That meant no bail. I remained silent for a long moment and thought about Drucker going through my Sam Scales files. What did he take? Was there something in my files that had led to this?
Kendall noticed the look on my face and whispered, “What is it?”
I shook my head. I would tell her after the call. At the moment I had to come up with a strategy for dealing with this.
“Okay,” I said. “Call Warfield’s clerk. See if you can get on the calendar in the afternoon. I’ll turn myself in then and there. But we—”
“What?” Kendall shrieked.
I held a hand up to quiet her and continued with Jennifer.
“We ask for a probable-cause hearing on the special-circumstances allegation. This is bullshit.”
“But the grand jury indictment obviates a preliminary hearing. It presumes probable cause.”
“Doesn’t matter. We need to get in front of the judge and convince her that this is a bullshit attempt by the prosecution to tilt the board and reset the game clock.”
“Okay, that’s the angle. Speedy trial. I can work on that. You need to get back here and be ready to argue. I think this is one where you need to address the court.”
“Absolutely. You take probable cause and I’ll take the speedy-trial argument. I’m on my way. Let me know if they’re going to wait till the hearing or try to pick me up ahead of that. I’ve got the ankle monitor, so they can find me if they want to.”
“I’m on it.”
We disconnected and I turned to Kendall.
“We have to go. They’re going to arrest me again.”
“How can they do that?”
“They dropped the original case, then went to the grand jury and got an indictment, and it all starts again.”
“You’re going to jail?”
She put her arms around me and hugged me as though she wouldn’t let them take me away.
“I’m going to do my best to get in front of the judge and argue against it. So we should go.”
The ride on the Catalina Express back to San Pedro was through a thick fog. This time Kendall and I stayed inside the cabin, sipping hot coffee and trying to remain calm. I walked her through the steps Berg had taken in turning me into a wanted man. Untrained in the law, Kendall said it was unfair even if it was a valid legal maneuver. And I couldn’t argue with that. The prosecutor was using completely legal means to subvert a completely legal process.
The crossing was slowed by the thick blanket of fog and it was an hour before I heard and felt the boat’s big engines thrum down as we slowly approached the harbor. I had not heard back from Jennifer and didn’t know if I would be met at the dock by police who had tracked my monitor. I got up and moved to a forward-viewing window. If I was about to be arrested, I needed to prep Kendall on what to do and whom to call.
The fog started to thin as we entered the harbor, and I saw the green span of the Vincent Thomas Bridge appear in the mist. Soon I saw the ferry terminal, but I noticed no sign of law enforcement on the dock. The parking lot where I had left the Lincoln was not in view because of the terminal building. I returned to Kendall and handed her the keys to the Lincoln.
“In case they’re waiting for me,” I said.
“Oh my god, Mickey! Do you think they are?” she said.
“Take it easy. I didn’t see anybody on the dock and that’s where they’d most likely be waiting. It’ll probably be fine, but just in case, you have the keys and can drive back. But before you go anywhere, you call Jennifer and tell her what’s happening. She’ll know what to do. I’m going to text you her contact.”
“Okay.”
“Then call Hayley and tell her too.”
“Okay. I can’t believe they’re doing this.”
She started to cry and I hugged her and assured her that everything would be okay. Privately I wasn’t as certain as I sounded.
We got off the boat and to the Lincoln without being stopped. My phone buzzed as we were getting in the car. It was Jennifer but I didn’t answer. I was paranoid and felt like a sitting duck. I wanted to get out of the parking lot and onto the freeway. A moving target was always harder to get a bead on.
Once we were on the 110 going north, I called Jennifer back.
“We’re on the calendar for three o’clock.”
“Good. And they aren’t going to try to grab me in the meantime?”
“That’s what Berg told the judge. You’ll be allowed to surrender in her courtroom following a hearing at three.”
“Did Berg object to the hearing?”
“I don’t know, but probably. But Warfield’s clerk tipped me that the judge is a bit upset about this—about the bail part, since she set bail and now the D.A.’s trying to take it away. So we’ll have that going for us when we go in.”
“Good. When and where do you want to meet beforehand?”
“I need time to work on points for your argument. How about one? We could meet in the cafeteria at the courthouse.”
I checked the dashboard clock. It was already ten thirty.
“One is good but not the courthouse. Too many badges around there, and somebody might try to be a hero and hook me up. Let’s not get to the courthouse till it’s time for the hearing.”
“Got it. Where, then?”
“How about Rossoblu? Since I might be back on a baloney diet after today, I’m going to eat some pasta for lunch.”
“Okay, I’ll be there.”
“One more thing if you have time. Get a message to the twins who have been covering this for the papers. Make sure they know about the hearing. I’d do it but I want to be able to say I didn’t if Berg accuses me of it again. Still, the media should be there to see this bullshit.”
“I’ll call them.”
We disconnected and Kendall immediately spoke.
“I want to be with you in court.”
“That would be nice. And I’ll call Hayley when we get home. I need to put on a suit and work a little bit on what I’m going to say to the judge, and then we’ll go to lunch.”
I knew it was going to be a working lunch and Kendall shouldn’t be there because she was outside the privilege circle. But I also knew that my freedom could be down to these last few hours. I didn’t want to exclude her.
It took us almost an hour to get to the house. I parked at the curb next to the stairs, still not wanting to use the garage. Bishop was sitting on the stairs, waiting. I had told him Friday we would start at ten on Tuesday, and he had been waiting. I had forgotten about him.
Kendall went up the stairs while I got our suitcase out of the trunk.
“Let me help you with that,” Bishop said.
“You’re my driver, not my valet, Bishop,” I said. “You been waiting long?”
“Not too long.”
“Sorry about that. But you’re going to have to wait another hour while I get ready and do some work inside. Then we’ll head downtown. You might be driving Kendall back by herself.”
“What about you? I go back for you?”
“I don’t think so. They’re going to try to put me back in jail today, Bishop.”
“They can do that? You got bail.”
“They can try. They’re the government. The beast. And the game is always rigged in the beast’s favor.”
I lugged the suitcase up the stairs and through the front door. Kendall was standing in the living room, holding an envelope out to me.
“Somebody slid this under the door,” she said.
I took the envelope and studied it while rolling the suitcase to the bedroom. It was a plain white envelope with nothing written on either side of it. The flap was not sealed.
After putting the suitcase on the bed for unpacking, I opened the envelope. It contained a single folded document. It was a photocopy of the face sheet of a Ventura County Sheriff’s Department arrest report dated December 1, 2018. The suspect arrested on suspicion of fraud was identified on the form as Sam Scales. The summary stated that Scales had
used the name Walter Lennon to set up a funding site to raise money for the families of victims killed in a mass shooting the month before in a bar in Thousand Oaks. I didn’t need the arrest report to remember the incident at the Borderline Bar & Grill. A sheriff’s deputy and twelve customers were killed. The money-raising scam appeared to be very similar to the one Scales went to prison in Nevada for.
I walked into the home office to the desk, where I had left my case files. I was sure that the Ventura County arrest was not on the rap sheet we had received in discovery from the District Attorney’s Office. I opened the victim folder and found the arrest record. There was no listing of the arrest in December 2018.
Kendall followed me into the office.
“What is it?” she asked.
“An arrest report for Sam Scales,” I said. “A case over a year ago in Ventura County.”
“What does it mean?”
“Well, it’s not on the rap sheet the prosecution gave us in discovery.”
The face sheet of the arrest report was a form with various windows and boxes below the handwritten summary. Under the box where FRAUD had been checked off was another checklist where the box marked INTERSTATE had a slash through it. At the bottom of the list was a line where the author of the form had written “FBI-LA.”
“Were they trying to hide it from you?” Kendall asked.
I looked up at her.
“What?”
“Was the prosecutor trying to hide that arrest from you?”
“I think they didn’t know about it. I think the FBI came and scooped Sam up.”
Kendall looked confused but I did not explain further. My mind was racing ahead to the possibilities of what the arrest report could mean.
“I have to make a call,” I said.
I pulled my phone and called Harry Bosch. He answered right away.
“Harry, it’s me. I’m meeting Jennifer for lunch downtown, then I have to go to court. Can you meet us? I have something you need to see.”
“Where?”
“Rossoblu at one.”
“Rossoblu? Where’s that?”
“City Market South, off Eleventh.”
“I’ll be there.”
I disconnected. I felt a push of momentum. The arrest report could confirm a lot of things about Sam Scales and the case. It could also be a way to penetrate the FBI wall.
“Who put that under the door?” Kendall asked.
I thought about Agent Ruth but didn’t say her name.
“I think it was somebody who wanted to do the right thing,” I said.
31
In anticipation of my return to custody, the courtroom had three times the number of deputies usually on hand for a hearing involving a noncustodial defendant. They were posted by the door, in the gallery, and on the other side of the gate. It was clear from the start that no one was planning on my leaving the way I had come in.
My daughter had been unable to take me up on an invitation to lunch because of a class but now was in the front row of the gallery, directly behind the defense table. She sat next to Lorna, who sat next to Cisco. I hugged Hayley and spoke to each of them, trying to be encouraging even though it was hard for me to be encouraged myself.
“Dad, this is so unfair,” Hayley said.
“Nobody ever said the law is fair, Hay,” I told her. “Remember that.”
I moved down the line to Cisco. He had not been to lunch and didn’t know about the arrest report that had been slipped under my door. I had chosen Bosch to run with it because of his law enforcement pedigree. I believed he was better suited to make contact with the Ventura County sheriff’s investigator who had arrested Sam Scales.
“Anything new?” I asked.
He knew I was talking about the surveillance and the hopes of locating Louis Opparizio.
“Not as of this morning,” he said. “The guy’s a ghost.”
I nodded, disappointed, and then moved through the gate to the defense table, where I sat down alone and collected my thoughts. I had beat Jennifer to the courtroom from our lunch because she had to find parking in the black hole while I’d had Bishop drop Kendall and me at the front door. I looked at notes from our lunch meeting and rehearsed in my mind what I would say to the judge. I had never been nervous or intimidated in a courtroom. I had always felt at home and fed off the animosity that was usually directed at the defense from the prosecution table, the bench, sometimes even the jury box. But this was different. I knew that if I failed here, I would be the one who was escorted through the steel door into lockup. Before, when I was arrested, there had been no opportunity to argue my case before being booked. This time I had a chance. It was a long shot because the state was within the rule of law in making its moves. But that didn’t make it right and I had to convince the judge of that.
My concentration broke when I noticed Dana Berg and her bow-tied second take seats at the prosecution table. I didn’t turn to look at them. I didn’t say good afternoon. This had gotten personal, with Berg repeatedly seeking to take away my freedom to prepare my case unfettered. She was now the enemy and I would treat her as such.
Jennifer slid into the seat next to me.
“Sorry, no parking in the black hole,” she said. “I had to go down to a pay lot on Main.”
She seemed out of breath. The parking lot must have been more than a few blocks down Main.
“No worries,” I said. “I’m ready to go.”
She turned in her seat to acknowledge our line of supporters, then turned back to me.
“Bosch not coming?” she asked.
“I think he wanted to get going,” I said. “You know, head up to Ventura.”
“Right.”
“Listen, if this doesn’t turn out the way we want it to and I go back to Twin Towers, you’ll need to deal with Bosch on the Ventura thing. Make sure there’s no paper. He’s not used to how we work things on the defense side. No paper, no discovery. Okay?”
“Got it. But things are going to work out, Mickey. We’re going to tag-team them and we are a damn good team.”
“I hope so. I like your confidence—even if the whole legislature and penal code is against us.”
I turned and made one more sweep of the gallery, making momentary eye contact with the two reporters who were in their usual places in the second row.
A few minutes later the deputy called the courtroom to order as Judge Warfield came through the door to chambers and took the bench.
“Back on the record with California versus Michael Haller,” she said. “We have new charges filed in the case, warranting a custody-and-arraignment hearing as well as a reading of the indictment. And we have a six-eight-six motion from the defense as well. Let’s start with the charges.”
I waived a formal reading of the indictment.
“How do you plead?” Warfield asked.
“Not guilty,” I said crisply.
“Very well,” Warfield said. “Now let us take up the issue of pretrial release or detention. And I have a feeling we are going to have a lot of back-and-forth between the lawyers today, so let’s remain at our respective tables to reduce traffic and time. Please speak loudly and clearly when addressing the court so the record will be clear. What is the position of the People, Ms. Berg?”
Berg stood up at the prosecution table.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” she began. “This morning, previous charges in this case were dropped after the Los Angeles County grand jury delivered an indictment of J. Michael Haller on a charge of first-degree murder under special circumstances outlined by the state legislature, to wit, murder for financial gain. It is the People’s position that this is a no-bail offense and we are seeking detention pending trial. There is a presumption—”
“I’m well aware of what the law presumes, Ms. Berg,” Warfield said. “I am sure Mr. Haller is as well.”
Warfield seemed annoyed by the state’s effort to incarcerate me and also by having her hands tied in the matter. She appeared to
write something on a document up on the bench. She took a few moments to finish before looking down at me.
“Mr. Haller, I assume you want to be heard?” she asked.
I rose from my seat.
“Yes, Your Honor,” I said. “But first I’d like to know whether the state is seeking the death penalty under this new charge.”
“Good question,” Warfield said. “That would change things considerably, Ms. Berg. Has your office decided to seek the death penalty in your case against Mr. Haller?”
“No, Your Honor,” Berg said. “The People will waive the death penalty.”
“You have your answer, Mr. Haller,” the judge said. “Do you have anything else?”
“Yes, I do, Judge,” I said. “Legal precedent holds that once the death penalty has been taken off the table, this is no longer a capital case, notwithstanding that I face a sentence of life without parole. Ms. Berg must also convince the court that guilt is evident and the presumption thereof is great. In and of itself, the indictment is insufficient to prove that guilt is evident, and Ms. Aronson will further address this issue.”
Jennifer stood.
“Your Honor, Jennifer Aronson, representing Mr. Haller on this issue,” she said. “Mr. Haller will argue the six-eight-six motion himself when that comes up. As to the indictment before the court, it is the defense’s position that the prosecution has gone outside the bounds of fair play to deprive Mr. Haller of his freedom as he prepares to defend himself in this matter. This is no more than a ploy to handicap Mr. Haller’s ability to defend himself by putting him in a jail cell, where he cannot work full-time on his defense, is in constant danger from other prisoners, and risks his health as well.”
She looked down at her notes before continuing.
“The defense also challenges the allegation of special circumstances in this case,” she said. “Though we have not seen this new evidence that the prosecution claims will show Mr. Haller’s financial gain from the murder of Samuel Scales, it is preposterous to think, let alone prove, that his death would in any way result in gain to Mr. Haller.”
Warfield was again writing when Jennifer finished, and Berg took the opportunity to respond. She stood and addressed the judge while the pen was still moving in her hand.
The Law of Innocence Page 19
