Last Lawyer Standing

by Douglas Corleone

  Enjoy it now, I thought as they shoved me inside, because next week, I’m taking this whole fucking city down, starting with the police department.

  ‘OKAKOPA

  (OCTOBER)

  CHAPTER 42

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, my name is Donovan Watanabe, and I will be representing the people of the state of Hawaii during this trial. Today I am charged with the task of prosecuting the defendant Turi Ahina for committing the atrocious act of felony murder against an officer of the law with the Honolulu Police Department—veteran narcotics detective Kanoa Bristol of Pearl City.”

  As Dapper Don settled into his opening statement, I made certain to look each juror in the eye from my vantage point at the defense table all the way across the aisle. I instructed Turi to do the same, with the one eye that wasn’t bandaged, but to be careful not to intimidate and not to smile. “Look earnest,” I told him. “Show the jury that you’re taking these charges very seriously, but that you’re confident that the truth will come out.”

  Dapper Don continued, “My opening statement will be brief. Why? you may ask, when this is such an important case, a case in which a law enforcement officer was viciously gunned down while trying to uphold the law. Why will the attorney charged with the awesome responsibility of making certain that justice is done for Detective Bristol, for his family, for the citizens of Pearl City, and for all of Hawaii be brief in his opening remarks? The answer is simple and it is simply this: this is a simple case.

  “As it is said in the parlance of our times, this case is open-and-shut. And after all the evidence is presented to you, you will know beyond any reasonable doubt that the defendant Turi Ahina committed the crime in question, the crime of murder. And he committed it in cold blood.”

  Jury selection had taken only a single day. I’d led with the simple question “Have you ever heard of the cable news legal pundit Marcy Faith?” I watched half the room and gave the other half to Jake. We were looking for the slightest smile, the tiniest sparkle in the eyes that said, “Yup, that’s my girl.” When we found it, we attempted to have that juror removed for cause. If that failed, we exercised one of our valuable peremptory challenges.

  “The evidence that will be presented to you,” Dapper Don said to the jury, “will also be simple and clear-cut. The evidence will show that at around eleven o’clock on the evening of July twenty-third of this year, Detective Kanoa Bristol, while off duty, came upon the defendant engaged in a criminal act, specifically a significant illegal drug transaction, and that Detective Bristol attempted to engage and interfere with that transaction, and for that reason Detective Bristol was shot twice, once in the chest—a bullet stopped by the officer’s Kevlar vest—and once in the throat, the latter proving fatal. Furthermore, the evidence will prove beyond any shadow of a doubt that the man who fired those bullets into Detective Bristol is sitting in this courtroom today and will do so until this trial is over. That man is seated at the defense table, and his name is Turi Ahina.”

  Dapper Don pointed an accusatory finger at Turi, who did not look away. In the prosecutor’s eyes I saw a raw passion I hadn’t seen from him when I faced him during the Gianforte trial. At issue here, however, was a dead law enforcement officer, and Donovan Watanabe, it seemed, was taking this case personally. His normally calm, cool demeanor had all but evaporated. Without question, Dapper Don was out for blood.

  “What is this evidence? you ask,” Dapper Don continued. “Firstly, you will hear the testimony of Mrs. Doris Ledford, a young woman of seventy-two.” Here he smiled and the jury smiled with him. “Mrs. Ledford will testify that while in her home at eleven o’clock that night, she overheard two bangs that sounded like gunshots, and she hurried to the kitchen window to discover what the sounds were. She will testify that when she looked out that kitchen window, she saw clearly an obese man running fast as he could down the street, away from the scene of the shooting.”

  Turi rolled his eyes, and I warned him to watch his body language in front of the jury.

  “But what do he have to call me obese for, eh?” Turi shot back in a whisper. “There are ladies here in the audience, yeah?”

  Watanabe said, “You will hear from the detective who was in charge of investigating this homicide, this murder of his fellow officer. Detective Ray Irvine will testify regarding every part of the investigation, from first response, to the gathering of evidence, to apprehending the suspect, and beyond.”

  Dapper Don walked over to the evidence table and lifted the clear plastic bag that held the alleged murder weapon.

  “As you can plainly see, police recovered the defendant’s gun. Not far from the spot where police would recover the defendant himself. Now, make no mistake, this defendant is not dumb simply because he committed such a terrible crime and got caught. No, this defendant was wise enough to wipe his fingerprints off the gun and to take measures to avoid, or possibly clean up, gunshot residue to help conceal his crime. The defense will attack, attack, attack on these issues, as though the defendant should be rewarded for being crafty. And Turi Ahina was crafty, just not crafty enough. And, as you will learn, just not fast enough either.”

  Dapper Don turned his meticulous frame and looked at me as though he were about to throw down the gauntlet. But this was a challenge I had long ago accepted, and now I had no intention of backing down. Not even following my arrest for prostitution. That case—the case of State versus Kevin D. Corvelli—remained pending, at least in court. But certainly not in the press. In the press I, like any criminal defendant, was guilty until proven innocent.

  “… and next you will hear from the Honolulu Police Department’s ballistics expert, Denis Ritchie…,” Dapper Don was saying.

  But I had stopped listening. When the prosecution’s opening statement was concluded, I’d have to make an immediate decision: whether to rise and give my own opening statement today, or to delay it until the close of the prosecution’s case. The pro of opening now was that the prosecution’s entire case-in-chief would be colored with suspicion, looked at through the spectacles of possible police corruption. On the downside, I’d be locking myself permanently into the choice-of-evils strategy.

  “You may have heard of my adversary, the celebrity defense attorney Kevin Corvelli,” Dapper Don said out of nowhere. “So respected are his skills that he presently represents our governor.”

  “Objection,” I said, rising to my feet. “There’s no relevance here, Your Honor.”

  “I agree,” Judge Narita said. “Sustained. The jury will disregard that last statement. Mr. Watanabe, move on.”

  “Your Honor,” Dapper Don said, nodding, then turning back to the jury. “My only point is that Mr. Corvelli is exceedingly good at his job. I read once a line in a play; the line read, ‘The law is a sort of hocus-pocus science.’ Well, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, Mr. Corvelli is perhaps the world’s premier illusionist. And because of that, I feel I must caution you to keep your eyes and minds on the actual evidence at all times.”

  I started to stand to object, then thought better of it and sat down. Let him go that route, I decided. In a few minutes I’d be able to show the jury myself that I hid no rabbits in my hat, that I was just a man, a lawyer like any other.

  “… and at the conclusion of this case, ladies and gentlemen, I will return to this rail to summarize the evidence introduced during this trial and ask you to return a verdict of guilty on the charge of murder in the first degree.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Watanabe,” Judge Narita said from the bench. Then he turned to me. “Mr. Corvelli, would you care to give your opening statement now, or would you prefer to reserve it?” In more crass terms, shit or get off the pot, Counselor.

  Lay your cards on the table.

  CHAPTER 43

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” I said, “this case is anything but simple. That Mr. Watanabe doesn’t understand this fact is a sad truth, and it speaks volumes about the rift between the Honolulu Police Department
and the Office of the Prosecuting Attorney. Because I am certain, knowing my adversary as I do, that had he challenged what he was told by police, had he dug deeper, Mr. Watanabe would have been both astonished and appalled at what he unearthed. And he would not be sitting here today trying to convict my client Turi Ahina of a crime he did not commit.”

  I lifted my arms and let the jury peer up the sleeves of my navy suit jacket. “Look closely. No aces, no playing cards whatsoever, up my sleeves. I’m no magician, no illusionist. I don’t use smoke and I don’t use mirrors, except to dress myself in the morning and sometimes fix my hair. I assure you, ladies and gentlemen, I want what you want out of this trial. And that is a fair and just verdict.”

  I gazed behind me at the gallery, at the sea of dark shirts, just about the entire HPD observing this trial from the pews. In the front row sat the widow Dana Bristol, glaring at me as though I’d put the bullets in her husband myself.

  “The evidence I am going to introduce to you during this trial is going to shock you. Over the next few days and weeks, you are going to learn through testimony and physical evidence that the Narcotics Intelligence Unit of the Honolulu PD was—and is—engaged in criminal conduct that includes the receipt of protection bribes; the planting, removing, and altering of evidence from this very crime scene; and most pointedly, murder and attempted murder.”

  The gallery broke out in nervous, outraged chatter, and a few choice words were shouted above the din. Narita slapped his gavel as I continued.

  “Attempted murder,” I repeated, only louder. “You will learn through testimony and physical evidence that Detective Kanoa Bristol was not trying to apprehend a suspect when he was shot and killed on a dark street in Pearl City. No. Detective Bristol was trying to execute an innocent man.”

  I raised my voice to a shout as I pointed in the direction of the defense table while keeping my eyes locked on the faces in the jury box. “Let me say it again so that it is clear: Detective Kanoa Bristol attempted to execute my client Turi Ahina.”

  The courtroom erupted, but I did not lose stride. Over the roar of the gallery I shouted, “This was not a botched arrest as the Honolulu PD would have you believe.” With my fist, I pounded on the jury rail as I allowed my face to glow red with rage. “This. Was. A. Hit.”

  Donovan Watanabe leapt from his seat. “Objection, Your Honor. Mr. Corvelli is now making argument.”

  “Overruled,” Narita said with a surprising urgency. “If Mr. Corvelli cannot back these claims up, then he will suffer the ramifications.”

  “Rest assured, Your Honor,” I said above the chaos, “these are not baseless allegations. These are provable facts.” I spun back to the jury as the gallery finally quieted down. “How will I prove them? I will prove these allegations by showing you how evidence in this case was manipulated and eliminated. How witnesses were coerced and intimidated and even bribed.”

  I took a step back from the rail and leveled my tone. “You, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, will come to understand during the course of this trial that, on the evening of the twenty-third of July, Turi Ahina faced what the law calls a ‘choice of evils,’ and that Turi Ahina shot and killed Detective Kanoa Bristol in self-defense.”

  I paused to allow time for my words to sink in. “Ladies and gentlemen, the shooting of Kanoa Bristol on the night of July twenty-third was justified and necessary to prevent an innocent man from being assassinated. A man who was a threat to the Narcotics Intelligence Unit and the Honolulu PD as a whole. A man who had been arrested by the federal government and asked to divulge illicit information about how a multibillion-dollar criminal enterprise was permitted to run with impunity throughout the island. The reason being, of course, that the criminal organization in question was being protected by numerous members of the Honolulu police force, including Detective Kanoa Bristol.”

  Narita had to silence the crowd yet again. Once he did, I addressed every piece of evidence Dapper Don Watanabe had set forth in his opening. The eyewitness testimony, the so-called murder weapon, and the weapon found on the detective’s body, which the prosecution asserted was never fired that night. I addressed the number of bullet casings found at the scene, and the $5,000 recovered from Turi’s person following his arrest. I touched on each point once, and then again.

  “You, ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” I said a half hour later in closing, “will deliberate on one of the most important cases in the history of this state.

  “You will put an end to the insidious corruption that currently plagues our island paradise.

  “You will shed light on this dirty unit of this dirty police department in this otherwise idyllic city in this otherwise idyllic state.

  “At the conclusion of this trial, you will say not guilty, and by saying not guilty, you will be saying to these dirty cops, ‘No more.’

  “No more.”

  CHAPTER 44

  Once Judge Narita adjourned the proceedings for the day, I gathered my files, and Jake and I made our way up the aisle, looking straight ahead all the way. Eyes from both sides of the aisle bore into us like lasers. We met Scott and Flan outside the courthouse, and the four of us pushed through the tide of reporters and walked silently back toward the office together.

  We didn’t make it a block before my cell phone started vibrating in my pocket.

  “Mr. Corvelli, it’s Jason Yi. The governor needs to see you right away. It’s urgent.”

  I feigned surprise. “I just finished making my opening statement in an important trial. My partner and I are heading back to the office to prepare for the state’s first witness.”

  “The governor knows about the trial. That’s why he needs to speak to you. He’ll be at your office in twenty minutes.”

  Yi didn’t allow for a response. During my protest I realized I was speaking into dead air.

  * * *

  “They’re waiting for you in the conference room,” Hoshi said.

  I glanced at my watch. The governor must have been parked outside my building when Yi called because only six minutes had passed since Yi hung up on me.

  “Want some backup?” Jake said.

  “No, I’ll handle this.”

  I opened the conference room door and found the governor flanked on either side by his wife, Pamela, and Jason Yi.

  Omphrey dispensed with the greetings. “What the fuck are you doing to me, Corvelli?”

  I took a seat across from the trio. “Care to elaborate?”

  Omphrey’s hands clenched into fists on the table. “Alleging widespread police corruption in Honolulu twenty-eight days before the election? My opponent has already issued a statement condemning my leadership. You’re sabotaging me.”

  “So you are aware of the corruption, Governor? Is that what you’re telling me?”

  “I’m aware of no such thing.”

  “Then issue a statement through your press secretary, or better yet, schedule a press conference and explain to the people of Hawaii that you are launching a full investigation into the allegations set forth during the Turi Ahina trial.”

  The governor slammed his right fist against the table. “This isn’t some fucking game,” he shouted. “Crime is my issue. You’ve seen my ads. Crime and no new taxes, that’s all I have. That son of a bitch John Biel is beating me up on education, on the environment, on the economy. If the Honolulu Police Department is smeared, I’ll lose this goddamn election, and if I lose this goddamn election, Corvelli, I’ll—”

  “You’ll what, Governor?” I said calmly.

  His jowls were shaking, his doughy cheeks had turned red. Pamela and Yi had each placed a hand on his shoulders. “This”—he pointed a finger at me—“is a conflict of interest. I’ll have you disbarred.”

  “There’s no conflict, Governor. I represent you in an open murder investigation. It’s not my job to see that you’re reelected, only to make certain you don’t go to prison for Oksana Sutin’s death. My investigators and I have laid our lives on the line the p
ast few months attempting to discover who was behind her murder. If you don’t like the job we’ve done, then fire me and get the hell out of my office.”

  The conference room fell silent.

  After a full minute, Pamela Omphrey finally said, “What has your investigation revealed?”

  I looked at the governor. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the investigation in front of anyone but your husband, Mrs. Omphrey. Unless he says it’s okay and waives privilege.”

  Pamela stared at her husband.

  Omphrey said, “Wait outside, dear.” To Yi, he said, “Jason, escort the first lady to the reception area.”

  Once the door had closed behind them, he turned to me. “Go.”

  “We know where Lok Sun is. We also know the location of Gavin Dengler, who was Oksana Sutin’s employer during the time you were together.”

  “Her employer?”

  “Her pimp.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you, Cor—”

  “We believe she was acting as a spy, Governor.”

  Omphrey froze, his Adam’s apple traveling up and down his throat like a broken glass elevator.

  “A spy?”

  I leaned forward. “You said you never asked her about her life or her work while you were with her, right, Governor? That’s common enough for someone with your bloated ego. But I’ll bet she asked about your life, about your work. That’s why the affair lasted months and meant more to you than just sex, isn’t that right, Governor? You like talking about yourself and Oksana Sutin was the perfect sounding board—long legs, large breasts, and as mute as a carp.”

  Omphrey gaped, his mind no doubt working more than it had at any given time in the past four years.

  “So what did you discuss with her, Governor?”

  His eyes moved back and forth across the table as though he were watching a tennis match. “Everything,” he mumbled. “Everything.”

  CHAPTER 45