Mickey Haller 4 - The Fifth Witness

for the defense as soon as possible because I am anticipating that once again Mr. Haller will howl at the moon when he hears what I have to say and what I have to show.”
    “Then let’s get on with it,” Perry said.
    Freeman nodded to Kurlen and he started peeling back the tape on the evidence envelope. I said nothing. I noticed that he had a rubber glove on his right hand.
    “The prosecution has come into possession of the murder weapon,” Freeman stated matter-of-factly, “and plans to introduce it as evidence as well as make it available to the defense for examination.”
    Kurlen opened the envelope, reached in and brought out a hammer. It was a claw hammer with a brushed steel head and a circular striking surface. It had a polished redwood handle tipped in black rubber at the end. I saw a notch at twelve o’clock on the strike face and knew it likely corresponded with the skull impressions cataloged during the autopsy.
    I stood up angrily and walked away from the desk.
    “Oh, come on,” I said in full outrage. “Are you kidding me?”
    I looked at the wall of shelved codebooks Perry had at the far side of the room, put my hands on my hips in indignation and then turned back to the desk.
    “Judge, excuse my language, but this is bullshit. She can’t do this again. To spring this—what, four days into jury selection and a day before opening statements? We have most of the box already picked, we are possibly going to start tomorrow and she’s suddenly laying the supposed murder weapon on me?”
    The judge leaned back in his seat as if distancing himself from the hammer Kurlen was holding.
    “You better have a good and convincing story, Ms. Freeman,” he said.
    “I do, Judge. I could not bring this forward until this morning and I am more than willing to explain why if—”
    “You allowed this!” I said, interrupting and pointing a finger at the judge.
    “Excuse me, Mr. Haller, but don’t you dare point your finger at me,” he said with restraint.
    “I’m sorry, Judge, but this is your fault. You let her get away with the bullshit DNA story and after that there’s no reason for her not to—”
    “Excuse me, sir, but you had better proceed cautiously. You are about five seconds away from seeing the inside of my holding cell. You do not point your finger or address a superior court judge as you have. Do you understand me?”
    I turned back to the codebooks and took a deep breath. I knew I had to get something out of this. I had to come out of this room with the judge owing me something.
    “I understand,” I finally said.
    “Good,” Perry said. “Now come back over here and take a seat. Let’s hear what Ms. Freeman and Detective Kurlen have to say and it better be good.”
    Reluctantly, I returned like a chastised child and dropped into my seat.
    “Ms. Freeman, let’s hear it.”
    “Yes, Your Honor. The weapon was turned in to us late Monday afternoon. A land—”
    “Great!” I said. “I knew it. So you wait until four days into jury selection before you decide to—”
    “Mr. Haller!” the judge barked. “I have lost all patience with you. Do not interrupt again. Continue, Ms. Freeman. Please.”
    “Of course, Your Honor. As I said, we received this at the LAPD’s Van Nuys Division late Monday afternoon. I think it would be best if Detective Kurlen runs you through the chain of custody.”
    Perry gestured to the detective to begin.
    “What happened was that a landscaper working in a yard on Dickens Street near Kester Avenue found it that morning, lodged in a hedge near the front of his client’s house. This is in the street that runs behind WestLand National. The house is approximately two blocks from the rear of the bank. The landscaper who found the hammer is from Gardenia and had no idea about the murder. But thinking the tool belonged to his client, he left it on the porch for him. The home owner, a man named Donald Meyers, didn’t see it until he came home from work about five o’clock that afternoon. He was confused because he knew it was not his hammer. However, he then remembered reading articles about the Bondurant murder, at least one of which indicated the murder weapon might be a hammer and that it had not been found yet. He called his landscaper and got his story, then he called the police.”
    “Well, you’ve told us how you got it,” Perry said. “You haven’t explained why we’re hearing about it three days later.”
    Freeman nodded. She was ready