“And didn’t you tell her a story that is quite different from the one you just recounted?”
“But I wasn’t under oath or nothin’ then.”
“That’s right, sir, but you did tell Karen a different story, true?”
“I might’ve. I can’t remember.”
“Didn’t you tell Karen at that time that Ms. Gleason had told you that her stepfather had killed her sister?”
Haller was up with the objection, arguing that not only was Royce leading the witness but that there was no foundation for the question and that counsel was trying to get testimony to the jury that the witness was not willing to give. The judge sustained the objection.
“Your Honor,” Royce said, “the defense would like to request a short break to confer with its witness.”
Before Haller could object the judge denied the request.
“By this witness’s own testimony this morning, you have had since March second to prepare for this moment. We go to lunch in thirty-five minutes. You can confer with him then, Mr. Royce. Ask your next question.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.”
Royce looked down at his legal pad. From Bosch’s angle he could tell he was looking at a blank page.
“Mr. Royce?” the judge prompted.
“Yes, Your Honor, just rechecking a date. Mr. Roman, why did you call my office on March second?”
“Well, I seen something about the case on the TV. In fact, it was you. I seen you talking about it. And I knew something about it from knowing Sarah like I did. So I called up to see if I was needed.”
“And then you came to my offices, correct?”
“Yeah, that’s right. You sent that lady to pick me up.”
“And when you came to my office, you told me a different story than you are telling the jury now, isn’t that right?”
“Like I said, I don’t remember exactly what I said then. I’m a drug addict, sir. I say a lot of things I don’t remember and don’t really mean. All I remember is that the woman who came said she’d put me up in a nicer hotel and I had no money for a place at that time. So I sort of said what she told me to say.”
Bosch made a fist and bounced it once on his thigh. This was an unmitigated disaster for the defense. He looked over at Jessup to see if he realized how bad things had just turned for him. And Jessup seemed to sense it. He turned and looked back at Bosch, his eyes dark with growing anger and realization. Bosch leaned forward and slowly raised a finger. He dragged it across his throat.
Jessup turned away.
Thirty-nine
Thursday, April 8, 11:30 A.M .
I have had many good moments in court. I’ve stood next to men at the moment they knew that they were going free because of my good work. I have stood in the well in front of a jury and felt the tingle of truth and righteousness roll down my spine. And I have destroyed liars without mercy on the witness stand. These are the moments I live for in my professional life. But few of them measured up to the moment I watched Jason Jessup’s defense unravel with the testimony of Edward Roman.
As Roman crashed and burned on the stand, my ex-wife and prosecution partner squeezed my arm to the point of pain. She couldn’t help it. She knew it, too. This was not something Royce was going to recover from. A key part of what was already going to be a fragile defense was crumbling before his eyes. It wasn’t so much that his witness had pulled a one-eighty on him. It was the jury seeing a defense that was now obviously built upon a liar. The jury would not forgive this. It was over and I believed everyone in the courtroom-from the judge to the gadflies in the back row of the gallery-knew it. Jessup was going down.
I turned and looked back to share the moment with Bosch. After all, the silent witness maneuver had been his idea. And I caught him giving Jessup the throat slash-the internationally recognized sign that it was over.
I looked back to the front of the court.
“Mr. Royce,” the judge said. “Are you continuing with this witness?”
“A moment, Your Honor,” Royce said.
It was a valid question. Royce had few ways with which to go with Roman at this point. He could cut his losses and simply end the questioning. Or he could ask the judge to declare Roman to be a hostile witness-a move that was always professionally embarrassing when the hostile witness is one you called to the stand. But it was a move that would allow Royce more latitude in asking leading questions that explored what Roman had initially said to the defense investigator and why he was dissembling now. But this was fraught with danger, especially since this initial interview had not been recorded or documented in an effort to hide Roman during the discovery process.
“Mr. Royce!” the judge barked. “I consider the court’s time quite valuable. Please ask your next question or I will turn the witness over to Mr. Haller for cross-examination.”
Royce nodded to himself as he came to a decision.
“I’m sorry, Your Honor. But no further questions at this time.”
Royce walked dejectedly back to his seat and a waiting client who was visibly upset with the turnabout. I stood up and started moving to the lectern even before the judge turned the witness over to me.
“Mr. Roman,” I said, “your testimony has been somewhat confusing to me. So let me get this straight. Are you telling this jury that Sarah Ann Gleason did or did not tell you that her stepfather murdered her sister?”
“She didn’t. That’s just what they wanted me to say.”
“Who is ‘they,’ sir?”
“The defense. The lady investigator and Royce.”
“Besides a hotel room, were you to receive anything else if you testified to such a story today?”
“They just said they’d take care of me. That a lot of money was at-”
“Objection!” Royce yelled.
He jumped to his feet.
“Your Honor, the witness is clearly hostile and acting out a vindictive fantasy.”
“He’s your witness, Mr. Royce. He can answer the question. Go ahead, sir.”
“They said there was a lot of money at stake and they would take care of me,” Roman said.
It just kept getting better for me and worse for Jessup. But I had to make sure I didn’t come off to the jury as gleeful or vindictive myself. I recalibrated and focused on what was important.
“What was the story that Sarah told you all those years ago, Mr. Roman?”
“Like I said, that she was in the yard and she was hiding and she saw the guy who grabbed her sister.”
“Did she ever tell you she identified the wrong man?”
“No.”
“Did she ever tell you that the police told her who to identify?”
“No.”
“Did she ever once tell you that the wrong man was charged with her sister’s murder?”
“No.”
“No further questions.”
I checked the clock as I returned to my seat. We still had twenty minutes before the lunch break. Rather than break early, the judge asked Royce to call his next witness. He called his investigator, Karen Revelle. I knew what he was doing and I was going to be ready.
Revelle was a mannish-looking woman who wore slacks and a sport jacket. She had ex-cop written all over her dour expression. After she was sworn in, Royce got right to the point, probably hoping to stem the flow of blood from his case before the jurors went to lunch.
“What do you do for a living, Ms. Revelle?”
“I am an investigator for the law firm of Royce and Associates.”
“You work for me, correct?”
“That is correct.”
“On March second of this year, did you conduct a telephone interview with an individual named Edward Roman?”
“I did.”
“What did he tell you in that call?”
I stood and objected. I asked the judge if I could discuss my objection at a sidebar conference.
“Come on up,” she said.
Maggie and I followed Royce to the side of the bench. The judge told me to state my objection.