The Fifth Witness: A Novel

by Michael Connelly

  “Lisa Trammel was set up for a murder she did not commit. She was the patsy. The fall guy. She protested the bank’s harsh and fraudulent foreclosure practices. She fought against them and for that she was kept away with a restraining order. The very things that made her a suspect to lazy investigators were what made her a perfect patsy. And we’re going to prove it to you.”

  All their eyes were on me. I’d captured their complete attention.

  “The state’s evidence won’t stand,” I said. “Piece by piece we’ll knock it down. The measure by which you are charged to make your decision here is guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. I urge you to pay close attention and to think for yourself. You do that and I guarantee that you’ll have more reasonable doubt than you’ll know what to do with. And you’ll be left with only one question. Why? Why was this woman charged with this crime? Why was she put through this?”

  One final pause and then I nodded and thanked them for their attention. I quickly moved back to my seat and sat down. Lisa reached over and put her hand on my arm as if to thank me for standing for her. It was one of our choreographed moves. I knew it was an act but it still felt good.

  The judge called for a fifteen-minute break before the start of testimony. As the courtroom emptied, I stayed in place at the defense table. My opener had continued my sense of momentum. The prosecution would hold sway over the next few days but Freeman was now on notice that I was coming after her.

  “Thank you, Mickey,” Lisa Trammel said as she got up to go out into the hall with Herb Dahl, who had come through the gate to collect her.

  I looked at him and then I looked at her.

  “Don’t thank me yet,” I said.

  Twenty-two

  After the break, Andrea Freeman came out of the gate with what I called the prosecution’s scene-setter witnesses. Their testimony was often dramatic but did not get to the guilt or innocence of the defendant. They were merely called as part of the architecture of the state’s case, to set the stage for the evidence that would come later.

  The trial’s first witness was a bank receptionist named Riki Sanchez. She was the woman who found the victim’s body in the parking garage. Her value was in helping to set a time of death and in bringing the shock of murder to the everyday people on the jury.

  Sanchez commuted to work from the Santa Clarita Valley and therefore had a morning routine that she strictly adhered to. She testified that she regularly pulled into the bank garage at 8:45 A.M., which gave her ten minutes to park, get to the employee entrance and be at her desk by 8:55 to prepare for the bank’s doors to open to the public at 9.

  She testified that on the day of the murder she had followed her routine and found an unassigned parking slot approximately ten spaces from Mitchell Bondurant’s assigned space. After leaving and locking her car, she walked toward the bridge that connected the garage to the bank building. It was then that she discovered the body. She first saw the spilled coffee, then the open briefcase on the ground, and finally Mitchell Bondurant lying facedown and bloodied.

  Sanchez knelt next to the body and checked for signs of life, then pulled her cell phone out of her purse and called 911.

  It’s rare to score defense points off a scene-setter witness. Their testimony is usually very prescribed and rarely contributes to the question of guilt or innocence. Still, you never know. On cross-examination I stood and threw a few questions at Sanchez just to see what might pop loose.

  “Now, Ms. Sanchez, you described your very precise morning routine here but there really is no routine once you drive into the bank’s garage, correct?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “I mean that you do not have an assigned parking space so there is no routine when it comes to that. You get into the garage and have to start hunting for a space, right?”

  “Well, sort of. The bank isn’t open yet so there are always plenty of spaces. I usually go up to the second floor and park in the area where I did that day.”

  “All right. In the past, had you walked into work with Mr. Bondurant?”

  “No, he was usually in earlier than me.”

  “Now on the day that you found Mr. Bondurant’s body, where was it that you saw the defendant, Lisa Trammel, in the garage?”

  She paused as if it was a trick question. It was.

  “I don’t—I mean, I didn’t see her.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Sanchez.”

  Next up on the stand was the 911 operator who took the 8:52 A.M. emergency call from Sanchez. Her name was LeShonda Gaines and her testimony was used primarily to introduce the tape of the call from Sanchez. Playing the tape was an overly dramatic and unneeded maneuver but the judge had allowed it over a pretrial objection from me. Freeman played forty seconds of the tape after handing out transcripts to the jurors as well as to the judge and the defense.

  GAINES: Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?

  SANCHEZ: There’s a man here. I think he’s dead! He’s all bloody and he won’t move.

  GAINES: What is your name, ma’am?

  SANCHEZ: Riki Sanchez. I’m in the parking garage at WestLand National in Sherman Oaks.

  (pause)

  GAINES: Is that the Ventura Boulevard location?

  SANCHEZ: Yes, are you sending someone?

  GAINES: Police and paramedics have been dispatched.

  SANCHEZ: I think he’s already dead. There’s a lot of blood.

  GAINES: Do you know who he is?

  SANCHEZ: I think it’s Mr. Bondurant but I’m not sure. Do you want me to turn him over?

  GAINES: No, just wait for the police. Are you in any danger, Ms. Sanchez?

  (pause)

  SANCHEZ: Uh, I don’t think so. I don’t see anybody around.

  GAINES: Okay, wait for the police and keep this line open.

  I didn’t bother asking any questions on cross-examination. There was nothing to be gained for the defense.

  Freeman threw her first curveball after Gaines was excused. I expected her to go with the first responding officer next. Have him testify about arriving and securing the scene, and get the crime scene photos to the jury. But instead she called Margo Schafer, the eyewitness who put Trammel close to the crime scene. I immediately saw the strategy Freeman was employing. Instead of sending the jury to lunch with crime scene photos in their minds, send them out with the first ah-ha moment of the trial. The first piece of testimony that connected Trammel to the crime.

  It was a good plan but Freeman didn’t know what I knew about her witness. I just hoped I got to her before lunch.

  Schafer was a petite woman who looked nervous and pale as she took the witness stand. She had to pull the stemmed microphone down from the position Gaines had left it in.

  Under direct questioning, Freeman drew from Schafer that she was a bank teller who had returned to work four years earlier after raising a family. She had no corporate aspirations. She just enjoyed the responsibility that came with the job and the interaction with the public.

  After a few more personal questions designed to create a rapport between Schafer and the jury, Freeman moved on to the meat of her testimony, asking the witness about the morning of the murder.

  “I was running late,” Schafer said. “I am supposed to be in place at my window at nine. I first go to get my bank out of the vault and sign it out. So usually I am there by quarter of. But on that day I hit traffic on Ventura Boulevard because of an accident and was very late.”

  “Do you remember exactly how late, Ms. Schafer?” Freeman asked.

  “Yes, ten minutes exactly. I kept looking at the clock on the dashboard. I was running exactly ten minutes behind schedule.”

  “Okay, and when you got close to the bank did you see anything out of the ordinary or that caused you concern?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “And what was that?”

  “I saw Lisa Trammel on the sidewalk walking away from the bank.”

  I stood and objected, saying that the witne
ss would have no idea where the person she claimed was Trammel was walking from. The judge agreed and sustained.

  “What direction was Ms. Trammel walking in?” Freeman asked.

  “East.”

  “And where was she in relation to the bank?”

  “She was a half a block east of the bank, also walking east.”

  “So she was walking in a direction away from the bank, correct?”

  “Yes, correct.”

  “And how close were you when you saw her?”

  “I was going west on Ventura and was in the left lane so that I could move into the turning lane to turn into the entrance to the bank’s garage. So she was three lanes across from me.”

  “You had your eyes on the road, though, didn’t you?”

  “No, I was stopped at a traffic light when I first saw her.”

  “So was she at a right angle to you when you saw her?”

  “Yes, directly across the street from me.”

  “And how was it that you knew this woman to be the defendant, Lisa Trammel?”

  “Because her photo is posted in the employee lounge and in the vault. Plus her photo was shown to bank employees about three months before.”

  “Why was that done?”

  “Because the bank had been granted a restraining order prohibiting her from coming within a hundred feet of the bank. We were shown her photo and told to immediately report to our supervisors any sighting of her on bank property.”

  “Can you tell the jury what time it was when you saw Lisa Trammel walking east on the sidewalk?”

  “Yes, I know exactly what time it was because I was running late. It was eight fifty-five.”

  “So at eight fifty-five, Lisa Trammel was walking east in a direction that was moving away from the bank, correct?”

  “Yes, correct.”

  Freeman asked a few more questions designed to elicit answers that indicated that Lisa Trammel was only a half block from the bank within a few minutes of the 911 call reporting the murder. She finally finished with the witness at 11:30 and the judge asked if I wanted to take an early lunch and begin my cross-examination afterward.

  “Judge, I think it’s only going to take me a half hour to handle this. I’d rather go now. I’m ready.”

  “Very well then, Mr. Haller. Proceed.”

  I stood up and went to the lectern located between the prosecution table and the jury box. I carried a legal pad with me and two display boards. I held these so that their displays faced each other and could not be seen. I leaned them against the side of the lectern.

  “Good morning, Ms. Schafer.”

  “Good morning.”

  “You mentioned in your testimony that you were running late because of a traffic accident, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you happen to come upon the accident site while making the commute?”

  “Yes, it was just west of Van Nuys Boulevard. Once I got past it, I started to move smoothly.”

  “Which side of Ventura was it on?”

  “That was the thing. It was in the eastbound lanes but everybody on my side had to slow down to gawk.”

  I made a note on my legal pad and changed direction.

  “Ms. Schafer, I noticed that the prosecutor forgot to ask you if Ms. Trammel was carrying a hammer when you saw her. You didn’t see anything like that, did you?”

  “No, I didn’t. But she was carrying a large shopping bag that was more than big enough for a hammer.”

  This was the first I had heard about a shopping bag. It had not been mentioned in the discovery materials. Schafer, the ever-helpful witness, was introducing new material. Or so I thought.

  “A shopping bag? Did you happen to mention this shopping bag during any of your interviews with the police or the prosecutor on this case?”

  Schafer gave it some thought.

  “I’m not sure. I may not have.”

  “So as far as you remember, the police didn’t even ask if the defendant was carrying anything.”

  “I think that’s correct.”

  I didn’t know what that meant or if it meant anything at all. But I decided to stay away from the shopping bag for the moment and to steer once again in a new direction. You never wanted the witness to know where you were going.

  “Now, Ms. Schafer, when you testified just a few minutes ago that you were three lanes from the sidewalk where you supposedly saw the defendant, you miscounted, didn’t you?”

  The second abrupt change of subject matter and the question gave her a momentary pause.

  “Uh… no, I did not.”

  “Well, what cross street were you at when you saw her?”

  “Cedros Avenue.”

  “There are two lanes of eastbound traffic on Ventura there, aren’t there?”

  “Yes.”

  “And then you have a turn lane onto Cedros, right?”

  “Yes, that’s right. That makes three.”

  “What about the lane of curbside parking?”

  She made an Oh, come on face.

  “That’s not a real lane.”

  “Well, it’s space between you and the woman you claim was Lisa Trammel, isn’t it?”

  “If you say so. I think that’s being picky.”

  “Really? I think it’s just being accurate, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I believe most people would say there were three lanes of traffic between me and her.”

  “Well, the parking zone, let’s call it, is at least a car-length wide and actually wider, correct?”

  “Okay, if you want to nitpick. Call it a fourth lane. My mistake.”

  It was a grudging if not bitter concession and I was sure that the jury was seeing who the real nitpicker was.

  “So then you are now saying that when you supposedly saw Ms. Trammel you would’ve been about four lanes away from her, not the three you previously testified to, correct?”

  “Correct. I said, my mistake.”

  I made a notation on my legal pad that really didn’t mean anything but that I hoped would look to the jurors as though I was keeping some sort of score. I then reached down to my display boards, separated them and chose one.

  “Your Honor, I would like to display for the witness a photograph of the location we are talking about here.”

  “Has the prosecution seen it?”

  “Judge, it was contained on the exhibits CD turned over in discovery. I did not specifically provide the board to Ms. Freeman and she did not ask to see it.”

  Freeman made no objection and the judge told me to carry on, calling the first board Defense Exhibit 1A. I set up a folding easel in an open area between the jury box and the witness stand. The prosecution planned to use the overhead screens to present exhibits and later I would as well, but for this demonstration I wanted to go the old-fashioned way. I put the display board up and then returned to the lectern.

  “Ms. Schafer, do you recognize the photograph I have put on the easel?”

  It was a thirty-by-fifty-inch aerial view of the two-block stretch of Ventura Boulevard in question. Bullocks had gotten it off Google Earth and all it cost us was the price of the blowup and the mounting on the board.

  “Yes. It looks like a top view of Ventura Boulevard and you can see the bank and also the intersection with Cedros Avenue about a block away.”

  “Yes, an aerial view. Can you please step down and use the marker on the easel’s ledge to circle the spot where you believe you saw Lisa Trammel?”

  Schafer looked at the judge as if to seek permission. He nodded his approval and she stepped down. She took the black marker from the ledge and circled an area on the sidewalk, a half block from the bank’s entrance.

  “Thank you, Ms. Schafer. Can you now mark for the jury where your car was located when you looked out the window and supposedly saw Lisa Trammel?”

  She marked a spot in the middle lane that appeared to be at least three car lengths from the crosswalk.

  “Thank you, Ms. Schafe
r. You can return to the witness stand now.”

  Schafer put the marker back on the ledge and moved back to her seat.

  “So how many cars were in front of you at the light, would you say?”

  “At least two. Maybe three.”

  “What about the turn lane to your immediate left, were there any cars there waiting to turn?”

  She was ready for that one and wasn’t going to let me trick her.

  “No, I had a clear view of the sidewalk.”

  “So it was rush hour and you’re telling us there was nobody waiting in the turn lane to get to work.”

  “Not next to me but I was two or three cars back. There could’ve been someone waiting to turn, just not next to me.”

  I asked the judge if I could put the second board, Defense Exhibit 1B, on the easel now and he told me to go ahead. This was another photo blowup, but it was from ground level. It was a photo that Cisco had taken from a car window while sitting at the traffic light in the middle westbound lane of Ventura Boulevard at Cedros Avenue at 8:55 A.M. on a Monday a month after the murder. There was a time imprint on the bottom right corner of the image.

  Back at the lectern, I asked Schafer to describe what she saw.

  “It’s a photo of that same block, from the ground. There’s Danny’s Deli. We go there sometimes at lunch.”

  “Yes, and do you know if Danny’s is open for breakfast?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Have you ever been there for breakfast?”

  Freeman stood to object.

  “Judge, I hardly see what this has to do with the witness’s testimony or the elements of this trial.”

  Perry looked at me.

  “If Your Honor would give me a moment the relevance will become quite clear.”