“Let’s back up for a minute,” I said. “You’re familiar with the video taken through security cameras at the Beverly Wilshire hotel that showed Gloria Dayton on the evening she was murdered, are you not?”
Lankford closed his eyes for a long moment and then opened them.
“Yes, I am.”
“I am talking about the video first shown to the jury yesterday.”
“Yes, I know.”
“When did you first see that video?”
“About two months ago. I don’t remember the date.”
“Now yesterday during testimony, Victor Hensley, a security supervisor at the hotel, said he believed that the video showed Gloria Dayton being followed when she left the hotel. Do you have an opinion on that?”
Forsythe objected, saying the question was leading and beyond the scope of Lankford’s knowledge and expertise. The judge overruled it and I asked Lankford the question again.
“Do you think Gloria Dayton was being followed the night of her death?”
“Yes, I do,” Lankford said.
“Why is that?”
“Because I was following her.”
What followed that answer may have been the loudest silence I had ever heard in a courtroom.
“Are you saying that is you on the video — the man in the hat?”
“Yes. I’m the man in the hat.”
That got another check mark on my pad and another roaring silence. I realized that Lankford might be exorcizing his demons by confessing, but he so far had not admitted to anything that was actually a crime. He continued to give me that same pleading look. I came to believe in those moments that he and I were making an unspoken agreement. It was the video, I realized. He didn’t want it played. He wanted to tell the story as a cooperating witness, not have the Sterghos video shoved down his throat while on the stand.
I was willing to take that deal.
“Why were you following Gloria Dayton?”
“I had been asked to find her and to find out where she lived.”
“By Agent Marco?”
“Yes.”
“Did he tell you why?”
“No. Not at that time.”
“What did he tell you?”
Forsythe objected again, saying I was asking for hearsay testimony. The judge said she was going to allow it, and I thought about what Legal Siegel had said the night before about judicial discretion being a big fucking tent. No doubt I was living in the tent now.
I told Lankford to answer the question.
“He just said he needed to find her. He said she was a snitch who had left town many years ago and now she was back but he couldn’t find her, so he thought she was using a new name.”
“So he left it up to you to find her.”
“Yes.”
“When was this?”
“Last November, the week before she was murdered.”
“How did you find her?”
“Rico gave me a picture he had of her.”
“Who is Rico?”
“Rico is Marco. That was his nickname because he worked racketeering cases.”
“You’re referring to RICO as in the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act?”
“Yes.”
“What was the picture he gave you?”
“He texted it to me. He took it the night he turned her. It was old — like from eight or nine years before. He had busted her but made a deal not to book her if she snitched for him. He took her photo for his snitch file and he still had it.”
“Do you still have that photo?”
“No, I deleted it.”
“When?”
“After I heard that she was murdered.”
I gave that answer a pause for effect.
“Did you use the photo to find her for Marco?”
“Yes, I started looking at locally based websites for escorts and eventually I found her using the name Giselle. The hair was different but it was her.”
“Then what did you do?”
“Contact with escorts on this level is usually buffered. They don’t just give out their home addresses and cell numbers. On Giselle’s page, there was mention of a ‘Pretty Woman Special’ at the Beverly Wilshire. I asked Rico — Marco — to get me into a room there using one of his UC aliases.”
“By ‘UC,’ you mean undercover?”
“Yes, undercover.”
“What was the name, do you remember?”
“Ronald Weldon.”
I knew this could be checked with Hensley and hotel records if I needed to corroborate Lankford’s story later. The case had suddenly changed dimensions with Lankford’s testimony.
“Okay, what happened next?”
“Marco got the room and gave me the key. It was on the eighth floor. I went there, and when I was opening the door, one of the bellmen arrived with a cart to the room across the hall.”
“You mean it looked like the people in that room were checking out?”
“Yes.”
“What did you do next?”
“I went into my room and watched through the peephole. There was a couple in the room opposite mine. The bellman left with their luggage first and then they left. They didn’t pull the door closed all the way. So I went across and into the room.”
“What did you do in there?”
“I looked around first. And I got lucky. In the trash can, there were several envelopes, and it looked like wedding cards had come in them. They were addressed to Daniel and Linda or Mr. and Mrs. Price and things like that. I figured out that his name was Daniel Price. So I used that name and that room number to set up Giselle Dallinger to come that night.”
“Why did you go through such elaborate efforts?”
“Because first of all, I know everything can be traced. Everything. I didn’t want this coming back on me. And second, I worked vice when I was a cop. I know how prostitutes and pimps work it to avoid law enforcement. Whoever the setup person was for Giselle would call me back at the hotel. It was their way of hopefully confirming I wasn’t law enforcement. I could’ve done it from the room Marco got me, but I saw that open door and thought it would be better and completely untraceable to me. And Marco.”
With his answer Lankford walked across the line from plausible deniability to conspiracy to commit. If he had been my client, I would have stopped him by now. But I had my own client to clear. I pressed on.
“Are you saying that you knew what was going to happen to Giselle that night?”
“No, never. I was just taking precautions.”
I studied Lankford, unsure if he was elaborately covering his own culpability in a murder or actually telling the truth.
“So you set up the liaison for that night and then you waited for her in the lobby, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Using your hat as a shield against the cameras?”
“Yes.”
“And then you followed her home to Franklin Avenue.”
“I did.”
The judge interrupted at that moment and addressed the jury.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I know it seems as though we just got started but we are going to take a quick five-minute break. I want you to go to the jury room and stay close by. I want all counsel and the witness to remain in place, please.”
We stood as the jury filed out. I knew what was coming. The judge couldn’t just sit there without warning Lankford of his peril. As soon as the jury room’s door closed, she turned to my witness.
“Mr. Lankford, do you have counsel present?”
“No, I don’t,” Lankford responded calmly.
“Do you want me to pause your testimony here so you can seek the advice of counsel?”
“No, Your Honor. I want to do this. I’ve committed no crime.”
“You are sure?”
The question could be taken two ways. Was Lankford sure he didn’t want a lawyer, or was he sure he had committed no crime.