by Bill Sage
This was one of Roth’s favorite bullshit spiels, a fungible line he applied to any defendant.
Wagner puckered his brow, looking surprised. He glanced at Roth then over at Bradford.
“I think he finally realizes that this could be his last chance to become a productive citizen again,” Roth added. “At least you can't say he doesn't care about what happens to him.”
Bradford grinned at Judge Roth. “Yeah, I guess he’s made that clear, Your Honor.”
Hearing the banter between Roth and Bradford, Wagner let out a sigh and blasted Bradford with a pained expression.
“I believe Mr. Torres needs treatment, not confinement,” Roth continued. “I note he’s never had an opportunity to get institutionalized treatment on the county level. Orange County rehabilitation facilities have had success in treating addicts and making them productive citizens again.”
Although Roth said that, he didn’t know how true it was.
“I'm probably making a mistake,” he went on, “but I'm going to stick my neck out for Mr. Torres and not send him to state prison now. And I emphasize now.”
Wagner’s jaw dropped as he stared at Judge Roth.
“I'll give you one last chance to get your life together,” Judge Roth said, pointing his finger at Torres as he spoke. “But if you don't make it through treatment, you'd better bring your toothbrush the next time you come to this court. You hear me?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Torres said politely.
Then Judge Roth sentenced Jesse Torres to a narcotic rehabilitation facility in Orange County.
Torres was grateful. He thanked Judge Roth and Bradford.
From the way Wagner looked, Roth’s decision was a total shock to him. He packed all his papers and left the courtroom without saying a word to anyone.
As Roth was leaving the bench, Bradford said, “Your Honor, may I see you for a moment in chambers?”
“Of course,” Roth said, gesturing for him to follow him in.
Bradford came in and put his file on the desk and sat on the couch. “Thanks, Al. I never thought you’d ever do that, especially after he attacked Wagner.”
“I don’t know, I thought that showed he was suffering from mental disability, needed help,” Roth said, taking off his robe, “It’s just a different situation. He’s not the usual hype.”
Even though Bradford was one of Roth's closest friends and he could trust him, he kept his real reasons for sending Torres to rehab to himself.
Roth paused as he eased back in his chair.
“I don’t know, maybe he can make it,” Roth added.
“Hell, no! He'll never make it,” Bradford said, waving his hand. “He's going to be a fucking hype forever.”
“It doesn’t matter anyway. You and I know he’ll be back.”
“You know it. He’s an addict and always will be. That’s all he knows.” After a few seconds, Bradford said, “But here’s what I wanted to tell you.”
“Let me guess. He’s Mexican Mafia?”
“Ha ha,” Bradford said as he leaned forward. “I know this will sound crazy, and keep in mind the guy is sometimes off his rocker. But he told me some guy came to his house and said he could get him a good sentence on his case or something like that.”
Roth, who was sitting at his desk, just looked at Bradford with a detached expression.
“I don't know if it's one of his bullshit stories or what,” Bradford said, shaking his head. “I just thought I'd tell you because the way he talks about it, he makes it sound like this guy did something to help him get into rehab.”
“The guy's nuts,” Roth said, grimacing. “If I had known that, I would’ve sent him to the joint.”
“Well, I just thought I'd tell you about it, so you'd be aware of what's going on. But as you know, he’s not exactly running on all cylinders.”
Roth gave Bradford a concerned look. “Ron, do me a favor, and I'm serious about this.”
“Sure, Al.”
“Get that asshole to shut up and bury it. I don't need shit like that. You know what I mean?”
“Yeah, that's what I intended to do anyway. I’ll take care of it.” He gave Al a warm nod and smile. “I’ll make sure it’s not mentioned again.”
“Okay, that's the end of it,” Al said, getting up and coming over to the couch.
Bradford stood up and said, “Okay, I’m off.
They walked to the door. “Hey, I have good news to tell you,” Roth said. “I stopped looking for excuses and asked Linda to marry me.” He paused a moment, then said, “In case you’re wondering, she said yes.”
“So you finally did it. That’s fantastic, Al.”
“Always knew I would.”
“I could never figure out why you were waiting. I mean she’s a fantastic woman. Someone could’ve snapped her up.”
“It’s a done deal now.”
“So who’s gonna stand up for you?” Bradford asked. “Jake?”
“You were second choice,” Roth said. He was glad he never had to choose between Ron and Carlos. It would have been impossible. At least with Jake, they both understood it had to be him.
“Well, if anything happens, I’m always available.”
“Thanks, Ron.” Roth paused a beat then said, “I’ll give you a call. Maybe we could lift a few.”
Bradford nodded and left.
30
TEN OR FIFTEEEN MINUTES AFTER Bradford left his chambers, Roth went back to the courtroom and resumed the Mangano trial. Goldman still had a few questions he wanted to ask Deputy Acuna, so he took him over the coals for another half hour. Then Acuna was finally excused.
Wilcox’s next witnesses were Robert and Joyce Madden.
Wilcox put Robert on first. Joyce waited in the DA’s office, reading magazines and drinking green tea one of the office girls brewed for her. Wilcox offered to send someone out for Danishes, but she declined.
Robert took the stand and testified he and Joyce had eaten dinner at Salvatore's restaurant and left there about 9:30 p.m. They were having fun that night, laughing and enjoying their time together.
They went to the parking lot and entered his older Chevrolet Impala. He said when they were getting ready to go, Joyce suddenly became amorous. They kissed and started necking, eventually lying down on the front bench seat.
Madden said after a while they got nervous about making out in the parking lot. They decided to go to his place to finish what they’d started.
Since the car windows were fogged up, Robert rolled down the driver’s side. That's when they saw Mangano walk up to Palermo, pull a shotgun from underneath a long coat, and shoot him.
Robert said he saw Mangano walk quickly to a waiting car, get in and drive off. He couldn't see the license number, but it looked like a California plate. The car was a dark colored Buick or Oldsmobile.
He said he gave a full description of the shooter to the sheriff’s department, and about six months later he picked out Mangano's photo from a group of six mug shots.
When asked if he saw the shooter in the courtroom, he pointed at Nick Mangano. “He’s the man I saw shoot the guy in the parking lot.”
Then Goldman took him on cross-examination. He walked over to a spot between the jury box and the edge of the counsel table. After looking at Madden for moment, he laughed in his face. “Do you think it's your duty as a citizen to come into court and put people with Italian names in jail?”
“Objection, Your Honor,” Wilcox said. “He's maligning the witness by falsely imputing improper motives to him and attempting to intimidate him into not testifying truthfully. It’s attorney misconduct and we all know Mr. Goldman knows what that is.”
“This is ridiculous, Your Honor. All I’m doing is asking his witness a question. What’s he so afraid of?”
Before Judge Roth could rule on Wilcox’s objection, Goldman turned toward the jury and started speaking directly to them. “Ladies and gentlemen, my client—”
“Stop, Mr. Goldman!” Judge
Roth demanded.
Goldman stopped and swung around to Roth.
“Counsel, approach the bench,” Roth said in a stern voice.
Both lawyers went to the side of the bench, where they could talk without the jury hearing them. The court reporter was there to record their conversation.
Judge Roth whispered, “Mr. Goldman, I found you in contempt of court twice already and I'm going to do it again if you continue to engage in misconduct.”
“What did I do, Your Honor?” Goldman said, shrugging and gesturing with his hands.
“Don’t address the jury until you make your final argument. You know better than that. And laughing in a witness’s face is crude.”
“But he’s not a truthful witness.”
“You can’t demean the witness. Let this be a warning,” Judge Roth said.
One ploy some attorneys try to pull when they are in one of these hushed conversations with the judge at the bench is to speak loud enough so the jury can hear what they’re saying.
Arnold Goldman was one of those attorneys.
Goldman took a step back, glanced at the jury, then back at Judge Roth. In a raised voice, he said, “You're not letting my client have a fair trial.”
Still whispering, Judge Roth said, “That’s enough!” Then glaring at Goldman, he added, “Let the record reflect Mr. Goldman's last statement was loud enough for the jury to hear. Do you agree, Mr. Wilcox?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Mr. Goldman, you got yourself another five days for that obvious breach of ethics. Now you’re looking at 15 days.”
Goldman scoffed and looked away. Then the attorneys returned to their counsel tables and his cross-examination continued.
“The objection is overruled. Mr. Madden, you may answer the question if you remember it,” Judge Roth said.
“I remember it, Your Honor.” He turned to look at Goldman. “No, I don’t want to put Italian people in jail,” he said, shaking his head.
“Okay,” Goldman said, shaking his head.
Madden grimaced and looked away.
“What kind of name is that anyway?” Goldman said, staring at him. “Madden? What’s that?”
“That's irrelevant and attorney misconduct again, Your Honor,” Wilcox jumped in with his objection. “Now he’s demeaning him by making fun of his name.”
“Sustained. Don’t make personal remarks, Mr. Goldman. You know that’s professional misconduct.”
Goldman rolled his eyes and moved on to another subject. “Why did you open the window in the car, Mr. Madden?”
Before Madden could answer, Judge Roth stepped in, saying, “Mr. Madden, just a minute.” Then he turned to Goldman. “Counsel, I’ve already admonished you about making facial and other gestures. Yet you persist in rolling your eyes and shrugging. Why can’t you control your physical impulses?”
“I wasn’t aware I was doing it, Your Honor.”
“It seems deliberate to me.”
“I’ll try harder to control it.”
“You’re supposed to be making your best effort now. Remember, Mr. Goldman, you’re in a murder trial, not in your living room. I’m not going to warn you again.”
Goldman didn’t have anything to say, looked down.
Nodding at Madden, Roth said, “Alright, Mr. Madden, you may answer the question.”
“We opened the window because we were planning on leaving and wanted some fresh air,” Madden answered.
“The windows were fogged up, weren't they?”
“Yes, they were.”
Goldman stepped closer to Madden. “They didn't get that way from just talking, did they?” He looked at the jury and smiled.
“No, sir.”
“What were you doing in there before you opened the window?”
“We were, you know, sort of necking.”
“Necking? You were lying on top of her, weren't you?”
“Well, we were making out.”
“On the front seat of your car?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is your coming to court a way for you to make up for doing something offensive?”
Wilcox’s objection was sustained.
That didn’t stop Goldman from hurling another unethical comment. “Mr. Madden, you think it's fair that the DA and judge won't let you answer my questions?”
“This is gross misconduct,” Wilcox said, waving his arm in the air. “Showing disrespect for the court and opposing counsel.”
“Don't answer, Mr. Madden,” Judge Roth ordered. Then he turned to glare at Goldman. “Mr. Goldman, you're engaging in misconduct and are in contempt of court. Five days. You’re inching closer to being removed from this case.”
But of course, Roth didn’t mean that. He’d never remove Goldman. Why should he? Roth’s plan was working—Goldman was demeaning witnesses, maligning the prosecutor and pissing off Roth.
In other words, he was doing what Jake told him to do.
But Goldman’s barrage of unethical conduct was presenting Roth with an unexpected dilemma. Although he needed and wanted more of Goldman’s misconduct, it was repulsing him more than he expected. So much so that instead of sitting back and letting Goldman do his thing, Roth was stopping him and siding with Wilcox.
Although he realized that some of his rulings were undermining his strategy, Roth couldn’t restrain himself no matter how hard he tried. It just went against his grain to see Goldman act so unprofessionally.
To make himself feel better about it, he rationalized that his slamming Goldman was driving him harder to be an even bigger asshole.
“Your Honor, may we approach?” Goldman asked.
“Yes,” Roth said, sliding his chair over to the right side of the bench.
When the court reporter joined them, Goldman whispered, “Your Honor, I think when the court cites me for misconduct, it should be done at the bench and not in open court. It makes me look bad in front of the jury.”
“Okay,” Roth said, nodding. “I’ll repeat it here. Mr. Goldman you’re in contempt of court for the fourth time.”
Eyes blazing, Goldman glared at Roth, who stared right back. Every juror’s eyes were on them because Roth made no attempt to whisper or keep his voice low.
Goldman walked back to the counsel table and stood there, looking down at the table then back up at Roth.
“Ask your next question, Mr. Goldman,” Judge Roth said impatiently.
Goldman glowered at Roth, then as he exhaled he turned to focus on Madden again. “At the time you saw someone shoot Palermo, you were consumed with thoughts of having sex with Joyce and not on studying the face of the guy who shot him. Isn't that true?”
“Mr. Goldman, that had nothing to do with it. I was only 30 feet away.”
Goldman took a breath and nodded at Madden.
Meanwhile Roth had noticed it was 4:35. Since Roth’s court reporter had informed him in the morning that she’d have to leave a little early, he decided to stop for the day. He’d already advised the attorneys that he’d have to adjourn the trial a little early.
“Sorry, gentlemen, we are going to have to stop here.”
Both attorneys nodded their agreement.
Turning toward the jury, Roth said, “Everybody is ordered to return to court tomorrow at 9:00. Good night and see you in the morning.”
31
AS LINDA WAS GETTING READY TO leave her office the phone rang. Her secretary had already left for the evening and Linda was thinking of letting it go to the answer machine, but answered it.
“Linda, my name is Steve Ward. I work for Congressman Bob Hamilton.”
“Hi, Steve. Is it about the project?”
“Yes. Bob asked me to help him get a few things resolved before he makes the final decision. He’s busy doing a hearing in DC. You probably read about it.”
“Yes, I did.”
“He’s got a few issues with the bids and needs a little more information from you and some of the other bidders. Can you meet me to
morrow at Bernard’s Chop House? For lunch. It’s in Newport.”
“I’m familiar with it. I’m open for lunch tomorrow, so that’ll be okay.”
“That’s great.”
“Do I need to bring anything? What do you want to know?”
“Well, frankly it’s about your place on the list of bidders. Bob wants to keep you up near the top. There are a few problems with your bid and I need to discuss them with you.”
“Okay, I can meet you at 1:00, nothing earlier.”
“I’ll put the reservation in the name of Ward. I’ll see you there.”
The next day Linda went to Bernard’s to meet Steve Ward. The hostess led her to the table. He was sitting close to the open food preparation area near the wood-burning oven.
They ordered lunch and Ward asked questions about her dad and his other businesses. Linda wanted to know more about Reliable Savings and Loan and how Hamilton started it.
When they turned to her bid, Ward said, “I have to be honest, Linda, Bob’s pulling for you to get the contract.”
“That’s nice to hear. I think he knows I’m working hard to get you the best deals I can. I want Reliable S&L to have the finest equipment out there. I think you’ll be happy with the quality of the computers and other IT equipment. IBM, Compaq, Digital. They’re the best money can buy.”
“I think Bob knows that. But the problem right now is that two other bids are lower than yours and he wants to see if you can tweak yours a little. Either in price or perhaps offering more servicing. I don’t know. Lengthen the term of the warranties? Something like that.”
“I already cut it pretty close as it is, but I’ll get together with my people and see what I can do. Maybe on FAX machines. When I’m ready, should I contact you?”
“Yes, please do. But you’ll need to deliver your updated bid to the general office. They’ll take care of it over there.”
They finished lunch and Linda had to get back to her office for a staff meeting. “Well, I guess that’s it. I got to get back.”
