“The Interpol background pretty much was a check of a criminal arrest record, correct?”

“That was included, yes.”

“What else was included?”

“I’m not sure what else. I don’t work for Interpol.”

“If Mr. Rilz had worked for the police in Paris as a confidential informant on a drug case, would Interpol have given you this information?”

Kinder’s eyes widened for a split second before he answered. It was clear he wasn’t expecting the question, but I couldn’t get a read on whether he knew where I was heading or if it was all new to him.

“I don’t know whether they would have given us that information or not.”

“Law enforcement agencies usually don’t give out the names of their confidential informants willy-nilly, do they?”

“No, they don’t.”

“Why is that?”

“Because it might put the informants in danger.”

“So being an informant in a criminal case can be dangerous?”

“On occasion, yes.”

“Detective, have you ever investigated the murder of a confidential informant?”

Golantz stood up before Kinder could answer and asked the judge for a sidebar conference. The judge signaled us up. I grabbed the file off the lectern and followed Golantz up. The court reporter moved next to the bench with her steno machine. The judge rolled his chair over and we huddled.

“Mr. Golantz?” the judge prompted.

“Judge, I would like to know where this is going, because I’m feeling like I’m being sandbagged here. There has been nothing in any of the defense’s discovery that even hints at what Mr. Haller is asking the witness about.”

The judge swiveled in his chair and looked at me.

“Mr. Haller?”

“Judge, if anybody is being sandbagged, it’s my client. This was a sloppy investigation that—”

“Save it for the jury, Mr. Haller. Whaddaya got?”

I opened the file and put a computer printout down in front of the judge, which positioned it upside down to Golantz.

“What I’ve got is a story that ran in Le Parisien four and a half years ago. It names Johan Rilz as a witness for the prosecution in a major drug case. He was used by the Direction de la Police Judiciaire to make buys and get inside knowledge of the drug ring. He was a CI, Your Honor, and these guys over here never even looked at him. It was tunnel vision from the—”

“Mr. Haller, again, save your argument for the jury. This printout is in French. Do you have the translation?”

“Sorry, Your Honor.”

I took the second of three sheets out of the file and put it down on top of the first, again in the direction of the judge. Golantz was twisting his head awkwardly as he tried to read it.

“How do we know this is the same Johan Rilz?” Golantz said. “It’s a common name over there.”

“Maybe in Germany, but not in France.”