China Lake Read Free Page A

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    How was I going to tell my brother? How was I going to tell his little boy?
    Jesse said, ‘‘Let me rephrase. Nobody gave you permission to duplicate a key and use it to enter the bookstore after closing, did they?’’
    ‘‘No,’’ the woman admitted. ‘‘But I was taking my own initiative.’’
    ‘‘Initiative isn’t all you took, is it, Miss Gaul?’’
    Jesse leaned forward, his cannonball shoulders shifting beneath his jacket. He was the one I came to see, and he looked grave and handsome, with the afternoon light burnishing his dark hair and glinting off the earring he wore, even to court.
    ‘‘While you worked at the bookstore you took numerous items without paying for them, didn’t you?’’ he said. ‘‘I don’t mean Beowulf’s bookmarks, or sugar packets from the coffee bar. You gave yourself a five-finger discount on the New York Times Best Seller List.’’
    The plaintiff’s attorney stood up. ‘‘Objection. Assuming facts not in evidence.’’
    Judge Sophia Rodriguez peered over her half-glasses at him. ‘‘Overruled.’’
    Jesse took his time. Caution came unnaturally to him, but this was a big trial and he wanted to pitch a perfect game—no runs, no hits, no errors. And no easy feat. Priscilla Gaul’s long-term thievery had ended disastrously on the night that the owner of Beowulf’s Books decided to defend the store. Gaul had suffered what her attorney called ‘‘heinous and injurious bodily harm.’’ That was why she was suing the bookstore for damages, and that was why Jesse’s cocounsel wanted him to cross-examine her, though Jesse was a courtroom greenhorn, only twenty-seven years old. Fight hard luck with hard luck, and let him be the one to throw fastballs at her, low and inside.
    Counting items on his fingers, he said, ‘‘An espresso maker, a thousand dollars in cash, and the collected works of Jackie Collins . . . do you deny that on the night of the incident you had those items in hand?’’
    Bad choice of words. Her face bunched. ‘‘You’re doing it on purpose, talking about it like this. I know it.’’
    ‘‘Yes, I am. After all, it’s the reason you’re suing my client.’’
    He was always more canny than I expected, always a surprise, which was why he could both entrance and infuriate me. Shove the witness off balance, toss the issues into the open, armed and ticking. That was Jesse.
    Gaul said, ‘‘I had my flashlight. I took it to the bookstore that night to check that there hadn’t been another burglary. That’s all I had ‘in hand,’ nothing else.’’
    In fact, she had been holding several ounces of hamburger. Ground sirloin, according to the pathology report. But he let her assertion pass, because Gaul began rubbing her left arm to remind the jury what she meant by nothing : that she no longer had a left hand. She had been mauled by attack animals when she reached behind a counter to unplug the espresso maker. That was the reason she was suing Beowulf’s Books for nine million dollars.
    He said, ‘‘And you fled the bookstore because . . . ?’’
    ‘‘Those things were going to rip my throat out. They were wild; I thought they were a pack on the loose, prowling around town—’’
    ‘‘Drinking espresso?’’
    Up popped her attorney. His name was Skip Hinkel, and he wore a suit as blond and tightly cut as his hair. He said, ‘‘Objection,’’ but Judge Rodriguez gestured him down, telling Jesse, ‘‘Skip the commentary, Mr. Blackburn.’’
    Jesse said, ‘‘And after you fled Beowulf’s, did you contact the police?’’
    ‘‘No.’’
    ‘‘Did you contact Animal Control?’’
    ‘‘No.’’
    ‘‘Did you contact the owner of Beowulf’s, to inform her that animals were loose in the bookstore?’’
    ‘‘No.’’
    ‘‘Did you do anything besides hide in your apartment, buying jewelry from QVC until the infection to your hand got out of control?’’
    ‘‘I hid because I was traumatized! I had