The Gods of Guilt(83)

Of course, I knew something about looking guilty and feeling guilty. But like Andre, I was trying to play my part. I hadn’t had a drink since the night before jury selection began. Not even on the weekends. I was sharp and I was ready. For Andre, today was the first day of the rest of his life. Mine, too.

“I just wish David was here,” Andre said in a whisper so low I almost didn’t hear him.

Reflexively prompted by what he’d said, I turned slightly and my eyes swept across the rear of the courtroom. As had been the case since the start of the trial, the gallery was almost empty. There was an accused serial killer on trial in Department 111 and that was drawing most of the media. The La Cosse case had gotten scant attention in the news, and the cynic in me decided this was because the victim here had been a prostitute.

But I did have a cheering section. Kendall Roberts and Lorna Taylor sat in the first row directly behind the defense table. Lorna had been making periodic visits throughout the trial. This was Kendall’s first day watching. Wary of coming to the courthouse and possibly seeing someone from her past, she had stayed away until I had pointedly asked her to come for at least my opening statement. We had grown close since April and I wanted her there for the emotional support.

And in the back row were two men who had been in attendance every day since the start of jury selection. I did not know their names but I knew who they were. They wore expensive suits but looked out of place in them. They were muscular and had deeply tanned skin from lives seemingly spent outdoors and not in courtrooms. They had the same build as Hector Arrande Moya, with wide, sharp shoulders, and I had come to think of them simply as Moya’s Men. They were part of the contingent of protectors Moya had dispatched to watch over me after the car crash in the mountains. I had turned down his offer of protection that day in the visiting room. It was too late for Earl Briggs now, but I didn’t turn down the offer a second time.

But that was it. No one else was watching the trial. La Cosse’s life partner, David, was missing from the benches. He had split, having staged a full withdrawal of La Cosse’s remaining gold and leaving town on the eve of the trial. More than anything else, that loss contributed to Andre’s demeanor and downward spiral.

In a way, I understood it. Having Kendall in the courtroom was a special thing for me. I felt supported and less alone. Like I had a partner in the fight. But my daughter had so far not set foot in the courtroom and that hurt. The hospital room reunion   had only gone so far in rekindling the relationship. And school was no longer an excuse, as it had let out for the year halfway through the prosecution’s case. I think my reflexive act to check the gallery was actually one more hopeful search for her.

“You can’t worry about that now,” I whispered to Andre—and myself. “You have to look strong. Be strong.”

Andre nodded and tried to smile.

When David had taken the gold and run, La Cosse wasn’t the only one he had left high and dry. By then I had already taken receipt of a second bar of gold as continuing payment. A third bar was due at the start of trial, but the gold was gone by then. So a case that I had earlier viewed as a potential financial bonanza had turned pro bono as the trial began. Team Haller was no longer getting paid.

At exactly ten o’clock the judge emerged from chambers and took the bench. As was her custom, Judge Leggoe eyed Forsythe and me and asked if there was any business to consider before she brought in the jury. This time there was. I stood, holding a set of documents, and said I had an amended witness list for the court to consider and approve. She waved me up to the bench and I handed her a copy of the new list and then dropped another one off with Forsythe on my way back. I was barely seated again when Forsythe stood to object.

“Your Honor, Counsel is engaged in an age-old practice of deception by trying to hide his real witnesses in a sea of names. His pretrial list was enormous and now he’s added what I estimate to be twenty to twenty-five more names and it is evident most of these will not be actually called.”

He gestured with the pages behind him to where Lee Lankford sat in a row of chairs against the rail.

“I see he has my own DA investigator on here now,” Forsythe continued. “And let’s see, he’s got not one but now two federal prisoners on here. He’s got one . . . two . . . three prison guards. He’s got what looks like every resident in the victim’s building—”

He abruptly cut off the litany and dropped the pages on his table as though depositing them in the trash.

“The people object, Your Honor. It would be impossible to respond beyond that without being allowed the time to look at these names and determine their relationship, if there is any at all, to the case.”