“When did you next hear about Ms. Dallinger after November fifth?”
“It would’ve been about a week later, when I heard that she’d gotten murdered.”
“How did you hear that?”
“Mr. Fulgoni told me.”
“And did you learn anything else about her death?”
“Well, yeah, I read the paper and I saw that a guy had been arrested.”
“You’re talking about Andre La Cosse being arrested for her murder?”
“Yeah, it had it in the paper.”
“And how did you react to that news when you read it?”
“Well, it was like I was relieved, because it meant that we didn’t have nothin’ to do with it.”
“What do you—”
Forsythe objected again, citing relevance. I argued that Valenzuela’s reaction to news of the murder and arrest were relevant because the defense’s case was based on the fact that the subpoena that was served on Gloria Dayton was what motivated her murder. Leggoe allowed me to proceed subject to her determining relevancy after the witness’s testimony was completed. This was a win with an asterisk for me. Even if the judge later struck Valenzuela’s answers from the trial record, she wouldn’t be able to strike them from the memories of the twelve jurors.
“Go ahead, Mr. Valenzuela,” I said. “Tell the jury why you were relieved when you heard that Mr. La Cosse had been arrested in the murder.”
“Well, because it meant it had nothing to do with this other thing. You know, the Moya case.”
“Well, why would you have been worried about that in the first place?”
“Because Hector Moya is a cartel guy, and I thought, you know, that—”
“I think I’m going to stop the witness there,” Leggoe said. “Now we are getting into an area beyond the witness’s expertise and knowledge. Ask a different question, Mr. Haller.”
But I had no more questions. For all his unpolished delivery, Valenzuela had been an A-plus witness, and I felt good about how we had come out of the gate. I turned the floor over to Forsythe for cross-examination but he was wise enough to pass. There wasn’t much he could get out of questioning Valenzuela without one of them repeating things that supported the defense theory.
“I have no questions, Your Honor,” he said.
The judge excused Valenzuela and he made his way out of the courtroom. Leggoe told me to call my next witness.
“Your Honor,” I said. “This might be a good time to break for lunch.”
“Really, Mr. Haller,” Leggoe said. “Why is that? The clock says it is twenty minutes to twelve.”
“Uh, Judge, my next witness is not here yet, and if I could have the lunch hour, I am sure I can have him here to start the afternoon session.”
“Very well. The jury is excused until one o’clock.”
I moved back toward the defense table while the jury filed out of the courtroom. Forsythe gave me a look and shook his head as I moved by him.
“You don’t know what you just did, do you?” he whispered.
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
He didn’t answer and I kept moving. At the defense table I started gathering my legal pads and documents together. I knew better than to leave anything on the table during court breaks. The moment the door closed on the last juror, the judge’s voice boomed through the courtroom.
“Mr. Haller.”
I looked up.
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Mr. Haller, how would you like to join your client for lunch in lockup?”
I smiled, still not aware of any trespass that I had committed.
“Well, I wouldn’t mind the company, but cheese sandwiches aren’t on my list of culinary favorites, Your—”
“Then let me put you on notice, Mr. Haller. You never suggest a lunch break or any break in front of my jury, do you understand that?”
“I do now, Judge.”
“This is my courtroom, Mr. Haller, not yours. And I decide when we break for lunch and when we don’t.”
“Yes, Your Honor. I apologize and it won’t happen again.”
“If it does, there will be consequences.”
The judge then left the bench in a huff, her black robes flowing behind her. I gathered myself and looked over at Forsythe, who had a sneaky smile on his face. He’d obviously worked in Leggoe’s courtroom before and knew her personal rules of decorum. Big deal, I thought. At least she waited until the jury was gone before she brought out the hammer.
When I got out of the courtroom and into the hallway, I found Cisco pacing near the elevators. He was holding his cell phone to his ear but not talking.
“Where the fuck is Fulgoni?” I demanded.
“I don’t know,” Cisco said. “He said he’d be here. I’m on hold with his office.”
“He’s got one hour. He’d better be here.”