"So, was your partner right about it being a twenty-two?"
She paused before answering, deciding whether to cross some threshold of revealing case information to me, an involved party in the case but the enemy-a defense lawyer-nonetheless.
"He was right. And thanks to the markings on the cartridge, we even know the exact gun we are looking for."
I knew from questioning ballistics experts and firearms examiners in trials over the years that marks left on bullet casings during the firing process could identify the weapon even without the weapon in hand. With an automatic, the firing pin, breech block, ejector and extractor all leave signature marks on the bullet casing in the split second the weapon is fired. Analyzing the four markings in unison can lead to a specific make and model of the weapon being identified.
"It turns out that Mr. Levin owned a twenty-two himself," Sobel said. "But we found it in a closet safe in the house and it's not a Woodsman. The one thing we have not found is his cell phone. We know he had one but we -"
"He was talking to me on it right before he was killed."
There was a moment of silence.
"You told us yesterday that the last time you spoke to him was Friday night."
"That's right. But that's why I am calling. Raul called me yesterday morning at eleven-oh-seven and left me a message. I didn't get it until today because after I left you people yesterday I just went out and got drunk. Then I went to sleep and didn't realize I had a message from him till right now. He called about one of the cases he was working on for me sort of on the side. It's an appellate thing and the client's in prison. A no-rush thing. Anyway, the content of the message isn't important but the call helps with the timing. And get this, while he's leaving the message, you hear the dog start to bark. It did that whenever somebody came to the door. I know because I'd been there before and the dog always barked."
Again she hit me with some silence before responding.
"I don't understand something, Mr. Haller."
"What's that?"
"You told us yesterday you were at home until around noon before you left for the game. And now you say that Mr. Levin left a message for you at eleven-oh-seven. Why didn't you answer the phone?"
"Because I was on it and I don't have call waiting. You can check my records, you'll see I got a call from my office manager, Lorna Taylor. I was talking to her when Raul called. Without call waiting I didn't know. And of course he thought I had already left for the game so he just left a message."
"Okay, I understand. We'll probably want your permission in writing to look at those records."
"No problem."
"Where are you now?"
"I'm at home."
I gave her the address and she said that she and her partner were coming.
"Make it soon. I have to leave for court in about an hour."
"We're coming right now."
I closed the phone feeling uneasy. I had defended a dozen murderers over the years and that had brought me into contact with a number of homicide investigators. But I had never been questioned myself about a murder before. Lankford and now Sobel seemed to be suspicious of every answer I could give. It made me wonder what they knew that I didn't.
I straightened up things on the desk and closed my briefcase. I didn't want them seeing anything I didn't want them to see. I then walked through my house and checked every room. My last stop was the bedroom. I made the bed and put the CD case forWreckrium for Lil' Demon back in the night table drawer. And then it hit me. I sat on the bed as I remembered something Sobel had said. She had made a slip and at first it had gone right by me. She had said that they had found Raul Levin's .22 caliber gun but it was not the murder weapon. She said it was not a Woodsman.
She had inadvertently revealed to me the make and model of the murder weapon. I knew the Woodsman was an automatic pistol manufactured by Colt. I knew this because I owned a Colt Woodsman Sport Model. It had been bequeathed to me many years ago by my father. Upon his death. Once old enough to handle it, I had never even taken it out of its wooden box.
I got up from the bed and went to the walk-in closet. I moved as if in a heavy fog. My steps were tentative and I put my hand out to the wall and then the door casement as if needing my bearings. The polished wooden box was on the shelf where it was supposed to be. I reached up with both hands to bring it down and then walked it out to the bedroom.
I put the box down on the bed and flipped open the brass latch. I raised the lid and pulled away the oilcloth covering.
The gun was gone.
PART TWO * A World Without Truth
Monday, May 23
TWENTY-SEVEN
The check from Roulet cleared. On the first day of trial I had more money in my bank account than I'd ever had in my life. If I wanted, I could drop the bus benches and go with billboards. I could also take the back cover of the yellow pages instead of the half page I had inside. I could afford it. I finally had a franchise case and it had paid off. In terms of money, that is. The loss of Raul Levin would forever make this franchise a losing proposition.
We had been through three days of jury selection and were now ready to put on the show. The trial was scheduled for another three days at the most-two for the prosecution and one for the defense. I had told the judge that I would need a day to put my case before the jury, but the truth was, most of my work would be done during the prosecution's presentation.
There's always an electric feel to the start of a trial. A nervousness that attacks deep in the gut. So much is on the line. Reputation, personal freedom, the integrity of the system itself. Something about having those twelve strangers sit in judgment of your life and work always jumps things up inside. And I am referring to me, the defense attorney-the judgment of the defendant is a whole other thing. I've never gotten used to it, and the truth is, I never want to. I can only liken it to the anxiety and tension of standing at the front of a church on your wedding day. I'd had that experience twice and I was reminded of it every time a judge called a trial to order.
Though my experience in trial work severely outweighed my opponent's, there was no mistake about where I stood. I was one man standing before the giant maw of the system. Without a doubt I was the underdog. Yes, it was true that I faced a prosecutor in his first major felony trial. But that advantage was evened and then some by the power and might of the state. At the prosecutor's command were the forces of the entire justice system. And against this all I had was myself. And a guilty client.
I sat next to Louis Roulet at the defense table. We were alone. I had no second and no investigator behind me-out of some strange loyalty to Raul Levin I had not hired a replacement. I didn't really need one, either. Levin had given me everything I needed. The trial and how it played out would serve as a last testament to his skills as an investigator.
In the first row of the gallery sat C. C. Dobbs and Mary Alice Windsor. In accordance with a pretrial ruling, the judge was allowing Roulet's mother to be in the courtroom during opening statements only. Because she was listed as a defense witness, she would not be allowed to listen to any of the testimony that followed. She would remain in the hallway outside, with her loyal lapdog Dobbs at her side, until I called her to the stand.
Also in the first row but not seated next to them was my own support section: my ex-wife Lorna Taylor. She had gotten dressed up in a navy suit and white blouse. She looked beautiful and could have blended in easily with the phalanx of female attorneys who descended on the courthouse every day. But she was there for me and I loved her for it.
The rest of the rows in the gallery were sporadically crowded. There were a few print reporters there to grab quotes from the opening statements and a few attorneys and citizen onlookers. No TV had shown up. The trial had not yet drawn more than cursory attention from the public, and this was good. This meant our strategy of publicity containment had worked well.
Roulet and I were silent as we waited for the judge to take the bench and order the ju
ry into the box so that we could begin. I was attempting to calm myself by rehearsing what I wanted to say to the jurors. Roulet was staring straight ahead at the State of California seal affixed to the front of the judge's bench.
The courtroom clerk took a phone call, said a few words and then hung up.
"Two minutes, people," he said loudly. "Two minutes."
When a judge called ahead to the courtroom, that meant people should be in their positions and ready to go. We were. I glanced over at Ted Minton at the prosecution's table and saw he was doing the same thing that I was doing. Calming himself by rehearsing. I leaned forward and studied the notes on the legal pad in front of me. Then Roulet unexpectedly leaned forward and almost right into me. He spoke in a whisper, even though it wasn't necessary yet.
"This is it, Mick."
"I know."
Since the death of Raul Levin, my relationship with Roulet had been one of cold endurance. I put up with him because I had to. But I saw him as little as possible in the days and weeks before the trial, and spoke to him as little as possible once it started. I knew the one weakness in my plan was my own weakness. I feared that any interaction with Roulet could lead me into acting out my anger and desire to personally, physically avenge my friend. The three days of jury selection had been torture. Day after day I had to sit right next to him and listen to his condescending comments about prospective jurors. The only way I got through it was to pretend he wasn't there.
"You ready?" he asked me.
"Trying to be," I said. "Are you?"
"I'm ready. But I wanted to tell you something before we began."
I looked at him. He was too close to me. It would have been invasive even if I loved him and not hated him. I leaned back.
"What?"
He followed me, leaning back next to me.
"You're my lawyer, right?"
I leaned forward, trying to get away.
"Louis, what is this? We've been together on this more than two months and now we're sitting here with a jury picked and ready for trial. You have paid me more than a hundred and fifty grand and you have to ask if I'm your lawyer? Of course I'm your lawyer. What is it? What is wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong."
He leaned forward and continued.
"I mean, like, if you're my lawyer, I can tell you stuff and you have to hold it as a secret, even if it's a crime I tell you about. More than one crime. It's covered by the attorney-client relationship, right?"
I felt the low rumbling of upset in my stomach.
"Yes, Louis, that's right-unless you are going to tell me about a crime about to be committed. In that case I can be relieved of the code of ethics and can inform the police so they can stop the crime. In fact, it would be my duty to inform them. A lawyer is an officer of the court. So what is it that you want to tell me? You just heard we got the two-minute warning. We're about to start here."
"I've killed people, Mick."
I looked at him for a moment.
"What?"
"You heard me."
He was right. I had heard him. And I shouldn't have acted surprised. I already knew he had killed people. Raul Levin was among them and he had even used my gun-though I hadn't figured out how he had defeated the GPS bracelet on his ankle. I was just surprised he had decided to tell me in such a matter-of-fact manner two minutes before his trial was called to order.
"Why are you telling me this?" I asked. "I'm about to try to defend you in this thing and you -"
"Because I know you already know. And because I know what your plan is."
"My plan? What plan?"
He smiled slyly at me.
"Come on, Mick. It's simple. You defend me on this case. You do your best, you get paid the big bucks, you win and I walk away. But then, once it's all over and you've got your money in the bank, you turn against me because I'm not your client anymore. You throw me to the cops so you can get Jesus Menendez out and redeem yourself."
I didn't respond.
"Well, I can't let that happen," he said quietly. "Now, I am yours forever, Mick. I am telling you I've killed people, and guess what? Martha Renteria was one of them. I gave her just what she deserved, and if you go to the cops or use what I've told you against me, then you won't be practicing law for very long. Yes, you might succeed in raising Jesus from the dead. But I'll never be prosecuted because of your misconduct. I believe it is called 'fruit of the poisonous tree,' and you are the tree, Mick."
I still couldn't respond. I just nodded again. Roulet had certainly thought it through. I wondered how much help he had gotten from Cecil Dobbs. He had obviously had somebody coach him on the law.
I leaned toward him and whispered.
"Follow me."
I got up and walked quickly through the gate and toward the rear door of the courtroom. From behind I heard the clerk's voice.
"Mr. Haller? We're about to start. The judge -"
"One minute," I called out without turning around.
I held one finger up as well. I then pushed through the doors into the dimly lit vestibule designed as a buffer to keep hallway sounds from the courtroom. A set of double doors on the other side led to the hallway. I moved to the side and waited for Roulet to step into the small space.
As soon as he came through the door I grabbed him and spun him into the wall. I held him pressed against it with both of my hands on his chest.
"What the fuck do you think you are doing?"
"Take it easy, Mick. I just thought we should know where we both -"
"You son of a bitch. You killed Raul and all he was doing was working for you! He was trying to help you!"
I wanted to bring my hands up to his neck and choke him out on the spot.
"You're right about one thing. I am a son of a bitch. But you are wrong about everything else, Mick. Levin wasn't trying to help me. He was trying to bury me and he was getting too close. He got what he deserved for that."
I thought about Levin's last message on my phone at home.I've got Jesus's ticket out of the Q. Whatever it was that he had found, it had gotten him killed. And it had gotten him killed before he could deliver the information to me.
"How did you do it? You're confessing everything to me here, then I want to know how you did it. How'd you beat the GPS? Your bracelet showed you weren't even near Glendale."
He smiled at me, like a boy with a toy he wasn't going to share.
"Let's just say that is proprietary information and leave it at that. You never know, I may have to pull the old Houdini act again."
In his words I heard the threat and in his smile I saw the evil that Raul Levin had seen.
"Don't get any ideas, Mick," he said. "As you probably know, I do have an insurance policy."
I pressed harder against him and leaned in closer.
"Listen, you piece of shit. I want the gun back. You think you have this thing wired? You don't have shit.I've got it wired. And you won't make it through the week if I don't get that gun back. You got that?"
Roulet slowly reached up, grabbed my wrists and pulled my hands off his chest. He started straightening his shirt and tie.
"Might I suggest an agreement," he said calmly. "At the end of this trial I walk out of the courtroom a free man. I continue to maintain my freedom, and in exchange for this, the gun never falls into, shall we say, the wrong hands."
Meaning Lankford and Sobel.
"Because I'd really hate to see that happen, Mick. A lot of people depend on you. A lot of clients. And you, of course, wouldn't want to go where they are going."
I stepped back from him, using all my will not to raise my fists and attack. I settled for a voice that quietly seethed with all of my anger and hate.
"I promise you," I said, "if you fuck with me you will never be free of me. Are we clear on that?"
Roulet started to smile. But before he could respond the door from the courtroom opened and Deputy Meehan, the bailiff, looked in.
"The judge is on the bench," he said ster
nly. "She wants you in here. Now."
I looked back at Roulet.
"I said, are we clear?"
"Yes, Mick," he said good-naturedly. "We're crystal clear."
I stepped away from him and entered the courtroom, striding up the aisle to the gate. Judge Constance Fullbright was staring me down every step of the way.
"So nice of you to consider joining us this morning, Mr. Haller."
Where had I heard that before?
"I am sorry, Your Honor," I said as I came through the gate. "I had an emergency situation with my client. We had to conference."