by Kenneth Eade
“Mr. Goldstein, you reside in the Orange Grove townhome development at 4440 Orange, is that correct?” Brent asked.
“Yes, I do.”
“And you are here because the defense served you with a subpoena, isn’t that correct?”
“Yeah, your investigator, Jack Ruder did.”
“Mr. Goldstein, did you know the victim, Barbara Densmore?”
“Yes, she was the president of the Homeowners Association.”
“Isn’t it true that, during her tenure as president, you had several altercations with her?”
“Your Honor,” said Hannaford, who stood up, cleared his throat, and put one hand in his pocket. With those two words, the jury was locked on Hannaford like he was E.F. Hutton, and so was the Judge.
“Your Honor,” he repeated, “While, of course, Mr. Goldstein respects this Court and is here in full compliance with the subpoena, after due consultation with counsel, and an abundance of caution, he has decided to exercise his Fifth Amendment Privilege against self-incrimination.”
Anyone who has ever seen a police detective movie has heard the line, “you have the right to remain silent.” This was that right in action, and it was more of a gift to Brent than Goldstein’s testimony would have been. The jury had no idea what trouble went on between Goldstein and Densmore and never would. But that would not keep them from speculating what it was, and now they had another possible guilty party they could point the finger at.
Not only that, Nancy would not be exercising her right to remain silent. As much as the jury could be instructed not to hold a defendant’s silence against them, that it did not constitute an admission of anything, and that the People were the only ones obligated to prove anything in the case, just the fact of Nancy speaking would weigh in on the reasonable doubt scale in her favor for the jury, unless, of course, she was destroyed on cross examination. The only regret Brent had was that he would not get to listen to the old man’s cross examination. He was a legend.
Brent next called Felipe Corral to the stand. The jury had been prepared for his testimony by Jack Ruder, and it was a good thing because his attorney, Martin Katzenberg, a short little guy with a belly, graying hair and matching glasses, interposed his objection right away.
“Your Honor, Mr. Corral exercises his Fifth Amendment privilege against self-incrimination.”
“Very well, Mr. Katzenberg. Mr. Corral, you are excused.”
“Your Honor, the defense calls Keith Michel.”
Surf was up. Michel walked into court in a suit, with combed hair. He looked like a teenager at a relative’s wedding. With him was a lawyer that Brent did not recognize. At this point, Chernow had another fit. “Your Honor, may counsel approach the bench?” he asked, as if out of the blue.
“Your Honor, this is highly prejudicial,” said Chernow. “The defense is calling witnesses he knows full well will take the Fifth because of various other criminal activities, and the jury is drawing the inference that they may be guilty parties implicated in this murder. I move for the exclusion of Keith Michel as a witness.”
“Mr. Marks?”
“Your Honor, they may be guilty parties implicated in this murder. As I understand it, the DEA and FBI are investigating Mr. Corral and Mr. Michel about their possible involvement. It would be malpractice for me not to call them as witnesses.”
“Mr. Marks, I see your point, but I also see the People’s point. I suggest you inquire of Mr. Michel’s attorney if he intends to take the Fifth as well, because I’m not going to have you line up possible guilty parties who have nothing to say to the jury to try to rack up points.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“If he’s taking the Fifth, he will be excluded.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” said Chernow, gloating.
It was no surprise that Keith Michel’s attorney would be taking the Fifth, so the parade of suspects came to an end, as did the day. The last one to leave, as usual, was Frances Templeton, who smiled at Brent, Nancy and Jillian as they walked by.
“Why does that woman come here every day?” asked Nancy.
“Maybe she has nothing better to do. Or maybe she has a morbid desire to see something bad happen to you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Brent was on the home stretch. He fully expected that he would rest his case the following day, and that the last day would be reserved for final argument, unless Chernow had any rebuttal witnesses. He spent a couple of hours with Nancy in his office, going over her testimony.
“Well, Nancy,” said Brent, “This is it. How do you feel about it?”
“Honestly Brent, I’m so nervous I don’t even think I can say my own name.” Her hands were trembling. “What do I do?”
Brent put his hand on top of hers and said softly, “First, calm down. There’s only one thing you can do, Nancy. You know how to do it and it will get you out of any jam in cross examination.”
“What’s that?” asked Nancy, wide-eyed and pensive.
“Just tell the truth. You know the old adage, the truth will set you free. Well, in your case, it will. If you tell your story, and tell it like you first told it to me, then you’ll be fine.” She looked like she had calmed down.
“Okay Brent. I trust you.”
“Trust yourself, Nancy. I know you’ve heard yourself tell your story a million times, but you know what the best thing about the truth is?”
“What?”
“You don’t have to remember what you said.”
Nancy smiled relief.
“Just a few ground rules,” said Brent. “Before you answer a question, make sure you understand it. If you don’t, say you don’t understand the question. That way you won’t be tricked. If you don’t remember something, say you don’t remember.”
“Alright, Brent. I will.”
“Good. Now let’s go over one more time all the possible questions I can think of on cross.”
* * *
Brent had no dinner plans for tonight. Just himself, the cat, and his final argument. He polished the outline, knowing that he would look at it for the first ten minutes and then the rest of it would come naturally. He wasn’t one to practice in front of a mirror or anything like that. He could hear it in his head.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The gallery was packed with spectators, so many that the Fire Marshal had to order some of them to leave. The courtroom had runneth over with them. Word of the trial had spread through the newspapers and television, and there were more lookie-loos than Brent had ever experienced in a trial.
“Please call your first witness, Mr. Marks.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. I call Dr. Jaime Orozco.
Dr. Orozco rolled up to the stand in his ancient, out-of-style suit with a rumpled tie, and his belly hanging over the belt line. He looked like big bear. Despite his slightly unkempt appearance and scraggly small beard, which he felt made him look more “distinguished,” once Orozco made eye contact with the jury Brent could see they felt comfortable with the old guy.
“Dr. Orozco, what is your profession?”
“I am a private medical examiner.”
“Can you please summarize for the jury, your background, education and experience?”
“Yes. I have over 30 years’ experience as a pathologist and medical examiner. I hold an MD, a PhD, and a medical license in the state of California, where I am board certified in clinical, anatomic and forensic pathology. I also have a JD from Southwestern Law School and am a licensed attorney in California and New York. I am a Diplomate of the American Board of Pathology. I worked as a Chief Medical Examiner for the County of Los Angeles for ten years and another 10 years for the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
“Have you testified as an expert witness in trials before?”
“Many times.”
“How many times?”
“Too many to count, I’m afraid. I would have to say tens, maybe even hundreds of trials.”<
br />
“How many autopsies have you done throughout your career, Doctor?”
“Too many to count. I would say many hundreds, maybe even into the thousands.”
As Bradley Chernow had done with Dr. Perez, Brent had Dr. Orozco reveal that he was working for money, and that he had testified for the plaintiff’s and the defendant’s sides in many criminal and civil cases. His curriculum vitae was marked for identification and admitted as a defense exhibit.
“Dr. Orozco, please tell the jury what materials and reports you reviewed in preparation for today’s testimony.”
Dr. Orozco did just that. He talked to the jury as if they were in his living room, and they were all seated in front of the fireplace, listening to stories.
“I reviewed the autopsy report of Dr. Perez and the toxicology report.”
“Did you have the ability to do your own autopsy on the victim?”
“Unfortunately, no. The victim’s body had been cremated at the point I was brought into the case.”
“Dr. Orozco, if you had been able to do your own autopsy, what would you have done differently than was described in Dr. Perez’ report?”
“Objection, calls for speculation,” Chernow chimed in.
“Expert hypothetical, Your Honor.”
“Overruled. It is in the nature of an expert hypothetical question, in reverse manner,” said the Judge. “You may answer, Doctor.”
“I would have tested tissue samples for abnormal pathology such as cancer cells. I would have tested the tissues for infectious bacteria.”
“Didn’t you perform these tests on tissue samples that had been saved from the autopsy?”
“Yes, some tissue samples were made available to me, but not enough to make comprehensive tests that could result in any conclusions.”
“Dr. Orozco, as a result of your review, do you have an opinion within a reasonable degree of medical certainty what caused Ms. Densmore’s death?
“Yes, I do.”
“Would you please tell the jury your opinion?”
“In my opinion, Ms. Densmore’s death was caused by acute respiratory failure.”
“Is that consistent with ricin poisoning?”
“It could be, but there was no indication from Dr. Perez’ report besides his conclusion that ricin was to blame. Absolutely no pathological evidence at all. It could have been any number of other factors which caused her respiratory system to shut down, according to the medical history and forensic evidence.”
“Such as what?”
“Tracheal or lung cancer, for one. Common pneumonia for another. Unless I had found ricin on her clothes or in the immediate vicinity of the death scene, there is no way I could conclusively determine that it was ricin poisoning.”
“No further questions, your honor.”
“Cross?”
“Thank you, your honor,” said Chernow.
“Dr. Orozco, wouldn’t your opinion be different if you knew that an environmental sample of ricin were found?”
“That depends on the environmental sample. Certainly, if the deceased were found dead and there was ricin in the immediate environment, yes.”
“And, you did not examine the body?”
“That’s what I said.”
“So then, your opinion is based on pure speculation, isn’t it Doctor?”
“Objection, Your Honor, argumentative.”
“It is argumentative, but I will allow the answer.”
“No. My opinion is based on the reports. I didn’t have to speculate about anything,” said Dr. Orozco, innocently.
“No further questions, Your Honor.”
“Mr. Marks?”
“Nothing further, Your Honor.”
“Then we will break for the afternoon recess and resume at 1:30.
* * *
For a change of scene, Brent met Angela for lunch at The Gallery Café. It was always a pleasant retreat to pass through the art gallery first and admire all the new arrivals, before exiting to the dining area in the beautiful stone courtyard. Angela sat in the corner, behind the fountain. Among the flowers bursting from the vine covered stone walls and the magnificent orchids, her beauty stood out above all the rest.
“So, you’re on the home stretch?” she asked.
“I figure one more day.”
“Any chance you can join me tonight?”
“I can’t go out or anything.”
“I know. I thought I would come over.”
“I’d love to have you, but I’ll be preparing.”
“Not the whole night.”
Brent smiled, as he thought to himself how lucky it was that fate put this woman right in his path. She was truly the nicest person he had ever known. He raised his glass of red wine to her, and said, “Angela, you are by far the most wonderful person I have ever met, not to mention the most beautiful. Here is to you, and my incredible luck for having met you.”
Angela’s cheeks flushed, and she smiled.
“Where did that come from?”
“From my heart.”
Brent and Angela spent an hour in this lovely oasis, and almost didn’t notice that the time had passed and it was time to come back to reality.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Back in the tightly filled courtroom, all eyes were on Nancy as she took the stand in her own defense. Brent saw that the reporters in the gallery were at ready position, with their steno books open and pencils sharpened.
“Mrs. Haskins, are you are aware that you have a Fifth Amendment privilege against self-incrimination, and that you do not have to testify in this case?”
“Yes.”
“And you realize that the People have the burden to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt, that you have no obligation to do or say anything, and that, by giving up your right to remain silent, you are waiving that right?”
“Objection compound,” said Chernow, interrupting the drama that the jury was fixed on.
“I’ll allow it,” said the Judge.
“I have nothing to hide,” said Nancy, looking at the jury. “I’m innocent,” she exclaimed, with an affirming nod.
“Mrs. Haskins, did you like Ms. Densmore as a person?”
“No, I didn’t care for her at all. That’s no secret. Oh, but I didn’t kill her,” she added, raising a few smiles from the men on the jury.
“Move to strike the last sentence, Your Honor,” objected Chernow.
“Denied. Please continue, Mr. Marks.”
“Why didn’t you like her, Mrs. Haskins?”
“Well, I understand that the Homeowners Association has a right to collect their money. And I understand that they can use foreclosure in certain circumstances.”
Nancy looked at the jury. The older folks seemed to empathize with her, by the looks on their faces.
“But Barbara was never human about it. She never considered that this was my home, and never gave me a chance to try to work things out. All she wanted to do was to take my house.”
“Did the Homeowners Association take your house?”
“No, you stopped them in court,” she said proudly, a nice testimonial for Brent’s lawyering skills.
“So, after you stopped the foreclosure in court, you had no further need to fight with the Homeowners Association, did you?”
“No, I didn’t. All I had to do was come up with a payment plan.”
“Your Honor, I ask that the Court take judicial notice of the order of the Superior Court in the case of Haskins v. Orange Grove Homeowners Association, and that it be admitted into evidence as Defense Exhibit C.”
“No objection? It is received.”
“And I would like Your Honor to note that the order halting the foreclosure was granted one day before Barbara Densmore’s death.”
“So noted.”
“Mrs. Haskins, can you describe the incident where you told Ms. Densmore to “shove” her ticket?”
“That’s embarrassing, Brent.” Nancy’s cheeks turned pink, even thoug
h they had gone over it before.
“Please, explain to the jury what happened.”
Nancy sighed and took a deep breath.
“Well, that day was a terrible one for me. My husband had just recently died and I was sad, upset and lonely. I saw Barbara writing out one of her tickets for something – they always write out tickets for everything – if your lawn is not mowed good enough, if your trash cans aren’t taken back into the garage soon enough – you name it, they have a ticket for it,” she said to the jury, with a stern look.
“Anyway, Barbara came running up to me, waving that ticket and I tell you I didn’t want any part of it. And I got so mad, well, you know what I said,” she exclaimed, turning a little redder.
“Can you explain why you told Barbara Densmore and Frances Templeton that you wished them dead?”
“I think everyone has said that at one time or another. I didn’t mean it!”
“Then, why did you say it?”
“They just made me so upset, I didn’t know what else to say. I could never hurt anyone, no matter what! You have to believe me!” she implored, looking at the jury with wounded eyes.
“Did you have any personal problems with Barbara?”
“Oh, heavens no!” said Nancy, looking right in at the jurors. “It was just that darn homeowners association I had problems with. If it wasn’t Barbara, it would have been someone else. We had others before her and they were just as bad.”
“Mrs. Haskins, did you kill Barbara Densmore?”
“No, Brent, I swear as God is my witness I didn’t. And I’m so afraid from this whole thing.” Tears rolled down Nancy’s cheeks, and the women on the jury all looked like they were going to cry with her. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed, “I just can’t imagine that anyone would even think such a thing, let alone actually accuse me of murder!”
