He knew his advancement had been fast even by the standards of others who had jumped over assignments and floors. Jamison had completely skipped the seventh floor to move to the eighth, the top floor. But that didn’t mean that the one thing that went wrong wasn’t going to be a brick wall to his career. He had never been ambitious about being something. It was doing what he wanted to do that he held on to. It didn’t get much better than being chief of Major Crimes, not if you wanted to be a prosecutor. And Jamison loved being a prosecutor. He glanced up at the closed door at the end of the long hallway, the office of the district attorney, the top of the ladder.
District Attorney William Gage had been the district attorney of Tenaya County for twenty-three years. He was good at it. Gage understood the politics of the office and the power of the office. Now rumor had it that he had been tapped to be the Democratic candidate for attorney general of the state. In a state like California, it was fairly certain that a Democrat would be elected attorney general and if the party backed you, it was also fairly certain you would be the Democrat elected.
As one of the people with an office close to Gage’s, Jamison was aware that the rumors were true. He was also acutely aware that if Gage did become the attorney general, then despite his age, Matt Jamison was considered by many a likely choice to be the next district attorney of Tenaya County. While he kept his own counsel when others asked him what-if questions, he couldn’t help thinking about the big what-if. However, Jamison knew at least one thing. While he had a vague idea that someday he wanted to be district attorney he wasn’t sure he was ready for that yet, leaving behind the adrenaline rush of trial to push paper and policy. For right now he loved what he did. He also knew he had time and that there were several more senior prosecutors and the chief assistant who also were counting their place in line. He could wait his turn unless, because of political pressure and plain opportunity, he had little choice. He’d been around long enough to learn that sometimes opportunity only came once and you either grabbed the ring on the professional merry-go-round or you spent the rest of your career just riding in circles.
Jamison dropped the pile of messages on the chair in his office. There wasn’t an empty spot on his desk. He immediately walked back out and turned toward Gage’s office. Gage’s secretary caught his eye as he walked past, and in the silent body communication that people used Jamison nodded his head toward the DA’s door with a question on his face. She smiled her acknowledgment with a slight nod. “He’s waiting for you. I’ve been hearing him pace in there since I walked in this morning.”
He gave a soft knock on the heavy door, at the same time opening it before there was an answer. Bill Gage had his broad back to the door, the suspenders straining across his age-expanded frame. He was staring out the window that gave him a panorama of the city, backdropped by the Sierra Nevada Mountains to the east. There were still peaks of snow clinging to the higher mountains that were visible through the building haze of spring. It wouldn’t be long before the fierce Valley heat melted all the snow, the frigid snowmelt flowing down into rivers and reservoirs that would keep the Valley green and feed the thirsty fields that drove the Valley economy.
Gage could see Jamison’s reflection mirrored on the expanse of plate glass window. He didn’t turn, continuing to look at the view of his jurisdiction as far as the eye could see, and if fortune smiled on him, farther than he could see.
“Good morning, Matt. I’ve been waiting for you.” He made a backhanded gesture toward a chair. Gage’s voice didn’t carry its usual bonhomie. There was an edge of stress and impatience. He sighed noticeably and walked behind the large expanse of mahogany desktop. Gage sat heavily in the black leather high-backed chair and placed both his hands together on the desk, staring straight at Jamison for a number of seconds before he spoke. “Something’s come up and I want you to personally handle it.”
Fixing his eyes on Jamison, Gage shoved a stapled sheaf of paper across the desk. Jamison could see the heading. It was some kind of order from the state supreme court. All Gage said was, “Read it.” That was it. Whatever was in it Jamison could see had upset his boss. He’d been around long enough to know that Bill Gage didn’t let people see him get upset very often.
Jamison scanned the crisp heading at the top of the paper, THE SUPREME COURT OF THE STATE OF CALIFORNIA, and the caption on the upper left side of the paper, In Re the Matter of Richard Harker, Petitioner. Jamison knew the name. Anybody who paid attention to criminal cases in the Central Valley knew the name and everybody in the Tenaya County District Attorney’s Office knew the name of Richard “Rick” Harker. That was a name that went with a notorious murder case, the case that made William Gage the district attorney of Tenaya County. It had sparked outrage across the state of California and cost the trial judge his office after he refused to impose the death penalty the jury had recommended. Jamison scrolled down the page, skipping over the formal language that seemed to accompany anything from an appellate court and especially the supreme court, although Jamison’s experience with the supreme court was rather limited. Whatever it was, Jamison knew from the district attorney’s standpoint it couldn’t be good, especially with the way Gage was reacting to it.
Jamison had seen petitions from Harker before. His appeal had been denied nearly two decades ago, but every few years he seemed to crawl back out of the dark recesses of the prison he was in just long enough to send another petition attesting to his innocence. This was the first one that got more than a paragraph response ending in petition denied. Jamison had heard there was a petition that had been filed about a year ago in the superior court that had been denied, and he had let the Harker case recede to the back of his mind like so many others. Even the Charlie Manson case that happened years before Jamison was born popped up every now and then when Manson filed a writ and got his whole case repeated in the paper. Jamison looked at notorious murderers like cockroaches who inhabited the dark but occasionally made a dash into the light. Now it appeared Harker was back.
He kept reading before Gage’s impatient voice broke his concentration. “The damn supreme court has ordered that Harker get a hearing on his petition. That son of a bitch convinced those ivory tower justices, or at least four of them anyway, that maybe something was wrong with his trial. I don’t need this now, dredging that case up and some ponytail defense lawyer arguing that Harker should get another trial.”
Jamison quickly took in the details of the order, ignoring Gage’s characterizations. “Bill, this doesn’t say that the supreme court found any of Harker’s claims to be true. It just found that his claims need to be looked into. He hasn’t got anything. I’m surprised they even considered it, let alone ordered a hearing. So he has a hearing. It won’t take long. You know that. You’re the one who slammed the cell door shut on Harker when I was still in grade school.” He paused for a moment before adding a more cynical observation. “Besides, the press will report on the crime and remind all the voters out there that you were the one who put him in prison. Then he’ll go back to San Quentin.”
Gage’s hands were so tightly clasped that his knuckles were white. “He’s going to make claims that the press will report and that will bring out all the bleeding hearts. I don’t want any publicity that distracts from what’s maybe going to happen in the next month. This is my time.” Gage paused, his eyes settling uncomfortably on Jamison. “And if the political rumor mill has any credibility, this may be your time too. The last few cases you’ve handled along with that doctor who killed all those women has made you a press favorite. Every little bit helps.”
Jamison didn’t answer. He didn’t like discussing the case involving Dr. Alex St. Claire. He had handled it, but the jury’s justice wasn’t what St. Claire deserved. In the end, St. Claire got street justice delivered twice through the chest. The shooter had never been caught. Jamison kept it to himself that maybe not catching the shooter was for the best. It was an ugly case. It didn’t help that Jamison had allowed his judgmen
t to be clouded by the surviving victim. In the end, he wasn’t even sure if she was a victim. Just like the identity of the shooter, he didn’t want to really know if she was more than a victim. That was past history now also. But the publicity for him and the district attorney’s office had been positive, so he knew that in Gage’s eyes, Jamison came out of it as a winner.
Whether Jamison thought of himself as a winner when he turned off the light at night was another thing Jamison kept to himself. But he had learned that the higher you climbed the ladder, the harder the decisions and the choices were and the less clear everything was.
He fiddled with the supreme court order. Jamison didn’t want to ask the question because he didn’t want to hear the answer, but he had to ask anyway. “So, what do you want to do with this?”
The words came out of Gage’s mouth like the staccato burst of a machine gun. “I want it handled by somebody in this office who doesn’t have his head up his ass and also understands the politics and ramifications of this.”
Jamison could feel his mouth involuntarily twitching into a grimace. He had an idea where this was going. He had a major trial coming up and he didn’t have time for something like this. “We’ve got a couple of really bright deputies that are good law guys. I can have one of them brief this up for you and then handle it. I’ll personally keep an eye on it.”
In every district attorney’s office, there were trial lawyers and there were law guys who had a more academic bent. Trial lawyers were a lot like gunfighters. They shot what moved. Law guys thought about it and used more technical legal arguments. They tended to look before they pulled the trigger. They were the lawyers who argued dance-on-the-head-of-a-pin search and seizure motions. Most of them weren’t top gunfighters but the aggressive trial lawyers needed law guys and law guys needed the trial people. It was a symbiotic relationship. Then there were a few lawyers who could do both. That trait was one of the things that had rapidly moved Jamison up. He could do both, but he preferred being a trial guy. The technicalities of the law didn’t get his juices flowing. There were a few others in the ranks of the office he had been cultivating and keeping his eye on. Maybe one of them would work for this? He was mulling over the list in his mind when Gage’s voice broke through. “I want you to personally handle it. Nobody else. You. Whatever else you have I want you to push it aside. You.” Gage kept his large hand cupped into a fist that rested on his desk, but his thick index finger was pointed straight at Jamison.
“Bill, don’t you think it would attract less attention if one of the regular law and motion guys did this? I mean, is there something to worry about here? A reporter might wonder why the chief of Major Crimes is handling a motion like this if there’s nothing to it. Why not treat it as just more whining from Harker? The guy’s lucky he didn’t end up in the gas chamber or with a needle in his arm.” Jamison dropped the gratuitous comment that always came up with discussions of Harker. “If that judge—what was his name?—yeah, Judge Stevenson, hadn’t refused to impose the death penalty the jury recommended maybe Harker would have gotten what he deserved a long time ago.”
Gage didn’t bite. “You. I want you to handle it personally. Send that son of a bitch back to his hole in San Quentin so he can rot there for the rest of his miserable damned life.” Gage raised his arm and again pointed his index finger across the desk. “You want to sit in the big chair? You handle it.” Gage’s eyes narrowed as he raised his chin, settling back in his chair.
Unconsciously rolling the order into a tube. Jamison stood up. “Okay, Bill. I’ll have to move some things around. I may need to pull in an investigator.”
“Pull in whoever you want. Just take care of it!” Gage abruptly swiveled his chair around and started staring again out the plate glass window.
Chapter 3
Jamison walked back into his office. He picked up the discarded messages on his chair and dropped them near the phone, hoping he wouldn’t bury them under the slowly growing pile of paper that never seemed to get smaller. He unrolled the three-page order, smoothing its curling edges as he laid it on the desk. What the hell was the supreme court doing with Harker? It was a case that was long past the memories of those judges and almost everyone else unless you had been around at the time. But every time Gage made a speech or got introduced there was always somebody who remembered the Harker case and brought it up. And when brand-new deputy DAs came into the office and underwent their mandatory training sessions, the Harker case was always a point of instruction.
He unrolled the order and spread it on his desk. It was a writ of habeas corpus. The term basically was Latin for “bring the body.” It was used when someone was trying to convince a judge or an appellate court that he deserved a hearing because something wrong happened in his case that hadn’t been brought out in the trial. Most of the time they were just gripe sheets and were routinely and unceremoniously denied. Jamison knew there were guys in the joint who earned cigarettes and money from other prisoners just by writing writs.
Jamison snorted to himself. Jailhouse lawyers. Capitalism behind prison walls. Some of them had even once been lawyers themselves but now, the fall from grace complete, their hourly fee was measured in tobacco and whatever else was the currency of prisoners.
If the reviewing court decided that the allegations in the writ deserved a hearing, then the prisoner would be brought before the court, a lawyer would be assigned at taxpayer expense, and the prisoner would get his hearing. Most cases didn’t involve the issue of whether the prisoner had gotten a fair trial, but a few did. A prisoner could lose his case on appeal and then file a writ arguing that his lawyer failed to bring in a vital piece of evidence that would have shown he was innocent, or at least not guilty. If the allegations in the writ were of sufficient seriousness to arguably make a difference if true, then the prisoner would get a hearing for a judge to evaluate the actual merits of the claim and use his or her judgment to determine if the new facts would really have potentially made any difference had they been presented. However, the alleged new facts had to be such that they might actually make a difference.
The problem, Jamison thought, is not the use of the writ of habeas corpus to address serious issues, but its use to complain about trivial things from the quality of the food in jail to the quality of toilet paper. Jamison had only seen a few that had any merit at all, but those that did received hearings and sometimes, although rarely, they obtained new trials.
But Harker was a different story. Harker had been in jail for over twenty-six years for a murder that people still talked about because of its brutality. At that time Bill Gage had been in a position similar to the one Jamison now held. Gage had asked for the death penalty and the jury determined that Harker should get the death penalty. In fact, the jury had returned a death verdict in a matter of hours, emphatically demonstrating what they thought of Harker.
Then after a hearing at sentencing, the trial judge had exercised his power and rejected the death penalty. That judge had ordered Harker to spend the rest of his life in prison without possibility of parole. He had spared Harker’s life, and at the next election it had cost him his judgeship. That was one thing most people didn’t realize about the death penalty; a judge couldn’t override a jury’s rejection of the death penalty and impose it, but a judge did literally hold the power of life and death because he could reject the decision of the jury to impose death.
Judge Walker Stevenson’s career never recovered, and Jamison recalled that the few times he had seen the now defrocked Mr. Stevenson he had been sitting by himself at local bar association functions, serving his purgatory in the isolation of peer exclusion.
Harker had appeals that went all the way to the United States Supreme Court, with him claiming his innocence and the prosecution trying to undo what Judge Stevenson did. None had been successful. The courts closed the door on Harker’s appeal and since what Judge Stevenson did was discretionary and within his power, they upheld the sentence. Harker went to prison for
life without possibility of parole and now when his name came up, the face of the man himself was only a distant memory. But the facts of his crime were not forgotten. Some crimes never get forgotten and just Harker’s name would cause people in the community to shudder whether they knew exactly what he did or not.
Jamison began to skip through the archaic language at the top of the writ and cut to the chase. What was it that Harker had asserted that got William Gage so upset? It didn’t take him long. Harker alleged again of course that he was actually innocent and that he had been railroaded by perjured testimony and biased eyewitness testimony. Jamison pulled the corner of his mouth to the left side. So far, it’s the usual. He continued to read. Harker claimed that he had told the sheriff’s detective that one of the major witnesses had admitted he had lied. According to Harker that evidence had not been disclosed because the detective lied about it when he testified and so had the witness. He claimed that the witness, Clarence Foster, had ended up an inmate in the same prison with Harker and eventually admitted it.
Jamison leaned back in his chair. Okay, so Harker claimed that detectives suppressed evidence. Convicted criminals claimed that all the time. How had this gotten the attention of the supreme court? Jamison read a little further. From the description in the order, it looked like the petition had been filed in the Tenaya County Superior Court and the criminal law and motion judge, Judge Reynolds, had denied the petition without a hearing. Harker had filed again in the court of appeal and it got denied there also. Then it got to the supreme court and they decided Harker deserved a hearing.
Shades of Truth Page 2
