The Fifth Witness - Michael Connelly [145]
Freeman was still swelling with pride over her morning victory when I got back to the courtroom. She sauntered over, folded her arms and leaned her hip against the defense table.
“Haller, tell me that was just an act, you not knowing about the Facebook page.”
“Sorry, I can’t tell you that.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Uh-oh, sounds like somebody needs a client who isn’t hiding things… or maybe a new investigator who can find them.”
I ignored the taunt, hoping she would stop gloating and go back to her table. I started flipping through the pages of a legal pad, pretending I was looking for something.
“That was like manna from heaven last night when I got that printout and read those posts.”
“You must’ve been very pleased with yourself. Which asshole reporter gave it to you?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“I will know. Whichever one breaks out the next exclusive from the DA’s office will be the one who helped you out. They’ll never get so much as a ‘no comment’ from me.”
She chuckled. My threat had nothing to do with her. She had gotten the posts out before the jury and nothing else mattered. I finally looked up at her and squinted.
“You don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what? That the jury now knows your client was previously at the scene of the crime—proving that she had knowledge of where to find the victim? No, I completely get that.”
I looked away and shook my head.
“You’ll see. Excuse me.”
I stood up and headed toward the witness stand. Lisa Trammel had just returned from the restroom. She had redrawn the makeup on her eyes. When she started to speak, I cupped the microphone again.
“What were you doing talking to that bitch? She’s a horrible person,” she said.
A bit stunned by the unbridled anger, I looked back at Freeman, now sitting at the prosecution table.
“She’s not horrible and she’s not a bitch, okay? She’s just doing—”
“Yes, she is. You don’t know.”
I leaned close to her and whispered.
“And what, you do? Look, Lisa, don’t go bipolar on me. You’ve got less than a half hour of testimony still to go. Let’s just get through it without cluing the jury in to your issues. Okay?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about but it’s very hurtful.”
“Well, I’m sorry about that. I’m trying to defend you and it doesn’t help me to have to find out about things like Facebook when you’re being cross-examined by the prosecution.”
“I told you, I’m sorry. But your associate knew.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t.”
“Look, you said before that you might be able to make this work in our favor. How?”
“Simple. If someone was going to set you up, this Facebook page would have been a damn good place to start.”
Talk about manna from heaven. Her eyes looked upward and pure relief colored her face as she came to understand the tactic I was about to employ. The anger that had darkened her expression only a minute before was now completely gone. It was just then that the judge entered the courtroom, ready to go. I nodded to my client and went back to the defense table as the judge instructed the deputy to bring in the jury.
Once everyone was situated the judge asked if I wished to question my client on redirect examination. I jumped up from my seat like I had been waiting ten years for the opportunity. It cost me. A jolt of pain moved like lightning across my torso. The ribs may have mended but the wrong move still lit me up.
Just as I walked to the lectern the rear door of the courtroom opened and Lorna came in. Perfect timing. Carrying a file and a motorcycle helmet, she walked swiftly down the center aisle to the gate.
“Your Honor, could I have a moment with my associate?”
“Make it fast, please.”
I met Lorna at the gate and she handed over the file.
“That’s the list of all her Facebook friends, but as of when I left, Dennis and Jennifer hadn’t found any connection to you know who.”
It was strange hearing Cisco and Bullocks referred to by their real names. I looked down at the helmet she carried. I whispered.
“You rode Cisco’s motorcycle over here?”
“You wanted it quick and I knew I could park up close.”
“Where’s Rojas?”
“I don