The Fifth Witness Part 44

"And you can't kiss me. I have zit cream on."

I came to the side of the bed and leaned down. I managed to kiss her on the top of the head before the arm came up to push me away.

"How much more have you got?"

"I told you, tons."

The math book was open and facedown so she wouldn't lose her place. I picked it up to see what the lesson was.

"Don't lose my spot!"

Sheer panic, end-of-the-world angst in her voice.

"Don't worry. I've been handling books going on forty years now."

As far as I could tell, the lesson was about equations a.s.signing values to X X and and Y Y and I was completely lost. They were teaching her things beyond my reach. It was too bad it was stuff she'd never use. and I was completely lost. They were teaching her things beyond my reach. It was too bad it was stuff she'd never use.

"Boy, I couldn't help you even if I wanted to."

"I know, neither can Mom. I'm all alone in the world."

"Aren't we all."

I realized that she hadn't looked up at me once since I'd been in the room. It was depressing.

"Well, I just wanted to say hi. I'll leave now."

"Bye. I love you."

Still no eye contact.

"Good night."

I closed the door behind me and went down to the kitchen. The other female who seemed to be able to control my mood at her whim was sitting on a stool at the breakfast counter. She had a gla.s.s of chardonnay in front of her and an open file.

She at least looked up at me. She didn't smile but she made eye contact and I took that as a victory in this home. Her eyes then went back to the file.

"What are you working on?"

"Oh, just refreshing. I have a prelim tomorrow on a strong arm and I haven't really looked at it since I filed it."

The usual grind of the justice system. She didn't offer me a gla.s.s of wine because she knew I didn't drink. I leaned against the counter opposite the breakfast bar.

"So I'm thinking of running for district attorney," I said.

Her head shot up and she looked at me.

"What?"

"Nothing, just trying to get somebody's attention around here."

"Sorry, but it's a busy night. I've got to work."

"Yeah, well, I'll go. Your pal Andy's probably burning the oil, too."

"I think so. I was supposed to meet her for a drink after work but she canceled. What did you do to her, Haller?"

"Oh, I clipped her wings a little bit at the end of her case, then came out on mine like gangbusters. She's probably trying to figure out how to counter."

"Probably."

She went back to her file. I was clearly being wordlessly dismissed. First my daughter, now the ex-wife I still loved. I did not want to go gentle into that good night.

"So what about us?" I asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You and me. Things didn't end so good the other night at Dan Tana's."

She closed the file, slid it aside and looked up at me. Finally.

"Some nights are like that. It doesn't change anything."

I pushed off the counter and came to the breakfast bar. I leaned down on two elbows. We were eye to eye.

"So if nothing's changed, then what about us? What are we doing?"

She shrugged.

"I want to try again. I still love you, Mags. You know that."

"I also know that it didn't work before. We are the kind of people who bring home what we do. It wasn't good."

"I'm beginning to think my client is innocent and that she was set up and that even with all of that I still might not be able to get her off. How would you like to bring that home with you?"

"If it bothers you so much then maybe you should run for DA. The job's open, you know."

"Yeah, maybe I just will."

"Haller for the People."

"Yeah."

I hung around for a few minutes after that but could tell I wasn't making any headway with Maggie. She had a skill for freezing you out and making you feel it.

I told her I was going and to tell Hayley I said good night. There was no rush to bar the door before I could exit. But Maggie did call one thing after me that made me feel good.

"Just give it time, Michael."

I turned back to her.

"What are you talking about?"

"Not what, who. Hayley... and me."

I nodded and said I would.

Driving back to my place I let the accomplishments of the court day boost my spirits. I started thinking about the next witness I planned to put on the stand after Lisa. The task ahead was still formidable but it didn't help to think that far in advance. You start with a day's momentum and go from there.

I took Beverly Glen up to the top, then drove Mulholland east toward Laurel Canyon. I got glimpses of the city lights both to the north and the south. Los Angeles spread out like a shimmering ocean. I kept the music off and the windows down. I let the chill air work like loneliness into my bones.

Forty-one.

All that had been won the day before was lost in a span of twenty minutes Friday morning when Andrea Freeman continued her cross-examination of Lisa Trammel. Being sandbagged by the prosecution in the midst of trial is certainly never a good thing, but in many ways it is acceptable as part of the game. It's one of the unknown unknowns. But being sandbagged by your own client is the worst thing that can happen. One of the unknown unknowns should never be the person you are defending.

With Trammel in place on the witness stand, Freeman went to the lectern carrying a thick doc.u.ment with crisp edges and one pink Post-it sticking out of the pages. I thought it was a prop, designed to distract me, and paid it no mind. She started things off with what I call setup questions. These were designed to get a witness's answers on the record before they were proven false. I could see the trap forming but wasn't sure where the net was going to fall.

"Now, you testified yesterday that you did not know Mitch.e.l.l Bondurant, is that correct?"

"Yes, correct."

"You never met him?"

"Never."

"Never spoke to him?"

"Never."

"But you tried to meet him and speak to him, right?"

"Yes, I went to the bank twice to try to meet him to talk about my home, but he wouldn't see me."

"Do you remember when you made those efforts?"

"They were last year. But I don't remember the exact dates."

Freeman then seemed to shift directions, but I knew it was all part of a careful plan.

She asked Trammel a series of seemingly innocuous questions about her FLAG organization and its purpose. Much of this had already been touched on during my direct examination. I still couldn't see the play. I glanced over at the doc.u.ment with the bright pink Post-it and started to believe it was no prop. Maggie had told me yesterday that Freeman was working the night shift. Now I knew why. She had obviously found something. I leaned across the defense table in the direction of the witness stand, as if being closer to the source would speed the arrival of understanding.

"And you have a website that you use to support the efforts of FLAG, don't you?" Freeman asked.

"Yes," Trammel replied. "California Foreclosure Fighters dot com."

"And you are also on Facebook, aren't you?"

"Yes."

I could tell by the timid, cautious way in which my client said that one word that this was where the trap was set. It was the first I'd heard of Lisa on Facebook.

"For those on the jury who might not know, what exactly is Facebook, Ms. Trammel?"

I leaned back in my chair and surrept.i.tiously pulled my phone. I quickly tapped out a text to Bullocks telling her to drop whatever she was doing and see what she could find out about Lisa's Facebook page. See what's there, I said.

"Well, it's a networking site and it lets me stay in touch with people involved in FLAG. I post updates on what is happening. I tell them where we are going to meet or march, things like that. People can set it up so they get automatic notifications on their phone or computer whenever I put a post on there. It has been very useful in our organizing."

"You can post on your Facebook page right from your phone, too, correct?"

"Yes, I can."

"And this digital location where you make these posts is called your 'wall,' correct?"

"Yes."

"And you have used your wall to do more than just send out messages about protest marches, haven't you?"

"Sometimes."

"You gave regular updates on your own foreclosure case as well, didn't you?"

"Yes, I wanted it to be like a personal journal of a foreclosure."

"Did you also use Facebook to alert the media to your activities?"

"Yes, that too."

"So in order to receive this information someone would have to sign up as a friend, correct?"

"Yes, that's how it works. People who want to friend me make the request, I accept them and then they have access to my wall."

"How many friends do you have?"

I didn't know where this was going but I knew it wasn't going to be good. I stood and objected, telling the judge that it appeared we were on a fishing expedition with no defined purpose or relevance. Freeman promised that relevance would become clear very soon and Perry let her go on.

"You can answer the question," he said to Trammel.

"Um, I think... well, last time I checked I had over a thousand."

"When did you first join Facebook?"