John Lescroart - Guilt

There was a muffled chorus of 'right-ons' and 'Yeahs' from the gallery, but Thomasino's glare put a quick stop to it. 'However,' the Judge continued, 'although equally remote in time, the character testimony of Diane Price regarding her alleged rape is that of a first-hand witness…'

'Your honor!' Farrell could see the way this might go, and he had to object. 'This alleged rape never took place, and even if it did, it has nothing to do with the crime Mr Dooher is charged with. You can't allow-'

'Mr Farrell! The issue is only going to arise if you bring up character in the first place. If you do, then as you know, the prosecution can bring rebuttal witnesses. If you, in turn, wish to attack the credibility of those witnesses, you may.'

'Yes, your honor, but-'

Thomasino cut him off by addressing Jenkins. 'Ms Jenkins, it is the court's ruling that you may call Diane Price as a character witness once that issue has been tendered by the defense.'

'Thank you, your honor.'

'But I must tell you that I will instruct the jury as to how to consider this proposed testimony. This is not going to turn into a rape trial.'

There was another buzz in the gallery, and this time the Judge did bring his gavel down. He looked at his watch. 'Mr Farrell, Ms Jenkins, any other last-minute motions you'd like the court to consider before we begin jury selection? No? All right, then, we'll take a twenty-minute recess while the first panel gets settled in.'

The tedium of jury selection consumed the rest of the morning, and judging from Thomasino's thoroughness as he directed the voir dire, it was going to continue to be a slow process. Sixteen prospective jurors out of the first panel of sixty had already been dismissed because of their familiarity with the case. This was an enormous percentage, indicative of the intense media coverage to date, and the trial was only beginning. It was going to get much worse.

The defense team had rented a small room next to a bail bondsman's office across the street from the Hall of Justice, and Wes split off from them on the way over to get sandwiches, which inadvertently left Christina and Mark alone. They entered the room together and closed the solid wooden door.

Christina put her briefcase on the desk and turned around. Mark had been a couple of steps behind her, and the room was cramped in any event. They stood, a foot apart.

Christina had been – figuratively – backing away for months. Suddenly now, the physical being that had been Sheila Dooher no longer stood as a barrier between them. The opening volleys in the trial signalled a new phase.

Mark had to recognize it now, too. He had to know that Christina would be there for him. She met his eyes. 'I don't know about you,' she said, 'but I could use a hug.'

Farrell could feel it as soon as he came into the room with the sandwiches. Something had transpired in here. There was a palpable sense that he'd interrupted. 'Hey, cowboys,' he said.

Christina was leaning against the window sill, combing her hair with her fingers. Mark was sitting on the desk, swinging his feet like a schoolboy. Wes decided he'd unpack the bags and keep on talking, give whatever it was a chance to dissipate. 'So I was thinking we just wouldn't call Flaherty. That'll avoid the whole can of worms.'

Dooher jumped right on it. 'We've got to call him,' he said. 'We get one good Catholic on the jury – and I think we can guarantee that – and the Archbishop tells that person I couldn't have done anything they said I did – which we know is the truth – and at the very least, the jury's hung. And besides, we want Diane Price to testify against me.' Christina moved from the window. 'No, Mark, we-' But, emboldened, Dooher stood, grabbed his soft drink and popped the top on it. 'I know originally we said no, but did you hear Thomasino in there? Even the Judge thinks it's bullshit. It will make Jenkins look like she's grasping at straws. It's a question of credibility. So then you, Christina, cross-examine her.'

'I do? Why not Wes?'

But Wes knew the answer to that. 'Because you're a woman. It'll be much more effective if you start talking about the drugs Mrs Price has taken and how many men she slept with in college and whether or not she ever reported this alleged rape and why it kind of slipped her mind for the intervening decades. In short, you eat her for lunch.' Shaking her head, Christina was staring at the floor.

'What?' Wes asked.

'I don't want to do that. I don't want to eat anybody for lunch. I feel sorry for her. Don't you guys understand that?'

'I do,' Mark said.

'Excuse me, but fuck that! I'm glad you two are so sensitive. It gives me a warm feeling deep down inside.' Farrell spun himself, a little circle in the tiny room. 'Here's lesson one – a trial is a war. You don't take prisoners. You destroy everything in your path because if you don't, make no mistake, it will destroy you. Sympathy does not belong here.' Farrell reined himself in slightly. 'Listen, Christina, this Diane Price is trying to send your client to jail for most of the rest of his life, and that makes her my enemy. And she's lying! That makes her your enemy.'

'I'm not used to thinking that way.'

Dooher to the rescue. 'Wes, you could do it. It doesn't have to be Christina.'

Farrell got to escape velocity in record time. 'Of course I could do it! Mister Goddamn Rogers could do it! We could phone it in and get it done. But Christina here, being a woman, could do it best, and that's what we've got to go with. Our best shot every time out. That's how you win. It's the only way you win.' Farrell glared at them both.

'All right, Wes, all right. You're cute when you're mad. Anybody ever tell you that?'

'No,' he said. 'Nobody ever has. Christina, how about you?' Farrell was gratified to see that she'd gone a little pale. Maybe she was finally beginning to understand what she'd gotten herself into. But she put up a brave front.

'No,' she said, 'I think you're cuter when you're not mad.'

When Thomasino called the lunch recess, Glitsky made his way out through the tide of humanity in the gallery and then 'No comment-ed' his way past the reporters in the hallway. He took the stairs, rather than the crowded elevator, up to Homicide, to his 120 square feet partially enclosed by dry wall. He intended to eat his bagel and apple in peace and maybe get in some administrative work before court reconvened at 1:30.

But there was Paul Thieu, up out of his own desk before Glitsky was a step into the room. And another person – long hair, eyes burning, pumped-up, unhappy and unkempt. At a glance Glitsky recognized the symptoms; this guy was cranked up, high on methamphetamines.

'You remember Chas Brown?' Thieu asked.

Glitsky was about to nod, shake his hand, be polite, but Brown didn't give him the chance. 'What's this I don't get to be a witness? All the time I spend with you guys and what do I get out of it for me, huh?'

Thieu popped in. 'Chas heard about Thomasino's ruling from his friends in the courtroom. He'd been kind of hoping he'd get a couple more days at the Marriot.' The city put its witnesses in various hotels, and Chas had evidently been looking forward to a bit of a longer vacation.

Abe was low affect. 'It wasn't our decision, Chas. We wanted you there, but the Judge ruled against us. We lose.'

'Why? The guy kills one guy, then another guy, then his wife. You're telling me they're not related?'

'No, I think they're related.'

'Then why, man?'

'No proof. No proof there was even a murder.'

'Me saying it? That's not proof?'

Glitsky kept it cool. 'You didn't see it, Chas. You weren't a witness. All the Saigon records, if any, were destroyed.' He shrugged, repeated it. 'We lose.'