Michael Connelly - A Darkness More Than Night

“We get a lot of scam artists and whatnot. You know how it is in Hollywood. We end up with a lot of tapes on reserve. The inspectors come in and get ’em. Or we send ’em on down in dispatch.”

“We understand, Mr. Lucas,” said Winston, an urgent tone in her voice as she apparently came to the same realization as McCaleb. “Can you please turn off the machines or replace the tapes in them. We are taping over what could be valuable evidence.”

“Right away,” Lucas said.

But he proceeded to reach into the carton of new tapes and take out four cassettes. He then peeled labels off a dispenser roll and put them on the tapes. He took a pen from behind his ear and wrote the date and some sort of coding on the labels. Then, finally, he started popping tapes out of the VCRs and replacing them with the new cassettes.

“Now, how do you want to do this? These tapes are post office property. They are not leaving the premises. I can set you up over here at the desk. I’ve got a portable TV with built-in VCR if you want to use it.”

“Are you sure we just can’t borrow them for the day?” Winston said. “I could have them back by -”

“Not without a court order. That’s what Mr. Preechnar told me. That’s what I’m going to do.”

“Then I guess we don’t have a choice,” Winston said, looking at McCaleb and shaking her head in frustration.

While Lucas went to get the TV, McCaleb and Winston decided that McCaleb would stay and watch the videotape while Winston went to her office for an 11 A.M. meeting with the bureau men, Twilley and Friedman. She said she would not be mentioning McCaleb’s new investigation or the possibility that his earlier focus on Bosch might have been in error. She would return the copied murder book and crime scene tape.

“I know you don’t believe in coincidences but that’s all you have at the moment, Terry. You come up with something on the tape and I’ll bring it to the captain and we’ll blow Twilley and Friedman out of the water. But until you have it… I’m still in the doghouse and need something more than a coincidence to look anywhere other than at Bosch.”

“What about the call to Tafero?”

“What call?”

“Somehow he knew Gunn was in the tank and he came and bailed him out – so they could kill him that night and pin it on Bosch.”

“I don’t know about the call – if it wasn’t Zucker, it was probably somebody else in the station he’s got a sweetheart deal with. And the rest of what you just said is pure speculation without a single fact backing it up.”

“I think it’s -”

“Stop, Terry. I don’t want to hear it until you have something backing it up. I’m going to work.”

As if on cue, Lucas came back pushing a cart with a small television on top of it.

“I’ll set you up with this,” he said.

“Mr. Lucas, I need to go to an appointment,” Winston said. “My colleague is going to look at the tapes. Thank you for your cooperation.”

“Happy to be of service, ma’am.”

Winston looked at McCaleb.

“Call me.”

“You want me to drive you back to your car?”

“It’s just a few blocks. I’ll walk it.”

He nodded.

“Happy hunting,” she said.

McCaleb nodded. She had said that to him once before on a case that had not turned out so happily for him.

Langwiser and Kretzler told Bosch they were going ahead with the plan to rest their case by the close of the day.

“We got him,” Kretzler said, smiling and enjoying the adrenaline ride that came with making the decision to pull the trigger. “By the time we’re done he’ll be tied down nine ways till Sunday. We’ve got Hendricks and Crowe today. We’ve got everything we need.”

“Except motive,” Bosch said.

“Motive is not going to be important with a crime that is obviously the work of a psychopath,” Langwiser said. “Those jurors aren’t going to go back into their little room at the end of this and say, ‘Yeah, but what was his motive?’ They’re going to say this guy is a sick fuck and -”

Her voice dropped to a whisper when the judge entered the courtroom through the door behind the bench.

“ – we’re going to put him away.”

The judge called for the jury and after a few minutes the prosecutors were putting on their last witnesses of the trial.

The first three witnesses were film business people who had attended the premiere party on the night of Jody Krementz’s death. Each testified to having seen David Storey at the film premiere and the following party with a woman they identified from exhibit photos as Jody Krementz. The fourth witness, a screenwriter named Brent Wiggan, testified that he left the premiere party a few minutes before midnight and that he waited at the valet stand for his car along with David Storey and a woman he also identified as Jody Krementz.

“Why are you so sure it was just a few minutes before midnight, Mr. Wiggan?” Kretzler asked. “It was, after all, a party. Were you watching the clock?”

“One question at a time, Mr. Kretzler,” the judge barked.

“Sorry, Your Honor. Why are you so sure it was a few minutes before midnight, Mr. Wiggan?”

“Because I was watching the clock, actually,” Wiggan said. “My watch, that is. I do my writing at night. I am most productive from midnight until six. So I was watching the clock, knowing I had to get back to my house at close to midnight or I would fall behind in my work.”

“Would that also mean you were not drinking alcoholic beverages at the premiere party?”

“That is correct. I wasn’t drinking because I didn’t want to become tired or have my creativity dampened. People don’t usually drink before they go to work at a bank or as a plane pilot – well, I guess most of them don’t.”

He paused until the titters of laughter subsided. The judge looked annoyed but didn’t say anything. Wiggan looked like he was enjoying his moment of attention. Bosch started feeling uneasy.

“I don’t drink before I go on the job,” Wiggan finally continued. “Writing is a craft but it is also a job and I treat it as such.”

“So are you crystal clear in your memory and identification of who David Storey was with at a few minutes before midnight?”

“Absolutely.”

“And David Storey, you personally already knew him, correct?”

“Yes, that’s true. For several years.”

“Have you ever worked for David Storey on a film project?”

“No, I haven’t. But not for lack of trying.”

Wiggan smiled ruefully. This part of the testimony, right down to the self-deprecating comment, had been carefully planned by Kretzler earlier. He needed to limit the potential for damage to Wiggan’s testimony by walking him through the weak spots on direct.

“What do you mean by that, Mr. Wiggan?”

“Oh, I would say that in the last five years or so I have pitched film projects to David directly or to people in his production company maybe six or seven times. He never bought any of them.”

He hiked his shoulders in a sheepish gesture.

“Would you say this created a sense of animosity between you two?”

“No, not at all – at least not on my part. That’s the way the Hollywood game is played. You keep pitching and pitching and hopefully somebody eventually bites. It helps to have a thick skin, though.”

He smiled and nodded to the jury. He was giving Bosch a full set of the creeps. He wished Kretzler would end it before they lost the jury.

“Thank you, that’s all, Mr. Wiggan,” Kretzler said, apparently getting the same vibes as Bosch.

Wiggan’s face seemed to fall as he realized his moment was ending.

But then Fowkkes, who had passed on cross-examining the first three witnesses of the day, stood up and went to the lectern.