Майкл Коннелли - Two Kinds of Truth

Kennedy jumped up again and hotly objected to the implication that there was corruption in either the property control section of the LAPD or the two detectives who reworked the case for the CIU.

“The moves by detectives Soho and Tapscott were well documented and aboveboard,” Kennedy said. “Knowing that desperate people sometimes make desperate claims, they went so far as to video their unsealing of the evidence box themselves in order to document that no tampering had taken place.”

Haller jumped in before the judge could respond.

“Exactly,” he said. “They videoed the whole thing, and if it may please the Court, I would like to play that video as part of my proffer. I have it cued up and ready to go on my laptop, Your Honor. I ask for the Court’s indulgence in extending my time. I can hook up my computer to the screen very quickly.”

He gestured toward the video screen on the wall opposite the jury box. There was a silence as Houghton considered the request, even as others in the courtroom were probably considering how Haller got a copy of the video. Bosch saw Soto sneak a sideways glance at him. He knew he was breaking their unspoken rule of confidentiality. She had not shared the video with him so he could use it in court.

“Set it up, Mr. Haller,” Houghton said. “I’ll consider it part of the proffer.”

Haller turned from the lectern and grabbed his briefcase, which was on the floor in front of the chair next to Bosch. As he opened the briefcase on the chair and retrieved his laptop, he spoke under his breath to Bosch.

“This is it,” he said.

“Like lambs to slaughter, right?” Bosch whispered.

Five minutes later Haller had the video playing on the wall screen. Everyone in the courtroom, including those who had already seen the video multiple times, watched with rapt attention. It ended without reaction from the judge or anyone else.

Haller then passed out copies of an 8 x 10 screen grab from the video to all the parties and the judge, then returned to the lectern.

“I’m going to play the video again but what you have in front of you is a screen grab from the one minute, eleven second mark,” he said.

He started replaying the video and then stopped it, freezing the screen on the moment that Terrence Spencer could be seen watching the two detectives from the next room.

Haller now pulled a pen-size laser pointer from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and circled the image of Spencer with a glowing red dot.

“This man, what is he doing? Just watching? Or does he have an interest that goes beyond curiosity?”

Kennedy stood once again.

“Your Honor, counsel’s flights of fancy are getting ridiculous. The video clearly shows the box was not tampered with. So what does he do? He tries to draw the eye away from what is obvious to something and someone who clearly works in the property control unit and would have a vested interest in monitoring the unsealing of evidence. Can we please move on from this charade and get to the sad business of correcting a severe miscarriage of justice?”

“Mr. Haller,” Houghton said. “My patience is also wearing thin.”

“Your Honor, if allowed to continue, my proffer will be completed in the next five minutes,” Haller said.

“Very well,” Houghton said. “Continue. With speed.”

“Thank you. As I was asking before being interrupted, what is this man doing? Well, we got curious and tried to find out. As it happens, Detective Bosch recognized this man as a longtime employee of the Property Control Unit. His name is Terrence Spencer. We decided to look into Mr. Spencer and what we found may startle the Court.”

Haller took another document from his file and glanced over at Lance Cronyn as he delivered it to the clerk, who in turn delivered it to the judge. While the judge was looking at it, Bosch saw Haller step back behind the lectern and use it as a blind as he pulled his phone from his pocket, held it down by his hip, and read a text message that was on the screen.

Bosch knew it was most likely the message from Cisco about Spencer that Haller had been waiting for.

Haller dropped the phone back into his pocket and continued to address the judge.

“What we found was that seven years ago Terrence Spencer almost lost his house in a foreclosure. It was a bad time in this country and a lot of people were in the same boat. Spencer got upside down, couldn’t make double mortgage payments, and the banks had lost patience. And he would have lost his house if it had not been for the efforts of his foreclosure attorney, Kathy Zelden, whom many of us in this courtroom now know as Kathy Cronyn.”

Bosch could literally feel the air in the courtroom go still. Houghton went from slouching in his luxurious leather chair to coming forward and leaning intently over the bench. He was holding up the document Haller had provided and intently scanning it as Haller continued.

“Zelden, now Cronyn, saved Spencer’s house at the time,” he said. “But all she really did was put off the inevitable. She put Spencer into a hard-money refi that carried a massive, half-million-dollar balloon payment due in seven years. Due, I should say, to a privately held investment fund that controlled whether or not Spencer could sell his property in an effort to get out from beneath the balloon. They chose to prevent the house’s sale because they knew it would come to them in foreclosure this summer.

“Well, poor Terry Spencer had no way out. He didn’t have half a million dollars and had no way to get it. He couldn’t even sell his house, because the mortgage holder wouldn’t allow it. So what does he do? He calls up his old lawyer, now a full partner in Cronyn and Cronyn, and says, What am I going to do? And Your Honor, from that point on, a conspiracy began. A conspiracy to defraud the District Attorney’s Office and frame my client for planting evidence. All in an effort to free Preston Borders and collect a multimillion-dollar settlement from the city of Los Angeles.”

Lance Cronyn stood up, ready to argue. Kennedy was hesitantly rising. But the judge held up his hand to stop all from speaking and looked squarely at Haller.

“Mr. Haller,” he intoned. “Those are very significant allegations. Do you plan to offer any evidence to go with them if I allow you to present this in open court?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Haller said. “The last witness I would present is Terrence Spencer himself. We were able to locate him over the weekend, hiding out at a home down in Laguna Beach that happens to be owned by the Cronyns. I had him served with a subpoena, and at this moment he’s out in the hallway with my investigator and ready to take the stand.”

The threat of Terrence Spencer’s testimony seemed to momentarily freeze things in the courtroom. Then it was Preston Borders who broke the silence with laughter. It started low and soon became a head-back, full-throated burst of mirthless irony. He then cut it off as if with the blade of a knife and spoke to his lawyer with a deadly snarl in his voice.

“You fucking moron. You said this would work. You said it was foolproof.”

Borders tried to stand but forgot that the lead chain between his legs had been clamped to his seat. He rose with the seat still awkwardly attached to him and then dropped back down.

“Get me out of here. Just take me back.”

Cronyn tried to huddle in close in order to silence his client.

“Get the fuck away from me, asshole. I’m going to tell them everything. Your whole fucking plan.”

Kennedy rose then, seeing the only path he could take. There was a stunned look on his face.

“Your Honor, at this time, the state wishes to withdraw its motions in this matter,” he said. “The state now opposes the habeas petition.”