The Brass Verdict

What are you going to do about verifying the information it contains, Mr. Haller?”
    “Well, as soon as we break, I’m going to put my investigator on it and see if we can contact somebody in the Police Judiciaire. We’re going to be doing the job the Sheriff’s Department should have done six months ago.”
    “We’re obviously going to verify it as well,” Golantz added.
    “Rilz’s father and two brothers are sitting in the gallery. Maybe you can start with them.”
    The judge held up a hand in a calming gesture like he was a parent quelling an argument between two brothers.
    “Okay,” he said. “I am going to stop this line of cross-examination. Mr. Haller, I will allow you to lay the foundation for it during the presentation of the defense. You can call the witness back then, and if you can verify the report and the identity, then I will give you wide latitude in pursuing it.”
    “Your Honor, that puts the defense at a disadvantage,” I protested.
    “How so?”
    “Because now that the state’s been made aware of this information, it can take steps to hinder my verification of it.”
    “That’s absurd,” Golantz said.
    But the judge nodded.
    “I understand your concern and I am putting Mr. Golantz on notice that if I find any indication of that, then I will become… shall we say, very agitated. I think we are done here, gentlemen.”
    The judge rolled back into position and the lawyers returned to theirs. On my way back, I checked the clock on the back wall of the courtroom. It was ten minutes until five. I figured if I could stall for a few more minutes, the judge would recess for the day and the jurors would have the French connection to mull over for the night.
    I stood at the lectern and asked the judge for a few moments. I then acted like I was studying my notepad, trying to decide if there was anything else I wanted to ask Kinder about.
    “Mr. Haller, how are we doing?” the judge finally prompted.
    “We’re doing fine, Judge. And I look forward to exploring Mr. Rilz’s activities in France more thoroughly during the defense phase of the trial. Until then, I have no further questions for Detective Kinder.”
    I returned to the defense table and sat down. The judge then announced that court was recessed for the day.
    I watched the jury file out of the courtroom and picked up no read from any of them. I then glanced behind Golantz to the gallery. All three of the Rilz men were staring at me with hardened, dead eyes.

Forty-six
    Cisco called me at home at ten o’clock. He said he was nearby in Hollywood and that he could come right over. He said he already had some news about juror number seven.
    After hanging up I told Patrick that I was going out on the deck to meet privately with Cisco. I put on a sweater because there was a chill in the air outside, grabbed the file I’d used in court earlier and went out to wait for my investigator.
    The Sunset Strip glowed like a blast furnace fire over the shoulder of the hills. I’d bought the house in a flush year because of the deck and the view it offered of the city. It never ceased to entrance me, day or night. It never ceased to charge me and tell me the truth. That truth being that anything was possible, that anything could happen, good or bad.
    “Hey, boss.”
    I jumped and turned. Cisco had climbed the stairs and come up behind me without my even hearing him. He must’ve come up the hill on Fairfax and then killed the engine and freewheeled down to my house. He knew I’d be upset if his pipes woke up everybody in the neighborhood.
    “Don’t scare me like that, man.”
    “What are you so jumpy about?”
    “I just don’t like people sneaking up on me. Sit down out here.”
    I pointed him to the small table and chairs positioned under the roof’s eave and in front of the living room window. It was uncomfortable outdoor furniture I almost never used. I liked to contemplate the city from the deck and draw the charge. The only way to do that was standing.
    The file I’d brought out was on the table. Cisco pulled out a chair and was about to sit down when he stopped and used a hand to sweep the smog dust and crud off the seat.
    “Man, don’t you ever spray this stuff off?”
    “You’re wearing jeans and a T-shirt, Cisco. Just sit down.”
    He did and I did and I saw him look through the translucent window shade into the living room. The television was on and Patrick was in there watching the extreme-sports channel on cable.