Mickey Haller 4 - The Fifth Witness

then.”
    “Can you give me a date when this happened?”
    “Not an exact date. I would say I became aware of this letter about two weeks into the investigation.”
    “And that would have been two weeks after Lisa Trammel was already arrested for the murder. Did you investigate further upon becoming aware of this letter, maybe talk to Louis Opparizio?”
    “At some point I made inquiries and learned that Mr. Opparizio had a solid alibi for the time of the killing. I left it at that.”
    “What about the people working for Opparizio? Did they all have alibis?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “You don’t know?”
    “That’s right. I did not pursue this because it appeared to be a business dispute and not a legitimate motive for murder. I do not view this letter as a threat.”
    “You did not consider it unusual that in this day of instant communication the victim chose to send a certified letter instead of an e-mail or a text or a fax?”
    “Not really. There were several other copies of letters sent by certified mail. It seemed to be a way of doing business and keeping a record of it.”
    I nodded. Fair enough.
    “Do you know if Mr. Bondurant ever filed a suspicious activity report in regard to Louis Opparizio or his company?”
    “I checked with the Federal Trade Commission. He did not.”
    “Did you check with any other government agency to see if Louis Opparizio or his company were the subject of an investigation?”
    “As best I could. There was nothing.”
    “As best you could… and so this whole thing was a dead end to you, correct?”
    “That’s correct.”
    “You checked with the FTC and you ran down a man’s alibi, but then dropped it. You already had a suspect and the case against her was easy and just fell right into place for you, correct?”
    “A murder case is never easy. You have to be thorough. You can leave no stone unturned.”
    “What about the U.S. Secret Service? Did you leave that stone unturned?”
    “The Secret Service? I’m not sure what you mean.”
    “Did you have any interaction with the U.S. Secret Service during this investigation?”
    “No, I didn’t.”
    “How about the U.S. Attorney’s Office in Los Angeles?”
    “I did not. I can’t speak for my partner or other colleagues who worked the case.”
    It was a good answer but not good enough. In my peripheral vision I could see that Freeman had moved to the edge of her seat, ready for the right moment to object to my line of questioning.
    “Detective Kurlen, do you know what a federal target letter is?”
    Freeman leapt to her feet before Kurlen could respond. She objected and asked for a sidebar.
    “I think we’d better step back into chambers for this,” the judge said. “I want the jury and court personnel to stay in place while I confer with counsel. Mr. Haller, Ms. Freeman, let’s go.”
    I pulled a document and the attached envelope from one of my files and followed Freeman toward the door that led to the judge’s chambers. I was confident that I was about to tilt the case in the defense’s direction or I was headed to jail for contempt.

Twenty-nine
    Judge Perry was not a happy jurist. He didn’t even bother to go behind his desk and sit down. We entered his chambers and he immediately turned on me and folded his arms across his chest. He stared hard at me and waited for his court reporter to take a seat and set up her machine before he spoke.
    “Okay, Mr. Haller, Ms. Freeman is objecting because my guess is that this is the first she’s heard about the Secret Service and the U.S. Attorney’s Office and a federal target letter and what it all may or may not have to do with this case. I’m objecting myself because it’s the first I remember any mention of the federal government and I’m not going to allow you to go on a federal fishing trip in front of the jury. Now if you have something, I want an offer of proof on it right now, and then I want to know why Ms. Freeman doesn’t know anything about it.”
    “Thank you, Judge,” Freeman said indignantly, hands on her hips.
    I tried to defuse the situation a bit by casually stepping away from our tight grouping and moving toward the window with the view that rolled up the side of the Santa Monica Mountains. I could see the cantilevered homes along the crest. They looked like matchboxes ready to drop with the next earthquake. I knew what that was like, clinging to the edge.
    “Your Honor, my office received an anonymously sent envelope in