The Reversal
day?”
“No, sir. I had been out there two times before.”
“Before the trip during which you found the body, when had you last been to the trash bin?”
“About ninety minutes before.”
“Did you see a body on top of the trash in the bin that time?”
“No, there was no body there.”
“So it had to have been placed in that bin in the ninety minutes prior to you finding it, correct?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Okay, Mr. Johnson, if I could draw your attention to the screen.”
The courtroom was equipped with two large flat-screen monitors mounted high on the wall opposite the jury box. One screen was slightly angled toward the gallery to allow courtroom observers to see the digital presentations as well. Maggie controlled what appeared on the screens through a PowerPoint program on her laptop computer. She had constructed the presentation over the last two weeks and weekends as we choreographed the prosecution’s case. All of the old photos from the case files had been scanned and loaded into the program. She now put up the trial’s first photo exhibit. A shot of the trash bin Melissa Landy’s body had been found in.
“Does that look like the trash bin in which you found the little girl’s body, Mr. Johnson?”
“That’s it.”
“What makes you so sure, sir?”
“The address—fifty-five fifteen—spray-painted on the side like that. I did that. That’s the address. And I can tell that’s the back of the El Rey. I’ve worked there a long time.”
“Okay, and is this what you saw when you raised the top and looked inside?”
Maggie moved to the next photo. The courtroom was already quiet but it seemed to me that it grew absolutely silent when the photo of Melissa Landy’s body in the trash bin went up on the screens. Under the existing rules of evidence as carved by a recent ruling by the Ninth District, I had to find ways of bringing old evidence and exhibits to the present jury. I could not rely on investigative records. I had to find people who were bridges to the past and Johnson was the first bridge.
Johnson didn’t answer my question at first. He just stared like everyone else in the courtroom. Then, unexpectedly, a tear rolled down his dark cheek. It was perfect. If I had been at the defense table I would have viewed it with cynicism. But I knew Johnson’s response was heartfelt and it was why I had made him my first witness.
“That’s her,” he finally said. “That’s what I saw.”
I nodded as Johnson blessed himself.
“And what did you do when you saw her?”
“We didn’t have no cell phones back then, you see. So I ran back inside and I called nine-one-one on the stage phone.”
“And the police came quickly?”
“They came real quick, like they were already looking for her.”
“One final question, Mr. Johnson. Could you see that trash bin from Wilshire Boulevard?”
Johnson shook his head emphatically.
“No, it was behind the theater and you could only see it if you drove back there and down the little alley.”
I hesitated here. I had more to bring out from this witness. Information not presented in the first trial but gathered by Bosch during his reinvestigation. It was information that Royce might not be aware of. I could just ask the question that would draw it out or I could roll the dice and see if the defense opened a door on cross-examination. The information would be the same either way, but it would have greater weight if the jury believed the defense had tried to hide it.
“Thank you, Mr. Johnson,” I finally said. “I have no further questions.”
The witness was turned over to Royce, who went to the lectern as I sat down.
“Just a few questions,” he said. “Did you see who put the victim’s body in the bin?”
“No, I did not,” Johnson said.
“So when you called nine-one-one you had no idea who did it, is that correct?”
“Correct.”
“Before that day, had you ever seen the defendant before?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Thank you.”
And that was it. Royce had performed a typical cross of a witness who had little value to the defense. Johnson couldn’t identify the murderer, so Royce got that on the record. But he should have just let Johnson pass. By asking if Johnson had ever seen Jessup before the murder, he opened a door. I stood back up so I could go through it.
“Redirect, Mr. Haller?” the judge asked.
“Briefly, Your Honor. Mr. Johnson, back during this period that we’re
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