A Darkness More Than Night (17 page)

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Authors: Michael Connelly

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BOOK: A Darkness More Than Night
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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.

 

 

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 her chair were a briefcase and a cardboard box sealed at the top with red tape marked
EVIDENCE
. She immediately got up and went to a reception window through which McCaleb could see a seated young man wearing a telephone headset.
“Can you tell Mr. Riddell we’re both here?”
The young man, who was apparently on a call, nodded to her.
A few minutes later they were ushered into Cameron Riddell’s office. McCaleb carried the box. Winston made the introductions, calling McCaleb her colleague. It was the truth but it also concealed his badgeless status.
Riddell was a pleasant-looking man in his mid-thirties who seemed anxious to help in the investigation. Winston put on a pair of latex gloves from her briefcase, then ran a key along the red tape on the box and opened it. She removed the owl and placed it on Riddell’s desk.
“What can you tell us about this, Mr. Riddell?”
Riddell remained standing behind his desk and leaned across to look at the owl.
“I can’t touch it?”
“Tell you what, why don’t you put these on.”
Winston opened her briefcase and handed another pair of gloves from the cardboard dispenser to Riddell. McCaleb just watched, having decided that he would not jump in unless Winston asked him to or she made an obvious omission during the interview. Riddell struggled with the gloves, slowly pulling them on.
“Sorry,” Winston said. “They’re medium. You look like a large.”
Once he had the gloves on, Riddell picked the owl up with both hands and studied the underside of the base. He looked up into the hollow plastic mold and then held the bird directly in front of him, seemingly studying the painted eyes. He then placed it on the corner of the desk and went back around to his seat. He sat down and pressed a button on an intercom.
“Monique, it’s Cameron. Can you go to the back and get one of the screeching owls off the line and bring it in to me? I need it now, too.”
“On my way.”
Riddell took off the gloves and flexed his fingers. He then looked at Winston, having sensed that she was the important one. He gestured to the owl.
“Yes, it’s one of ours but it’s been . . . I don’t know what the word you would use would be. It’s been changed, modified. We don’t sell them like this.”
“How so?”
“Well, Monique’s getting us one so you can see, but essentially this one has been repainted a little bit and the screeching mechanism has been removed. Also, we have a proprietary label we attach here at the base and that’s gone.”
He pointed to the rear of the base.
“Let’s start with the painting,” Winston said. “What was done?”
Before Riddell answered, there was a single knock on the door and a woman came in carrying another owl which was wrapped in plastic. Riddell told her to put it down on the desk and remove the plastic. McCaleb noticed that she made a face when she saw the painted black eyes of the owl Winston had brought. Riddell thanked her and she left the office.
McCaleb studied the side-by-side owls. The evidence owl had been painted darker. The Bird Barrier owl had five colors on its feathers, including white and light blue, as well as plastic eyes with pupils rimmed in a reflective amber color. Also, the new owl was sitting atop a black plastic base.
“As you can see, the owl you brought has been repainted,” Riddell said. “Especially the eyes. When you paint over them like that, you lose a lot of the effect. These are called foil-reflect eyes. The layer of foil in the plastic catches light and gives the eyes the appearance of movement.”
“So the birds think it is real.”
“Exactly. You lose that when you paint them like this.”
“We don’t think the person that painted this was worried about birds. What else is different?”
Riddell just shook his head.
“Just that the plumage has been darkened quite a bit. You can see that.”
“Yes. Now you said the mechanism has been removed. What mechanism?”
“We get these from Ohio and then we paint them and attach one of two mechanisms. What you see here is our standard model.”
Riddell picked the owl up and showed them the underside. The black plastic base swiveled as he turned it. It made a loud screeching sound.
“Hear the screech?”
“Yes, that’s enough, Mr. Riddell.”
“Sorry. But you see, the owl sits on this base and reacts to the wind. As it turns, it emits the screech and sounds like a predator. Works well, as long as the wind is blowing. We also have a deluxe model with an electronic insert in the base. It contains a speaker that emits recorded sounds of predator birds like the hawk. No reliance on wind.”
“Can you get one without either one of the inserts?”
“Yes, you can purchase a replacement that fits over one of our proprietary bases. In case the owl is damaged or lost. With exposure, particularly in marine settings, the paint lasts two to three years and after that the owl might lose some of its effectiveness. You have to repaint or simply get a new owl. The reality is, the mold is the least expensive part of the ensemble.”
Winston looked over at McCaleb. He had nothing to add or ask in the line of questioning she was pursuing. He simply nodded at her and she turned back to Riddell.
“Okay, then, I think we want to see if there is a method of tracing this owl from this point to its eventual owner.”
Riddell looked at the owl for a long moment as if it might be able to answer the question itself.
“Well, that could be difficult. It’s a commodity item. We sell several thousand a year. We ship to retail outlets as well as sell through mail order catalogs and an Internet Web site.”
He snapped his fingers.
“There is one thing that will cut it down some, though.”
“What’s that?”
“They changed the mold last year. In China. They did some research and decided the horned owl was considered a higher threat to other birds than the round head. They changed to the horns.”
“I’m not quite following you, Mr. Riddell.”
He held up a finger as if to tell her wait a moment. He then opened a desk drawer and dug through some paperwork. He came out with a catalog and quickly started turning pages. McCaleb saw that Bird Barrier’s primary business was not plastic owls, but large-scale bird deterrent systems that encompassed netting and wire coils and spikes. Riddell found the page showing the plastic owls and turned the catalog so that Winston and McCaleb could view it.
“This is last year’s catalog,” he said. “You see the owl has the round head. The manufacturer changed last June, about seven months ago. Now we have these guys.”
He pointed to the two owls on the table.
“The feathering turns up into the two points, or ears, on the top of the head. The sales rep said these are called horns and that these types of owls are sometimes called devil owls.”
Winston glanced at McCaleb, who raised his eyebrows momentarily.
“So you’re saying this owl we have was ordered or bought since June,” she said to Riddell.
“More like since August or maybe September. They changed in June but we probably didn’t start receiving the new mold until late July. We also would have sold off our existing supplies of the round head first.”
Winston then questioned Riddell about sales records and determined that information from mail order and Web site purchases was kept complete and current on the company’s computer files. But point-of-purchase sales from shipments to major hardware and home and marine products retailers would obviously not be recorded. He turned to the computer on his desk and typed in a few commands. He then pointed to the screen, though McCaleb and Winston were not at angles where they could see it.
“All right, I asked for sales of those part numbers since August one,” he said.
“Part numbers?”
“Yes, for the standard and deluxe models and then the replacement molds. We show we self-shipped four hundred and fourteen total. We also shipped six hundred even to retailers.”
“And what you’re telling us is that we can only trace, through you at least, the four hundred fourteen.”
“Correct.”
“You have the names of buyers and the addresses the owls were shipped to there?”
“Yes, we do.”
“And are you willing to share this information with us without need of a court order?”
Riddell frowned as if the question was absurd.
“You said you’re working on a murder, right?”
“Right.”
“We don’t require a court order. If we can help, we want to help.”
“That’s very refreshing, Mr. Riddell.”
• • •
They sat in Winston’s car and reviewed the computer printouts Riddell had given them. The evidence box containing the owl was between them on the seat. There were three printouts, divided by orders for the deluxe, standard or replacement owls. McCaleb asked to see the replacement list because his instincts told him the owl in Edward Gunn’s apartment had been bought for the express purpose of playing a part in the murder scene and therefore no attachment mechanisms were needed. Additionally, the replacement owl was the least expensive.

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