John Lescroart - The Hearing

'No. Not once.'

'So you did not treat the barrel and the grip with Armor-All?'

Finally, a slight reaction. Visser threw a quick glance at Logan, then came back front. 'No.'

Pacing a few steps to one side, Hardy appeared to be deep in thought. 'Mr Visser, you used to be a homicide inspector, did you not?'

'Yeah. So what?'

'So in that capacity, were you familiar with the use of Armor-All as an agent to prevent fingerprints from adhering to surfaces such as the metal or grips of a gun?'

'Yeah, sure. It's everyday.'

'So you never touched the gun, Defense Exhibit J?'

'Your honor,' Logan interrupted. 'Mr Visser has already answered this question. He never touched the gun.'

Hardy spoke up. 'I just wanted to give Mr Visser a chance to consider that answer, your honor. So he'd be absolutely sure.'

Logan gave Visser an almost imperceptible nod, and the witness answered, 'I'm sure.'

'I wonder, then.' Hardy adopted an exaggerated calm. He was about to take a calculated risk, a pure bluff, but it seemed necessary. The two guys were slick enough not to give anything away. He had to get one of them running, startled into a false first step. 'I wonder how you explain the presence of your fingerprints on the bullets in the weapon.'

Visser swallowed visibly, answering too quickly, grabbing at a police trick he did know. 'I'm sure they transferred the print from the tape on the heroin bag. It's the easiest thing in the world.'

'Really?' Hardy smiled coldly and kept pushing. 'How do they make a thumb turn into an index finger?'

'I don't know. They…' A flush was creeping up Visser's face. His panicked eyes flicked again to Logan, who suddenly had nothing to say. 'All right, but I-'

'All right?' Hardy almost jumped at him. 'All right you took the gun from the evidence locker? Is that what you're saying now, Mr Visser?'

'Big deal,' Visser snapped.

Finally Logan, a step too late, seemed to realize that Visser had been tricked. 'Don't say any more, Gene.' Then to the judge, 'Your honor, my client will refuse to answer.'

Hardy stepped quickly up to the stand, his voice urgent now. 'Mr Visser, let's go to the murder weapon in this case. Did you get it the same way?'

The witness didn't answer. Hardy followed his desperate stare, and turned to see Torrey with his head lowered, looking down at the prosecution table. Logan stood tongue-tied next to him. His allies were all abandoning him. 'I never…' he began to blurt out.

'Gene!' Logan warned him.

'After you stole it, Mr Visser, did you treat that weapon with Armor-All as well so it wouldn't hold your prints? Is that your standard practice?'

Visser's jaw was working under his jowls. It was far from warm in the courtroom, and yet sweat had broken on his high forehead. 'I didn't take that gun. You can't prove that I did.'

'I can't? I think I just did,' Hardy replied evenly. He really didn't care. He'd gotten what he wanted. Visser could deny until he was blue in the face, but he knew that the Cadaver was with him on the murder weapon. Now all that was left was to get that gun to Maiden Lane on February 1. 'Your honor, I may need to recall this witness once again, but for now I'm through with him.'

Hill gave Hardy a surprised look, then asked Pratt if she had any questions in cross-examination. She did not.

Visser and Logan hadn't even gotten to their seats when Hardy turned back to the bench. 'The defense would call Estelle Gold.'

The sprightly Mrs Gold was pushing sixty. She dyed her hair bright red to match her lipstick and nail polish. She combed it back, held by large clips, to show off the gaudy costume jewelry earrings she favored. Wearing a simple cotton housecoat under a down overcoat and no-nonsense walking shoes, she got up from her chair in Glitsky's row and marched in a slightly bow-legged fashion past the last witnesses and up into the bullpen, while the gallery hummed with conjecture. Who the hell was she?

Hardy wasn't going to keep them waiting long to find out. 'Mrs Gold, can you tell us your profession, please?'

'I'm a waitress, honey, and proud of it. Been a waitress for forty years and hope to go another twenty if my legs hold up, and I don't see why they wouldn't.'

'I'm sure they will, Mrs Gold. Can you tell the court where you are working now?'

'David's Deli.'

'On Geary Street?'

'That's right, honey. Same location for about a hundred years. David's on Geary.' She nodded, adding, 'Across from the ACT.' The American Conservatory Theater.

'Yes, ma'am. That pretty well nails it down. And were you working there on Sunday night, January thirty-first, of this year?'

'Yes I was. I always work Sundays. Better tips than you'd think.' She played a bit with the back of her hair, shifted for comfort in the witness chair.

'Mrs Gold, did you personally know Elaine Wager, the deceased in this case?'

Her face clouded over. 'I certainly did.'

'How was that? Was she a regular customer?'

'Yes, sir. Never went more than a couple of weeks without she'd stop by for something. And always asked for me,' she added with pride.

'And did she come to David's on Sunday, January thirty-first?'

Mrs Gold nodded. 'She was there most of the night in the very back booth.'

'Most of the night?' Hardy repeated. 'Was she eating alone?'

'No, sir. I don't think she even ate much at all. Just drank a lot of tea. She was having some serious talk. Real serious, it seemed to me.' She frowned at a memory. 'She even told me to stop coming by. She'd come get me if she needed something. She was never like that usually.'

'So you'd say she acted upset?'

'Yep. Impatient, like. Frustrated.'

'But she stayed there most of the night, is that right?'

'Right.'

'Until what time, would you estimate?'

'Well, we'd already closed up the rest of the back room, so it was after midnight. Say twelve thirty?'

'Twelve thirty on the night she was killed,' Hardy repeated, glancing up at Hill. 'And was she there with another person the whole time?'

'Yes, sir. They met at the front door and came back together.'

Hardy stepped away to the side of the witness box. 'Now, Mrs Gold, I'd like to ask you to take your time and look carefully and tell me if you recognize that person – the person who sat arguing with Elaine Wager on the last night of her life. Is that person in this courtroom?'

'Yes, sir,' Mrs Gold said with no hesitation, raising a hand and pointing. 'Right there, at that table. The woman, not the man.'

'Mrs Gold, are you pointing to Sharron Pratt, the District Attorney of San Francisco?'

'Is that her name? Yeah, whatever, that was her.'

Stunned by Estelle Gold's testimony, the courtroom collectively seemed to suck in its breath. Pratt herself opened and closed her mouth several times, until she finally got to her feet and managed to speak. 'I did not kill her,' she whispered. Then repeated, more strongly, 'I did not kill her.'

From his spot in the middle of the courtroom, Hardy spoke gently. 'No, I don't think you did, Ms Pratt.'

'But then…' Hill all but stammered up on the bench. 'Mr Hardy?'

'The defense calls Gabriel Torrey.'

In spite of everything, the Chief Assistant gave no sign that he was beaten yet. He sat straight-backed in the witness chair, his face set but by no means fearful. If anything, he appeared ready for a fight.

Hardy stood squared off five feet in front of him. 'Mr Torrey, did you meet with Elaine Wager on the night she was killed?'

'No, of course not.'

'No? Was that because you were, in fact, out with Ms Pratt the entire evening?'

'No. I wasn't out with Ms Pratt.'

'That's right, you weren't. If you had been, Estelle Gold would have seen you at David's Deli, isn't that right?'