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“Yes, I did.”

“And what was their comment about that, if any?”

“They thanked me and said that the information might be enough to change the entire theory of the case.”

“I see. And then did you hear from them soon after that?”

“No.”

“No?” A pause for the effect. “Not even back in November after they’d arrested the defendant, and they were preparing for the preliminary hearing?”

“No.”)

“And not as this case went to trial?”

“No.”

“Hmm. When the inspectors did speak to you at your home, did they tell you that they didn’t believe your testimony, or your eyewitness account?”

“Objection. Irrelevant.”

“Goes to the witness’s state of mind, Your Honor.” This didn’t make a lot of sense, but Hardy had learned from the testimony of Jansey Ticknor that Braun didn’t have a real good grasp of what this hearsay exception meant. He figured if Stier could use it to get stuff in, he might be able to as well.

It worked. “Overruled.”

Hardy asked permission of the judge and then repeated his question. “Mrs. Bradford, did the inspectors tell you that they didn’t believe your testimony, or your eyewitness account?”

“No. To the contrary, as I’ve said, they talked about it changing the theory of the case.”

“And yet they never called you back, or served you with a subpoena, or asked you to come down here and testify in court, correct?”

“Objection. Asked and answered.”

“Sustained.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Bradford. I have no further questions.”

Stier was on his feet before Hardy was back at his counsel table. “Mrs. Bradford,” he began, “did the inspectors you spoke to ask you if you’d seen anything in the street on the morning of Mr. Vogler’s death?”

“Yes.”

“And did you in fact see anything down in the street, or in the alley?”

“No, as I’ve already said.”

“Now, as to the noises you heard. Are you familiar with the sound of gunfire?”

“No. Not particularly.”

“In your testimony with Mr. Hardy you said that while you were in bed, you heard a report, and this is a direct quote, ‘like a firecracker. ’ Unquote. Isn’t that true?”

“Yes, it is. I thought it might have been a firecracker. Or a backfire.”

“And yet you told Mr. Hardy that you definitely heard two gunshots, did you not?”

“I did.”



And here Stier, in his enthusiasm and lack of respect for this witness, made his big error. “So let me ask you this. How could you know they were gunshots?”

Hardy had asked Mrs. Bradford that very question in the hall and had fervently hoped Stier would be foolish enough to ask it in front of the jury.

“Well, they were identical sounds. And we know for sure that one of them was a gunshot from the alley across the street, don’t we? That’s when Mr. Vogler was killed, wasn’t it? Right when I heard the shots.”

Rule Number One, Hardy thought-you talk to every single witness yourself, every single time. Hardy saw Stier’s shoulders slump as some of the jurors came forward and the import of this testimony hit home. He turned hesitantly toward the panel, stopped, came back to the witness. He finally said, “But can you say for certain that the second sound was in fact a gunshot, and not a backfire, or even a firecracker?”

She thought about this for a second. “I can say for sure that the two sounds were exactly alike. If the first one was a gunshot, the second one was a gunshot. And vice versa.”

Stier decided to quit before he made it worse. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Lori Bradford got up from the witness chair. “And they really did sound like gunshots,” she added with a believability and sincerity that cemented her complete defeat of The Big Ugly.

The three partners-Hardy, Farrell, Roake-and Wyatt Hunt were at the Freeman Building after the close of business, gathered around the large round table in the Solarium considering options. The overhead lighting was on full against the encroachment of the misty darkness that gathered outside the glass panes. A bottle of red wine stood open on the table, although Gina’s choice was her Oban and Hunt, next to her, was having an Anchor Steam.

Hardy was ru

Other witnesses for Maya’s defense were few, if any, and far between. This was why Hardy had grabbed so desperately at Lori Bradford. At least here was a real bone for the jury to gnaw at. Nothing in the prosecution’s case contemplated or explained a two-shot scenario, and that fact, if taken as fact, created a glaring hole if any jury member cared to look hard in that direction. But since there was no second bullet, nor casing, nor even gun for that matter, there was no guarantee, nor even a likelihood, that this would happen.

And as for Maya, her alibis were flimsy and unsupported. Nobody had seen her either kill anybody or not kill anybody. And there were still the huge and unresolved questions of why she had been at both murder scenes. The time, in Dylan’s case, and the location, in Levon’s, pretty well eliminated any consideration of the idea that she’d simply been in the respective neighborhoods. She’d gone to both places on purpose, apparently summoned-or setting up-the victims. And if she hadn’t gone by to kill them, then why?

“I’ve got to call her,” Hardy said. “Let the jury hear her story.”

“Maybe I’m missing something,” Gina said, “but what is her story? I mean, does she even have any explanation for why she was at these places?”

“Dylan called her, and then Levon called her.”

Gina sipped her drink. “And she just went? No reason? When was the last time she’d even seen Levon?”

“I know,” Hardy said. “It’s weak.”

Weak’s one word for it.” Farrell leaned back in his chair. “You might just want to go to argument. I mean, the theory is that they’ve got to prove something and you don’t.”

Hardy reached for his glass. “I’d just like to give ’em something, anything at all.”

“Well,” Hunt said, “there was Lori.”

“And God love her,” Hardy replied. “But two shots kind of goes nowhere without another story to go with them. And that I don’t have.”

“How about Glitsky?” Hunt asked.

Hardy had informed them all of his lunchtime deal with Abe, but like everything else about this case, it was looking like anything Abe could bring to the party was going to be a day late and a dollar short. “We’re supposed to talk again tonight, but if he had anything live and pressing, I think I’d have heard.”

“Maybe you could call the homicide guys Abe put on Ruiz,” Gina offered. “Talk about another weed-related murder at BBW, this one while Maya’s in jail and couldn’t have had anything to do with it. There’s an element of doubt. Something else going on, at least.”

“That’s an actual thought,” Hardy said. “Although Abe would have me killed if I called his guys in the middle of this.”

“Yeah, but at least you’d be killed by professionals,” Farrell said, “so it wouldn’t hurt much.” He went on. “Braun wouldn’t let it in anyway. Ruiz is six months removed from our victims here. That’s a tough sell.” He took a healthy drink of red wine. “I’m back to closing argument. You’ve just got to argue that there’s no evidence. That’s all you can do.”

“Well, not to get picky,” Gina said, “but there is evidence. There’s Maya’s gun, her fingerprints on it, fingerprints on Levon’s doorknob.” She shrugged. “It’s not much, granted, but it’s hard to explain away. Any other jurisdiction in the state, given the motives, I think she goes down. Here, maybe you’ll get your one juror, but on argument alone, I wouldn’t get my hopes up.”