The Fifth Witness Part 17

"Margo Schafer, probably."

"How so?"

Cisco shrugged.

"Just speaking from experience. Eyewitnesses are unreliable. Schafer is a big part of a very circ.u.mstantial case. They lose her or she turns up shaky and they have a big problem. We already know it's going to be tough to convince a jury that she saw what she claims she saw."

"But we still haven't talked to her?"

"She refused to be interviewed and is under no obligation to do so."

I opened the middle drawer of the desk and pulled out a pencil. I pushed its point into the top opening of the cast and down between two fingers, then maneuvered the pencil back and forth to scratch my palm.

"What are you doing?" Cisco asked.

"What's it look like? Itching my palm. It was driving me crazy the whole meeting."

"You know what they say about itchy palms," Aronson said.

I looked at her, wondering if there was some sort of s.e.xual innuendo to the answer.

"No, what?"

"If it's your right hand you are going to come into money. If it's your left then you are going to pay out money. If you scratch them, you stop it from happening."

"They teach you that in law school, Bullocks?"

"No, my mother always said it. She was superst.i.tious. She thought it was true."

"Well, if it is, I just saved us a bunch of money."

I pulled the pencil out and put it back in the drawer.

"Cisco, take another run at Schafer. Try to catch her off guard. Show up somewhere she'd never expect it. See how she reacts. See if she talks."

"You got it."

"If she doesn't talk, take another run at her background. Maybe there's a connection we don't know about."

"If there is I'll find it."

"That's what I'm counting on."

Sixteen.

As I had expected, Lisa Trammel wanted no part in a plea agreement that would put her in prison for as long as seven years, even though she faced the possibility of four times that amount if convicted at trial. She chose to take her chances on an acquittal and I couldn't blame her. While I remained at a loss to explain the state's change of heart, the offer of a defense-friendly disposition made me think the prosecution was running scared and that we had a legitimate fighting chance. If my client was willing to roll the dice, then so was I. It wasn't my freedom at stake.

I was cruising home at the end of work the next day when I called Andrea Freeman to give her the news. She had left several messages early in the day and I had strategically not returned them, hoping to make her sweat. It turned out she was anything but feeling the heat. When I told her my client was pa.s.sing on the offer she simply laughed.

"Uh, Haller, you might want to start returning your messages a little sooner. I tried several times this morning to get to you. That offer was permanently taken off the table at ten o'clock. She should've accepted it last night and it probably would have saved her about twenty years in prison."

"Who pulled the offer, your boss?"

"I did. I changed my mind and that's that."

I couldn't think of what could have caused such a dramatic change in less than twenty-four hours. The only activity on the case that morning that I knew of was Louis Opparizio's attorney filing a motion to quash the subpoena we had served on him. But I didn't see the connection to Freeman's abrupt change in direction on the plea.

When I didn't respond, Freeman moved to end the call.

"So, Counselor, I guess I'll see you in court."

"Yeah, and just so you know, I'm going to find it, Andrea."

"Find what?"

"Whatever it is you're hiding. The thing that went wrong yesterday, that made you bring me that offer. Doesn't matter if you think it's all fixed now, I'm going to find it. And when we get to trial, I'll have it in my back pocket."

She laughed into the phone in a way that immediately undercut the confidence I'd had in my statement.

"Like I said, I'll see you in court," she said.

"Yeah, I'll be there," I said.

I put the phone down on the armrest and tried to intuit what was going on. Then it struck me. I might already be carrying Freeman's secret in my back pocket.

The letter from Bondurant to Opparizio had been hidden in the haystack of doc.u.ments Freeman had turned over. Maybe she had found it only recently herself and realized what I could do with it, how I could build a defense case around it. It happens sometimes. A prosecutor gets a case with what seems like overwhelming evidence, and hubris sets in. You go with what you've got and other potential evidence goes undiscovered until late. Sometimes too late.

I became convinced. It had to be the letter. A day ago she was running scared because of the letter. Now she was confident. Why? The only difference between yesterday and today was the motion to quash the Opparizio subpoena. All at once I understood her strategy. The prosecution would support the dismissal of the subpoena. If Opparizio didn't testify I might not be able to get the letter before the jury.

If I had it right, then there could be a severe setback for the defense at the hearing on the motion. I now knew I had to be prepared to fight as though my case depended on it. Because it did.

I decided to put the phone in my pocket. No more calls. It was Friday evening. I would put the case aside and take it all up again in the morning. Everything could wait until then.

"Rojas, put on some music. It's the weekend, man!"

Rojas. .h.i.t the b.u.t.ton on the dash to play the CD. I had forgotten what I had in there but soon identified the song as Ry Cooder singing "Teardrops Will Fall," a cover of the 1960s cla.s.sic on his anthology disc. It sounded good and it sounded right. A song about love lost and being left alone.

The trial would start in less than three weeks. Whether or not we figured out what Freeman was hiding, the defense team was locked and loaded and ready to go. We still had some outstanding subpoenas to serve but otherwise we were fit for battle and I was growing more confident every day.

The following Monday I would hole up in my office and start ch.o.r.eographing the defense case. The hypothesis of innocence would be carefully revealed piece by piece and witness by witness until it all came together in a crus.h.i.+ng wave of reasonable doubt.

But I still had a weekend to fill before that and I wanted to put as much distance as I could between me and Lisa Trammel and everything else. Cooder was now on to "Poor Man's Shangri-La," the one about the UFOs and s.p.a.ce vatos vatos in Chavez Ravine before they took it away from the people and put up Dodger Stadium. in Chavez Ravine before they took it away from the people and put up Dodger Stadium.

What's that sound, what's that light?Streaking down through the night

I told Rojas to turn it up. I lowered the back windows and let the wind and music blow through my hair and ears.

UFO got a radioLittle Julian singing soft and lowLos Angeles down belowDJ says, we gotta goTo El Monte, to El Monte, pa El MonteNa, na, na, na, naLivin' in a poor man's Shangri-La

I closed my eyes as we cruised.

Seventeen.

Rojas dropped me at the steps of my home and I slowly made my way up while he put the Lincoln in the garage. His own car was parked on the street. He'd take it home and come back Monday, the usual routine.

Before opening the door I stepped to the far end of the deck and looked out at the city. The sun still had a couple hours of work ahead, then would set on another week. From up here the city had a certain sound that was as identifiable as a train whistle. The low hiss of a million dreams in compet.i.tion.

"You all right?"

I turned around. It was Rojas at the top of the steps.

"Yeah, fine. What's the matter?"

"I don't know. I saw you standing up here and thought maybe something was wrong, like you were locked out or something."

"No, I was just checking out the city."

I went over to the door, pulling out my house key.

"Have a good weekend, Rojas."

"You too, Boss."

"You know, you should probably stop calling me Boss."

"Okay, Boss."

"Whatever."

I turned the lock and pushed the door open. I was immediately greeted with a sharp and multivoiced cheer of "Surprise!"

I once got shot in the gut after opening the same door. This surprise was a lot better. My daughter rushed forward and hugged me and I hugged her back. I looked around the room and saw everybody: Cisco, Lorna, Bullocks. My half brother Harry Bosch and his daughter, Maddie. And Maggie was there, too. She came up next to Hayley and kissed me on the cheek.

"Uh," I said, "I've got some bad news. Today is not my birthday. I am afraid you've all been led astray by someone with some sort of devious plan to get cake."

Maggie punched me on the shoulder.

"Your birthday's Monday. Not a good day for a surprise party."

"Yeah, exactly as I had planned it."

"Come on, get out of the door and let Rojas in. n.o.body's staying that long. We just wanted to say happy birthday."

I leaned forward and kissed her cheek and whispered in her ear.

"What about you? You're not staying long either?"

"We'll see about that."

She escorted me in through a gauntlet of handshakes, kisses and back pats. It was nice and totally unexpected. I was placed in the seat of honor and handed a lemonade.

The party lasted another hour and I got time to visit with all my guests. I hadn't seen Harry Bosch in a few months. I had heard he'd come by the hospital but I wasn't awake for the visit. We had worked a case the year before, with me as a special prosecutor. It had been nice being on the same side and I had thought the experience would keep us close. But it hadn't really worked out that way. Bosch remained as distant as ever and I remained as saddened about it as ever.

When I saw the opportunity I moved toward him and we stood side by side in front of the window that gave the best view of the city.

"From this angle it's hard not to love it, isn't it?" he asked.

I turned from the view to him and then back. He was drinking a lemonade, too. He had told me he'd stopped drinking when his teenage daughter had come to live with him.

"I know what you mean," I said.

He drained his gla.s.s and thanked me for the party. I told him he could leave Maddie with us if she wanted to visit Hayley longer. But he said that he already had plans to take her to a shooting range in the morning.

"A shooting range? You're taking your daughter to a shooting range?"

"I've got guns in the house. She should know how to use them."

I shrugged. I guessed there was a logic in it.

Bosch and his daughter were the first to leave and soon afterward the party ended. Everybody left except for Maggie and Hayley. They had decided to stay the night.

Exhausted by the day and the week and the month, I took a long shower and then got into bed early. Soon Maggie came in, after talking Hayley to sleep in her room. She closed the door and that was when I knew my real birthday present was coming.

She hadn't brought any nightclothes with her. Lying on my back, I watched her get undressed and then slip under the covers with me.