her murderer not walk away from his crime. The State of California asks, and I personally ask, that you listen carefully during the trial and weigh the evidence fairly. If you do that, we can be sure that justice will be served. For Jody Krementz. For all of us.”
He picked up the pad from the lectern and turned to move back to his seat. But then he stopped, as if a second thought had just occurred to him. Bosch saw it as a well-practiced move. He thought the jury would see it that way as well.
“I was just thinking that we all know it has been part of our recent history here in Los Angeles to see our police department put on trial in these high-profile cases. If you don’t like the message, then by all means shoot the messenger. It is a favorite from the defense bar’s bag of tricks. I want you all to promise yourselves that you will remain vigilant and keep your eyes on the prize, that prize being truth and justice. Don’t be fooled. Don’t be misdirected. Trust yourself on the truth and you’ll find the way.”
He stepped over to his seat and sat down. Bosch noticed Langwiser reaching over and gripping Kretzler’s forearm in a congratulatory gesture. It, too, was part of the well-practiced play.
The judge told the jurors that in light of the brevity of the prosecution’s address the trial would proceed to the defense statement without a break. But the break came soon enough anyway when Fowkkes stood and moved to the lectern and proceeded to spend even less time than Kretzler addressing the jury.
“You know, ladies and gentlemen, all this talk about shoot the messenger, don’t shoot the messenger, well let me tell you something about that. Those fine words you got from Mr. Kretzler there at the end, well let me tell you every prosecutor in this building says those at the start of every trial in this place. I mean they must have ’em printed up on cards they carry in their wallets, it seems to me.”
Kretzler stood and objected to what he called such “wild exaggeration” and Houghton admonished Fowkkes but then advised the prosecutor that he might make better use of his objections. Fowkkes moved on quickly.
“If I was outta line, I’m sorry. I know it’s a touchy thing with prosecutors and police. But all I’m saying, folks, is that where there’s smoke there’s usually fire. And in the course of this trial we are going to try to find our way through the smoke. We may or may not come upon a fire but one thing I do know for sure we will come upon is the conclusion that this man -”
He turned and pointed strongly at his client.
“-this man, David N. Storey, is without a shadow of a doubt not guilty of the crime he is charged with. Yes, he is a man of power and position but, remember, it is not a crime to be so. Yes, he knows a few celebrities but, last time I checked People magazine, this too was not yet a crime. Now I think you may find elements of Mr. Storey’s personal life and appetites to be offensive to you. I know I do. But remember that these do not constitute crimes that he is charged with in these proceedings. The crime here is murder. Nothing less and nothing more. It is a crime of which David Storey is NOT guilty. And no matter what Mr. Kretzler and Ms. Langwiser and Detective Bosch and their witnesses tell you, there is absolutely no evidence of guilt in this case.”
After Fowkkes bowed to the jury and sat down, Judge Houghton announced the trial would break for an early lunch before testimony began in the afternoon.
Bosch watched the jury file out through the door next to the box. A few of them looked back over their shoulders at the courtroom. The juror who was last in line, a black woman of about fifty, looked directly back at Bosch. He lowered his eyes and then immediately wished he hadn’t. When he looked back up she was gone.
Chapter 16
McCaleb turned off the television when the trial broke for lunch. He didn’t want to hear all the analysis of the talking heads. He thought the best point had been scored by the defense. Fowkkes had made a smooth move telling the jury that he, too, found his client’s personal life and habits offensive. He was telling them that if he could stand it, so could they. He was reminding them that the case was about taking a life, not about how one lived a life.
He went back to preparing for his afternoon meeting with Jaye Winston. He’d gone back to the boat after breakfast and gathered up his files and books. Now, with a pair of scissors and some tape, he was putting together a presentation he hoped would not only impress Winston but convince her of something McCaleb was having a difficult time believing himself. In a way, putting together the presentation was a dress rehearsal for putting on a case. In that respect, McCaleb found the time he labored over what he would show and say to Winston very useful. It allowed him to see logic holes and prepare answers for the questions he knew Winston would ask.
While he considered exactly what he would say to Winston, she called on his cell phone.
“We might have a break on the owl. Maybe, maybe not.”
“What is it?”
“The distributor in Middleton, Ohio, thinks he knows where it came from. A place right here in Carson called Bird Barrier.”
“Why does he think that?”
“Because Kurt faxed photos of our bird, and the man he was dealing with in Ohio noticed that the bottom of the mold was open.”
“Okay. What’s it mean?”
“Well, apparently these are shipped with the base enclosed so it can be filled with sand to make the bird stand up in wind and rain and whatever.”
“I understand.”
“Well, they have one subdistributor who orders the owls with the bottom of the base punched out. Bird Barrier. They take them with the open base because they fit the owls on top of some kind of gizmo that shrieks.”
“What do you mean, shrieks?”
“You know, like a real owl. I guess it helps really scare birds away. You know what Bird Barrier’s slogan is? ‘Number one when it comes to birds going number two.’ Cute, huh? That’s how they answer the phone there.”
McCaleb’s mind was churning too quickly to register humor. He didn’t laugh.
“This place is in Carson?”
“Right, not far from your marina. I’ve got to go to a meeting now but I was going to drop by before coming to see you. You want to meet there instead? Can you make it over in time?”
“That would be good. I’ll be there.”
She gave him the address, which was about fifteen minutes from Cabrillo Marina, and they agreed to meet there at two. She said that the company’s president, a man named Cameron Riddell, had agreed to see them.
“Are you bringing the owl with you?” McCaleb asked.
“Guess what, Terry? I’ve been a detective going on twelve years now. And I’ve had a brain even longer.”
“Sorry.”
“See you at two.”
After clicking off the phone, McCaleb took a leftover tamale out of the freezer, cooked it in the microwave and then wrapped it in foil and put it in his leather bag for eating while crossing the bay. He checked on his daughter, who was in the family room sleeping in the arms of their part-time nanny, Mrs. Perez. He touched the baby’s cheek and left.
Bird Barrier was located in a commercial and upscale warehouse district that hugged the eastern side of the 405 Freeway just below the airfield where the Goodyear blimp was tethered. The blimp was in its place and McCaleb could see the leashes that held it straining against the afternoon wind coming in from the sea. When he pulled into the Bird Barrier lot he noticed an LTD with commercial hubs that he knew had to be Jaye Winston’s car. He was right. She was sitting in a small waiting room when he came in through a glass door. On the floor next to
