by Kenneth Eade
As Dr. Senlon testified, Brent checked the jury box to ascertain if any of the jurors seemed to be lost in technical confusion or boredom. All of them seemed to be relatively alert and there were no puzzled or frustrated looks on their faces.
“Was George Marsh one of your patients in need of AAC?”
“He was.”
“What type of a system, if any, did you design for Mr. Marsh?”
“I designed an alternative communication system that consists of an electronic tablet application for a communication board, which requires the use of an interpreter familiar with the system. Each family member or friend of Mr. Marsh would have had to learn the system in order to communicate with him.”
Senlon next described her app with the aid of the overhead projector. So far, no jury members appeared to be lost; they even looked interested.
“Mr. Marsh had been so incapacitated from the injuries he sustained in the attack, that the only part of his body he could move was his eyes. He had no ability to make any facial expressions, so I had to design a system of communication using symbols that he could point to with his eye movements. This required training on the part of Mr. Marsh as to which symbols to point to, and whomever would interpret what he was saying, which was initially going to be me.”
“Dr. Senlon, were you present during the deposition of George Marsh in this case?”
“I was.”
“And did you interpret Mr. Marsh’s communications for the court reporter with the use of the system you have just described?”
“I did.”
Brent completed his questioning of Dr. Senlon, and it was time to feed her to the sharks for cross-examination.
“Dr. Senlon,” asked Joe Stein, “As a speech pathologist, you’re familiar with American Sign Language, are you not?”
“Yes, I am.”
“And isn’t it true that American Sign Language is an alternative language to speaking that is standardized; meaning each symbol used will mean exactly the same thing to any person who sees it?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t it also true, Dr. Senlon, that augmentative and alternative communication is not a standardized form of communication?”
“Objection,” said Brent, “Argumentative.”
“Overruled, you may answer.”
“I don’t understand the question.”
“Isn’t it true, Dr. Senlon, that the symbols used for augmentative and alternative communication are different from patient to patient; they are not standardized like the gestures in American Sign Language are?”
“Yes, that is true.”
“So, it also stands to reason, does it not, that your interpretation of Mr. Marsh’s testimony really cannot be verified by anyone except for you, isn’t that correct?”
“At this point, yes.”
“So then, by interpreting for Mr. Marsh, you are asking the jury to accept your opinion as to what he is trying to communicate to you, isn’t that so?”
“Objection!” said Brent, “Argumentative.”
“Sustained.”
***
Brent next asked the judge for permission to present the video-taped deposition of George Marsh. The judge agreed, and instructed the jury as to what a deposition was, and how the video tape would be used in Court. It was accompanied by the written transcript of the deposition for each juror to follow. The predicate act of murder hung on the last sentence that George Marsh composed in the deposition, “It was him!” and that was not what anyone would call a solid piece of testimony. Nevertheless, it was the only shot they had, so Brent paid close attention to the jury when the last of the tape was played.
It was a message from the past. Hopefully, the jury could formulate some kind of a feeling for the man, who was now just an image on the television screen. The man who had been a loving husband, a strong father. The man whose life had been destroyed in the name of greed. It was the dry and cold message from the grave that closed the second day of the trial of Marsh v. Prudent Bank.
45
Detective William Branson was the next witness to take the stage. He dutifully outlined the crime scene and showed the gruesome photographs.
He testified that the case was never solved, but it was recently reactivated when a private investigator brought forth some possible new evidence that was currently being evaluated in cooperation with the FBI.
“Objection, Your Honor, unfair surprise,” said Stein.
“Counsel, please approach.”
When all were present at the bench, Stein objected to the mention of new evidence that was being evaluated because it had not been provided to the defense in discovery. The judge asked, “Mr. Marks, was this witness made available for deposition?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Then why are we hearing about this new evidence for the first time at trial?”
“Because it’s new evidence, Your Honor. Recent physical evidence that has been obtained is being analyzed for its DNA makeup now, under supervision of the FBI. This witness is not presenting that new evidence.”
“Yes, but he’s talking about it.”
“Your Honor, if you will simply allow me to connect it up later, and, if the new evidence does not materialize, I will stipulate to strike the testimony.”
“That’s not going to work, Your Honor,” said Stein. “The defense is entitled to examine all evidence, so that a defense may be presented.”
“I’m afraid Mr. Stein is right, Mr. Marks. I’m going to sustain the objection.”
The lawyers took their seats.
“Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, you will disregard Detective Branson’s testimony about possible new evidence being found.”
That was another blow to the weakest link in Brent’s case. In short order, Stein took over on cross-examination and destroyed Detective Branson.
“Detective Branson, no leads were ever found in this case, isn’t that correct?”
“That is correct.”
“And isn’t it also correct that, with regard to physical evidence, only one hair fiber was found on the scene?”
“Yes, that is correct.”
“And there has never been a match found to that hair sample, isn’t that correct?”
“No, that is not correct.”
“Detective Branson, you just testified that no leads were ever found in the case, correct?”
“Yes, but that is the new evidence. A hair fiber was found in investigator Rick Penn’s car after his disappearance and it matches the…”
“Objection Your Honor, we have already discussed this.”
“Detective Branson, do you have any personal knowledge about this hair fiber that was found?” asked Judge Masters.
“No, it was found by Agent Wollard of the FBI.”
“Objection, Your Honor and move to strike, hearsay and lack of foundation.”
“Granted. The jury will disregard this witnesses’ testimony regarding any hair fibers found in Mr. Penn’s car.”
Brent now had no choice. He had to call Angela. Stein continued to wreak havoc on Branson, turning him into more of a witness for the defense, with his acute cross examination skills.
“Detective, you never had the chance to interview the surviving victim, Mr. Marsh, isn’t that correct?”
“No I didn’t. He was in a coma after the incident.”
“But even after he came out of the coma, you never had the chance to interview him, isn’t that so?”
“Yes.”
“In fact, you tried to interview him, didn’t you?”
“Yes, several times.”
“And he was unresponsive to your questions every time, isn’t that correct?”
“Yes.”
“He was uncommunicative?”
“Yes.”
“In fact, he didn’t seem at all coherent to you, did he?”
“No.”
“And, in fact, you had the impression that he wasn’t even aware that you were speaking to him, isn’t that true?�
�
“Objection!” declared Brent, “Lack of foundation. Detective Branson is not qualified to diagnose Mr. Marsh’s condition.”
“Sustained.”
“Was Mr. Marsh able to answer yes or no?”
“No.”
“Did you notice any movement of his eyes, like he was trying to communicate with you?”
“Same objection, Your Honor,” said Brent.
“I’ll allow it. Please answer the question.”
“No, he seemed completely out of it.”
“Objection, lack of foundation and move to strike.”
“Overruled.”
***
For the first time since Brent had met her, Angela looked and spoke like a real G-man on the witness stand. She was dressed in an attractive, but conservative suit, with her hair pinned back in a bun.
“Agent Wollard,” asked Brent, “Are you currently investigating the disappearance of my private investigator, Richard Penn?”
“I am.”
“And during the course of your investigation, have you obtained any evidence that could be related to the Marsh murder case?”
“Yes. I found a hair fiber in an extensive search of Mr. Penn’s car after his disappearance. The hair’s DNA matches the hair fiber found at the Marsh murder scene.”
“And have you had any progress determining the identity of the person from the hair sample?”
“Not yet. We are currently testing the hair that was uncovered in a private investigation to determine if there is a match.”
“What private investigation is that?”
“Yours. The sample was brought in by Jack Ruder, your new investigator.”
Stein and Black both objected. “Your Honor, I object to this continued line of questioning that seems to be not connected to anything in this case.”
“I will connect it up with the next witness, Your Honor,” said Brent.
The judge overruled the objection, and broke for the mid-morning break. Brent left the courtroom with Angela.
“Thanks, Angie.”
“Angie? You never called me that before,” she said, and smiled with her eyes.
“I guess not. Do you have anything back on the DNA test yet?”
“No, there’s a rush on it. It’s supposed to be any day now.”
“Yeah, but I’m running out of days.”
Brent had to think of an alternative strategy to propel this case to a win.
46
It was the third day of the trial. Brent had one more day to present the remainder of his case, which was still based on thin air.
“Come on, Jack, I need a miracle here,” said Brent during the lunch break.
“Sorry, Brent, so far we have no results on that DNA test.”
“Any leads on George Marsh?”
“The Coroner is calling it death by natural consequences.”
“Then we have to ask for an inquest. How about my case?”
“They’re still planning to prosecute Banks for it.”
“Great.”
After a few bites of his lunch, Brent suddenly had an epiphany.
“Jack, can you serve that dirt bag Suskind with a subpoena to have him come to court to testify tomorrow?”
“Yeah, but I’m sure he won’t testify. He’ll claim the Fifth, most likely.”
“Serve him, and make sure he gets to court, even if you have to get him arrested or something."
“Okay, I’ll do it.”
The rest of the day was uneventful, with Brent putting on less important witnesses, to make sure he got all the documents in so he could show the time line to the jury during his argument.
The timeline showed a pattern of fraud and cover-up from the moment that Prudent had taken over the loan; from its late assignment to the Trust, which was a robo-signed forgery, to the latest assignment to a new trustee who would carry out the foreclosure sale. That part of the case looked pretty solid and formed the basis of the first predicate act of the RICO case. What was not solid was the RICO case. Brent needed to prove one more predicate act: murder.
***
On the long drive home, Brent planned his next moves in his head. He concocted a surprise attack that Stein and Black could have never foreseen. Although he had no idea what the outcome would be, something had to shake up this case, and this idea definitely would.
It was getting dark when Brent pulled into his driveway on Harbor Hills Drive and parked alongside a government issued white Crown Victoria. Angela was still inside the car, smiling.
“I’ve got a surprise for you!” she exclaimed as she got out of the car, holding a manila envelope.
The sight of Angela made Brent feel stronger already. He jumped out of the car and gave her a hug.
“Where’s my surprise?” he asked.
Angela handed him the manila envelope. “We got the DNA test back today. Kevin Suskind is definitely our man. We can place him at the murder scene and in Rick’s car, plus he’s one of the guys who followed you. We’re going to pick him up in Rick’s case tomorrow morning.”
“It’s fantastic news. Thank you. And Angela…”
“Yes?”
“Be careful.”
“Brent, I’m a trained FBI agent. I’ll have body armor on and a full team to take this guy down. He’ll come without a fight, believe me.”
“It’s just that…”
“What?”
“I care about you.”
“I care about you too Brent. You’re the one who needs to be careful. Your job is much more dangerous than mine – especially lately.”
They kissed and Angela got in her car and drove off. Brent called Jack to make sure he was standing by. Now there was no doubt that Suskind would be in court tomorrow. And while he may not say a word, he was sure to be the most important witness that Brent would ever call in the case of Marsh v. Prudent Bank.
47
Jack Ruder was dressed in the blue uniform of a FedEx driver when he knocked on Kevin Suskind’s door. In his left hand was a FedEx overnight envelope, and the right hand rested on the handle of his concealed .38 snub nose revolver. He rang the doorbell and waited.
“Who is it?” an annoyed voice from inside the house asked, through the door.
“FedEx,” said Jack, and smiled for the peephole.
“I ain’t expecting no FedEx,” said the voice.
“I have urgent business correspondence here addressed to a Kevin Suskind at this address.”
The door opened a crack. The fat meathead from the biker bar looked out at Jack.
“Kevin Suskind?” Jack smiled again, holding out an electronic clipboard for a signature.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
As Suskind signed the clipboard, Jack handed him the envelope and said,
“Kevin Suskind, you are served.”
Suskind threw the envelope and the clipboard back at Jack and slammed the door.
“Your failure to appear as a witness will result in a warrant for your arrest,” Jack said, through the door.
“Eat me,” said Suskind.
***
“Well, that went well,” Brent said, as Jack relayed the details of the service. “But don’t worry, the FBI is picking him up tomorrow morning. Make sure they have the subpoena and we’ll have our sneaky little scumbag on deck for tomorrow.”
Brent worked that evening on restructuring his trial strategy. He had one and only one shot at making RICO stick in the minds of the jury, and that was to prove that it was more likely than not that Bernstein was responsible for the attack on April’s parents.
***
True to the character of the paranoid crack head that he was, Suskind spent his evening getting high and looking out his window for more process servers, or, in the case of every drug addict’s obsession, the cops. The pent up adrenaline in his blood was urging him to action and he could not sit still.
As he got more and more stoked up, supercharged by the increase in his heartbeat, Suskind reache
d that point where he felt driven by a mystical dark energy that took control over his mind and body. Like Mr. Hyde, he was transformed.
48
Four government issued Crown Victorias pulled up to the small house of Kevin Suskind, in the “Mexican” area of Santa Barbara. Eight agents, including Angela Wollard, all dressed in “Ninja” gear – body armor under windbreakers which bore the insignia “FBI” in yellow letters on the back – exited the cars in almost a synchronized motion, and each agent took up a strategic position at certain points in front, on the side and in back of the house.
Angela, with her weapon drawn, approached the front door with a fellow agent, Dave Edwards. Each of them moved to each side of the door as Angela rapped on it.
“FBI!” she called out.
Not a sound could be heard from inside the run down bungalow.
“FBI!” Angela shouted again, knocking loudly on the door.
Suddenly, a loud crack – the sound of a car breaking through the aluminum garage door – gave way to the smoking, screeching tires of Suskind’s white 2006 Ford Mustang GT, which flew backwards out the garage, and smashed the back of one Crown Victoria as it turned, spinning like a top. The Mustang accelerated down San Andres Street, leaving a cloud of rubber seared smoke behind it.
“Suspect fleeing arrest scene in a 2006 white Ford Mustang, California license plate BGB FN3,” yelled Angela into her shoulder radio, as she jumped behind the wheel of one of the Crown Victorias. Edwards jumped in the passenger side to ride shotgun as the car sped off.
“Agent Wollard, suspect vehicle spotted by SBPD heading north on Highway 101 at Las Positas Road at high speed,” a voice crackled over the government frequency.
“Copy that, we are in pursuit,” said Angela, as she flew the Crown Vic up the freeway onramp.
