Michael Connelly - The Gods of Guilt

“You really think you’re going to get him off with this mystery man defense?”

I smiled as I started putting my own files and notes into my briefcase.

“We’re actually calling it the ‘Cat in the Hat’ defense. And believe me, it’s a lock.”

He said nothing in response and I paused my efforts to look at him.

“One-Echo-Robert-five-six-seven-six.”

“What’s that, your mother’s phone number?”

“No, Lankford, it’s your license plate number.”

I saw a split-second change in his eyes. It was recognition or maybe fear. I kept going, improvising but following some instinctual path to an unknown destination.

“It’s a city of cameras. You should have lost the plate before you started following her. That next witness the judge wanted to hear today? He’s bringing video from outside the hotel, and he’s going to identify you as the cat in the hat.”

The look in Lankford’s eyes wasn’t fleeting anymore. It was the vicious look of a cornered animal.

“And then you’re going to have to explain to the jury why you were following Gloria Dayton before she was murdered and before you were on the case.”

Lankford suddenly moved into me, grabbing my tie to jerk me away from the table. But the tie came off in his hand and he stumbled backwards off balance.

“Hey! Is there a problem?”

Forsythe had taken notice. Lankford recovered and I looked at Forsythe.

“No, no problem.”

I calmly took my tie back from Lankford. His back was to Forsythe. He stared at me with those black-marble eyes. I started clipping my tie back on and leaned in to whisper.

“Lankford, I’m going to go out on a limb here. I don’t think you’re a killer. I’m guessing you got into something way over your head and you got pushed. Used. You found her for somebody and he did the rest. Maybe you knew what was coming, maybe not. Either way, you’re going to let an innocent man go down for it?”

“Fuck you, Haller. Your client is scum. All of them are.”

Forsythe walked up to us then.

“I’m leaving now, gentlemen. I ask again, is there a problem here? Do I have to stay here and babysit you two?”

Neither of us broke our stares to look at the prosecutor. I answered.

“We’re fine. I’m just explaining to…Investigator Lankford the reason I wear clip-ons.”

“Fascinating. Good night.”

“Good night.”

Forsythe went out through the gate and down the middle aisle of the empty courtroom. I picked up with Lankford where I had left off before the interruption.

“You’ve got less than twenty-four hours to figure out how you want to play this. Tomorrow your buddy Marco is going to go down. You can go down with him or you can get smart and get out of this in one piece. There is a way, you know.”

Lankford slowly shook his head.

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Haller. You never do. You don’t know who you’re dealing with. In fact, you don’t know shit.”

I nodded as though I felt I had been properly rebuked.

“Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I clapped him on the arm like I was saying good-bye to a good friend.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he said.

39

Under directions from Lorna, Cisco brought wine and pizza from the takeout at Mozza to the loft for the postcourt staff meeting that night. She said it was warranted because for the first time in two weeks of trial and more than seven months of prep, it felt like there was something to celebrate.

It was unexpected to have a midtrial celebration, but the bigger surprise was seeing Legal Siegel in a wheelchair at the end of the table. He had a mobile air tank on the chair and was happily munching on a piece of pizza.

“Who sprung you?” I asked.

“Your girl here,” Legal said, pointing with his pizza at Jennifer. “She rescued me from those people. Just in time, too.”

He toasted me with his slice, holding it up with two bony white hands.

I nodded and looked at everyone. I guess the reluctance to celebrate anything showed on my face.

“Come on, we finally had a good day,” Lorna said, handing me a glass of red. “Revel in it.”

“I’ll revel in it when it’s over and we put the big NG on the scoreboard,” I said.

I pointed to the whiteboard, which had our defense strategy outlined on it. But I took the glass and a slice of sausage pizza, and smiled at the others as I made my way to a chair by Legal Siegel. Once everyone was seated, Lorna initiated a toast to me, and with great embarrassment I held up my glass. I then hijacked the moment and added my own toast.

“To the gods of guilt,” I said. “May they release Andre La Cosse soon.”

That turned the happy moment somber, but it couldn’t be helped. Getting a not-guilty verdict was a long shot. Even when you knew in your gut that you were sitting next to an innocent man at the defense table, you also knew that the NGs came grudgingly from a system designed only to deal with the guilty. I had to satisfy myself with knowing, no matter the outcome, that I had done all I could do for Andre La Cosse.

I then cleared my throat, held up my glass, and offered another toast.

“And to Gloria Dayton and Earl Briggs. May justice be done by our work.”

The others chimed in and an impromptu moment of silence followed. It seemed that we all were reminded that the victims in this case were many.

I broke the spell by steering everyone back to the business at hand.

“Before we all get too drunk, let’s talk about tomorrow for a few minutes.”

I went down the line, pointing to each as I gave orders and asked questions.

“Lorna, I want to go in a little bit early. So pick me up at seven forty-five, okay?”

“Hey, I’ll be there if you’ll be there.”

A not-so-veiled reference to my showing up late that morning.

“Jennifer, are you with me tomorrow or do you have things on your calendar?”

“I’m there in the morning. In the afternoon I’ve got a loan-modification hearing.”

Another foreclosure case, which were still the only cases bringing in any money.

“All right. Cisco, where are we with the witnesses?”

“Well, you have Budwin stashed at Checkers. Just let me know whether to bring him to the courthouse. You got my guy from the Ferrari dealership standing by and ready to authenticate. Then you’ve got the big question. Marco. Will he show up or not?”

I nodded.

“He has till ten, so I’d better be able to put someone in the chair at nine when the judge comes out. So bring Budwin over first thing.”

“You got it.”

“When does Moya come in?”

“They won’t divulge an exact time for security reasons. But they are transporting him from Victorville tomorrow. I don’t think you can count on him in court till Thursday.”

“That’ll work.”

I nodded. Things seemed to be in place. I would have rather held back Budwin Dell, the gun dealer, until after I knew whether Marco was going to testify, but I had no choice. A trial was always a work in progress and it almost never rolled out the way you initially planned or envisioned it.

“What about going with Lankford ahead of Marco?” Jennifer asked, eyeing the witness order I had written along one side of the whiteboard. “Would that work?”

“I have to think about it,” I said. “It might.”

“There are no maybes and might-bes in trial,” Legal Siegel announced. “You gotta be sure.”

I put my arm on his shoulder and nodded my thanks for his counsel.

“He’s right. Legal’s always right.”

Everyone laughed, including Legal. The work questions finished for the moment, we went back to eating. I took a second piece of pizza and soon the wine worked its way into everybody in the room, and the banter and laughs continued. All seemed well in the Haller & Associates universe. No one seemed to notice that I was not actually drinking my wine.