The Lincoln lawyer - By Michael Connelly Page 0,141
me no good to interview him because anything that comes out of his mouth would be a lie. Anything. Besides, it’s not what he has to say. It’s what others have to say about him. That’s what I would need time for.”
“Then I am going to rule that he can testify.”
“Your Honor,” I said. “If you are going to allow him into this courtroom, could I ask one indulgence for the defense?”
“What is that, Mr. Haller?”
“I would like to step into the hallway and make a quick phone call to an investigator. It will take me less than a minute.”
The judge thought for a moment and then nodded.
“Go ahead. I will bring the jury in while you do it.”
“Thank you.”
I hurried through the gate and down the middle aisle. My eyes caught those of Howard Kurlen and he gave me one of his best smirks.
In the hallway I speed-dialed Lorna Taylor’s cell phone and she answered right away.
“Okay, how far away are you?”
“About fifteen minutes.”
“Did you remember the printout and the tape?”
“Got it all right here.”
I looked at my watch. It was a quarter to ten.
“Okay, well, we’re in play here. Don’t delay getting here but then I want you to wait out in the hall outside the courtroom. Then at ten-fifteen come into court and give it to me. If I’m crossing the witness, just sit in the first row and wait until I notice you.”
“Got it.”
I closed the phone and went back into the courtroom. The jury was seated and Meehan was leading a man in a gray jumpsuit through the lockup door. Dwayne Corliss was a thin man with stringy hair that wasn’t getting washed enough in the lockdown drug program at County-USC. He wore a blue plastic hospital ID band on his wrist. I recognized him. He was the man who had asked me for a business card when I interviewed Roulet in the holding cell my first day on the case.
Corliss was led by Meehan to the witness box and the court clerk swore him in. Minton took over the show from there.
“Mr. Corliss, were you arrested on March fifth of this year?”
“Yes, the police arrested me for burglary and possession of drugs.”
“Are you incarcerated now?”
Corliss looked around.
“Um, no, I don’t think so. I’m just in the courtroom.”
I heard Kurlen’s coarse laugh behind me but nobody joined in.
“No, I mean are you currently being held in jail? When you are not here in court.”
“I’m in a lockdown drug treatment program in the jail ward at Los Angeles County-USC Medical Center.”
“Are you addicted to drugs?”
“Yes. I’m addicted to heroin but at the moment I am straight. I haven’t had any since I got arrested.”
“More than sixty days.”
“That’s right.”
“Do you recognize the defendant in this case?”
Corliss looked over at Roulet and nodded.
“Yes, I do.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I met him in lockup after I got arrested.”
“You are saying that after you were arrested you came into close proximity to the defendant, Louis Roulet?”
“Yes, the next day.”
“How did that happen?”
“Well, we were both in Van Nuys jail but in different wards. Then, when we got bused over here to the courts, we were together, first in the bus and then in the tank and then when we were brought into the courtroom for first appearance. We were together all of that time.”
“When you say ‘together,’ what do you mean?”
“Well, we sort of stuck close because we were the only white guys in the group we were in.”
“Now, did you talk at all while you were together for all of that time?”
Corliss nodded his head and at the same time Roulet shook his. I touched my client’s arm to caution him to make no demonstrations.
“Yes, we talked,” Corliss said.
“About what?”
“Mostly about cigarettes. We both needed them but they don’t let you smoke in the jail.”
Corliss made a what-are-you-going-to-do gesture with both hands and a few of the jurors—probably smokers—smiled and nodded.
“Did you reach a point where you asked Mr. Roulet what got him into jail?” Minton asked.
“Yes, I did.”
“What did he say?”
I quickly stood up and objected but just as quickly was overruled.
“What did he tell you, Mr. Corliss?” Minton prompted.
“Well, first he asked me why I was there and I told him. So then I asked him why he was in and he said, ‘For giving a bitch exactly what she deserved.’”
“Those were his words?”
“Yes.”
“Did he elaborate further on what he meant by that?”
“No, not really. Not on that.”
I leaned forward, waiting for Minton to ask the next obvious