A Darkness More Than Night - Michael Connelly [121]
“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.
“Good morning, Mr. Wiggan.”
“Good morning.”
Wiggan raised his eyebrows in a what-do-we-have-here look.
“Just a few questions. Could you list for the jury the titles of films that you have written that have been produced?”
“Well . . . , so far, nothing’s been made. I’ve got some options and I think in a few —”
“I understand. Would you be surprised to know that in the last four years you have pitched Mr. Storey or submitted film treatments to him on a total of twenty-nine occasions, all of which were rejected?”
Wiggan’s face flushed with embarrassment.
“Well, I . . . I guess that could be true. I . . . don’t really know. I don’t keep a record of my rejections, as Mr. Storey apparently does.”
He delivered the last line in a snippish manner and Bosch almost winced. There was nothing worse than a witness on the stand who is caught in a lie and then gets defensive about it. Bosch glanced at the jury. Several of them were not looking at the witness, a sign that they were as uncomfortable as Bosch.
Fowkkes moved in for the kill.
“You were rejected by the defendant on twenty-nine occasions and yet you say to the jury that you bear him no malice, is that correct, sir?”
“That’s just business as usual in Hollywood. Ask anyone.”
“Well, Mr. Wiggan, I am asking you. Are you telling this jury that you bear this man no ill will when he