“She told us you asked for an investigator.”
I don’t respond. I’m not going to allow Ryan to cross-examine me.
“I’ll make an offer of proof,” says Ryan, “if the court will allow the witness to explain how he came to be in Mr. Madriani’s office.”
“Any objection?” Peltro looks at me.
“I don’t think it matters how he came to be there.”
“If you and your client talked in front of him, waived the privilege, I might disagree,” says the judge. He nods to Ryan. “Ask the witness your questions.”
Ryan’s all smiles. “Investigator Brower, did you speak directly to Mr. Madriani before arriving at his office on April seventeenth?”
“No. I was asked to attend the meeting by my boss.”
“And who is that?”
“Susan McKay. She’s the director of the Department of Children’s Protective Services.”
“And do you know whether Ms. McKay had spoken directly with Mr. Madriani?”
“She said she had. That he wanted her to attend a meeting at his office. She mentioned that he asked for an investigator, and that she wanted me to go with her.”
“That’s all hearsay,” I tell Peltro.
“Maybe you’d like us to bring on Susan McKay?” says Ryan. He looks at me as if he’s holding a cocked pistol. He’d love this, get into the fact that Susan and I are lovers, that she turned over the dirt on Suade’s pistol and has been assisting the defense. Even if he can’t get it all before the jury, he could work on poisoning the judge.
“Move along, Mr. Ryan.”
“So you attended the meeting at Ms. McKay’s request?” says Ryan.
“That’s right,” says Brower.
“And was Mr. Madriani told that you were a law enforcement officer?”
“He was.”
“And was the defendant, Jonah Hale, in the office at the time?”
“He was.”
“And he was told you were an investigator with the department?”
“That’s right.”
“So there was no mystery as to who you were, or what you were doing there?”
“None.”
“And after these introductions, did Mr. Madriani and Mr. Hale speak openly and freely about the reason why you and Ms. McKay were present at the meeting?”
“They did.”
“And what was that reason?”
“They wanted help from the department in locating Mr. Hale’s granddaughter, who was missing.”
“Missing!” I’m out of my chair now. “The child was kidnapped by Zolanda Suade.” The jury’s out of the box, but the pencils in the front rows are now cutting grooves in paper pads.
“The defendant, Mr. Hale, made some allegation to that effect,” says Brower.
“But they made no attempt to maintain confidentiality, to hold side conferences, to speak outside your presence, isn’t that so?” says Ryan.
“That’s true.”
“That’s all,” says Ryan. “Unless of course Mr. Madriani wants us to bring on Ms. McKay to testify as to what was said between the two of them leading up to this meeting.” Ryan looks at me as he says this, leaving me to wonder if Susan is waiting outside in the wings under subpoena.
It’s the problem we have. There was no confidence to protect at the time of the meeting, only Jonah’s indiscretions and wild threats, which I had not foreseen. When we met, there was no crime. Suade was still alive.
“I’m not sure there’s a need for more witnesses,” says the judge. “Mr. Madriani. Do you want to cross-examine the witness?”
“No, Your Honor.” There’s nothing I could ask Brower that would unring the bell, undo the damage.
“Your Honor, I would submit the offer of proof,” says Ryan. “And request that I be allowed to inquire as to the conversations that took place in front of Mr. Brower in counsel’s office.”
Peltro looks down at me from the bench. “I’m sorry, Mr. Madriani, but I see no basis for a privilege as to these conversations,” he says. “I’ll overrule the objection.”
“Your Honor, I’d like a ruling as to the scope. That this doesn’t constitute a wholesale waiver of the entire attorney-client privilege?”
“Mr. Ryan, you’re not suggesting a complete waiver, are you?”
Ryan hesitates, arches his eyebrows, shrugs a shoulder as if to say, “Why not?” Nothing verbal on the record; it’s an open question.
“Then I’ll resolve the issue for you,” says Peltro.
“My ruling applies only as to the meeting at which Mr. Brower and Ms. McKay were present. Anything else,” he says, “is off-limits. Do you understand?”
“Of course,” says Ryan.
The jury comes back in.
“Investigator Brower, I’d like to refresh the jury’s recollection. You say you attended a meeting with Susan McKay at Mr. Madriani’s office on April seventeenth of this year?”
“That’s right.”
“Wasn’t that the day that the victim, Zolanda Suade, was killed?”
“It was. She was murdered, I think it was in the early evening.”
“Objection. Assumes facts not in evidence, beyond the scope of any expertise of this witness, and outside of his knowledge, unless he knows more than he’s saying.”
The state hasn’t determined a time of death, not with any precision, and so Brower is trying to fill one in.
“Strike the last part of the witness’s answer,” says Peltro. “The jury will disregard any suggestions as to the time of death, or the fact that it was a murder. That’s what we’re here to determine,” says the judge. “Mr. Brower.” Peltro turns his attention toward the witness, knitted eyebrows like Cecil B. DeMille’s vision of God. “Do us all a favor. Listen to the question, and just answer what’s asked. You got it?”
“Yes. Sure. Sorry, Your Honor.” Brower’s wearing a heavy sport coat, and starting to sweat.
“Is it safe to say that the meeting occurred on the same day as the victim’s death?” Ryan tries to dig him out.
“Yes. I think that’s safe.” Brower looks up at the judge for approval. All he gets is a stone idol.
“And what time did you arrive at Mr. Madriani’s office?”
Now Brower’s thinking, not wanting to step in it again. “It was probably about eleven A.M.”
“And did you arrive with Ms. McKay?”
“No. We came separately. I was in the field, and she paged me. We talked by phone. She gave me the address and told me to meet her there.”
“So she took her own car?”
“Right.”
“What time did she get to Mr. Madriani’s office?”
“About ten minutes after I did.”
“That would make it about ten minutes after eleven?”
“About,” says Brower.
“And was Mr. Madriani there when you arrived?”
“No, but his partner was,” says Brower.
“Let the record reflect that the witness has identified Mr. Hinds.”
“Was the defendant, Jonah Hale, at the office when you arrived?”
“No.”
“Where was Mr. Madriani when you got there?” says Ryan.
“We were told he was . . .”
“Objection, hearsay.”
“Sustained.”
“When did Mr. Madriani arrive for the meeting?” says Ryan.
“About, ahh.” Brower thinks for a second. “About forty-five minutes after I got there.”
“That would make it about eleven forty-five?”
“Sounds right.”
“And was the defendant, Jonah Hale, with him when he arrived?”
“Yes. They came in together
.”
“So by eleven forty-five in the morning on the day the victim died, Ms. McKay was present, Mr. Hale, Mr. Madriani, Mr. Hinds, and yourself, all present in Mr. Madriani’s law office.” Ryan makes it sound like a conspiracy. “Did Mr. Madriani tell you why he was late?”
“No.”
“Did he tell you where he’d been—that morning?”
Brower’s looking at the prosecutor now, not sure what Ryan wants him to say, whether he’s trying to get at where I was just before the meeting, the reason I was late, or something else.
Rather than have his witness step in it, Ryan says, “Let me rephrase that. At this meeting, did Mr. Madriani relate to you and the others present the details of another meeting he’d had earlier that same morning?”
“Oh, that,” he says. “Yeah. He did,” says Brower. Now it’s clear. “He said he’d been to see Zolanda Suade, at her office down in Imperial Beach.”
“Where the victim’s body was later found?”
“Objection.”
“If he knows, Your Honor. The witness went to the scene later that night,” says Ryan. “Counsel knows that.” Ryan looks at me. Smiles. He’s about to screw me into the wall, and he knows it.
“If the witness has personal knowledge, he can answer the question,” says Peltro.
“Yeah,” says Brower. “He said he went to her office. It’s where they found the body later.”
“And did Mr. Madriani say why he went to see the victim?”
“He said he wanted to question her about Mr. Hale’s granddaughter. Wanted to know what Zolanda Suade knew about the disappearance of the child. Mr. Hale’s granddaughter.”
“Did Mr. Madriani indicate to you whether his meeting with Zolanda Suade that morning was successful?”
“No. It was a disaster,” says Brower.
“How do you define ‘disaster’?”
“She’d given Madriani a press release she was getting ready to send out to the papers and television stations.”
“What did this press release say?”
“Objection!” I’m on my feet. “The document speaks for itself.”
“Goes to motive,” says Ryan. “Let me rephrase the question. Did Mr. Madriani describe what was in this press release during the meeting with all of you present?”
“He did.”
“And what did Mr. Madriani say the press release said?” Ryan puts the question beyond the pale.
“According to Mr. Madriani, Mr. Hale was charged with incest with his daughter, as well as child molestation of his granddaughter.” By putting the words in my mouth instead of relating what he read on the press release, Brower gives the accusations more effect.
“And Mr. Hale heard all this?”
“He did.”
“And what was his reaction?”
“He was very angry. What you might call ballistic,” says Brower.
“Did Mr. Hale ever get to look at the press release in question? In your presence?”
“Sure. It was handed all around. We all saw it.”
“Did Mr. Hale say anything?”
“He wanted to know why the law hadn’t put a stop to Ms. Suade’s activities.”
“Did anybody explain this to him?”
“Yeah. Ms. McKay told him the department had investigated her several times, but was never able to determine any violations of law. Nothing that we could arrest her on, or get an injunction or a restraining order for.”
“And how did the defendant take this?”
“It seemed to make him even more angry.”
“Did he say anything else?”
“Yes. He said that if the law couldn’t deal with Zolanda Suade, there were other ways to deal with her.”
Ryan turns to look at the jury as Brower says this, to make sure they understand the significance, that he’s reaching the pinnacle of this testimony. If it were Moses on the mount, the finger of God would be etching the tablets about now.
“Did he explain what he meant by that?” says Ryan.
“He wanted us, meaning the department, to go over and force the victim, Ms. Suade, to tell us what happened to his granddaughter.”
“The defendant wanted you to use force?”
“That’s what he said.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“The director, Ms. McKay, told him that we couldn’t do that. That it wasn’t possible under the law.”
“And what did the defendant say to that?”
“Then he said that the law didn’t work, something to that effect,” says Brower. “And then he said he knew exactly what he’d do. He’d go over and wring the bitch’s neck. That he’d find out where the child was. And that if he had to, he’d kill her.”
“Kill who?”
“He said he’d kill Zolanda Suade. Those were his words.”
Ryan allows this last point to settle on the jury in silence for a moment while he moves to the counsel table and rummages in one of the paper bags of evidence. Next he has Brower identify the cigar given to him by Jonah that day in my office.
“Did anyone try to stop you from turning this evidence over?” asks Ryan.
“Objection.”
“On what ground?” says Peltro.
“Irrelevant,” I tell him. “There’s no charge of evidence tampering.”
Ryan’s trying to go after Susan, my guess is to even things up for the information she’s given us on Suade’s pistol.
“Withdraw the question,” says Ryan. He moves on to later that same evening, when Harry, Susan, and Brower found me at the Cineplex. “What happened then?” he asks.
“Ms. McKay . . . We were all standing in the lobby of the theater, and Ms. McKay told Mr. Madriani what had happened. He wanted to go to the scene.”
“The scene? Where the body of the victim was?”
“Yeah.”
“Did he say why?”
“Not in so many words,” says Brower.
Ryan looks at the jury, does everything but wink.
“What happened next?” he says.
“Ms. McKay told me to take him there.”
“Why did she tell you to do this?”
“Because I had law enforcement credentials. She knew I could get him through the police lines.”
“And did you?”
“Against my better judgment,” says Brower.
“But you took him there?”
“I was ordered to by my boss,” he says.
“Is Ms. McKay a friend of Mr. Madriani’s?”
“I had heard that,” says Brower.
Peltro’s looking down at Ryan from the bench now, wondering how far the prosecutor is going to go with this.
“Did you have any feeling that this request, to take Mr. Madriani to the scene of a crime, particularly in light of the meeting earlier that day . . . did you have any sense that this might be inappropriate?”
“Objection. Calls for a conclusion,” I say.
“He’s a trained law enforcement officer,” says Ryan. “He should know when it’s appropriate and when it’s not to cross the line into a crime scene, and who should be with him when he does.”
“I’ll allow it,” says Peltro.
“Yes. I thought it was inappropriate.” Brower can’t wait to answer.
“But you went anyway?”
“Yes. As I said, against my better judgment.”
“Could you see the body?”
“Part of it. It was behind a parked car, but we could see a foot, part of a leg.”
“And were crime scene technicians working the area?”
“They were.”
“Did they find anything at the scene and show it to you, in Mr. Madria
ni’s presence?”
“Yes. They said they’d found some stuff close to the body, and then one of them showed me something.”
“And what was that?”
“They found a cigar. Just the remains, smoked and stubbed out,” says Brower.
“Was there anything remarkable about this cigar?” says Ryan.
“Yes. It looked just like the one the defendant gave me earlier in the day, at Madriani’s office.”
TWENTY-ONE
* * *
“So you’re an expert on cigars?”
“No. I never said that.”
“How often do you smoke them?”
“I don’t know.” Brower’s not nearly as forthcoming on cross-examination. He’s had a night to sleep on it, think about what might be coming. Now he sits in the witness box looking at me with cagey eyes.
“Once a month?” I ask.
“Not that often,” he says.
“Once every other month?”
“Probably less than that.”
“Maybe you smoke them only when you get them for nothing, given to you by somebody else?”
He recoils at the notion of freeloading. “I buy one once in a while. Smoke it when I get the time.” Now he’s getting mean-eyed.
“When was the last time you bought a cigar, Mr. Brower?”
“I don’t know. Can’t remember.” He doesn’t try very hard.
“And yet you can tell from one look that the cigar in that bag, the one Mr. Ryan showed you yesterday”—I point to the evidence cart—“that that cigar was the same brand, the same kind as the cigar stub you were shown by the evidence tech that night behind Zolanda Suade’s office? The night she died.”
“It looked the same to me,” he says.
“Was it dark that night, behind the office?”
“You know it was,” he says.
“How long did you look at that cigar stub? The one the evidence tech showed you?”
“I don’t know. A few seconds,” he says.
“Did you touch it? Pick it up?”
“No. It was evidence. You don’t touch evidence at a scene,” he says.
Must have seen this on Columbo.
The Attorney Page 23
