The Gods of Guilt

by Michael Connelly

  “Thank you, Judge,” Forsythe responded. “Next the people object to the inclusion of Stratton Sterghos. Our efforts last night have turned up not a single connection between him and this case. He lives in Glendale, far from the events that comprise this case. I am told he is a retired obstetrician who appears to be on vacation at the moment and out of contact. We could not talk to him and therefore we are hampered in our understanding of what Mr. Haller is hoping to achieve by calling him as a witness.”

  I jumped in before the judge even had time to turn to me and ask for a response.

  “As Your Honor knows, the defense is presenting an alternate theory in the motivation behind Gloria Dayton’s murder. This has already been argued at length in regard to our inclusion of Agent James Marco, Trina Rafferty, and Hector Moya on our original witness list. Same thing here, Judge. We believe Stratton Sterghos may be able to provide testimony that links the Dayton murder to a double homicide that occurred across the street from his home ten years ago.”

  “What?” Forsythe cried. “You have got to be kidding me. Your Honor, you cannot allow this wild fishing expedition to infect this trial. For lack of a legal term, this is nuts. A double murder ten years ago is somehow connected to this murder of a prostitute? Come on, Judge, let’s not turn your courtroom into a circus, and that is exactly what the court will be doing if it—”

  “Your position is clear, Mr. Forsythe,” the judge said, cutting in. “Any other objections to names on the list?”

  “Yes, Your Honor, I object to bringing Sylvester Fulgoni Sr. down from FCI Victorville. Anything he could contribute would surely be hearsay.”

  “I have to say I agree,” Leggoe said. “Anything further, Mr. Haller?”

  “I would like to turn our last response over to my colleague, Ms. Aronson.”

  I nodded to her and could tell my offer had taken her by surprise. Still, I knew she could respond.

  “Judge Leggoe, with all due respect to the court as well as to Mr. Forsythe, appellate courts from across this land have repeatedly held that efforts to thwart the defense from exploring all angles and footholds of alternate theories are perilous and subject to reversal. The defense in the instant case is presenting just such an alternate defense and it would be in error if the court hampered it in doing so. Submitted, Your Honor.”

  Jennifer had skillfully gotten the words reversal and error into her final argument. Two words that made a judge think twice. Leggoe nodded her thanks to all three of us, then folded her hands together on the desk. If she took even a minute to consider her decisions, then it was a quick minute.

  “I am going to overrule the objection to the calling of Investigator Lankford. He will testify. In regard to Stratton Sterghos, at the moment I agree with Mr. Forsythe. So he is struck. I am, however, willing to take this up again if and when the defense has built a credible path to him. The remaining two names are struck as well until such time that Mr. Haller can make a renewed argument for their inclusion.”

  Outwardly, I frowned. But the ruling was perfect. Sly Fulgoni Sr. wasn’t going to get his vacation, but I got exactly what I wanted—Lankford. The fact that the judge left the door open a crack on Sterghos was a bonus. Now Forsythe and, by extension, Lankford and Marco, had to keep in mind that he was out there, waiting to possibly come into the trial and turn things upside down. If nothing else, it might serve to distract them while I worked other angles that were real and more damaging to the prosecution’s case.

  “Anything else?” the Judge asked. “We have a trial to get started.”

  There was nothing else. We were excused and headed back to the courtroom. On the way, Forsythe sidled up to me as I expected he would.

  “I don’t know where you’re going with this, Haller, but you should know that if you drag the reputations of good people through the mud, there are going to be consequences.”

  I guessed that the gloves were now off between Forsythe and me. He was no longer acting as though he was above the fray. He was down in it. It was the first time I could remember him addressing me by my last name only, a sign that we were no longer going to be collegial about things.

  That was okay with me. I was used to it.

  “Is that a threat?” I asked.

  “No, that’s the reality of where we’re at,” he said.

  “You can tell Lankford that I don’t react to threats well. He should know that from the last time we crossed paths on a case.”

  “This isn’t coming from Lankford. This is coming from me.”

  I glanced at him.

  “Oh, then I guess I should just shut everything down, have my client plead open to the charges, and beg the court for mercy. Is that what you think? Because that’s not going to happen, Forsythe, and if you think you can scare me off, then you didn’t ask enough of your colleagues about me before we started down this path.”

  Forsythe picked up speed and left me behind as we pushed through the door into the courtroom. There was nothing else to say.

  I scanned the courtroom and saw Lorna sitting alone in the front row. I knew that Kendall would not be in court because of at least one of the witnesses I planned to call. It was five minutes before ten, according to the clock on the rear wall of the courtroom. I walked up to the rail to talk to Lorna.

  “Have you seen Cisco yet?”

  “Yes, he’s out in the hallway with the witness.”

  I looked back at the judge’s bench. It was still empty and they hadn’t brought La Cosse in from the lockup. I knew that with Jennifer at the defense table, things could start without me. I looked back at Lorna.

  “Will you come get me in the hall when the judge comes out?”

  “Sure.”

  I went through the gate and walked quickly out to the hallway. Cisco was there, sitting next to Trina Rafferty. She was dressed much more conservatively than the last time I had seen her. The hem of her dress even came down over her knees and she had taken my advice to wear a sweater to keep her warm in the courtroom because Judge Leggoe had a habit of keeping the temperature down so jurors would stay awake and alert.

  Costume-wise Trina Trixxx would be no problem. But I picked up the first inkling of an issue when she pointedly didn’t look at me when I approached and spoke to her.

  “Trina, thank you for being here today.”

  “I said I would. I’m here.”

  “Well, I am going to try to make this as easy as possible for you. I don’t know how much the prosecution will have for you, but I won’t take long myself.”

  She didn’t respond or look at me. I looked at Cisco and raised my eyebrows. Problem? He shrugged like he didn’t know.

  “Trina,” I said, “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to take Cisco down the hall a bit so we can talk about private matters. We won’t be long.”

  Cisco walked with me over to the elevator alcove. From there we could keep Trina in sight while we talked.

  “So what’s going on with her?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. She seems spooked about something but she isn’t saying. I asked.”

  “Great, that’s all I need. Do you know if she talked to anybody last night? Somebody from the other side?”

  “If she did, she isn’t saying. She might just be nervous about coming to court.”

  Over his shoulder I saw Lorna waving to me from the courtroom door. The judge was on the bench.

  “Well, whatever it is, she’d better get over it quick. She’ll be on in five minutes. I gotta go.”

  I started to make a move to go around him, then remembered something and stepped back.

  “Great work last night.”

  “Thanks. You looked at the tape, right?”

  “Yeah, on the way in. How much did they plant in the pizza box?”

  “About three ounces of black-tar heroin.”

  I whistled the way Cisco usually whistled.

  “You took it out of there, right?”

  “Yep. But what do I do with it? If I give it
to the Indians, they’ll sell it or use it themselves.”

  “Then don’t give it to them.”

  “But I don’t like having it in my possession.”

  It was a dilemma but the one thing I knew for sure was that we couldn’t get rid of it. I might need it as part of my presentation of the video that went with it.

  “Okay, then I’ll take it. Bring it by the house tonight and I’ll put it in the safe.”

  “You sure you want that kind of risk?”

  “This will all be over in a few days. I’ll risk it.”

  I clapped him on the shoulder and moved off toward the courtroom door.

  “Hey,” he called after me.

  I turned and walked back to him.

  “Did you pick up on how Lankford was acting in the video?”

  I nodded.

  “Yeah, like he was taking orders from Marco.”

  “Exactly. Marco is the alpha.”

  “Right.”

  35

  The defense strategy was simple: Blaze a path that would lead the jury to James Marco and the unalterable conclusion that he was a rogue drug agent who was entirely corrupt and willing to kill to avoid exposure. Trina Rafferty was one of the steps on that pathway, and I called her as my first witness Tuesday. She had been associated with Gloria Dayton and both had come under Marco’s influence and control.

  No matter how conservatively she had dressed, there was something about Trina that still displayed an undeniable tawdriness. The stringy blond hair and hollow eyes, the pierced nose and bracelets tattooed around her wrists. These were all features found in many respectable women, but the combination of these and her demeanor left no doubt about who she was when she made her way to the witness stand. As she stood to be sworn in, I remembered that there was a time when Kendall, Trina, and Gloria all covered for one another on jobs because they looked so similar. Not anymore. There wasn’t even a remote resemblance between Kendall and Trina. Looking at Trina, I knew I was looking at what could have been for Kendall.

  After Trina was sworn in, I didn’t delay in confirming the obvious to the jurors.

  “Trina, you also have a professional name, do you not?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you share it with the jury?”

  “Trina Trixxx, spelled with a triple x.”

  She smiled coyly.

  “And what is the profession you use that name for?”

  “I’m an escort.”

  “You mean you have sex with people for money, correct?”

  “Yeah, that’s it.”

  “And how long has this been your profession?”

  “Going on twelve years, on and off.”

  “And did you know another escort named Gloria Dayton, who used names like Glory Days and Giselle Dallinger?”

  “I knew Glory Days, yes.”

  “When would that have been?”

  “I probably met her ten years ago. We used the same answering service.”

  “And did you also have some sort of work arrangement with her?”

  “We covered for each other, if that’s what you mean. There were three girls and we covered for each other. If one was busy with a client or had a full schedule and a call came in for her, then one of the other two would take it. And sometimes if a customer wanted two girls or even three girls, then we would all work together.”

  I nodded and paused for a moment. That last part had not come up previously and it was distracting to me, since the third girl who had not yet been named was Kendall Roberts.

  “Mr. Haller?” the judge prompted. “Can we get through this?”

  “Yes, Your Honor. Uh, Ms. Rafferty, did you have contacts within the law enforcement community during these times?”

  Trina acted puzzled by the question.

  “Well, I got busted a couple times. Three times, actually.”

  “Did you ever get busted by the DEA?”

  She shook her head.

  “No, just LAPD and the sheriff’s.”

  “Were you ever detained then by the DEA, by an agent named James Marco?”

  In my peripheral vision I saw Forsythe lean forward. He always did it before objecting. But for some reason he didn’t object. I turned to look at him, still expecting the objection, and saw that Lankford had reached forward from his seat at the railing and touched Forsythe’s back. I read it as Lankford, the investigator, telling Forsythe, the prosecutor, not to object.

  “I don’t think so.”

  I turned back to the witness, unsure about what I just heard.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Can you repeat that?”

  “I said no,” Trina said.

  “You’re saying you don’t know a DEA agent named James Marco?”

  “That’s correct. I don’t know him.”

  “You’ve never even met him?”

  “Not as far as I know—unless he was undercover or something and using a different name.”

  I turned and glanced back at Cisco in the first row. Obviously, Marco had somehow gotten to Trina Rafferty, and in that moment I wanted to know how. But what was more pressing than the explanation was what I was going to do right now. I could turn on my own witness, but the jury might not like that.

  I decided that I didn’t have much of a choice.

  “Trina,” I said, “didn’t you tell me previous to your testimony here today that you were a confidential informant who worked for Agent Marco and the DEA?”

  “Well, I told you a lot of things because you were paying my rent. I told you whatever you wanted me to tell you.”

  “No, that’s—”

  I stopped myself and tried to remain composed. Not only had Marco and Lankford gotten to her, but they had turned her into a weapon of mass destruction. If I didn’t salvage this, she could blow up the entire defense.

  “When was the last time you spoke with Agent Marco?”

  “I don’t know him, so I didn’t speak to him.”

  “You’re telling this jury that you have no idea who Agent James Marco is?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t. I needed a place to stay and some food. I might have told you things so you would give me things back.”

  It had happened to me before, a witness shifting sides like this. But never so dramatically and with so much damage inflicted on my case. I glanced over at my client at the defense table. He looked bewildered. I looked past him at Jennifer and she had an expression of embarrassment on her face—embarrassment for me.

  I turned and looked at the judge, who was equally perplexed. I did the only thing I could in the situation.

  “Your Honor, I have no further questions,” I said.

  I slowly returned to the defense table, passing Forsythe on his way to the lectern to further the damage. As I moved through the narrow channel between the empty prosecution table and the chairs running along the railing I had to pass Lankford. I heard him make a low humming sound.

  “Mmm mmm mmmmm.”

  Only I would have heard it. I stopped, took a step back, and leaned down to him.

  “What did you say?” I asked in a whisper.

  “I said, keep going, Haller,” he whispered back.

  Forsythe began his cross-examination by asking Trina Rafferty if the two of them had ever met. I moved to my seat and sat down. The one good thing about Forsythe jumping on his cross so fast was that it saved me for the moment from having to tell my client how badly things had just turned. The Rafferty fiasco was a one-two punch to the guts of our case. Already, without Forsythe piling on—which he was about to do—I had lost a key piece of testimony connecting Marco and Gloria Dayton. Adding insult to that injury, she was more than implying that I was suborning perjury—paying a witness with rent money to lie.

  Forsythe seemed to think that by destroying me he was destroying the case. Almost all of his cross centered on Trina’s testimony that I fed her the lines she was supposed to speak in testimony in exchange for the apartment just a few blocks away behind the Police Admi
nistration Building. And in his zeal to take me down, I saw the way to possibly salvage things. If I could show her to have lied, I stood a good chance of undercutting—in the eyes of the jury, at least—the accusations she was making about me.

  Forsythe finished after fifteen minutes, curtailing his cross when I started objecting to nearly every question on the basis that it had already been asked and answered. You can beat a dead horse only so many times. He finally gave up and sat down.

  I slowly got up for redirect, walking to the lectern like a condemned man to the gallows.

  “Ms. Rafferty, you gave the address of this apartment I am supposedly paying for. When did you move in there?”

  “In December, right before Christmas.”

  “And do you recall when you first met me?”

  “It was after. I think March or April.”

  “Then, how is it that you think I was paying for this apartment for you when I did not meet you until three to four months after you moved in?”

  “Because you were meeting with the other lawyer, and he was the one who moved me in.”

  “And which lawyer was that?”

  “Sly. Mr. Fulgoni.”

  “You mean Sylvester Fulgoni Jr.?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you saying that Sylvester Fulgoni Jr. along with me is representing Mr. La Cosse?”

  I pointed to my client as I spoke, and I asked the question with a reserved astonishment in my voice.

  “Well, no,” she said.

  “Then who was he representing when he supposedly moved you into this apartment?”

  “Hector Moya.”

  “Why did Mr. Fulgoni move you into an apartment?”

  Forsythe objected, arguing that Fulgoni and the Moya case were not relevant. I, of course, took the opposite view of this in my response, citing once again the alternate defense theory I was presenting. The judge overruled and I asked the question again.