“Harry.”
“Rachel.”
“I think the man who was in that space was planning on coming back.”
“That’s okay. Once court starts, I have to move back up. You should’ve told me you were coming. Mickey said you were here the other day.”
“When I have some time I like to come by. It’s a fascinating case so far.”
“Well, let’s hope the jury thinks it’s more than fascinating. I want this guy back in San Quentin so bad I can taste it.”
“Mickey told me Jessup was moonlighting. Is that still-”
She lowered her voice to a whisper when she saw Jessup walking down the aisle and back to his seat at the defense table.
“-happening?”
Bosch matched her whisper.
“Yeah, and last night it almost went completely south on us. The SIS lost him.”
“Oh, no.”
The judge’s door opened and she stepped out and headed up to the bench. Everyone stood. Bosch knew he had to get back to the prosecution table in case he was needed.
“But I found him,” he whispered. “I have to go, but are you sticking around this afternoon?”
“No, I have to go back to the office. I’m just on a break right now.”
“Okay, Rachel, thanks for coming by. I’ll talk to you.”
As people started sitting back down he worked his way out of the row and then quickly went back down the aisle and through the gate to take a seat in the row of chairs directly behind the prosecution table.
McPherson continued her direct examination of Sarah Ann Gleason. Bosch thought that both prosecutor and witness had been doing an exceptional job so far, but he also knew that they were moving into new territory now and soon everything said before wouldn’t matter if what was said now wasn’t delivered in a believable and unassailable fashion.
“Sarah,” McPherson began, “when did your mother marry Kensington Landy?”
“When I was six.”
“Did you like Ken Landy?”
“No, not really. At first things were okay but then everything changed.”
“You, in fact, attempted to run away from home just a few months before your sister’s death, isn’t that right?”
“Yes.”
“I show you People’s exhibit twelve, a police report dated November thirtieth, nineteen eighty-five. Can you tell the jury what that is?”
McPherson delivered copies of the report to the witness, the judge and the defense table. Bosch had found the report during his record search on the case. It had been a lucky break.
“It’s a missing persons report,” Gleason said. “My mother reported me missing.”
“And did the police find you?”
“No, I just came home. I didn’t have anyplace to go.”
“Why did you run away, Sarah?”
“Because my stepfather… was having sex with me.”
McPherson nodded and let the answer hang out there in the courtroom for a long moment. Three days ago Bosch would have expected Royce to jump all over this part of the testimony but now he knew that this played to the defense’s case as well. Kensington Landy was the straw man and any testimony that supported that would be welcomed.
“When did this start?” McPherson finally asked.
“The summer before I ran away,” Gleason responded. “The summer before Melissa got taken.”
“Sarah, I am sorry to put you through these bad memories. You testified earlier that you and Melissa shared some of each other’s clothes, correct?”
“Yes.”
“The dress she wore on the day she was taken, that was your dress, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
McPherson then introduced the dress as the state’s next exhibit and Bosch set it up for display to the jury on a headless manikin he placed in front of the jury box.
“Is this the dress, Sarah?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Now, you notice that there is a square of material removed from the bottom front hem of the dress. You see that, Sarah?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know why that was removed?”
“Yes, because they found semen on the dress there.”
“You mean forensic investigators?”
“Yes.”
“Now, is this something you knew back at the time of your sister’s death?”
“I know it now. I wasn’t told about it back then.”
“Do you know who the semen was genetically identified as belonging to?”
“Yes, I was told it came from my stepfather.”
“Did that surprise you?”
“No, unfortunately.”
“Do you have any explanation for how it could have gotten on your dress?”
Now Royce objected, saying that the question called for speculation. It also called for the witness to diverge from the defense theory, but he didn’t mention that. Breitman sustained the objection and McPherson had to find another way of getting there.
“Sarah, prior to your sister borrowing your dress on the morning she was abducted, when was the last time you wore it?”
Royce stood and objected again.
“Same objection. We’re speculating about events twenty-four years old and when this witness was only thirteen years old.”
“Your Honor,” McPherson rejoined, “Mr. Royce was fine with this so-called speculation when it fit with the defense’s scheme of things. But now he objects as we get to the heart of the matter. This is not speculation. Ms. Gleason is testifying truthfully about the darkest, saddest days of her life and I don’t think-”
“Objection overruled,” Breitman said. “The witness may answer.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.”
As McPherson repeated the question Bosch studied the jury. He wanted to see if they saw what he saw-a defense attorney attempting to stop the forward progression of truth. Bosch had found Sarah Gleason’s testimony to be fully convincing up to this point. He wanted to hear what she had to say and his hope was that the jury was in the same boat and would look unkindly upon defense efforts to stop her.
“I wore it two nights before,” Gleason said.
“That would have been Friday night, the fourteenth. Valentine’s Day.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you wear the dress?”
“My mother was making a nice dinner for Valentine’s Day and my stepfather said we should get dressed up for it.”
Gleason was looking down again, losing all eye contact with the jurors.
“Did your stepfather engage in a sexual act with you on that night?”
“Yes.”
“Were you wearing the dress at the time?”
“Yes.”
“Sarah, do you know if your father ejac-”
“He wasn’t my father!”
She yelled it and her voice echoed in the courtroom, reverberating around a hundred people who now knew her darkest secret. Bosch looked at McPherson and saw her checking out the jury’s reaction. It was then Bosch knew that the mistake had been intentional.
“I am sorry, Sarah. I meant your stepfather. Do you know, did he ejaculate in the course of this moment with you?”
“Yes, and some of it got on my dress.”
McPherson studied her notes, flipping over several pages of her yellow pad. She wanted that last answer to hang out there as long as possible.
“Sarah, who did the laundry at your house?”
“A lady came. Her name was Abby.”
“After that Valentine’s Day, did you put your dress in the laundry?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I was afraid Abby would find it and know what happened. I thought she might tell my mother or call the police.”
“Why would that have been a bad thing, Sarah?”
“I… my mother was happy and I didn’t want to ruin things for her.”
“So what did you do with the dress that night?”
“I cleaned off the spot and hung it in my closet. I didn’t know my sister was going to wear it.”
“So two days later when she wanted to put it on, what did you say?”