The Fifth Witness - Michael Connelly [151]
“So we started cross-referencing the ALOFT employees to the list of Lisa’s Facebook friends,” Bullocks said. “Luckily Donald Driscoll was early in the alphabet. We came up with him pretty quickly.”
I nodded, impressed.
“So who is Driscoll?”
“In the FTC docs his name was in a group listed under information technology,” Cisco said. “So what the hell, I called IT at ALOFT and asked for him. I was told that Donald Driscoll used to work there but his employment contract expired on February first and it wasn’t extended. He’s gone.”
“You’ve started the trace?” I asked.
“We have. But it’s a common name and that’s slowing us down. As soon as we have something, you’ll be the first to know.”
Running names from the private sector always took time. It wasn’t as easy as being a cop and simply typing a name into one of the many law enforcement databases.
“Don’t let up,” I said. “This could be the whole game right here.”
“Don’t worry, Boss,” Cisco said. “Nobody’s letting up.”
Forty-four
Donald Driscoll, thirty-one, formerly employed by ALOFT, lived in the Belmont Shore area of Long Beach. On Sunday morning I rode down with Cisco to tag Driscoll with a subpoena, the hope being that he would talk to me before I had to put him on the witness stand blind.
Rojas agreed to work on his day off to help make up for his misdeeds. He drove the Lincoln and we sat in the back, Cisco updating me on his conclusions regarding his latest investigations of the Bondurant murder. There was no doubt that the defense case was coming together and Driscoll just might be the witness who could cap it all off.
“You know,” I said, “we could actually win this thing if Driscoll cooperates and says what I think he’s going to say.”
“That’s a big if,” Cisco replied. “And look, we have to be prepared for anything with this guy. For all we know, he could be the guy. Do you know how tall he is? Six four. Has it on his driver’s license.”
I looked over at him.
“Which I wasn’t supposed to see but happened to get access to,” he said.
“Don’t tell me about any crimes, Cisco.”
“I’m just saying I saw the info on his license, that’s all.”
“Fine. Leave it at that. So what do you suggest we do when we get down there? I thought we were just going to knock on the door.”
“We are. But you still have to be careful.”
“I’ll be standing behind you.”
“Yeah, you’re a true friend.”
“I am. And by the way, if I put you on the stand tomorrow you’re going to have to come up with a shirt that has sleeves and a collar. Make yourself presentable, man. I don’t know how Lorna puts up with your shit.”
“So far she’s put up with it longer than she ever put up with yours.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s true.”
I turned and looked out the window. I had two ex-wives who were probably also my two best friends. But it didn’t go past that. I’d had them but couldn’t hold them. What did that say about me? I lived in a daydream that one day Maggie, my daughter and I would live together again as a family. The reality was, it was never going to happen.
“You all right, Boss?”
I turned back to Cisco.
“Yeah, why?”
“I don’t know. You’re looking a little shaky there. Why don’t you let me go knock on the door and if he’ll talk I’ll give you a bump on the cell and you come in.”
“No, we do it together.”
“You’re the boss.”
“Yeah, I’m the boss.”
But I felt like the loser. I decided right at that moment that I was going to change things and find a way to redeem myself. Right after the trial.
Belmont Shore had the feel of a rustic beach town even though it was part of Long Beach. Driscoll’s residence was a two-story, 1950s-style apartment building of aqua blue and white off Bayshore near the pier.
Driscoll’s place was on the second floor where an exterior walkway ran along the front of the building. Apartment 24 was halfway down. Cisco knocked and then took a position to the side of the door, leaving me standing there.
“Are you kidding?” I asked.
He just looked at me. He wasn’t.