Try Fear (30 page)

Because I didn’t have any witness to put on the stand, I asked the judge in chambers if we could pack it in and come back
Monday.

“I don’t want this jury waiting around,” Judge Hughes said. “I’m sorry to hear about your assistant. But I have to think you
have some evidence to present that’s been in the wings.”

“If I could just have the weekend,” I said.

“I’m sorry, Ty. I’m not going to do that. When can I expect you to have a witness on the stand today?”

I looked at my watch, purely as a fake-out. “How about eleven?”

“How about ten-thirty?”

Radavich leaned against the door with his arms folded, saying nothing.

“I’ll do what I can,” I said.

“See that you do,” the judge said.

I
WENT OUTSIDE
to the back of the courthouse and put in a call to my forensic guy, Dr. Harold Whitney. He knew he was possibly going to
testify this week, and I told him I’d give him at least a day’s notice. Now it was an hour. I left a message.

I leaned against a low wall by the parking lot and tried to figure out what to do next. Maybe I could call in the parking
attendant and have him testify about parking lots in general. And I’d figure out a way to make it relevant.

In other words, I was desperate.

And wasn’t expecting the tap on the shoulder I got next. I turned and looked into a familiar face. It took me a second to
remember where I’d seen him. It was at Addie Qs, the bar on Sunset.

“How you doin’?” the
Sopranos
extra said.

“I’m just peachy,” I said.

“There’s somebody wants to talk to you.”

Now this was really sounding like the show. “Who?”

“You’ll be interested.” He pointed to the parking lot. “He’s in the black Caddy, with the tinted windows.”

I looked and saw the car. It stuck out like a Secret Service agent at a kid’s birthday party.

“Mr. Bacon is waiting,” Sopranos said. “He’s not alone.”

I
NDEED HE WASN’T.
Through the open passenger window I saw Turk Bacon behind the wheel. Behind him was a woman with long, silky black hair,
a striking amount of which cascaded over her shoulders. She had olive skin and deep brown eyes.

“Get in, Mr. Buchanan,” Bacon said.

“I’m good,” I said.

Sopranos, who was behind me, opened the door. I looked at him. “Why don’t you just open the trunk and be done with it?”

He didn’t laugh. “Get in,” he said.

“Back off, Vito,” I said.

“His name is not Vito,” Turk said. “It’s all right, Mike. Go have a smoke.”

Sopranos looked disappointed. He turned and walked away.

I waited a couple of seconds, then got in.

“I don’t understand,” Bacon said. “Why are you getting in?”

“Now it’s my idea,” I said. “So what’s this about?”

The woman looked nervous. Bacon said, “This is Mr. Buchanan. He’s the lawyer I told you about. You can tell him now.”

She looked at Bacon, then back at me. “He was with me that night. Your client. We were at a motel in Long Beach. I have the
receipt.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. I looked at it. It was a receipt for the Lavender
Motel in Long Beach, with a stamp indicating 9:02 p.m. on Friday, January 30.

“You kept the receipt?” I said.

“This is a business,” she said.

I almost laughed. “How long was he with you?”

“Two hours.”

“Exactly?”

“Exactly. We bill by the quarter hour.”

“You’re just like lawyers.”

Turk Bacon said, “More honest.”

“That’s a lot of time with one client,” I said.

“It’s what he wanted,” she said. “It’s his dime. He wanted to talk. Some clients do. They have trouble at home, whatever.
It’s not just about sex.”

“You did have sex, right?”

“Yes.”

I said, “The prosecution is going to tear into you.”

“I can handle myself,” she said. “I’ve been doing it ever since I was twelve.”

I looked into her eyes. They were sincere. But I had questions.

“Why did you happen to pick this time to come forward?” I said.

She looked at Bacon, who said, “She wants to do the right thing.”

That sounded about as convincing as
I didn’t inhale
. “This is very convenient, you coming along like this,” I said. “At just the right time. After a key witness goes missing.”

“Key witness?” Bacon said.

“I’m sure you’re completely in the dark.”

“I don’t know who you think I am,” he said. “Or what magical powers I possess. But right now you have a fact before you, a
proven fact. The truth, in other words.”

“Why’d you hold her back, then?”

“What makes you think I held her back? She came to me.”

I said, “It just smells like something’s going on that you’re not telling me about.”

“Your sense of smell is not, so far as I can see, relevant. All you need to know, Mr. Buchanan, is that the witness who can
set your client free is sitting here with you right now, and she’s quite ready to testify. You want her to or not?”

Want her to? This was the bombshell, the hand grenade, the TV moment that never happens in real life. A surprise witness turning
up just before the commercial break.

Which was exactly what I didn’t like about it. Too scripted. But there was the receipt. There was the
fact.
And I knew I’d put her on, because not to would be legal malpractice.

I said to her, “Have you made any deals, or even talked with anyone, from a tabloid or television show, about telling your
story?”

Bacon again answered for her. “I can assure you nothing like that has taken place. And if Leilana is asked anything along
those lines, she can truthfully say no deals have been made.”

“Leilana?”

“Leilana Salgado,” Bacon said.

“What about after the trial?” I said.

Bacon shrugged.

“So that’s it, huh?” I said. “Timing. You make a big splash, now that the media’s covering this thing. Leilana here gets her
face splashed all over. Fame. Because it doesn’t matter anymore what you’re famous for, right?”

“I did not make American popular culture what it is today,” Bacon said. “I merely enjoy its fruits. Remember what I told you
about being able to bloom in any kind of soil?”

“I’ll never forget it,” I said.

Bacon smiled. “So do you want us in the courtroom?”

“Not you. Just her.”

Bacon shrugged.

I
WENT UP
to the lockup to talk to Eric. He was not looking well. His face was almost translucent.

“I can’t take much more of this,” he said.

“Listen,” I said. “The escort you were with that night. Describe her to me.”

“What?”

“Just do it.”

“She was sort of Mexican looking. She had real long hair. I mean, how much detail do you want?”

“That’s enough,” I said.

“Enough for what?”

“She’s here.”

Eric leaned against the lockup door. “What do you mean, here?”

“She’s going to testify. She’s your alibi.”

“Wait, wait!”

“Wait for what?”

“I don’t know if I want you to.”

“Eric, this is the single most important evidence we can put on. What do you mean wait?”

“Why not let me take the stand?”

“That is a bad idea, Eric. I don’t think Radavich has met his burden, and now our key witness is sitting right outside the
courthouse.”

“What’s this gonna do to Mom? And my wife?”

“Listen carefully. I don’t know about you and your wife. She doesn’t even bother to come to court. You have enough trouble
there that this isn’t going to be any major setback. And as far as your mom, what she wants is you out of here. What good
is it to hang onto some sort of pride and get stuck in the slam for something you didn’t do? How is that going to help your
mother?”

Eric sighed, closed his eyes. He stayed that way for a long moment. Then he nodded, turned, and went to sit on the bench.

T
HE FUN PART
was going to be telling the judge and the deputy district attorney exactly what I was about to do.

In chambers, fifteen minutes late, I faced an impatient Judge Hughes and an indifferent Tom Radavich. I was about to make
him different.

“Are we ready to go now?” the judge said.

“I am prepared to put on a witness,” I said. “This witness has just this moment become known to me. I want to put this witness
on the stand today. Because the last time I noticed a witness to the prosecution, he disappeared. Oh yeah, and my investigator
got shot. I don’t want that happening again.”

Radavich now looked interested.

I went on. “This is a key witness. This is an alibi witness. This is the woman who will testify she was with my client on
the night of the murder. She has corroborating evidence. I will tell you right now it is a motel receipt, and I will make
sure that Mr. Radavich has a copy. I’m sure they will want to spend the next night and day checking out her story. But I want
her on the stand before something happens to her, like a DA investigator showing up on her doorstep and then she disappears,
like Keyser Soze.”

“What are you talking about, Mr. Buchanan?” Judge Hughes said. “Who is Keyser Soze?”

“
The Usual Suspects.
Poof. He’s gone. Like my witness, Nick Molina, who was talking to somebody Mr. Radavich sent around.”

“What is this about?” the judge said to Radavich.

“We sent an investigator to question Mr. Molina, yes,” Radavich said. “Mr. Molina was not responsive. He said he would not
talk without his lawyer present. Our investigator left, and that was that.”

“So where is this Mr. Molina?” the judge said.

“Poof,” I said.

“You mean you don’t have contact with him?”

“No, but I know how to get in his house and get shot at. You just show up.”

Judge Hughes looked at the ceiling. “I don’t want to delay this trial any more. I’m going to let Mr. Buchanan put on his wintess.”

Radavich said, “We object, of course. This is the second surprise witness Mr. Buchanan has suddenly tossed our way. I don’t
know how many more Mr. Buchanan is going to buy before he finally gets—”

“Now, now,” the judge said. “Let’s think about this a moment. We all know that discovery these days tends to favor the prosecution.”

Radavich’s cheeks started to pinken.

“Oh, don’t bother to deny it, Tom. You spring this stuff all the time. I’m going to let this one happen. When I first started
trying cases, you had to be able to think on your feet and deal with surprises. A little of that won’t hurt you. So we’re
going to go out there and I’m going to allow Mr. Buchanan to put his witness on the stand and we’re going to see what happens.
And I’ll give you a chance to recall the witness later, if you find anything out.”

Before I could look too smug, the judge said to me, “And this better be a credible, reliable, truthful witness. Because if
I find out that you are manufacturing anything, or allowing frivolous testimony, I’m going to be, you know, very upset. And
then you know what will happen to your career?”

I shook my head.

“Poof,” Judge Hughes said.

A
ND SO
I called Leilana Salgado to the stand. She looked ready.

“Ms. Salgado,” I said, “please tell the jury what you do for a living.”

“I’m an escort.”

“Do you work for an escort service?”

“Yes.”

“That means that clients will go through the service, and arrange for a price to spend time with you, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“That includes sexual favors as well?”

“No, that is not part of the service. If it happens, it is considered optional with each one of us.”

I had to be up front with the jury. “Some people would call you a hooker or a prostitute, isn’t that correct?”

“I’ve been called a lot of things.”

“In fact,” I said, “by testifying here today, you are putting yourself in legal jeopardy, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

The foundation was set. It’s powerful evidence of credibility when what you say in court could hurt you. The jury was ready
to listen.

“On January thirty of this year, were your services retained by the defendant, Eric Richess?”

“Yes.”

“Please tell the jury when and where you arranged to meet.”

Like a seasoned pro, Leilana turned toward the jury. “He wanted to meet me in Long Beach, so I gave him a price for the time.
He wanted me to select a location. Our escort service has a database of acceptable places. I chose one and had him meet me
there.”

So far, so good. She sounded certain and credible and somewhat humble. No chip on the shoulder. The jury would like that.
Some of them, anyway.

“What time did he meet you?” I said.

“Approximately eight-thirty.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because we went to a bar and had a drink, and got back to the motel around nine o’clock. That’s when I paid for the room.”

“You paid for the room?”

“Yes.”

“Is that a common practice?”

“Sometimes, if the client wishes to remain anonymous.”

I went to the counsel table and got the receipt Leilana had given me. “Showing you now what has been marked Defense Exhibit
Four for identification, can you tell me what that is?” I put it on the rail of the witness box.

She picked it up, looked at it, put it down. “It’s the motel receipt.”

“What time does it say on the receipt?”

“9:02 p.m.”

“Did you secure a room?”

“Yes.”

“Without going into any detail, how long were you with Mr. Richess?”

“I was with him until eleven p.m.”

“How can you be sure?”

“That’s the time he paid for. He paid me for two hours. Then he left.”

“And what did you do after he left?”

“I watched TV. I watched the
Tonight Show
. I like Jay Leno.”

A little laughter broke out in the courtroom. Most of the jury laughed, too. They were warming to her. There is something
about witnesses completely open about what they do that juries appreciate. A witness who tries to hide things is the one you
don’t trust.