The Fifth Witness - Michael Connelly [174]
“Okay, let’s go back to the list and what it means. What did it show occurred at the garage involving a car owned by Wing Nuts?”
“It showed that the car entered the garage at eight oh-five.”
“And what time did it leave?”
“The exit camera showed it leaving at eight fifty.”
“So this vehicle entered the garage before the murder and left after the murder. Do I have that right?”
“That’s correct.”
“And the vehicle was owned by a company that was owned by a man with direct ties to organized crime. Is that also right?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Okay, did you determine if there was a legitimate business reason for a vehicle belonging to Wing Nuts to be in that garage?”
“Of course, the business is a courier service. It is used regularly by ALOFT to deliver documents to WestLand National. But what was curious to me is why the car entered at eight oh-five and then left before the bank even opened at nine.”
I looked at Cisco for a long moment. My gut said I had gotten all I needed to get. There was still chicken on the bone but sometimes you just have to push the plate away. Sometimes leaving the jury with a question is the best way to go.
“I have nothing further,” I said.
My direct examination had been very precise in scope to include only testimony about the license plates. This left Freeman little to work with on cross. However, she did score one point when she elicited from Cisco a reminder to the jury that WestLand National occupied only three floors of a ten-story building. The courier from Wing Nuts could have been going somewhere other than the bank, thus explaining his early arrival in the garage.
I was sure that if there was a record of a courier delivery to an office in the building other than the bank, then she would produce it—or Opparizio’s people would magically produce it for her—by the time she could put on rebuttal witnesses.
After a half hour, Freeman threw in the towel and sat down. That was when the judge asked if I had another witness to call.
“No, Your Honor,” I said. “The defense rests.”
The judge dismissed the jury for the day and instructed them to be in the assembly room by nine the next morning. Once they were gone Perry set the stage for the end of the trial, asking the attorneys if they would have rebuttal witnesses. I said no. Freeman said she wanted to reserve the right to call rebuttal witnesses in the morning.
“Okay, then we will reserve the morning session for rebuttal, if there is any rebuttal,” Perry said. “Closing arguments will begin first thing after the lunch break and each side will be limited to one hour. With any luck and no more surprises, our jury will go into deliberations by this time tomorrow.”
Perry left the bench then and I was left at the defense table with Aronson and Trammel. Lisa reached over and put her hand on top of mine.
“That was brilliant,” she said. “The whole morning was brilliant. I think that the jurors finally get it as well. I was watching them. I think they know the truth.”
I looked back at Trammel and then at Aronson, two different expressions on their faces.
“Thank you, Lisa. I guess it won’t be long before we find out.”
Fifty-two
In the morning Andrea Freeman surprised me by not surprising me. She stood before the judge and said she had no rebuttal witnesses. She then rested the state’s case.
This gave me pause. I had come to court fully prepared to face at least one final tilt with her. Testimony explaining the Wing Nuts car in the bank garage, or maybe Driscoll’s supervisor putting the boots to him, even a prosecution foreclosure expert to contradict Aronson’s assertions. But nothing. She folded the tent.
She was going with the blood. Whether I had robbed her of her Boléro crescendo or not, she was going to make her stand on the one incontrovertible aspect of the entire trial: the blood.
Judge Perry recessed court for the morning so the attorneys could work on their closing arguments and he could retreat to chambers to work on the jury charge—the final set of instructions jurors