Thirty-nine

I met them in the hallway outside the courtroom, away from the clot of reporters who surrounded the other principals of the trial as they exited. Hayley hugged me and I was overwhelmed that she had come. I saw an empty wooden bench and we sat down.

“How long were you guys in there?” I asked. “I didn’t see you.”

“Unfortunately, not that long,” Maggie said. “Her last period today was PE, so I decided to take the afternoon off, pull her out early and come on down. We saw most of your cross with the deputy.”

I looked from Maggie to our daughter, who was sitting between us. She had her mother’s looks; dark hair and eyes, skin that held a tan long into the winter.

“What did you think, Hay?”

“Um, I thought it was really interesting. You asked him a lot of questions. He looked like he was getting mad.”

“Don’t worry, he’ll get over it.”

I looked over her head and winked at my ex-wife.

“Mickey?”

I turned around and saw it was McEvoy from the Times. He had come over, his pad and pen ready.

“Not now,” I said.

“I just had a quick-”

“And I just said, not now. Leave me alone.”

McEvoy turned and walked back to one of the groups circling Golantz.

“Who was that?” Hayley asked.

“A newspaper reporter. I’ll talk to him later.”

“Mom said there was a big story about you today.”

“It wasn’t really about me. It was about the case. That’s why I was hoping you could come see some of it.”

I looked at my ex-wife again and nodded my thanks. She had put aside any anger she had toward me and placed our daughter first. No matter what else, I could always count on her for that.

“Do you go back in there?” Hayley asked.

“Yes, this is just a little break so people can get something to drink or use the bathroom. We have one more session and then we’ll go home and start it all over tomorrow.”

She nodded and looked down the hall toward the courtroom door. I followed her eyes and saw that people were starting to go back in.

“Um, Daddy? Did that man in there kill somebody?”

I looked at Maggie and she shrugged as if to say, I didn’t tell her to ask the question.

“Well, honey, we don’t know. He is accused of that, yes. And a lot of people think he did. But nothing has been proven yet and we’re going to use this trial to decide that. That’s what the trial is for. Remember how I explained that to you?”

“I remember.”

“Mick, is this your family?”

I looked over my shoulder and froze when I looked into the eyes of Walter Elliot. He was smiling warmly, expecting an introduction. Little did he know who Maggie McFierce was.

“Uh, hi, Walter. This is my daughter, Hayley, and this is her mom, Maggie McPherson.”

“Hi,” Hayley said shyly.

Maggie nodded and looked uncomfortable.

Walter made the mistake of thrusting his hand out to Maggie. If she could have acted more stiffly, I couldn’t imagine it. She shook his hand once and then quickly pulled away from his grasp. When his hand moved toward Hayley, Maggie literally jumped up, put her arms on our daughter’s shoulders and pulled her from the bench.

“Hayley, let’s go into the restroom real quick before court starts again.”

She hustled Hayley off toward the restroom. Walter watched them go and then looked at me, his hand still held out and empty. I stood up.

“Sorry, Walter, my ex-wife’s a prosecutor. She works for the DA.”

His eyebrows climbed his forehead.

“Then, I guess I understand why she’s an ex-wife.”

I nodded just to make him feel better. I told him to go on back into the courtroom and that I would be along shortly.

I walked toward the restrooms and met Maggie and Hayley as they were coming out.

“I think we’re going to head home,” Maggie said.

“Really?”

“She’s got a lot of homework and I think she’s seen enough for today.”

I could’ve argued that last point but I let it go.

“Okay,” I said. “Hayley, thanks for coming. It means a lot to me.”

“Okay.”

I bent down and kissed her on the top of her head, then pulled her in close for a hug. It was only at times like this with my daughter that the distance I had opened in my life came closed. I felt connected to something that mattered. I looked up at Maggie.

“Thanks for bringing her.”

She nodded.

“For what it’s worth, you’re doing good in there.”

“It’s worth a lot. Thank you.”

She shrugged and let a small smile slip out. And that was nice, too.

I watched them walk toward the elevator alcove, knowing they weren’t going home to my house and wondering how it was that I had messed up my life so badly.

“Hayley!” I called after them.

My daughter looked back at me.

“See you Wednesday. Pancakes!”

She was smiling as they joined the crowd waiting for an elevator. I noticed that my former wife was smiling, too. I pointed at her as I walked back toward the courtroom.

“And you can come, too.”

She nodded.

“We’ll see,” she said.

An elevator opened and they moved toward it. “We’ll see.” Those two words seemed to cover it all for me.

Forty

In any murder trial, the main witness for the prosecution is always the lead investigator. Because there are no living victims to tell the jury what happened to them, it falls upon the lead to tell the tale of the investigation as well as to speak for the dead. The lead investigator brings the hammer. He puts everything together for the jury, makes it clear and makes it sympathetic. The lead’s job is to sell the case to the jury and, like any exchange or transaction, it is often just as much about the salesman as it is about the goods being sold. The best homicide men are the best salesmen. I’ve seen men as hard as Harry Bosch on the stand shed a tear when they’ve described the last moments a murder victim spent on earth.

Golantz called the case’s lead investigator to the stand after the afternoon break. It was a stroke of genius and master planning. John Kinder would hold center stage until court was adjourned for the day, and the jurors would go home with his words to consider over dinner and then into the night. And there was nothing I could do about it but watch.

Kinder was a large, affable black man who spoke with a fatherly baritone. He wore reading glasses slipped down to the end of his nose when referring to the thick binder he’d carried with him to the stand. Between questions he would look over the rims at Golantz or the jury. His eyes seemed comfortable, kind, alert and wise. He was the one witness I didn’t have a comeback for.

With Golantz’s precise questioning and a series of blow-ups of crime scene photos – which I had been unsuccessful in keeping out on the grounds they were prejudicial – Kinder led the jury on a tour of the murder scene and what the evidence told the investigative team. It was purely clinical and methodical but it was supremely interesting. With his deep, authoritative voice, Kinder came off as something akin to a professor, teaching Homicide 101 to every person in the courtroom.

I objected here and there when I could in an effort to break the Golantz/Kinder rhythm, but there was little I could do but nut it out and wait. At one point I got a text on my phone from the gallery and it didn’t help ease my concerns.

Favreau: They love this guy! Isn’t there anything you can do?

Without turning to glance back at Favreau I simply shook my head while looking down at the phone’s screen under the defense table.

I then glanced at my client and it appeared that he was barely paying attention to Kinder’s testimony. He was writing notes on a legal pad but they weren’t about the trial or the case. I saw a lot of numbers and the heading FOREIGN DISTRIBUTION underlined on the page. I leaned over and whispered to him.