the man who took your sister?”
“No, none at all.”
“It has been a long time, Sarah, but I ask you to look around the courtroom and tell the jury whether you see the man who abducted your sister on February sixteenth, nineteen eighty-six?”
“Yes, him.”
She spoke without hesitation and pointed her finger at Jessup.
“Would you tell us where he is seated and describe an article of clothing he is wearing?”
“He’s sitting next to Mr. Royce and he has a dark blue tie and a light blue shirt.”
I paused and looked at Judge Breitman.
“Let the record show that the witness has identified the defendant,” she said.
I went right back to Sarah.
“After all these years, do you have any doubt that he is the man who took your sister?”
“None at all.”
Maggie turned and looked at the judge.
“Your Honor, it may be a bit early but I think now would be a good time to take the afternoon break. I am going to go in a different direction with this witness at this point.”
“Very well,” Breitman said. “We will adjourn for fifteen minutes and I will expect to see everyone back here at two-thirty-five. Thank you.”
Sarah said she wanted to use the restroom and left the courtroom with Bosch running interference and making sure she would not cross paths with Jessup in the hallway. Maggie sat down at the defense table and we huddled.
“You have ’em, Maggie. This is what they’ve been waiting all week to hear and it’s better than they thought it was going to be.”
She knew I was talking about the jury. She didn’t need my approval or encouragement but I had to give it.
“Now comes the hard part,” she said. “I hope she holds up.”
“She’s doing great. And I’m sure Harry’s telling her that right now.”
Maggie didn’t respond. She started flipping through the legal pad that had her notes and the rough script of the examination. Soon she was immersed in the next hour’s work.
Thirty-four
Wednesday, April 7, 2:30 P.M.
Bosch had to shoo away the reporters when Sarah Gleason came out of the restroom. Using his body as a shield against the cameras he walked her back to the courtroom.
“Sarah, you’re doing really well,” he said. “You keep it up and this guy’s going right back to where he belongs.”
“Thanks, but that was the easy part. It’s going to get hard now.”
“Don’t kid yourself, Sarah. There is no easy part. Just keep thinking about your sister, Melissa. Somebody has to stand up for her. And right now that’s you.”
As they got to the courtroom door, he realized that she had smoked a cigarette in the restroom. He could smell it on her.
Inside, he walked her down the center aisle and delivered her to Maggie McFierce, who was waiting at the gate. Bosch gave the prosecutor the nod. She was doing really well herself.
“Finish the job,” he said.
“We will,” Maggie said.
After passing the witness off, Bosch doubled back up the center aisle to the sixth row. He had spotted Rachel Walling sitting in the middle of the row. He now squeezed around several reporters and observers to get to her. The space next to her was open and he sat down.
“Harry.”
“Rachel.”
“I think the man who was in that space was planning on coming back.”
“That’s okay. Once court starts, I have to move back up. You should’ve told me you were coming. Mickey said you were here the other day.”
“When I have some time I like to come by. It’s a fascinating case so far.”
“Well, let’s hope the jury thinks it’s more than fascinating. I want this guy back in San Quentin so bad I can taste it.”
“Mickey told me Jessup was moonlighting. Is that still—”
She lowered her voice to a whisper when she saw Jessup walking down the aisle and back to his seat at the defense table.
“—happening?”
Bosch matched her whisper.
“Yeah, and last night it almost went completely south on us. The SIS lost him.”
“Oh, no.”
The judge’s door opened and she stepped out and headed up to the bench. Everyone stood. Bosch knew he had to get back to the prosecution table in case he was needed.
“But I found him,” he whispered. “I have to go, but are you sticking around this afternoon?”
“No, I have to go back to the office. I’m just on a break right now.”
“Okay, Rachel, thanks for coming by. I’ll talk to you.”
As people started sitting back down he worked his way out of the row and then quickly went back down the aisle and through the gate to take a seat in the row of chairs directly behind the prosecution table.
McPherson continued her direct examination of Sarah Ann Gleason. Bosch thought that both prosecutor and witness had been doing an exceptional job so far, but he also knew that they were moving into new territory now and soon everything said before wouldn’t matter if what was said now wasn’t delivered in a believable and unassailable fashion.
“Sarah,” McPherson began, “when did your mother marry Kensington Landy?”
“When I was six.”
“Did you like Ken Landy?”
“No, not really. At first things were okay but then everything changed.”
“You, in fact, attempted to run away from home just a few months before your sister’s death, isn’t that right?”
“Yes.”
“I show you People’s exhibit twelve, a police report dated November thirtieth, nineteen eighty-five. Can you tell the jury what that is?”
McPherson delivered copies of the report to the witness, the judge and the defense table. Bosch had found the report during his record search on the case. It had been a lucky break.
“It’s a missing persons report,” Gleason said. “My m
other reported me missing.”
“And did the police find you?”
“No, I just came home. I didn’t have anyplace to go.”
“Why did you run away, Sarah?”
“Because my stepfather… was having sex with me.”
McPherson nodded and let the answer hang out there in the courtroom for a long moment. Three days ago Bosch would have expected Royce to jump all over this part of the testimony but now he knew that this played to the defense’s case as well. Kensington Landy was the straw man and any testimony that supported that would be welcomed.
“When did this start?” McPherson finally asked.
“The summer before I ran away,” Gleason responded. “The summer before Melissa got taken.”
“Sarah, I am sorry to put you through these bad memories. You testified earlier that you and Melissa shared some of each other’s clothes, correct?”
“Yes.”
“The dress she wore on the day she was taken, that was your dress, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
McPherson then introduced the dress as the state’s next exhibit and Bosch set it up for display to the jury on a headless manikin he placed in front of the jury box.
“Is this the dress, Sarah?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Now, you notice that there is a square of material removed from the bottom front hem of the dress. You see that, Sarah?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know why that was removed?”
“Yes, because they found semen on the dress there.”
“You mean forensic investigators?”
“Yes.”
“Now, is this something you knew back at the time of your sister’s death?”
“I know it now. I wasn’t told about it back then.”
“Do you know who the semen was genetically identified as belonging to?”
“Yes, I was told it came from my stepfather.”
“Did that surprise you?”
“No, unfortunately.”
“Do you have any explanation for how it could have gotten on your dress?”
Now Royce objected, saying that the question called for speculation. It also called for the witness to diverge from the defense theory, but he didn’t mention that. Breitman sustained the objection and McPherson had to find another way of getting there.
The Lincoln Lawyer Collection Page 104
