Guilt

Glitsky was sitting in his chair off to the side, and Farrell, looking again more as he'd appeared earlier in the trial – the King of Insomnia – was screaming.

'She's known about this witness all along, your honor! If I'd known about this witness or his testimony, I never would have asked Mr Dooher to take the stand. And this witness is nowhere on any of her lists. This is an incredible, unbelievable, egregious breach of professional ethics.'

'Oh, get a grip, Wes,' Jenkins retorted, 'it's nothing of the sort. It's Prop One Fifteen.' She was referring to California Proposition 115, which eased the prosecution's obligations regarding discovery to the defense. The law changes every once in a while, Wes, you'll be surprised to hear. Maybe you ought to try to keep up on it.'

'I keep up on the Goddamn law as well as a Goddamn rookie homicide prosecutor on her first case that she's blown all to hell because she doesn't know…'

Thomasino, atypically wearing his robes in chambers, had heard all he would tolerate – Glitsky was surprised he'd let it go as far as it had – and now he was slapping his hand down on his desk, hard. 'All right, all right, enough! I said enough!'

Both attorneys sat, breathing hard, in front of the Judge's desk. Thomasino, not jolly on his best day, was a study in controlled rage, his eyebrows pulled together until they met, a muscle in his jaw vibrating under the pressure of holding it so tight.

Gradually, he gathered himself. The face relaxed by small degrees. 'This is a matter of law,' he said, almost whispering, 'not a matter of personality. Although, Ms Jenkins, I must admit to some discomfort about it. Surely you knew about this witness before this, and if that were the case, the name should have appeared in discovery.'

The name they were discussing was Michael Ross. In the early days of the investigation, Glitsky had gone out to the San Francisco Golf Club and reviewed the credit-card receipts for the night of June 7th. Michael Ross had paid for a bucket of golf balls by VISA card, and the transaction had been run up at 8:17 p.m. Glitsky had brought the receipt in to Jenkins and they'd had a discussion about it in her cramped and airless office.

The moment was etched clearly in Glitsky's memory. Jenkins's eyes took on a faraway look as she'd sat at her desk, fingering the receipt. He had figuratively seen the light bulb go on over her head.

'Why don't you go out and interview this fellow Ross by yourself, Abe? You don't even need to bring your tape recorder. It's probably nothing anyway. And don't write it up until we've had a chance to talk about what he's told you.'

Glitsky had been a cop long enough, he didn't need a road map. Jenkins wasn't suggesting anything illegal – it could be said that she was trying to save Abe the trouble of writing up lots of meaningless paperwork. It wasn't even procedurally suspect. He interviewed lots of people in the course of any investigation, and often these interviews were casual, limited, irrelevant to the case. There was no need to tape anything.

Of course, in this case Glitsky knew what Jenkins was really telling him – she wanted to limit what she had to give to Farrell as discovery. She knew early on that their evidence case was weak, and she was going to sandbag the defense if she got the chance, which was what she was doing in Thomasino's chambers early on this Friday morning.

Perry Mason notwithstanding, real trials were not supposed to deal in surprises. The discovery process – where the prosecution must turn over to the defense all evidence it possesses relating to the case – is supposed to guarantee that the defense sees all the cards before the game. It's how those cards are played that determines the winner.

Jenkins was supposed to provide Farrell with a list of the prospective witnesses she might call during the course of the trial. She didn't have to call every witness on the list, or any of them, but in theory she couldn't call anyone who wasn't on the list.

And Michael Ross hadn't been.

Back in the war zone, the soldiers continued to scuffle. Jenkins was holding up the faded yellow tissue with Michael Ross's name and VISA number on it. and pointing out that she had Xeroxed it, both sides, and it had been turned over to Wes Farrell when he'd requested discovery documents. 'Is that true, Mr Farrell? Do you have a copy of this document?'

'So what, your honor? What's the document mean? I even ask her back last June, July sometime, and she says it means what it means. So I look on her witness list – there's no Michael Ross. She's not allowed to call him, am I right?'

'I'm calling him in rebuttal.'

Farrell brought his own hand down on the edge of the armchair. 'You knew all along you were going to call him. Don't give me that crap.'

'Mr Farrell.' Thomasino, too, was heating up. 'If I hear any more profanity out of you in this chambers, or out of your witnesses or defendants in the courtroom, I'm going to hold you in contempt. We're not street-fighting here, and we're not gangsta rappers, and if you say so much as "darn" in my presence, you'd better have an unassailable reason for doing so.'

Farrell sat back in his chair. 'Sorry, your honor. I mean no disrespect.'

'Well, intention or no, it is disrespectful and I'm not going to have it.' Thomasino's eyes strafed the room, came to rest on Jenkins. No one, it seemed, was going to get off easy here. 'Now, as to this witness, Ms Jenkins, do you care to explain to me how you saw fit to include this credit-card slip in your discovery documents and yet at the same time omit the man's name from your witness list?'

'Your honor, he's a rebuttal witness. I didn't know I was going to call him until Mr Dooher testified.'

Glitsky was kind of enjoying seeing Farrell sputter, sitting forward now, seeking non-profanities. 'I believe that is not the truth, your honor,' he finally said. 'When did she interview this witness?'

'Lieutenant Glitsky interviewed him.'

Finally in on the action, Glitsky took the chance to goad Farrell further. 'About two weeks after your client killed his wife, give or take.'

But the attorney ignored the challenge. 'Two weeks?' He turned to the Judge. 'Your honor, two weeks. She knew she was going to call him. Where were Glitsky's notes on the interview, the transcription, anything?'

Abe was glad to see Jenkins cover for him for a change. 'I didn't ask for a tape. It was a preliminary interview.'

'Ms Jenkins,' Thomasino said, 'I'm not liking what I'm hearing here. It sound to me like you deliberately tried to circumvent the discovery process.'

'Damn… darn straight she did!'

The Judge pointed a finger across the room. 'And you, Lieutenant, I find this hard to believe of you.'

Glitsky shrugged. 'I just build 'em, your honor. I don't fly 'em.'

'Judge.' Jenkins wasn't having it. 'How could I have put this man on my witness list? He was no part of my case in chief. What was he going to say? That he didn't see Mark Dooher at the driving range? What am I supposed to do, provide a list of everybody who didn't see Mark Dooher at the driving range? That's pretty much the whole city, isn't it? And, in fact, the prosecution rested its case against Mr Dooher without using Mr Ross. If Mr Farrell here hadn't opened this whole can of worms by having his client testify, we wouldn't be having this discussion right now. It would never have come up.'

'All right, all right.' Again, the warning hand, palm up. 'I'm going to let him testify.'

Farrell went ballistic. 'Your honor, please…!'

But finally, Thomasino's fuse flared. 'Mr Farrell, if you please. We're going outside now into the courtroom and Mr Ross is going to testify. That's my ruling and I don't want to hear another word about it.'