The Fifth Witness: A Novel

by Michael Connelly

  We ordered a beer, a cosmo and a vodka tonic with lime and without the vodka. Still smarting from the Donald Driscoll fiasco, I had called the after-hours meeting to talk about Tuesday. And because I thought my two associates could use a drink.

  There was a basketball game on the TV but I didn’t even bother to check who was playing or what the score was. I didn’t care and couldn’t see much further than the Driscoll disaster. His testimony had ended after the blowup and finger pointing. In chambers the judge had worked out a curative address to the jurors, telling them that both the prosecution and defense had agreed that he would be dismissed from giving further testimony. Driscoll at best had been a wash. His direct testimony certainly set up the defense contention that Louis Opparizio had brought about the demise of Mitchell Bondurant. But his credibility had been undermined during cross-examination and his volatile behavior and enmity toward me didn’t help. Plus, the judge was obviously holding me responsible for the spectacle and that would probably end up hurting the defense.

  “So,” Aronson said after her first sip of cosmo. “What do we do now?”

  “We keep fighting, is what we do. We had one bad witness, one fiasco. Every trial has a moment like this.”

  I pointed up to the TV.

  “You a football fan, Jennifer?”

  I knew she had gone to UC–Santa Barbara for her undergraduate degree, then Southwestern. Not much in the way of collegiate football powers.

  “That’s not football. That’s basketball.”

  “Yeah, I know, but do you like football?”

  “I like the Raiders.”

  “I knew it!” Cisco said gleefully. “A girl after my own heart.”

  “Well,” I said. “When you’re a defense lawyer you have to be like a cornerback. You know you’re going to get burned from time to time. It’s just part of the game. So when it happens you have to pick yourself up, dust yourself off and forget about it because they’re about to snap the ball again. We gave them a touchdown today—I gave them a touchdown. But the game’s not over, Jennifer. Not by a long shot.”

  “Right, so what do we do?”

  “What we’ve planned to do all along. Go after Opparizio. It comes down to him. I’ve got to push him to the edge. I think Cisco’s given me the firepower to do it and hopefully his guard will be down because we’ve had Dahl telling him it’s going to be a walk in the park. Realistically, right now, I think the score is tied. Even with Driscoll blowing up, I’d say we’re either tied or maybe the prosecution’s got a few points up on us. I’ve got to change that tomorrow. If I don’t, we lose.”

  A somber silence followed until Aronson asked another question.

  “What about Driscoll, Mickey?”

  “What about him? We’re done with Driscoll.”

  “Yeah, but did you believe him about all the software stuff? Do you think Opparizio’s people set him up? Was all of that about him stealing software made-up lies? Because now it’s out in front of the media.”

  “I don’t know. Freeman did a smart thing. She coupled it with something he wouldn’t or couldn’t deny—stealing the test. So it all sort of flowed together. Anyway, it doesn’t matter what I believe. It’s what the jury believes.”

  “I think you’re wrong. I think that what you believe is always important.”

  I nodded.

  “Maybe so, Jennifer.”

  I took a long sip of my anemic drink. Aronson then went in a new direction.

  “How come you stopped calling me Bullocks?”

  I looked at her and then looked back at my drink. I shrugged.

  “Because you did so well today. It’s like you’re all grown up or something and you shouldn’t be called by a nickname.”

  I looked past her at Cisco and pointed.

  “But him? With a name like Wojciechowski, he’s got his nickname for life. And that’s just the way it is.”

  We all laughed and it seemed to relieve some of the pressure. I knew alcohol could help with that but it had been two years now and I was strong. I wouldn’t slip.

  “What did you tell Dahl to go back with today?” Cisco asked.

  I shrugged again.

  “The defense is in disarray, they lost their best shot with Driscoll when Freeman destroyed him. Then the usual, we don’t have anything on Opparizio and testifying will be like cutting butter left out on the counter. He’s supposed to call me after he talks to his handler.”

  Cisco nodded. I continued in another direction.

  “I’m thinking Opparizio is the way to end it. If I can get what Cisco has gotten for me to the jury in questions and his answers, and I push him to the nickel, then I think I’ll just end it there and Cisco, you won’t testify.”

  Aronson frowned like she wasn’t sure that would be a good move.

  “Good,” Cisco said. “I won’t have to wear the monkey suit tomorrow.”

  He tugged at his collar like it was made of sandpaper.

  “No, you have to wear it again, just in case. You have another shirt like that, don’t you?”

  “Not really. I guess I’ll have to wash this tonight.”

  “Are you kidding me? You only—”

  Cisco made a low whistling sound and nodded toward the door behind me. I turned just as Maggie McPherson slipped onto the open stool next to me.

  “There you are.”

  “Maggie McFierce.”

  She pointed to my drink.

  “That better not be what I think it is.”

  “Don’t worry, it’s not.”

  “Good.”

  She ordered a real vodka tonic from Randy the bartender, probably just to rub it in.

  “So, drowning your sorrows without the drown. I did hear it was a good day for the good guys.”

  Meaning the prosecution. Always.

  “Maybe. You hired a sitter for a Monday night?”

  “No, the sitter offered to sit tonight. I take it when I can get it because she’s got a boyfriend now so I’ve probably seen my last Friday and Saturday nights out on the town.”

  “Okay, so you get her tonight and you go out to the bar by yourself?”

  “Maybe I was looking for you, Haller. Ever think of that?”

  I turned on my stool so my back was to Aronson and I was directly facing Maggie.

  “Really?”

  “Maybe. I thought you could use some company. You’re not answering your cell.”

  “I forgot. It’s still off from court.”

  I pulled the phone and turned it on. No wonder I hadn’t gotten the call from Herb Dahl.

  “You want to go to your place?” she asked.

  I looked at her for a long moment before answering.

  “Tomorrow’s going to be the most important day of the trial. I should—”

  “I have till midnight.”

  I took a deep breath but more air went out than came in. I leaned toward her and then tilted so that our heads were touching, sort of like how they touch sabers before a fencing match. I whispered in her ear.

  “I can’t keep doing things this way. We have to go forward or be done.”

  She put her hand on my chest and pushed me back. I was afraid of what my life would be like with her completely gone from it. I regretted the ultimatum I had just set out because I knew that if forced to make a choice she would pick the latter.

  “What do you say we just worry about tonight, Haller?”

  “Okay,” I said so quickly that we both started laughing.

  I had dodged a bullet I had fired at myself. For now.

  “I still have to get some work done at some point.”

  “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

  She reached to the bar for her drink but took mine by mistake. Or maybe not by mistake. She sipped and then screwed up her face in disgust.

  “That tastes just awful without vodka. What’s the point?”

  “I know. Was that some sort of test?”

  “No, just a mistake.”

 
“Sure.”

  She drank from her own glass now. I turned slightly and looked back at Cisco and Aronson. They were leaning toward each other, engaged in a conversation and ignoring me. I turned back to Maggie.

  “Marry me again, Maggie. I’m going to change everything after this case.”

  “I’ve heard that before. The second part.”

  “Yeah, but this time it’s going to happen. It already is.”

  “Do I have to answer right now? Is it a one-time thing or can I think about it?”

  “Sure, take a few minutes. I’m going to hit the head and then I’ll be back.”

  We laughed again and then I leaned forward and kissed her and held my face in her hair. I whispered again.

  “I can’t think of being with anybody else.”

  She turned in to me and kissed my neck, then pulled back.

  “I hate public displays of affection, especially in bars. Seems so cheap.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Let’s go now.”

  She slid off the stool. And took a last sip of her drink while standing. I pulled my cash and peeled off enough to cover everybody, including the bartender. I told Cisco and Aronson I was going.

  “I thought we were still talking about Opparizio,” Aronson protested.

  I saw Cisco surreptitiously touch her arm in a not now signal. I appreciated that.

  “You know what?” I said. “It’s been a long day. Sometimes not thinking about something is the best way to prepare for it. I’ll be in the office early tomorrow before going to court. If you want to come by. Otherwise, I’ll see you in court at nine.”

  We said our goodbyes and I walked out with my ex-wife.

  “You want to leave a car here or what?” I asked.

  “No, too dangerous to come back here after dinner and being in bed with you. I’ll want to go in for one last drink and then it might not be the last. I have the sitter to relieve and work tomorrow, too.”

  “Is that how you view it? Just dinner and sex and getting home by midnight?”

  She could’ve really hurt me then, said I was whining like a woman complaining about men. But she didn’t.

  “No,” she said. “I actually view it as the best night of the week.”

  I raised my hand and clasped the back of her neck as we walked to our cars. She always liked that. Even if it was a public display of affection.

  Forty-eight

  You could feel the tension rise with each step as Louis Opparizio made his way to the witness stand on Tuesday morning. He wore a light tan suit with a blue shirt and maroon tie. He looked dignified in a way that bespoke money and power. And it was clear that he looked at me through contemptuous eyes. He was my witness but obviously there was no love lost here. Since the start of the trial I had pointed the finger of guilt at someone other than my client. I had pointed at Opparizio and now he sat before me. This was the main event and as such it had drawn the biggest crowd—both media and onlookers—of the trial.

  I started things out cordially but wasn’t planning to continue that way. I had one goal here and the verdict was riding on whether I achieved it. I had to push the man in the witness box to the limit. He was there only because he had been cornered by his own avarice and vanity. He had ignored legal counsel, declined to hide behind the Fifth Amendment and accepted the challenge of going one-on-one with me in front of a packed house. My job was to make him regret those decisions. My job was to make him take the Fifth in front of the jury. If he did that, then Lisa Trammel would walk. There could be no stronger reasonable doubt than to have the straw man you’ve been pointing at all trial long hide behind the Fifth, to refuse to answer questions on the grounds that he would incriminate himself. How could any honest juror vote guilty beyond a reasonable doubt after that?

  “Good morning, Mr. Opparizio. How are you?”

  “I’d rather be somewhere else. How are you?”

  I smiled. He was feisty from the start.

  “I’ll tell you that in a few hours,” I answered. “Thank you for being here today. I noticed a bit of a northeastern accent. Are you not from Los Angeles?”

  “I was born in Brooklyn fifty-one years ago. I moved out here for law school and never left.”

  “You and your company have been mentioned here during the trial more than a few times. It seems to hold the lion’s share of foreclosure work in at least this county. I was—”

  “Your Honor?” Freeman interrupted from her seat. “Is there going to be a question here?”

  Perry looked down at her for a moment.

  “Is that an objection, Ms. Freeman?”

  She realized she had not stood. The judge had instructed us in pretrial meetings that we must stand to make an objection. She quickly stood up.

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Ask a question, Mr. Haller.”

  “I was about to, Your Honor. Mr. Opparizio, could you tell us in your words what it is that ALOFT does?”

  Opparizio cleared his throat and turned directly toward the jurors when he answered. He was a polished and proficient witness. I had my work cut out for me.

  “I’d be happy to. Essentially, ALOFT is a processing firm. Large loan servicers such as WestLand National pay my company to handle property foreclosures from start to finish. We handle everything from drawing up the paperwork to serving notices to appearing in court as necessary. All for one all-inclusive fee. Nobody likes to hear about foreclosures. We all struggle on some level to pay our bills and try to keep our homes. But sometimes it doesn’t work out and foreclosure is required. That’s where we come in.”

  “You say ‘but sometimes it doesn’t work out.’ Over the past few years it has been working out pretty good for you, though, hasn’t it?”

  “Our business has seen tremendous growth in the past four years and it has only now finally started to level off.”

  “You mentioned WestLand National as a client. WestLand was a significant client, correct?”

  “It was and still is.”

  “About how many foreclosures do you handle for WestLand in a year?”

  “I wouldn’t know off the top of my head. But I think it’s safe to say that with all of their locations in the western United States, we get close to ten thousand files from them in a year.”

  “Would you believe that over the past four years you have averaged over sixteen thousand cases a year referred by WestLand? It’s in the bank’s annual report.”

  I held it up for all to see.

  “Yes, I would believe that. Annual reports don’t lie.”

  “What is the fee that ALOFT charges per foreclosure?”

  “On residential we charge twenty-five hundred dollars and that’s for everything, even if we have to go to court on the matter.”

  “So doing the math, your company takes in forty million dollars a year from WestLand alone, correct?”

  “If the figures you used are correct, that sounds right.”

  “I take it, then, that the WestLand account was very big at ALOFT.”

  “Yes, but all our clients are important.”

  “So you must have known Mitchell Bondurant, the victim in this case, pretty well, correct?”

  “Of course I knew him well and I think it’s a terrible shame about what happened to him. He was a good man, trying to do a good job.”

  “I am sure we all appreciate your sympathy. But at the time of his death, you weren’t very happy with Mr. Bondurant, were you?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean. We were business associates. We had minor disputes from time to time but that always happens in the natural course of business.”

  “Well, I’m not talking about minor disputes or the natural course of business. I’m asking you about a letter Mr. Bondurant sent to you shortly before his murder that threatened to expose fraudulent practices within your company. The certified letter was signed for by your personal secretary. Did you read it?”

  “I skimmed it. It indicated to me that one of my hundred e
ighty-five employees had taken a shortcut. This was a minor dispute and nothing about it was threatening, as you say. I told the person who had that particular file to fix it. That’s all, Mr. Haller.”

  But that wasn’t all I had to say about the letter. I made Opparizio read it to the jury and for the next half hour I asked increasingly specific and uncomfortable questions about its allegations. I then moved on to the federal target letter and made the witness read that as well. But again Opparizio was unflappable, dismissing the federal letter as a shot in the dark.

  “I welcomed them with open arms,” he said. “But you know what? Nobody’s come in. All this time later and not a word from Mr. Lattimore or Agent Vasquez or any other federal agent. Because their letter didn’t pay off. I didn’t run, I didn’t sweat, I didn’t cry foul or hide behind a lawyer. I said I know you’ve got a job to do, come on in and check us out. Our doors are open and we’ve got absolutely nothing to hide.”

  It was a good and well-rehearsed answer and Opparizio was clearly winning the early rounds. But that was okay because I was saving my best punches. I wanted him to feel confident and in control. Through Herb Dahl he had been fed a steady diet of no worries. He had been led to believe I had nothing but a few desperate hints of conspiracy that he could easily swat away as he was doing right now. His confidence was growing. But when he got too confident and complacent, I was going to move in and go for the knockout. This fight wouldn’t go fifteen rounds. It couldn’t.

  “Now at the time these letters were coming in you were engaged in a secret negotiation, were you not?”

  Opparizio paused for the first time since I had begun asking him questions.

  “I was engaged at the time in private business discussions, as I am at almost all times. I would not use the word ‘secret’ because of the connotation. Secrecy being wrong when in fact keeping one’s business private is a matter of course.”

  “Okay, then this private discussion was actually a negotiation to sell your company ALOFT to a publicly traded company, correct?”

  “Yes, that is so.”

  “A company called LeMure?”

  “Yes, correct.”

  “This deal would be worth a lot of money to you, would it not?”