The Fifth Witness - Michael Connelly [27]
“Who was that you called?” Hayley asked.
“My client. I had to find out how tall she was.”
“How come?”
“Because it might have something to do with whether she could do what they’re saying she did.”
I checked the list of items seized. As Cisco had reported, only one pair of shoes was on it and they were described as gardening shoes taken from the garage. No high heels, no platform sandals or any other footwear. Of course, the detectives conducted the search prior to the autopsy and before they knew its findings. I considered all of this and concluded that gardening shoes probably didn’t have much of a heel on them. If they were suggesting the shoes were worn during the killing then Bondurant still probably had ten inches on my client—if he was standing when attacked.
This was good. I underlined the notes on heights three times on my legal pad. But then I also started thinking about the seizure of only one pair of shoes. The search-warrant return did not say why the gardening shoes were taken but the warrant gave the police authority to seize anything that could have been used in the commission of the crime. They had zeroed in on the gardening shoes and I was at a loss to explain why.
“Mom said you have a really big case now.”
I looked at my daughter. She rarely talked to me about my work. I believed that this was because at her young age she still saw things as black and white and without any gray areas. People were either good or bad, and I represented the bad ones for a living. So there was nothing to talk about.
“Did she? Yeah, well, it’s getting a lot of attention.”
“It’s the lady who killed the man taking away her house, right? Was that her you just talked to?”
“She’s accused of killing the man. She hasn’t been convicted of anything. But, yes, that was her.”
“How come you need to know how tall she is?”
“You really want to know?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, they’re saying she killed a man who was a lot taller than her by hitting him on the top of the head with some kind of a tool or something. So I’m just wondering if she’s tall enough to have done it.”
“So Andy will have to prove that she was, right?”
“Andy?”
“Mom’s friend. She’s the prosecutor on your case, Mom said.”
“You mean Andrea Freeman? Tall black lady with real short hair?”
“Yeah.”
So it was “Andy” now, I thought. Andy who said she knew my ex-wife only in passing.
“So she and Mom are pretty good friends? I didn’t know that.”
“They do yoga and sometimes Andy comes by when I have Gina and they go out. She lives in Sherman Oaks, too.”
Gina was the sitter my ex used when I wasn’t available or when she didn’t want me to know about her social activities. Or when we went out together.
“Well, do me a favor, Hay. Don’t tell anybody what we are talking about or what you heard me saying on the phone. It’s sort of private stuff and I don’t want it getting back to Andy. I probably shouldn’t have made that call in front of you.”
“Okay, I won’t.”
“Thanks, sweetie.”
I waited to see if she would say more about the case but she went back to the science workbook.
I turned back to the autopsy protocol and the photos of the fatal wounds on Bondurant’s head. The medical examiner had shaved the victim’s head in the vicinity of the wounds. A ruler had been placed in the photo to give dimension. On the skin the impacts were pinkish and circular. The skin was broken but the blood had been washed away to show the wounds. Two overlapped and the third was only an inch away.
The circular shape of the weapon’s impact surface led me to think that Bondurant had been attacked with a hammer. I’m not much of a home fix-it man but I know my way around a toolbox and I knew that the striking surface of many hammers was circular, sometimes ovoid. I was sure this would be confirmed by the coroner’s tool-mark expert, but it was always good to be a step ahead and anticipate their moves. I noticed that there was a small V-shaped notch in each of the