Майкл Коннелли - Law of Innocence

“Okay, listen, don’t let them use this to delay the trial.”

“Well, we’ll see, Mickey. You need to be tested to make sure you—”

“No, I’m fine, I can tell. I’m already thinking about the case and I don’t want to delay it. We have them where we want them and I don’t want to give them time to catch up to us. That’s it.”

“Okay, I’ll object if they try.”

“Who was the guy?”

“What guy?”

“The one who choked me with the chain.”

“I don’t know, I only got his name. Mason Maddox. Lorna put it through the conflict-of-interest app, and there were no hits. You have no prior history with him. He was convicted last month of three murders—I haven’t gotten the case details yet. He was in court for a motions hearing.”

“Who’s his lawyer? The PD?”

“I don’t have that information yet.”

“Why’d he do it? Who put him up to it?”

“If the Sheriff’s Department knows, they’re not sharing it with me. I have Cisco looking into it and a call in to Harry Bosch.”

“I don’t want to pull Cisco off trial prep. That could be the whole motive behind it.”

“No, because he tried to kill you and probably thought he did. You don’t kill a guy to distract his investigators. I filed a motion with Warfield today asking her to issue an order reinstituting bail or ordering the sheriff to transport you by car to and from court. No more buses. Too dangerous.”

“That’s good thinking.”

“I hope to get a hearing on it this afternoon. We’ll see.”

“Is there like a hand mirror around here or something?”

“Why?”

“I want to see myself.”

“Mickey, I don’t think you—”

“It’s all right. I just want to take a quick look and I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t see a mirror, but hold on, I have something.”

I heard her unzip her purse and then she put a small square object in my hand. A mirror from a makeup case. I held it up to my face and managed to get a glimpse. I looked like a boxer on the morning after a fight—and a losing bout at that. My eyes were swollen and the rash of exploded blood vessels extended from the corners of my eyes and across both cheeks.

“Jesus,” I said.

“Yeah, not a good look,” Jennifer said. “I still think you should let the doctor test you.”

“I’m going to be fine.”

“Mickey, there could be something and you should know.”

“But then the prosecution could know and they’ll use it to ask for a delay.”

There was a brief silence as Jennifer considered that and realized I was right.

“Okay, I’m getting tired,” I said. “Send in the investigator, let’s see what he says.”

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Yes. And don’t pull Cisco off trial prep. When you hear from Bosch, put him on Mason Maddox. I want to know everything. There’s got to be a link somewhere.”

“A link to what, Mickey?”

“A link to the case. Or the sheriff’s wiretap investigation. Something. We have to look at everybody. The sheriffs, Opparizio, the FBI, everybody.”

“Okay, I’ll tell the guys.”

“You think I’m paranoid, don’t you?”

“I just think it’s kind of far-fetched.”

I nodded. Maybe it was.

“Did they let you bring your phone in here?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“Okay, take a picture of me. You might want to show it to the judge when you make your argument for protection.”

“Good idea.”

I heard her getting her phone out of her purse.

“I’m sure Berg will object to it,” she said. “But worth a try.”

“If the judge knows there’s a photo, she’ll want to see it,” I said. “Human curiosity.”

I heard her snap the shot.

“Okay, Mickey,” she said. “Rest up.”

“That’s the plan,” I said.

I heard her step toward the door.

“Jennifer?” I said.

I heard her steps come back to the bed.

“Yes, I’m here,” Jennifer said.

“Look, I can’t really see yet, but I can hear,” I said.

“Okay.”

“And I hear doubt in your voice.”

“No, you’re wrong.”

“Look, it’s a natural thing. To question things. I think you—”

“It’s not that, Mickey.”

“Then, what is it?”

“Okay, look, it’s my father. He’s gotten sick. I’m worried about him.”

“Is he in the hospital? What’s wrong?”

“That’s the thing. We’re not getting straight answers. He’s in a care home up in Seattle and my sister and I are not getting answers.”

“Is your sister there?”

“Yes, she thinks I should go up. If I want to see him before … you know.”

“Then, she’s right, you need to go.”

“But we have the case—the trial. The motions hearing is next week and now this attack.”

I knew that losing her could be devastating to the case, but there was no choice.

“Look,” I said, “you gotta go. You can take your laptop and there’s a lot you can do from up there when you’re not with your father. You can write motions, Cisco can get them to the court clerk.”

“It’s not the same,” she said.

“I know it’s not but it’s what we can do. You need to go.”

“I feel like I’m leaving you all alone.”

“I’ll figure something out. Go up there, see him, and, who knows, maybe he’ll start feeling better and you get back down for trial.”

She didn’t respond at first. I had said my piece and was already thinking of alternative ways to go.

“I’m going to think about it tonight,” Jennifer finally said. “I’ll let you know tomorrow, okay?”

“That’s okay, but I don’t think there is much to think about. It’s family. Your father. You have to go.”

“Thanks, Mickey.”

I nodded.

I heard her steps again as she headed to the door. I tried to relax my throat and ease the pain. Talking felt like swallowing glass.

Then I heard Jennifer tell the investigator waiting outside the room that he could go in.

PART FOUR

BLEEDING THE BEAST

37

Wednesday, February 19

The world seemed to be on the edge of chaos. More than a thousand people were dead from a mystery virus in China. Almost a billion people were on lockdown there and American citizens had been evacuated. There were cruise ships out on the Pacific that were floating incubators of the virus, and no vaccine was on the horizon. The president was saying the crisis would pass, while his own virus expert was saying brace for a pandemic. Closer to home, Jennifer Aronson’s father had just died in Seattle of an undiagnosed illness, and she was not getting any answers.

In L.A., it was the second day of jury selection in the trial of my life.

We had been proceeding at a rapid pace. The four days scheduled for voir dire had been cut in half by a judge who also felt that there was a coming wave. She wanted this trial over with before the wave hit, and while I wasn’t comfortable hurrying to pick a jury, I was right there with the judge. I wanted this over. Some of the deputies at Twin Towers had started wearing masks and I took that as a sign. I didn’t want to be in lockup when that wave the judge was worried about came in.

Still, picking the twelve strangers who would deliberate the case involved the most important decisions of the trial. Those twelve would hold my life in their hands, and the time allotted to choosing them had been chopped in half. This had caused me to take extraordinary measures to quickly try to find out who these people were.

Jury selection was an art form. It involved research, knowledge of social and cultural data, and, finally, gut instinct. What you want in the end is a panel of attentive people who are there for the truth. What you look for and hope to root out are those who view the truth through the prism of bias—racial, political, cultural, and so forth. And those with ulterior motives for serving.