“L-T, I don’t want to talk to anybody, I don’t need to talk to anybody. I’ve seen worse, okay? And I have work to do.”
The tone of her voice gave Washington pause. There was silence for several seconds. Ballard watched a man crawl out of a single tent, walk to the curb, and openly start to urinate in the gutter. He hadn’t noticed her or heard her idling car.
“All right, Ballard, but I made the offer,” Washington said.
“Yes, you did, L-T,” Ballard responded in a gentler tone. “And I appreciate it. I’m going to go back to the bureau and write this up, then I’ll be done for the day. I’ll hit the beach and all will be beautiful again. Salt water cures everything.”
“That’s a roger, Ballard.”
“Thank you.”
But Ballard knew she wouldn’t be going west to the beach at the end of her shift. It was Walk-In Wednesday at the ballistics unit and she planned to be first in line.
Bosch
17
It was 9:05 a.m. in Department 106 and there was no sign of EMT Albert Morales. Bosch stood in the back of the courtroom so that he could step out and search the hallway, as he had been doing every five minutes. Haller was at the defense table, busying himself with paperwork and files to make it appear he was prepping for the day of court.
“Mr. Haller,” the clerk said. “The judge is ready.”
The clerk’s voice conveyed the impatience the judge had most likely imparted to her on the phone from his chambers.
“Yes, I know,” Haller said. “I’m just looking for a witness sheet and then I’ll be good to go.”
“Can we bring in your client?” the clerk asked.
Haller turned and glanced back at Bosch, giving him a you-fucked-me stare.
“Uh, not quite yet,” he said. “Let me confer with my investigator a moment.”
Haller got up from the table and charged through the gate, striding toward Bosch.
“I’m not your investigator,” Bosch whispered.
“I don’t give a fuck,” Haller said. “That was for her, not you. Where the fuck is our witness?”
“I don’t know. The subpoena said nine and I told him nine and he’s not here. I have no way to contact him other than calling the firehouse and I know he’s not there because he’s off today.”
“Jesus Christ!”
“See if the judge will give you an hour. I’ll go out looking for—”
“The only thing the judge is going to give me is a citation of contempt. He’s probably in chambers writing it up right now. I can keep my finger in the dike maybe five more minutes. After that, I’ll have to bring in my DNA witness and do this in reverse—”
He stopped when the door opened. Bosch recognized Morales in street clothes, looking as put out as Haller. His forehead was peppered with sweat. He was carrying his med kit, which looked like a large fishing tackle box.
“That’s him.”
“Well, it’s about fucking time.”
Bosch left Haller and went to Morales.
“The subpoena said nine,” he said.
“I couldn’t find parking,” Morales said. “So I parked at the fire station and walked over, carrying this thing. It’s thirty pounds. Then the fucking elevators take forever.”
“All right, go back out in the hallway and take a seat on a bench. Don’t talk to anyone. Just cool down and don’t move till I come out and get you.”
“I’m sweating, man. I have to hit the head and towel off or something.”
“It’s down the hall past the elevators. Do what you have to do but do it quick and get back here. You want me to watch your kit?”
“Don’t do me any favors, man. I don’t want to be here.”
Morales left the courtroom and Bosch walked back to Haller. “He’ll be good to go in five minutes. He walked over from the station and is sweating, wants to clean up a little.”
“He’s got the gizmo in his box?”
“He should. I didn’t ask.”
“He’d fucking better.”
Haller turned and headed back through the gate. He waved to the clerk.
“You can bring my client out and you can get the judge,” he announced. “The defense is ready to proceed.”
Bosch noticed Saldano, the prosecutor, eyeing Haller suspiciously. She had no idea what was going on.
Ten minutes later court was in session, with Herstadt seated next to Haller. Judge Falcone was on the bench but the jury box was empty. Bosch was watching from the back row of the gallery, near the courtroom door.
The judge was angry. He had told the jurors to come in early and they had done so. But now they sat in the assembly room while the lawyers argued over the inclusion of the unexpected witness. Morales was not on the witness list provided by the defense to the court and the prosecution at the start of the trial. Saldano had now blindly objected to him testifying, on principle, without even knowing who he was or what he would say.
It all made for a bad start to the day.
“Mr. Haller, in granting you the subpoena late yesterday I was not guaranteeing you that this witness would testify,” the judge said. “I was anticipating the objection from the state and that you would supply solid grounds for his inclusion at this late moment in the trial.”
“Your Honor,” Haller said, “the court has granted the defense wide latitude and it is certainly appreciated. But as you told the jurors at the start of these proceedings, this trial is a search for truth. My investigator located a witness yesterday evening who could change the course of this search for truth. It is unfair not only to my client, but to the people of California to not let him be heard by the jury.”
Falcone glanced out at the gallery and his eyes found Bosch. For a split second Bosch thought he saw disappointment, and once again he wished Haller would stop calling him his investigator.
“But you see, Mr. Haller, you have created a circumstance with your investigator and this witness that is patently unfair to the prosecution,” the judge said. “Ms. Saldano has had no time to prepare for this testimony, to have her investigator vet and background this witness, or to question him on her own.”
“Well, welcome to my world, Your Honor,” Haller replied. “I have never met or spoken to this witness myself. As I said before, his importance was discovered late yesterday — I believe you signed the subpoena at five-fifteen. He is now here to testify. We will all learn what he has to say as he says it.”
“And what exactly will you be asking him?”
“I will ask him about the events he was involved in on the day of the murder. He is the emergency medical technician who treated my client when he went into seizure in the coffee shop a little more than an hour before the murder of Judge Montgomery.”
The judge turned his attention to the prosecutor.
“Ms. Saldano, do you want to respond?”
Saldano stood up. She was in her late thirties and a rising star in the D.A.’s Office, assigned to the Major Crimes Unit. Where she went, the media followed. Bosch had already noticed the reporters lining the front row of the gallery.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” she said. “The state could simply object on the basis the court has already outlined: lack of notice, lack of inclusion of this witness on the defense’s witness list, lack of discovery in regard to his testimony. But since Mr. Haller has decided to throw the old search-for-the-truth trope into his plea for special dispensation, the state would argue that this witness has nothing to add to the testimony in this case that will in any way get us closer to the truth. We have already had testimony from Mr. Haller’s own expert witness on the seizure his client allegedly had in the coffee shop. The state did not object to that testimony. This new witness can only provide the same information.”