The Lincoln lawyer - By Michael Connelly Page 0,146
the Bentley case?” I asked him.
“No, I wasn’t,” he said forcefully, as if that fact exonerated him of wrongdoing.
“Was that because the police were complicit with you in setting up Mr. Bentley?”
Minton objected, saying, “I am sure Mr. Corliss would have no idea what went into the decision of whether or not to charge him with perjury.”
Fullbright sustained it but I didn’t care. I was so far ahead on this witness that there was no catching up. I just moved on to the next question.
“Did any prosecutor or police officer ask you to get close to Mr. Roulet and get him to confide in you?”
“No, it was just luck of the draw, I guess.”
“You were not told to get a confession from Mr. Roulet?”
“No, I was not.”
I stared at him for a long moment with disgust in my eyes.
“I have nothing further.”
I carried the pose of anger with me to my seat and dropped the tape box angrily down in front of me before sitting down.
“Mr. Minton?” the judge asked.
“I have nothing further,” he responded in a weak voice.
“Okay,” Fullbright said quickly. “I am going to excuse the jury for an early lunch. I would like you all back here at one o’clock sharp.”
She put on a strained smile and directed it at the jurors and kept it there until they had filed out of the courtroom. It dropped off her face the moment the door was closed.
“I want to see counsel in my chambers,” she said. “Immediately.”
She didn’t wait for any response. She left the bench so fast that her robe flowed up behind her like the black gown of the grim reaper.
FORTY-ONE
Judge Fullbright had already lit a cigarette by the time Minton and I got back to her chambers. After one long drag she put it out against a glass paperweight and then put the butt into a Ziploc bag she had taken out of her purse. She closed the bag, folded it and replaced it in the purse. She would leave no evidence of her transgression for the night cleaners or anyone else. She exhaled the smoke toward a ceiling intake vent and then brought her eyes down to Minton’s. Judging by the look in them I was glad I wasn’t him.
“Mr. Minton, what the fuck have you done to my trial?”
“Your —”
“Shut up and sit down. Both of you.”
We did as we were told. The judge composed herself and leaned forward across her desk. She was still looking at Minton.
“Who did the due diligence on this witness of yours?” she asked calmly. “Who did the background?”
“Uh, that would have—actually, we only did a background on him in L.A. County. There were no cautions, no flags. I checked his name on the computer but I didn’t use the initials.”
“How many times had he been used in this county before today?”
“Only one previous time in court. But he had given information on three other cases I could find. Nothing about Arizona came up.”
“Nobody thought to check to see if this guy had been anywhere else or used variations of his name?”
“I guess not. He was passed on to me by the original prosecutor on the case. I just assumed she had checked him out.”
“Bullshit,” I said.
The judge turned her eyes to me. I could have sat back and watched Minton go down but I wasn’t going to let him try to take Maggie McPherson with him.
“The original prosecutor was Maggie McPherson,” I said. “She had the case all of about three hours. She’s my ex-wife and she knew as soon as she saw me at first apps that she was gone. And you got the case that same day, Minton. Where in there was she supposed to background your witnesses, especially this guy who didn’t come out from under his rock until after first appearance? She passed him on and that was it.”
Minton opened his mouth to say something but the judge cut him off.
“It doesn’t matter who should have done it. It wasn’t done properly and, either way, putting that man on the stand in my opinion was gross prosecutorial misconduct.”
“Your Honor,” Minton barked. “I did —”
“Save it for your boss. He’s the one you’ll need to convince. What was the last offer the state made to Mr. Roulet?”
Minton seemed frozen and unable to respond. I answered for him.