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Lydia tried again, “I’ve heard that the LAPD will occasionally put a suspect into a lineup to encourage a confession. Is that what you did?”
No response.
“Did you put Alan Dinkman in a lineup and tell him he’d been identified?”
It seemed as though she wasn’t going to reply to that either, but then she said, “I don’t recall.”
“You don’t recall putting him in a lineup? Or don’t recall telling him he’d been identified?”
“I don’t recall.”
“If you don’t recall that suggests there could have been incidents where you did tell suspects they’d been identified even though they had not been. Was this a common practice?”
“We’re allowed to say whatever we need to in order to get a confession.”
“Which includes lying.”
“Yes.”
“But after you lied to my client, he did not confess. Is that correct?”
“Your client did not confess. You already know that.”
“Selma Martinez told my investigator you showed her copies of photos rather than actual photos. Do you recall how many times the photos were copied?”
“I would not have shown her copies. I would have shown her photos. I don’t know why she would say that.”
“And since there’s nothing in the file, we can’t confirm that.”
“I would not have shown her Xerox copies.”
“Then why would she say you did?”
“You don’t understand. Rape victims are traumatized. They’ve been through a terrible ordeal, they can’t be expected to remember everything in detail. They need—” Wellesley stopped, her face flushing red at what she’d just said. “I didn’t—that’s not—years have gone by, that’s what I meant.”
Lydia smiled. “You admit that a rape victim might not remember their rape accurately.”
“I… no, I don’t admit that.”
“Meaning that you don’t take that fact into account when you’re investigating a case?”
“Stop twisting my fucking words!” Wellesley raised her voice. “You think you’re some kind of avenging angel getting innocent people out of prison. Well, you’re not. What you’re doing is tearing the whole thing down, putting bad people back on the street. And that means people will get hurt!”
This was a disaster. Gutierrez stood up, and asked, “Lydia, could we step out for a moment?” The two lawyers stood and left the room.
Wellesley turned to her union rep, and said, “Couldn’t you have done something? She’s going to twist my words and three criminals are going to go free.”
“I’m here to protectyou. Not your convictions.”
“It’s the same thing. Rapists, she’s getting rapists released.”
“What if they’re not rapists, though?” I asked.
She looked at me as though I’d just appeared in a puff of smoke. Then she leaned forward, drew back her lips into a snarl, and said, “These are rapists. You can’t just let them go. Don’t act like you don’t understand. You get it. You used to be police.”
That sent a bolt through me. How much did she know about me? We’d researched her, had she returned the favor?
“I’ve never been on the job.”
