Higher Law Boxset, Volume 3

by Sheldon Siegel

  “So ordered. Anything else, Mr. Daley?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  “Then we’re adjourned.”

  ✽✽✽

  A stern-faced Luca stopped me outside the courtroom. “That didn’t go well.”

  “We did the best that we could, Luca.”

  “Gio isn’t happy. Neither is Maria.”

  Neither am I. “The judge agreed to expedited discovery. That will help us figure out what they have and where we stand.”

  “You were supposed to get the charges dropped.”

  “That wasn’t realistic.”

  “At the very least, you were supposed to get bail.”

  “The judge didn’t want to be perceived as giving special treatment to the son of an assistant chief.”

  “That doesn’t help Johnny.”

  My neck was burning. “I’m doing everything that I can, Luca.”

  “Maybe you aren’t as good as I thought.”

  ✽✽✽

  My iPhone vibrated as I was walking through the parking lot down the street from the Hall. Pete’s name appeared on the display. “I heard things didn’t go so well in court,” he said.

  “They didn’t.”

  “You got time to come out to the old neighborhood?”

  “Yeah. You got something we can use?”

  “Maybe. Rick Siragusa is willing to talk to us.”

  27

  “I’D RATHER BE JUDGED BY TWELVE THAN CARRIED BY SIX”

  A look of recognition crossed the veteran cop’s leathery face. Rick Siragusa’s lips transformed into a half-smile. “I figured you guys would show up sooner or later.”

  Pete grinned. “I guess this means it’s sooner, Goose.”

  My brother’s one-time running mate at Mission Station opened the door to his bungalow at Forty-Seventh and Vicente, two blocks from the ocean in a corner of the City where the sun rarely shined. “Come on in, guys.”

  The lanky cop led us through the cluttered living room into a narrow kitchen. Twice divorced, Goose lived by himself in a time capsule that he had inherited from his parents. The counters and plumbing dated to the forties. The Sears appliances were seventies vintage. The Mitsubishi TV had been state-of-the-art in the mid-nineties.

  We took seats in the spindle-back chairs around a butcher block table in the breakfast area overlooking an overgrown yard. The wind whipped against the windows.

  Goose got up and walked over to the fridge. “Something to drink?”

  Pete answered first. “Just water for me.”

  “Same here,” I said. Even though it was only two steps to the sink, I noticed that he was limping. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” He poured a glass of water for each of us, and took a seat. “I pulled something. It’ll be fine.”

  “You working tonight?”

  “Everybody is working.” He pointed at the TV tuned to CNN. “I gotta be back at four. Word came down from the chief. All hands on deck until things calm down. I’m working the command center at Northern Station.”

  “You going to be there all night?”

  “That’s how we roll. When people are smashing windows and overturning cars, we look out for each other.”

  My dad would have said the same thing. We spent a moment catching up. He reported that his ex-wives and kids were okay. He was planning to retire in three years and seven months—everybody on the City payroll—including me—could tell you when they would start collecting their pensions. He had purchased a house in the Sierra foothills above Auburn. When he retired, he was going to sell his parents’ house and pocket seven figures. It sounded pretty good.

  When it was time to turn to business, I let Pete do the talking. “We heard you were at the scene on Wednesday morning.”

  “I was. Everything that could have gone wrong did.”

  We waited.

  “I was sitting in my unit in front of the Boom-Boom Room. We keep an eye on things when they close.”

  The Boom-Boom Room was a dingy blues, funk, and hip-hop club on the northwest corner of Fillmore and Geary, a half-block from the post office parking lot where Jones died. Pete knew the owners and provided security on busy weekends. They reciprocated by letting him use the club as his unofficial office during off-hours.

  “Were you by yourself?” Pete asked.

  “Yeah. I was only two blocks from the Safeway, so I responded to Johnny’s call for backup. I drove down Fillmore to Geary and stopped in the intersection. Jones was running toward me. I grabbed the microphone and ordered him to stop.”

  “Did he?”

  “No. He turned left and ran west on Geary toward the post office. Johnny was about a block behind him. Murph was about a block behind him.” He gave us a conspiratorial grin. “Murph isn’t as light on his feet as he used to be.”

  Pete asked him if he got out of his car.

  “First I radioed for more backup. Then I followed Murph down Geary. Charlie Connor had cut off Jones in front of the post office, so Jones climbed over the fence into the parking lot. Johnny followed him inside and cornered him behind a postal van.”

  “Did you go inside the lot?”

  “Not until after the shooting stopped.”

  “What about Murphy and Connor?

  “They were outside with me.”

  “Did you see Johnny shoot Jones?”

  “No. They were behind a postal van.”

  “Did you hear anything?”

  “I heard everything. Johnny told Jones to lie down. He repeated the order a couple of times. Next thing I know, shots were fired.”

  “You’re sure Johnny fired the shots?”

  “I understand why you’re asking, Pete, but nobody else was in the lot. The kid shot him.”

  My turn. “Does your unit have a dash cam?”

  “Nope. SFPD is a little behind in our technology.”

  “Were you wearing a body cam?”

  “Yes.” He held his hands up. “Before you ask, I didn’t turn it on. Everything happened fast. I didn’t have time.”

  “How close was Jones to you when he ran by?”

  “I’d say about thirty feet.”

  “And it was dark and rainy?”

  “Yes, but my lights were on.”

  Here goes. “Did Jones have a gun?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yeah.” He added, “Murph and Johnny said they found it under his body.”

  “Were you with them when they found it?”

  “No. I came inside the lot a few minutes later.”

  Pete and I exchanged a look. It was helpful that Siragusa would confirm that Jones did, in fact, have a gun. Ideally, the gun would show up in a video.

  “You’re prepared to testify that Jones had a gun in his hand when he ran by you?”

  “Of course. You’ll also want to talk to Charlie Connor. He saw more than I did, and he probably caught some of this on his body cam.”

  “We will. You know him?”

  “Yeah. Nice kid.”

  I moved in another direction. “Did you know Jones?”

  “I knew his name. He wasn’t a good guy.”

  “He didn’t have much of a criminal record.”

  His tone turned pointed. “They found a stash of AK-47s in his trunk. Those weren’t going to be Valentine’s presents for his girlfriend, Mike.”

  “Understood.”

  He wasn’t finished. “Look, I’m sorry that Jones died. Maybe Johnny could have de-escalated the situation. Maybe not. All I know is that when you’re standing there with your life on the line and you have a fraction of a second to make a decision, you do what you have to do to protect yourself. I’d rather be judged by twelve than carried by six.”

  It was a common sentiment among police officers.

  Siragusa held up an index finger. “The reality is that Johnny saved lives last night. Some bad people were going to do bad things with those AK-47s. I’m sorry for Jones and his mother, but I
feel great for the families that aren’t going to lose loved ones.” He glanced at his watch. “I need to take care of a few things before I go down to the station. It’s going to be a long night. You know—serve and protect.”

  ✽✽✽

  I was pulling into the lot in Luca’s building when Pete’s name appeared on my iPhone. “I need you to come back to the Fillmore,” he said. “Meet me at the Boom-Boom Room. I found Charlie Connor.”

  28

  “THEY TOLD ME NOT TO TALK TO ANYONE”

  Pete raised his hand. “Over here, Mick.”

  My lungs filled with air smelling of a combination of stale popcorn and spilled beer as I made my way to a table in the corner of the Boom-Boom Room. The music venue and dive bar wouldn’t open for another six hours.

  “Did you have any trouble parking?” Pete asked.

  “I left my car across the street in the Japantown garage.”

  “Good move. It’s a war zone out there.”

  Police cars were parked on every corner of the Fillmore. “Is there going to be another march tonight?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “It’s only going to make matters worse.”

  “Agreed.” Pete pointed at the baby-faced cop sipping coffee. “This is Charlie Connor. He’s Paulie’s son.”

  I extended a hand. “Mike Daley. We know your dad and your uncles.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  A dozen family members were SFPD. A few black sheep were fire fighters. “We appreciate your time.”

  “They told me not to talk to anyone.”

  “Who?”

  “My commander.”

  Pete tried to reassure him. “It’s okay, Charlie. This stays between us.”

  Not necessarily.

  Connor wasn’t so sure. “I could get in trouble.”

  Yes, you could. “We’re trying to figure out what happened on Wednesday morning. We need your help. So does Johnny.”

  The well-mannered kid with the blonde hair, wide nose, and blue eyes played with his coffee cup, but didn’t reply.

  I had to grovel. “Please, Charlie.”

  He glanced at his watch. “Five minutes.”

  “Where were you on Wednesday morning?”

  “Parked over by Kimbell Playground. We’ve seen an uptick in crystal meth sales.”

  He was a block from the post office. “Were you by yourself?”

  “Yes. My partner was at the station doing paperwork.”

  He was killing time. I asked him what happened next.

  “I heard a call from Johnny and Sergeant Murphy about a traffic stop. Sounded routine. I saw them drive up onto upper Geary. They pulled the guy over in the Safeway parking lot.”

  Nothing we didn’t already know.

  He spoke slowly. “There was a problem with the stop. Johnny called for backup. So did his partner. The suspect fled on foot. Armed and dangerous. I pulled onto Geary and stopped in front of the post office. I saw Jones running toward me. Johnny was about a half-block behind him. I turned on my lights, grabbed my microphone, and ordered Jones to stop.”

  “Did he?”

  “He climbed over the gate into the parking lot. Johnny followed him and cornered him behind a postal van. I radioed for more backup. Then I exited my vehicle and proceeded to the area outside the parking lot, where Sergeant Murphy was standing. Officer Rick Siragusa joined us a moment later. We were outside the gate when we heard Johnny order the suspect to lie down on the ground. He repeated it at least twice.”

  “Did Jones respond?”

  “He said, ‘Don’t shoot. I’m unarmed.’”

  “Then what?”

  He looked down. “Johnny shot him in self-defense.” He added, “I called for backup and went back to my unit for the first aid kit. Sergeant Murphy climbed over the gate to assist Johnny. Officer Siragusa also called for backup and went inside the lot.”

  I glanced at Pete, who took the cue. “Charlie, you said that you saw Jones running toward you on Geary, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Did he have a gun?”

  He waited a half-beat. “Yes.”

  Pete’s tone was gentle. “You sure?”

  “Yes. It happened very fast. The call said that the suspect was armed and dangerous.” He nodded as if to reassure himself. “He had a gun in his hand.”

  “And you’re prepared to testify that you saw a gun in his hand when he ran toward you?”

  Another hesitation. “Yes.”

  Good enough. “Does your car have a dash cam?”

  “No.”

  “Were you wearing your body cam?”

  “Yes. I turned it on when I was still in my unit.”

  “Before or after Jones came running toward you?”

  “Before.”

  “So everything that you saw should be visible on the video?”

  “Presumably.”

  “Including what you saw and heard when you were standing outside the parking lot?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was it still turned on when Johnny shot Jones?”

  “Yes, but we couldn’t see what happened because Johnny and Jones were behind a postal van.”

  Pete gave me a knowing look. The video might not show everything that happened, but the audio would reveal what Johnny and Jones said.

  I asked, “Did you download the video when you got back to the station?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you looked at it?”

  “No. We aren’t supposed to look at video for an officer-involved shooting until after we’ve given our statements.”

  “Did you give your statement?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you should be able to look at it, right?”

  “My commander told me that I wasn’t authorized, so I didn’t.”

  We needed to get our hands on it right away. “You did the right thing.”

  “I hope so.” He looked at his watch. “I need to get to the station.”

  “Thanks, Charlie.” He was in for a long day and night. And so were we.

  ✽✽✽

  Pete drummed his fingers on the table in the back of the Boom-Boom Room. “We need to get our hands on the video from Charlie’s body cam.”

  “We’re on it.”

  He scanned his texts for a moment, then he looked at me. “Siragusa was right about one thing. Jones wasn’t delivering those AK-47s to people who were going to use them for hunting.”

  “He didn’t deserve to die, Pete.”

  “If he had lived, we’d probably be reading about a massacre.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  Yes, I did. “My job is to represent Johnny.”

  “That’s a cop-out.”

  Yes, it is. “No, it’s a defense mechanism.”

  “That’s how you keep your sanity at times like this, eh?”

  “Yup.”

  “Pop always said that you were the smart one.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “You going back to the office?”

  “I need to stop at City Hall.”

  He smirked. “You planning to talk to the mayor?”

  “No. I got a text from a lawyer in the City Attorney’s Office. As if I don’t have enough on my plate, she wants to talk about the civil case that Jones’s mother filed against the City and Johnny.”

  29

  “I’M GETTING PRESSURE FROM MY BOSS”

  The head of the civil trial division of the San Francisco City Attorney’s Office leaned back in her creaky chair in her workman-like office on the second floor of City Hall. “You couldn’t find somebody else to represent Johnny B?”

  “His father and I were classmates at S.I. His grandfather and my dad worked together at Taraval Station.”

  “Uh-huh.” Paula Griffith had graduated closer to the top of our class at Boalt Law School than I had. After ten years slogging away at a couple of the big firms, she moved to the City Attorn
ey’s Office, where her sharp mind, exceptional work ethic, and unapologetic tenacity were more appreciated. “Luca put the arm on you, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Rosie’s okay with this arrangement?”

  “She isn’t crazy about it.”

  She twirled her shoulder-length red hair as she looked out the window at Civic Center Plaza, where a crowd was gathering. “Your client is in serious trouble, Mike. And his situation isn’t making my life easy.”

  “You should see what my life is like.”

  “That’s your problem. It would improve the quality of mine if you could get your client off—preferably quickly and with a full exoneration of any criminal charges.”

  “You’re asking a lot.”

  “I can be very demanding.”

  Yes, you can. She had won every moot court competition in law school and became even more argumentative after she graduated. Her marriage to one of our classmates lasted less than a year. Joe didn’t have the temperament to be a lawyer. And he really didn’t have the temperament to be married to Paula. After bouncing around several firms, he moved to Mendocino and started a medical marijuana dispensary. When medicinal dope became legal a few years ago, he sold his business to a conglomerate for eight figures. Last I heard, he was enjoying a very satisfying retirement.

  “You wanted to see me?” I said.

  “I did. I’m working on the civil case filed by Jones’s mother. I’m getting pressure from my boss to resolve it. He’s under a lot of pressure from the powers-that-be.”

  “The mayor?”

  “And the Board of Supervisors.”

  “Jeff won’t cave under political pressure.”

  “You know how these cases go, Mike. They’re played out in the press long before they ever get to court.”

  “It will set a terrible precedent if you settle without a fight.”

  “Depends on the terms. I’ll do what’s best for the City.”

  It was the right response. “Johnny shot Jones in self-defense.”

  “So he says. SFPD says that Jones was unarmed.”

  “Who at SFPD?”

  “The chief.”

  “Have you seen the video?”

  “Not yet. I’m told that we’ll have something to look at tonight.”