Michael Connelly - The Fifth Witness

She looked at me as if questioning whether I really meant it: You mean tell the truth?

I nodded.

“You’ll do fine.”

After the break, Freeman went to the lectern and spread open a file containing notes and her written questions. It was just a show for the most part. She did what she could but it is always a challenge to cross-examine an attorney, even a new one. For nearly an hour she tried to shake Aronson on her direct testimony but to no avail.

Eventually, she went in a different direction, using sarcasm whenever possible. A sure sign that she was frustrated.

“So, after that wonderful, happy client conference you had before Christmas, when was the next time you saw your client?”

Aronson had to think for a long moment before answering.

“It would have been after she was arrested.”

“Well, what about phone calls? After the client conference, when was the next time you talked to her on the phone?”

“I am pretty sure she spoke to Mr. Haller a number of times but I did not speak to her again until after her arrest.”

“So during the time between the meeting and the murder, you would have no idea what sort of state of mind your client was in?”

As instructed, my young associate took her time before answering.

“If there had been a change in her view of the case and how it was going I think I would have been informed of it by her directly or through Mr. Haller. But nothing like that occurred.”

“I’m sorry but I didn’t ask what you think. I asked what you directly know. Are you telling this jury that based on your meeting in December, you know what your client’s state of mind was a whole month later?”

“No, I’m not.”

“So you can’t sit there and tell us what Lisa Trammel’s state of mind was on the morning of the murder, can you?”

“I can tell you only what I know from our meeting.”

“And can you tell us what she was thinking when she saw Mitchell Bondurant, the man who was trying to take away her home, that morning at the coffee shop?”

“No, I can’t.”

Freeman looked down at her notes and seemed to hesitate. I knew why. She had a tough decision to make. She knew she had just scored some solid points with the jury and now had to decide whether to try to scrape up a few more or let it end on the high note.

She finally decided she’d gotten enough and folded her file.

“I have nothing further, Your Honor.”

Cisco was scheduled to come up next but the judge broke for an early lunch. I took my team over to Jerry’s Famous Deli in Studio City. Lorna was waiting there in a booth near the door that led to the bowling alley behind the restaurant. I sat next to Jennifer and across from Lorna and Cisco.

“So, how did it go this morning?” Lorna asked.

“Good, I think,” I answered. “Freeman scored some points on cross but I think overall we came out ahead. Jennifer did very well.”

I don’t know if anybody had noticed but I had decided I would no longer be calling her Bullocks. In my estimation she had outgrown the nickname with her performance on the witness stand. She was no longer the young lawyer from the department-store school. She had made her bones on this case with her work in and out of the courtroom.

“And now she gets to sit at the big table!” I added.

Lorna cheered and clapped.

“And now it’s Cisco’s turn,” Aronson said, clearly uncomfortable with the attention.

“Maybe not,” I said. “I think I need to go to Driscoll next.”

“How come?” Aronson said.

“Because this morning in chambers I informed the court and the prosecution of his existence and his addition to my wit list. Freeman objected but she was the one who brought up Facebook so the judge called Driscoll fair game. So now I’m thinking that the faster I get to him the less time Freeman will have to prepare. If I stick with the plan and put Cisco on, Freeman can work him all afternoon while her investigators are running down Driscoll.”

Only Lorna nodded at my reasoning. But that was good enough for me.

“Shit, and I got all dressed up,” Cisco exclaimed.

It was true. My investigator was wearing a long-sleeved collared shirt that looked like it would burst at the seams if he flexed his muscles. I had seen it before, though. It was his testifying shirt.

I ignored his complaint.

“Speaking of Driscoll, what’s his status, Cisco?”

“My guys picked him up this morning and brought him up. Last I heard, he was shooting pool at the club.”

I stared at my investigator.

“They’re not giving him alcohol, right?”

“Course not.”

“That’s all I need, a drunk witness on the stand.”

“Don’t worry. I told them no alcohol.”

“Well, call your guys. Have them deliver Driscoll to the courthouse by one. He’s next.”

It was too loud in the restaurant for a phone call. Cisco slipped out of the booth and headed toward the door while pulling his cell. We watched him go.

“You know, he looks good in a real shirt like that,” Aronson said.

“Really?” Lorna responded. “I don’t like the sleeves.”

I almost didn’t recognize Donald Driscoll with his hair combed and a suit on. Cisco had placed him in a witness room down the hall from the courtroom. When I stepped in he looked up at me from the table with scared eyes.

“How was the Saints club?” I asked.

“I would’ve rather been somewhere else,” he said.

I nodded in false sympathy.

“Are you ready for this?”

“No, but I’m here.”

“Okay, in a few minutes Cisco will come get you and bring you to the courtroom.”

“Whatever.”

“Look, I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but you’re doing the right thing.”

“You’re right… about it not seeming like it now.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

“All right, I’ll see you in there.”

I left the room and signaled to Cisco, who was standing in the hallway with the two men who had been minding Driscoll. I pointed down the hall toward the courtroom and Cisco nodded. I proceeded on and entered the courtroom to find Jennifer Aronson and Lisa Trammel at the defense table. I sat down but before I could say anything to either one of them, the judge entered the courtroom and took the bench. He called for the jury and we quickly went back on the record. I called Donald Driscoll to the stand. After he was sworn in, I got right down to business.

“Mr. Driscoll, what is your profession?”

“I’m in IT.”

“And what does IT mean?”

“Information technology. It means I work with computers, the Internet. I find the best way to use new technologies to gather information for the client or employer or whoever it may be.”

“You are a former employee of ALOFT, correct?”

“Yes, I worked there for ten months until earlier this year.”

“In IT?”

“Yes.”

“What exactly did you do in IT for ALOFT?”

“I had several duties. It’s a very computer-reliant business. A lot of employees and a great need for access to information through the Internet.”

“And you helped them get it.”

“Yes.”

“Now, do you know the defendant, Lisa Trammel?”

“I’ve never met her. I know of her.”

“You know of her from this case?”

“Yeah, but also from before.”

“From before. How so?”

“One of my duties at ALOFT was to try to keep tabs on Lisa Trammel.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know why. I was just told to do it and I did it.”

“Who told you to keep tabs on Lisa Trammel?”

“Mr. Borden, my supervisor.”

“Did he tell you to keep tabs on anybody else?”