A Darkness More Than Night (33 page)

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Authors: Michael Connelly

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“She paid for me,” Gilley testified. “That was so sweet.” Her testimony put a very human face on what so far had been an almost antiseptic analysis by law enforcement professionals of a murder.
When Gilley’s examination by Langwiser was concluded, Fowkkes finally broke with his pattern and announced he had a few questions for the witness. He stepped to the lectern without any notes. He clasped his hands behind his back and leaned slightly forward to the microphone.
“Now, Ms. Gilley, your roommate was an attractive young woman, wasn’t she?”
“Yes, she was beautiful.”
“And was she popular? In other words, did she date a lot of fellows?”
Gilley nodded hesitantly.
“She went out.”
“A lot, a little, how often?”
“It would be hard to say. I wasn’t her social secretary and I have my own boyfriend.”
“I see. Then let’s take, say, the ten weeks prior to her death. How many of those ten weeks would you say went by without Jody going out on a date?”
Langwiser stood up and objected.
“Your Honor, this is ridiculous. It has nothing to do with the night of October twelfth going into the morning of the thirteenth.”
“Oh, but Your Honor, I think it does,” Fowkkes responded. “And I think Ms. Langwiser knows it does. If you allow me a little bit of string here, I will be able to quickly tie it up.”
Houghton overruled the objection and told Fowkkes to ask the question again.
“In the ten weeks prior to her death, how many weeks went by without Jody Krementz having a date with a man?”
“I don’t know. Maybe one. Maybe none.”
“Maybe none,” Fowkkes repeated. “And, Ms. Gilley, how many of those weeks would you say your roommate had at least two dates?”
Langwiser objected again but was overruled again.
“I don’t know the answer,” Gilley said. “A lot of them.”
“A lot of them,” Fowkkes repeated.
Langwiser rose and asked the judge to direct Fowkkes not to repeat the witness’s answer unless it was in the form of a question. The judge complied and Fowkkes went on as if he had not been corrected at all.
“Were these dates all with the same fellow?”
“No. Different guys mostly. A few repeats.”
“So she liked to play the field, is that correct?”
“I guess so.”
“Is that a yes or no, Ms. Gilley?”
“It’s a yes.”
“Thank you. In the ten weeks prior to her death, weeks in which you said she most often had at least two dates, how many different men did she see?”
Gilley shook her head in exasperation.
“I have no idea. I didn’t count them. Besides, what does this have to do —”
“Thank you, Ms. Gilley. I would appreciate it if you would just answer the questions I pose to you.”
He waited. She said nothing.
“Now, did Jody ever encounter difficulties when she stopped dating a man? When she moved on to the next?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean were all the men happy not to have a return engagement?”
“Sometimes they’d get mad if she didn’t want to go out again. Nothing serious.”
“No threats of violence? She wasn’t afraid of anyone?”
“Not that she told me about.”
“Did she tell you about every man she dated?”
“No.”
“Now, on these dates, did she often bring the men back to the home you two shared?”
“Sometimes.”
“Did they stay over?”
“Sometimes, I don’t know.”
“You often weren’t there, is that correct?”
“Yes, I often stayed at my boyfriend’s.”
“Why is that?”
She gave a short laugh.
“Because I love him.”
“Well, did you ever stay together overnight at your home?”
“I don’t remember him ever staying over.”
“Why is that?”
“I guess because he lives alone. It was more private.”
“Isn’t it true, Ms. Gilley, that you stayed overnight several times a week at your boyfriend’s home?”
“Sometimes. So what?”
“And that this was because you were unhappy with your roommate’s constant procession of overnight guests.”
Langwiser stood up.
“Your Honor, that’s not even a question. I object to its form and content. Jody Krementz’s lifestyle is not on trial here. David Storey is on trial for her murder and it’s not fair for the defense to be allowed to go after someone who —”
“Okay, Ms. Langwiser, that’s enough,” Judge Houghton said. He looked over at Fowkkes. “Mr. Fowkkes, that’s about all the string I’m going to allow you to run with in that direction. Ms. Langwiser makes her point. I want you to move on with this witness.”
Fowkkes nodded. Bosch studied him. He was a perfect actor. In his demeanor he was able to convey the frustration of a man being pulled back from a hidden truth. He wondered if the jury would see it as an act.
“Very well, Your Honor,” Fowkkes said, putting the frustration into the inflection of his voice. “I have no further questions for this witness at this time.”
The judge adjourned for the afternoon break of fifteen minutes. Bosch ushered Gilley through the reporters, down the elevator and out to her car. He told her she had done very well and handled Fowkkes’s cross-examination perfectly. He then joined Kretzler and Langwiser in the second-floor DA’s office where the prosecution team had a temporary office during the trial. There was a small coffeemaker in the room and it was half-filled with coffee brewed during the morning break. There wasn’t enough time for a fresh brew so they all drank the stale coffee while Kretzler and Langwiser considered the progress of the day.
“I think the she’s-a-whore defense is going to backfire on them big time,” Langwiser said. “They have to have more than that.”
“He’s just trying to show there were a lot of men,” Kretzler said. “And it could have been any of them. The shotgun defense. You shoot a lot of pellets and one’s bound to hit the target.”
“It’s still not going to work.”
“I’ll tell you one thing, with John Reason reserving on all of these wits, we’re moving really quickly. He keeps this up, we’re going to finish our case Tuesday or Wednesday.”
“Good. I can’t wait to see what they’ve got.”
“I can,” Bosch interjected.
Langwiser looked at him.
“Oh, Harry. You’ve weathered these storms before.”
“Yeah, but I’ve got a bad feeling about this one.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Kretzler said. “We’re going to kick their ass across the courtroom. We’re in the tube, man, and we ain’t coming out.”
They put their three Styrofoam cups together in a toast.
• • •
Bosch’s current partner, Jerry Edgar, and former partner, Kizmin Rider, testified during the afternoon session. Both were asked by the prosecutors to recall the moments after the search of David Storey’s home when Bosch got into the car and reported to them that Storey had just bragged of committing the crime. Their testimony was solidly in tandem with Bosch’s own testimony and would act to buttress the case against defense assaults on Bosch’s character. Bosch also knew that the prosecutors hoped to gain additional credence with the jury because both Edgar and Rider were black. Five members of the jury and the two alternates were black. In a time when the veracity of any white police officer in Los Angeles would fall under suspicion by black jurors, having Edgar and Rider join a line of solidarity with Bosch was a plus.
Rider testified first and Fowkkes passed on cross-examination. Edgar’s testimony mirrored hers but he was asked additional questions because he had delivered the second search warrant issued in the case. This one was a court order seeking hair and blood samples from David Storey. It had been approved and signed by a judge while Bosch was in New York following the
Architectural Digest
lead and Rider was on a Hawaiian vacation planned before the murder. With a patrol officer in tow, Edgar had once again appeared at Storey’s house at
6 A.M.
with the warrant. He testified that Storey kept them waiting outside while he contacted his lawyer, who by now was the criminal defense attorney J. Reason Fowkkes.
Once Fowkkes was apprised of the situation he told Storey to cooperate and the suspect was taken to Parker Center in downtown where samples of his pubic hair, scalp hair and blood were collected by a lab nurse.
“Did you at any point during this traveling time and collection process question the defendant about the crime?” Kretzler asked.
“No, I did not,” Edgar responded. “Before we left his residence he gave me his phone and I spoke to Mr. Fowkkes. He told me his client did not wish to be questioned or harassed, as he put it, in any way. So we basically drove in silence — at least on my part. And we didn’t talk at Parker Center either. When we were finished, Mr. Fowkkes was there and he drove Mr. Storey home.”
“Did Mr. Storey make any unsolicited comments to you during the time he was with you?”
“Just one.”
“And where was that?”
“In the car while we were driving to Parker Center.”
“And what did he say?”
“He was looking out the window and just said, ‘You people are fucked if you think I’m going down for this.’”
“And was this piece of conversation tape-recorded?”
“Yes, it was.”
“Why is that?”
“Because of his earlier admission to Detective Bosch, we thought there was a chance he might go ahead and make another statement like that. On the day I served the hair and blood warrant, I used a car borrowed from the narcotics unit. It’s a car they use for making street buys. It is wired for sound.”
“Did you bring the tape from that day with you, Detective?”
“Yes.”
Kretzler introduced the tape as evidence. Fowkkes objected, saying that Edgar had already testified as to what was said and the audio wasn’t necessary. Again the judge overruled and the tape was played. Kretzler started the tape well before the statement made by Storey so that the jurors would hear the hum of the car engine and traffic noise and know that Edgar did not violate the defendant’s rights by questioning him in order to elicit the statement.
When the tape came to Storey’s comment, the tone of arrogance and even hate for his investigators came through loud and clear.
Wanting that tone to be what carried the jurors into the weekend, Kretzler ended his questioning of Edgar.
Fowkkes, perhaps understanding the ploy, said he would have a brief cross-examination. He proceeded to ask Edgar a series of innocuous questions that added little to the record in favor of the defense or disfavor of the prosecution. At precisely
4
:
30 P.M.
he ended the cross-examination and Judge Houghton promptly recessed for the weekend.
As the courtroom emptied into the hallway, Bosch looked around for McEvoy but didn’t see him. Edgar and Rider, who had hung around after her testimony, came up to him.
“Harry, how ’bout we go get a drink?” Rider said.
“How ’bout we go get drunk?” Bosch replied.

 

 

28
They waited until
10
:
30
Saturday morning for their charter clients to arrive but no one showed. McCaleb was sitting silently on the gunwale in the stern doing a slow burn over everything. The missing charter, his dismissal from the case, the most recent phone call from Jaye Winston, everything. Before he left the house Winston had called to apologize for how things had gone the day before. He feigned indifference and told her to forget about it. And he still didn’t tell her about Buddy Lockridge overhearing them on the boat two days earlier. When Jaye said Twilley and Friedman had decided it would be best if he returned the copies of all the documents relating to the case, he told her to tell them they could come get them if they wanted them. He said he had a charter and had to go. They abruptly said good-byes and hung up.
Raymond was bent over the stern, fishing with a little spinner reel McCaleb had gotten him after they moved to the island. He was looking through the clear water at the moving shapes of the orange garibaldi fish twenty feet below. Buddy Lockridge was sitting in the fighting chair reading the Metro section of the
Los Angeles Times.
He seemed as relaxed as a summer wave. McCaleb had not yet confronted him with his suspicions that he was the leak. He had been waiting for the right moment.
“Hey, Terror, you see this story?” Lockridge said. “About Bosch giving his testimony yesterday in Van Nuys court?”
“Nope.”
“Man, what they’re hinting at here is that this director’s a serial killer. Sounds like one of your old cases. And here the guy on the witness stand putting the finger on him is a —”
“Buddy, I told you, don’t talk about that. Or did you forget what I said?”
“Okay, sorry. I was just saying, if this ain’t irony I don’t know what is, that’s all.”
“Fine. Leave it at that.”
McCaleb checked his watch again. The clients should have been there at ten. He straightened up and went to the salon door.
“I’ll make some calls,” he said. “I don’t want to be waiting around all day for these people.”
At the little chart table in the boat’s salon he opened a drawer and took out the clipboard where they attached the charter reservations. There were only two pages on it. The current day’s charter and a reservation for the following Saturday. The winter months were slow. He looked at the information on the top sheet. He was unfamiliar with it because Buddy had taken the reservation. The charter was for four men from Long Beach. They were supposed to come over Friday night and stay at the Zane Grey. A four-hour charter —
10
to
2
on Saturday — and then they’d take a late ferry back to overtown. Buddy had taken the organizer’s home number and the name of the hotel as well as a deposit of half the charter fee.
He looked at the list of hotels and phone numbers taped to the chart table and called the Zane Grey first. He quickly learned that no one with the charter organizer’s name — the only one of the four names McCaleb had — was staying at the hotel. He then called the man’s home number and got his wife. She said her husband wasn’t home.
“Well, we’re kind of waiting for him on a boat over here on Catalina. Do you know if he and his friends are on their way?”
There was a long silence.
“Ma’am, you there?”
“Uh, yes, yes. It’s just that, they’re not going fishing today. They told me they canceled that trip. They’re out golfing right now. I can give you my husband’s cell phone if you would like. You could talk —”
“That’s not necessary, ma’am. Have a nice day.”
McCaleb closed his phone. He knew exactly what had happened. Neither he nor Buddy had checked the answering service that handled calls to the phone number they had placed on their charter ads in various phone books and fishing publications. He called the number now, punched in the code and, sure enough, there had been a message waiting since Wednesday. The party canceled the charter. They’d reschedule later.
“Yeah, sure,” McCaleb said.
He erased the message and closed the phone. He felt like throwing it through the glass slider at Buddy’s head but he tried to calm himself. He walked into the little galley and got a quart carton of orange juice out of the cooler. He took it out with him to the stern.
“No charter today,” he said before taking a long drink from the carton.
“Why not?” Raymond asked, his disappointment obvious.
McCaleb wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his long-sleeve T-shirt.
“They canceled.”
Lockridge looked up from the newspaper and McCaleb hit him with a laser stare.
“Well, we keep the deposit, right?” Buddy asked. “I took a two-hundred-dollar deposit on Visa.”
“No, we don’t keep the deposit because they canceled on Wednesday. We’ve both been too
busy
I guess to check the charter line like we’re supposed to.”
“Ah, fuck! That’s my fault.”
“Buddy, not in front of the boy. How many times do I have to tell you that?”
“Sorry. Sorry.”
McCaleb continued to stare at him. He had not wanted to talk about the leak to McEvoy until after the charter because he needed Buddy’s help running a four-man fishing party. Now it didn’t matter. Now was the time.
“Raymond,” he said while still staring at Lockridge. “Do you still want to earn your money?”
“Yeah.”
“You mean ‘yes,’ don’t you?”
“Yeah. I mean, yes. Yes.”
“Okay, then reel in, hook your line and start taking these rods in and put them in the rack. Can you do that?”
“Sure.”
The boy quickly reeled in his line, took off his bait and threw it into the water. He attached the hook to one of the rod’s eyelets and then leaned it in the corner of the stern so he could take it home with him. He liked to practice his casting technique on the rear deck of the house, dropping a rubber practice weight onto the roofs and backyards below.
Raymond started taking the deep-sea rods out of the holders where Buddy had placed them in preparation for the charter. Two by two he took them into the salon and put them in the overhead racks. He had to stand on the couch to do it but it was an old couch in dire need of a new slipcover and McCaleb didn’t care about it.
“Something wrong, Terror?” Buddy tried. “It’s just a charter, man. We knew it was going to be slow this month.”
“It’s not the charter, Bud.”
“Then what? The case?”
McCaleb took a smaller gulp of juice and put the carton down on the gunwale.
“You mean the case I’m not on anymore?”
“I guess. I don’t know. You’re not on it anymore? When did that —”
“No, Buddy, I’m not on it. And there’s something I want to talk to you about.”
He waited for Raymond to move another set of rods into the salon.
“You ever read the
New Times,
Buddy?”
“You mean that free weekly?”
“Yeah, that free weekly. The
New Times,
Buddy. Comes out every Thursday. There’s always a stack in the laundry building at the marina. In fact, why am I asking this? I know you read the
New Times.
”
Lockridge’s eyes suddenly fell to the deck. He looked crestfallen with guilt. He brought one hand up and rubbed his face. He kept it over his eyes when he spoke.
“Terry, I’m sorry. I never thought it would get back to you. What happened?”
“What’s the matter, Uncle Buddy?”
It was Raymond in the door of the salon.
“Raymond, would you go inside and close that door for a few minutes?” McCaleb said. “You can put on the TV. I need to talk to Buddy by myself.”
The boy hesitated, staring the whole time at Buddy covering his face.
“Raymond, please. And take this back to the cooler.”
The boy finally stepped out and took the orange juice carton. He went back in and slid the door closed. McCaleb looked back at Lockridge.
“How could you not think it would get back to me?”
“I don’t know. I just thought nobody would know.”
“Well, you were wrong. And it has caused me a lot of trouble. But most of all it’s a fucking betrayal, Buddy. I just can’t believe you would do something like this.”
McCaleb glanced at the glass door to make sure the boy wasn’t in earshot. There was no sign of Raymond. He must’ve gone down to one of the staterooms. McCaleb realized his breathing was way up. He was so angry he was hyperventilating. He had to end this and calm down.
“Does Graciela have to know about it?” Buddy asked in a pleading voice.
“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter what she knows. What matters is that we had this relationship and then you do something like this behind my back.”
Lockridge still hid his eyes behind his hand.
“I just didn’t think it would mean that much to you, even if you found out. It was no big deal. I’m —”
“Don’t try to mitigate it or tell me what kind of deal it is, okay? Don’t even talk to me in that pleading, whiny voice. Just shut up.”
McCaleb walked to the stern, pressing his thighs against the padded combing. His back to Lockridge, he looked up the hillside above the commercial part of the little town. He could see his house. Graciela was on the deck holding the baby. She waved and then held Cielo’s hand up in a baby wave. McCaleb waved back.
“What do you want me to do?” Buddy said from behind him. His voice was more controlled now. “What do you want me to say? I won’t do it again? Fine, I won’t do it again.”
McCaleb didn’t turn around. He continued looking up at his wife and his daughter.
“It doesn’t matter what you won’t do again. The damage is done. I have to think about this. We’re partners as well as friends. Or we were, at least. All I want now is for you to just go. I’m going inside with Raymond. Take the skiff and go back to the pier. Take a ferry back tonight. I just don’t want you around here, Buddy. Not now.”
“How will you guys get back to the pier?”
It was a desperate question with an obvious answer.
“I’ll call the water taxi.”
“We’ve got a charter next Saturday. It’s five people and —”
“I’ll worry about Saturday when I come to it. I can cancel it if I have to or turn it over to Jim Hall’s charter.”
“Terry, are you sure about this? All I did was —”
“I’m sure. Go on, Buddy. I don’t want to talk anymore.”
McCaleb turned from the view and walked past Lockridge and to the salon door. He opened it and stepped in, then slid the door closed behind him. He didn’t look back at Buddy. He went to the chart table and got an envelope out of the drawer. He slipped a five-dollar bill from his pocket into it, sealed it and wrote Raymond’s name on it.
“Hey, Raymond where are you?” he called out.
• • •
For dinner they had grilled cheese sandwiches and chili. The chili was from the Busy Bee. McCaleb had picked it up on his way up from the boat with Raymond.
McCaleb sat across the table from his wife with Raymond to his left and the baby to his right in a jumper seat perched on the table. They were eating inside as an evening fog had enshrouded the island in a chilly grip. McCaleb remained morosely quiet through the meal, as he had been through much of the day. When they had come back early, Graciela decided to keep her distance. She took Raymond for a hike in the Wrigley Botanical Garden in Avalon Canyon. McCaleb was left with the baby, who fussed most of the day. He didn’t mind, though. It took his mind off things.
Finally, at dinner, there was no avoiding each other. McCaleb had made the sandwiches so he was the last to sit down. He had barely begun eating when Graciela asked him what his trouble was.
“Nothing,” he said. “I’m fine.”
“Raymond said you and Buddy had an argument.”
“Maybe Raymond should mind his own business.”
He looked at the boy as he said this and Raymond looked down at his food.
“That’s not fair, Terry,” Graciela said.
She was right. McCaleb knew it. He reached over and tousled the boy’s hair. It was so soft. He liked doing it. He hoped the gesture conveyed his apology.
“I’m off the case because Buddy leaked it to a reporter.”
“What?”
“We came up — I came up — with a suspect. A cop. Buddy overheard me telling Jaye Winston about my findings. He turned around and told a reporter. The reporter turned around and started making calls. Jaye and her captain think I was the leak.”
“That doesn’t make sense. Why would Buddy do that?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say. Actually, he did say. He said he didn’t think I’d care or that it mattered. Words to that effect. That was today on the boat.”

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