Contempt: A Legal Thriller

by Michael Cordell

  “I don’t fucking believe it.” Stone got up and walked out of the conference room. Winston and Keaton looked at each other, then reluctantly followed.

  Back in Stone’s office, Keaton paced in front of his boss’s desk while Winston wilted in his chair. Stone, however, sat ramrod straight behind his desk, his mind racing.

  Keaton leaned over Stone’s desk. “Could we just lose the disk?” he asked.

  Winston looked at Keaton in disbelief and spoke before Stone could respond. “What if this is just a copy?”

  “It’s not,” Keaton responded. “We called the bank’s security chief at his home and got to the bank before he did. He didn’t make a copy. And I’m not recommending we lose it; I’m just throwing out possibilities.”

  “I can’t believe the son of a bitch is innocent,” Winston muttered.

  Stone slammed his palm down onto his desk so hard it sounded like a gunshot. “He is not innocent. He’s a thief, and he’ll be back in jail regardless if he’s found guilty here. And for whatever reason he ends up going back, it will be his third strike, which means life for him—even if it’s just shoplifting.”

  “I know, I know,” Winston said, more to himself than to the others. “I just mean he didn’t murder Gruber. How can we be talking about letting him take the rap anyway?”

  “I understand what you’re saying,” Stone said, “and ninety-nine times out of a hundred that’s the right instinct, but let’s talk it through. Is this the one time we have to do something extremely distasteful for the greater good? I don’t know. Maybe. Sometimes we have to make tough decisions that we could never have imagined making because it will keep scores of others from being hurt. We’ve gone out of our way to state unequivocally that Burns is guilty, and just coming back and saying ‘whoops, our bad’ won’t cut it this time. There will be repercussions. We do damn important work here. Violent crime is down eighteen percent since we took office. Eighteen percent. People are safer than ever. You know how many murders we’ve prevented during our time in office? How many lives we’ve saved? But we can’t do it from the unemployment line, and that’s likely where we’ll end up.”

  Stone stood slowly and walked around to the other side of his desk, sitting on the edge of it right in front of Winston. “That’s the only thing I hate to see end: the impact we’ve had making this city safer. That’s all. We’ve made a difference. We’ve made a real difference.” Stone looked at Winston until he made eye contact. “I know you’ve transitioned smoothly from one administration to another in this office, but if we end up looking like a joke because of this case, I’ll be voted out of your office and the next DA sure as hell won’t want you or Keaton as a reminder of this fiasco.”

  Keaton rejoined the discussion. “Even if we could lose the evidence, we wouldn’t have to go after the death penalty.”

  “Of course not. We’re not barbarians. We’re realists. But tell me honestly, Wallace, do you have any doubt at all that Scotty Burns will be back in jail for life in the near future, regardless of this case? Any doubt at all? If you do, then I swear to you, I’ll let it go right now. I’m not looking to send an innocent man away. But this is not an innocent man.”

  “I know,” Winston said. “The recidivism rate for guys like him is something like ninety percent. And like you said, it would be his third strike.”

  “Christ, even Burns admits he was in that park to set up another job,” Keaton added.

  “But I know where you’re coming from, Wallace. Besides, there are other jobs out there for us. It’s not as though we can’t have an impact in other ways. Things work out. We’ll still find a paycheck. Still have health insurance.”

  Stone didn’t have to look at Winston to know he’d scored on that note. Winston wasn’t at an age where a new job would come easily, and health insurance was the only thing keeping him and his sick wife in their home.

  Winston’s jaw tightened. “You’re right: that piece of trash is going to end up back in prison anyway,” Winston said. “And of course we wouldn’t actually follow through on the death penalty. We could deliberately make some sort of procedural error that would keep it from being enforced when the time came.”

  Stone nodded. “But we can’t just lose the disk. Little Miss Teen Lawyer knew we were going to see it, and the bank’s security chief will say he gave it to us if Banning asks. She knew what she was doing.”

  Winston rose, looking as if he were making a point of order in a courtroom. “We bring the tape forward ourselves. That’ll at least limit the damage.”

  “Not much,” Stone said, “especially with Banning trying to convince the jury I orchestrated the arrest. And you can be damn sure he’ll let the press know how we came to learn about the tape, claiming that’s the only reason we cut Burns loose.” He paused to think again, finally heaving a resigned sigh. “But I don’t see any other options.”

  Keaton looked at the DVD player. “I do,” he said.

  Thane leaned back in his desk chair as Kristin stared out the window, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Gideon, as usual, was stretched out on the sofa, the sports page covering his chest like a homeless man’s blanket. The office felt like the waiting room outside a surgical theater, thick with silent tension.

  Gideon, however, wasn’t one to wait quietly for long.

  “So ol’ Stone-head didn’t tell you what this new evidence is?”

  Thane shook his head. “He just said Judge Reynolds gave him permission to introduce something big, but I’ve got a sneaking suspicion I know what it is.” He shot a glance Kristin’s way, but her attentions didn’t stray from the window. “Let me ask you both a question,” Thane said. “If you were trying to get under Stone’s skin, what would you say to him?”

  “That I was screwing his wife,” Gideon replied.

  Kristin turned around to participate. “I’d challenge his reputation as a tough guy. Call him a coward. Tell him he isn’t as tough on crime as he likes to think.”

  “That’s what I was thinking.” Thane looked over at Gideon. “Not that yours wouldn’t work, too.”

  They heard the door off the hallway open and Stone appeared in the doorway.

  “Sorry to intrude on your Monday morning, Counselor. I wanted to give you an opportunity to review this before tomorrow.” Stone set a notebook PC on the desk and looked around the shabby office.

  “I figured you didn’t have DVD capability in this office. I’m assuming you at least have electricity.”

  “What the hell is DVD?” Gideon grumbled.

  Stone ignored him and pulled out a jewel case from his jacket pocket. “This is bank surveillance footage showing Armor Park from the ATM across the street. I made you your own copy. If it’s all the same with you, I’m keeping the original.”

  Thane shot Kristin a harsh look, but she looked away, flushing red. “You’re a member of the twenty-first century,” Stone said, turning towards Thane’s young associate. “I assume you know how to operate this?”

  “I can operate it,” she said.

  “All right then. Enjoy the show.” He turned to leave, pausing in the doorway. “Oh, and bring the computer to court with you tomorrow. It’s city property.” As he made his exit, his footsteps sounded like the DA had some spring in his step.

  Thane stared at the jewel case for a long moment. “Okay,” he said at last, “let’s see what we have.”

  Kristin booted up the laptop and loaded the DVD. Thane walked around to the other side of his desk and stood behind the sofa as Gideon sat up and leaned forward for better viewing. When everything was ready, Kristin pushed “play” and took a seat on the sofa next to Gideon.

  The image in front of the ATM from the 17th Street bank appeared on the screen. Across the street in the background, they could easily see a side angle of the park, as well as a number of the neighboring buildings. Along the bottom of the image was
the date: 7/28/19, as well as the time, which advanced with the images. While the picture wasn’t crystal clear, the empty park bench in the background was evident, illuminated enough by the streetlight to at least make it visible. Kristin looked back at Thane, who gave her a nod; she pushed a button, and the footage juddered by at fast-forward.

  Various customers zipped up to the ATM and dashed away like characters in a silent comedy, but apart from one young couple, no one appeared on the bench. In just a few minutes, two hours’ worth of surveillance tape played, with no sign of Skunk. Thane walked around and stopped the machine, then retook his position behind his desk.

  Gideon waited a couple of moments before speaking. “I say we at least hock the machine.”

  “Damn,” Kristin said. “Damn, damn, damn, DAMN!”

  Thane shook his head slowly. “Something’s not right. I still can’t see Skunk killing somebody, under any circumstances.”

  “That sounds naive to me.” Gideon said.

  Thane took out the DVD and looked at it, then held it up to Kristin. “Is there any way he could have altered this?”

  “I don’t think there’s any way they could have digitally removed his image from the bench, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Maybe Skunk actually did it,” Gideon said. “At what point are you going to face the facts?”

  “If this came from anybody but Bradford Stone, I would accept it, but he brought it here himself—as far as I’m concerned, this means nothing. But if we can’t prove that he tampered with it, this trial is over.”

  “Like it’s not already,” Gideon muttered.

  Thane looked at him, then put the DVD back in the jewel case, pocketed it, and left the office without a word.

  Kristin and Gideon stayed seated on the sofa for a couple of moments without moving or speaking, until he finally glanced her way.

  “I wish I knew what he wasn’t telling us.”

  Thane sat on his apartment floor, his back up against the reading chair, watching the security footage on the TV over and over. Rewind, play, rewind, play. The pad of paper on the floor next to him was still blank. Hannah entered and sat sideways on the chair so that her legs dangled over one of its arms. She put her hand on Thane’s shoulder and watched the images with him.

  “How long are you going to keep watching this?”

  “Until I’m satisfied.”

  “And when will that be?”

  “When I figure out how he did it. I know Skunk didn’t kill Gruber. I know it just like you knew I was innocent. But the jury isn’t going to give a damn what I think. So that leaves me with trying to figure out how Stone changed it.”

  Hannah said nothing, which he thanked her silently for: he knew what she had to be thinking. The tea kettle shrieked from the other room, and Thane sighed as he stood.

  “I’ll get it,” he said. “Maybe a break will help.”

  He handed Hannah the remote control and walked out of the room, leaving her to study the TV screen. He poured himself a cup of tea, trying to figure out if there was a way around this latest piece of evidence. He knew there had to be. Skunk wasn’t a killer.

  He stood in the kitchen doorway as he sipped his tea, watching Hannah watch the DVD images that she now had on fast forward. It looked like she was reaching for the remote to stop it when something on the screen appeared to catch her eye. She leaned forward and stared even more intently at the images.

  “What are you looking at?” Thane asked.

  Hannah slid off the chair and down onto her knees, moving closer to the TV as she put the DVD back on regular speed, backed it up, then sped it up again. She then hit the pause button.

  “Come here,” she said, motioning for him to kneel down next to her. She started the DVD again, hit reverse for a couple of seconds until she reached a certain number on the time stamp, then hit the pause button. She pointed at something on the screen.

  “Just focus on this right here. When I speed this up, tell me that it doesn’t look a little shaky for just a second.”

  She hit the fast forward button. Thane watched for a moment, not seeing anything different, then suddenly looked over at her: she was watching for his reaction. He stared at her for a moment, then looked back at the TV. He leaned forward so that he was about a foot in front of the screen.

  “Run it again.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY

  Thane Banning entered the courtroom Tuesday morning knowing the case was over, even if he had no idea how it would end.

  While the final witness was being sworn in, Stone stood at attention with his shoulders thrown back and his chin thrust forward—clearly, he also knew the case was over, and smelled victory in the air.

  A seventy-two inch flat-screen monitor was wheeled into the courtroom, set up to play the evidence Stone had brought Thane’s team the day prior. While the jury had the best view of the monitor, it was positioned such that everyone in the gallery could see it clearly as well.

  Kristin leaned over to Skunk while the large monitor was being plugged in and spoke in a whisper. “You’re going to see and hear some things that might confuse you, but it’s vitally important you not react to anything because we don’t want the jury to be focusing on your response. We want them to listen to what is being said.”

  “OK,” Skunk said, already looking puzzled.

  “I’m serious. Whatever Stone shows on that monitor, it’s imperative you don’t display any emotions. Understand?”

  Skunk nodded solemnly, then whispered back. “What’s ‘imperative’ mean?”

  Donald Davis swore to tell the whole truth, so help him God. He was dressed in his usual workday uniform, sans handgun, which wasn’t permitted in the courtroom. The uniform itself looked freshly pressed.

  Stone rose and approached the witness. He moved slowly, almost ponderously, as if to lend portent to his every motion. “Mr. Davis,” he asked, “what is your occupation?”

  “I’m the Chief of Security for the 17th Street branch of the Union Bank of Los Angeles.”

  “Your bank is located across the street from Armor Park, where Mr. Burns claimed to have been sitting the night of the murder.”

  “That’s correct.”

  Stone walked back to his table and picked up a jewel case that held a DVD. He held it up for effect, examined it, then walked over to the DVD player.

  “You have an ATM machine directly across from the park, is that correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And your security camera operates twenty-four hours a day?”

  “That’s correct.” Davis nodded with every answer, in case it might not be enough for the jury to simply hear his response.

  “This past Sunday afternoon, you gave me a DVD that includes security footage from the month of July of this year,” Stone stated.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Stone turned on the monitor, the bright blue light from the screen coating the jury in a warm glow. He reverently inserted the disk into the DVD player, then took the remote control over to Davis and handed it to him.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, this disk can be searched by day and by time of day.” He turned back toward the witness. “Mr. Davis, please go to the date in question, July twenty-eighth. And take us to 8:00 p.m.”

  Davis punched a few buttons on the remote, and the grainy video image from the surveillance camera appeared on the monitor. The date and time stamp appeared at the bottom of the screen in white numbers about an inch tall, along with a smaller, fourteen-digit code.

  “Union Bank has a number of ATM machines. How do you know for sure that this is from the machine in question?” Stone asked.

  “In the bottom right-hand corner of the screen there’s a tag number which identifies it.”

  Stone pointed to the long identification number appearing under the time an
d date. “Then you can confirm for us that this is from the 17th Street ATM?”

  “Yes, sir. That’s the code for that particular bank.”

  The DVD continued playing. At one point, a teenage girl with an extreme punk-rock hairstyle and a hodge-podge of rings through her nose and eyebrows walked up to the ATM. One of the older women in the jury shook her head slightly, sniffing in disgust. As the girl on the monitor reached for her bank card, she dropped her purse, spilling the contents everywhere.

  Stone turned toward the jury and chuckled. “Oops.”

  Several of the jury members smiled with him. A number of people in the gallery also offered up some laughter. Stone stepped closer to the monitor and pointed to the image of a park bench across the street, where a young couple sat.

  “I ask that the jury focus on this particular park bench in the background. This is Armor Park, and the bench you see is where the defendant told police he spent most of the evening of the twenty-eighth. If you’ll remember, Detective Struthers testified the other day that only one bench in the park had slats on it.” He turned back toward Davis. “Sir, could you magnify that portion of the image for us?”

  Using the remote control, Davis drew a box around the park bench in question, then enlarged that portion of the screen. While the image was somewhat fuzzy and out of focus, it was nevertheless clear enough to definitively see a young white couple sitting on the bench talking.

  “This couple confirms that the slats were on this bench the night of the murder, meaning it’s the only bench where Mr. Burns could have sat that evening. And now, Mr. Davis, please run these images on fast forward.” The image of the park bench stayed the same as cars zoomed by at blinding speed, and occasionally the view of the bench was blocked by customers racing up to, and away from, the ATM machine. After a couple of minutes, the couple left the bench.

  “Members of the jury, you’ll notice that the couple is no longer sitting on this bench. But almost an hour has elapsed, and still no sign of the defendant.”