The recording ended and Jaxon placed the machine on the table. “By the way, how will you be dressed?” Jaxon asked.
Karp smiled. “The Grim Reaper of course.”
“I hope there’s not much business for you tonight,” Jaxon replied, then turned to Karp’s daughter. “Lucy, you want to take it from here?”
Lucy nodded and turned toward her dad. “I’ve listened to that recording dozens of times,” she said, “and every time confirms what I thought when I was first hearing it in that van. Something’s not right. In the van, it was just a hunch. But now I’m sure. My first clue was that although Malovo and that first male we heard both speak excellent Chechen, neither of them is, in fact, Chechen. They are so good they could even fool someone from Chechnya who might think any small irregularities were regional differences, like the difference between a Bronx accent and someone from Texas. And these irregularities are so slight that at first I couldn’t quite put my finger on what was troubling me.”
“Help your old man out here,” Karp said. “What are you getting at?”
“That Malovo and her pal are both native Russian speakers,” Lucy said. “They’re very well trained, and I’d bet the guy has lived in Chechnya so long that he’s even picked up some of the nuances that are native to the southern part of the country. But every once in a while, he slips; a little bit of Russian creeps in. So the question becomes: Why is Malovo pretending that this guy is from Chechnya?”
“To fool you guys who are listening,” Karp said.
“Certainly, if he’s something more than he seems-such as a Russian-trained agent,” Lucy said. “But I think it’s also to fool those other men in the house.”
Karp glanced at Jaxon, who acknowledged the look with a smile. “Your kid never ceases to amaze,” the agent said.
Lucy blushed and then continued with her discoveries. “It was nothing really. Any polyglot fluent in Russian and Chechen could have picked up on it.”
“Yes, but there’s more,” Jaxon said. “Please continue.”
“Well, my next observation isn’t so much about the telltale markers for native speakers,” Lucy replied, “as it is about speech patterns. Anybody who spends their life listening to and absorbing languages will tell you that there is a huge difference between someone who is responding to questions off the cuff and someone who is reading something aloud. I think the guy responding to Malovo is reading his answers.”
“But why?” Karp asked.
“Well, obviously Malovo knew we were listening in, so she could have been making sure we heard what she wanted us to hear,” Lucy said. “But I heard more than she bargained for. When I was trying to pick up what was off about the guy’s Chechen and speech patterns, I turned up the volume. That’s when I heard it, and confirmed it by getting our audio techs to cut the voices out.”
“Heard what?” Karp said, playing along.
“Espey, would you replay some of that recording, please, and play it loud?” Lucy said.
Jaxon picked up the recorder and turned up the volume before playing it again. “There, did you hear that?” Lucy said after the man responded to one of Malovo’s questions.
“Hear what?” Karp said.
“Play it again, Espey,” Lucy said. “And, Dad, this time try to tune out the voices and listen to what’s in the background.”
Jaxon played the recording again. This time, Karp nodded. “I hear some sort of tapping.”
Lucy laughed. “Espey, tell him how you figured out what the tapping is.”
Jaxon grinned. “Well I guess this one shows my age, but when she was just starting out, Janis Joplin made a recording in which someone can be heard typing in the background. It’s a classic.”
“It’s typing?” Karp said. “But who’s typing?”
“A third person,” Lucy said. “I think it was too much for the first speaker to carry on the faux conversation and type at the same time. What I think is going on is Malovo has one conversation for our ears, and in the meantime, she’s looking at responses from a second guy on a computer-something she doesn’t want us to know about, something she’s cooking up with her fellow Russians. And I don’t think it’s martyrdom.”
Jaxon gave Karp an appraising look. “I can see the wheels turning in that head,” he said. “You want to let us in on what you’re thinking?”
Karp sat for a moment looking at the others, then leaned forward. “I’ve been debating whether to talk to you about this-not because I don’t trust you; you know better than that,” he said. “But because I didn’t want to compromise your positions.” He looked at Capers and added, “Especially yours, Jen.”
“Oooh, this sounds intriguing,” Lucy said.
“Maybe so,” Karp agreed. “Anyway, I think I had better tell you about a conversation I had with our favorite serial killer the other night.”
“We were wondering when we were going to hear the real story,” Jaxon said. “Go ahead, I believe you have our undivided attention.”
33
Lafontaine settled himself in the witness chair and smiled across the well of the court at the jurors. He then swiveled toward Temple as the judge banged his gavel.
“I’ll remind you, Reverend LaFontaine, that you are still under oath,” Temple said.
“Yes, thank you, Your Honor. And God bless you,” LaFontaine said before turning back to the jurors, adding, “And God bless you folks for taking time out of your busy lives.”
Without changing his expression, Karp glanced at the jurors to see how they reacted to the defendant’s words. He noted that two older women, one black and one white, smiled in return and nodded their heads slightly toward the defendant. He remembered from the jury-selection process that both were regular churchgoers, and it had been clear that the defense wanted them on the jury, which Guma had noted with trepidation.
However, Karp argued that the strategy could backfire on the defense. “No one likes to have their faith sullied by a charlatan,” he had pointed out. “It’s our job to prove that’s what he is, and we’ll be okay.”
Now was the moment he would try to do that, and hope that he could help the jurors see through LaFontaine’s veneer of deceit. As he stood waiting for the judge’s okay to begin, he wondered if the defendant was as confident as he appeared on the stand. Probably, he thought. His ego has him convinced that he’s pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes.
Judge Temple looked at him. “Mr. Karp, are you ready to begin your cross-examination?”
“I am, Your Honor.” Time to remove the wool. He walked over to stand next to the jury rail. “Mr. LaFontaine-”
“Reverend LaFontaine.”
“Mister LaFontaine, you’ve testified that while you express your belief-if it truly is your belief-that faith healing requires complete devotion to the power of prayer while eschewing commonly accepted medical intervention, you do not require your followers to do the same?” Karp asked.
“That’s correct,” LaFontaine replied. “I explain what I believe and why, as it is outlined in the Bible, and then leave it to others to choose their path.”
“You do not threaten to withhold your spiritual guidance, or threaten to excommunicate followers from your church if they choose to seek commonly accepted medical intervention?”
“I do not.”
“So if Monique Hale says that you do, she is lying?”
LaFontaine shrugged. “Perhaps she misunderstood.”
“I see. And did the paramedics and police officers who testified earlier in the trial that you attempted to block their efforts to reach Micah Ellis, who would subsequently die from lack of medical attention, misunderstand you?”
“I disagree with the characterization that I blocked their way,” LaFontaine said. “I was trying to impart that the wishes of the family were to rely on prayer as opposed to doctors to save their son. But they didn’t care to listen.”
“Did you threaten to come at them with a sword?”
“I was speaking biblical
ly,” LaFontaine said. “It isn’t me who will come down with the sword of righteousness on the heads of sinners. It is the Lord.”
“But you told the paramedics that their services weren’t needed. And you refused to let them and the police officers pass, saying that you would come at them with a sword. And you intimated to your friend Frank Bernsen that he should attack the police officer.”
“I did no such thing,” LaFontaine said. “Frank may have been trying to protect the family and thus overreacted, but it was not at my request.”
“Mr. LaFontaine, were you subsequently charged by my office with obstructing emergency personnel from the performance of their duties?”
“I was.”
“And were you found guilty?”
“I was. Unfairly I might add.”
“And was Mr. Bernsen also charged with obstruction, as well as attempted assault on a police officer?”
“He was.”
“And was he found guilty?”
“Yes.”
Karp walked over to the prosecution table and picked up a manila folder, but for the moment he just carried it with him back over to the jury rail. “Let’s talk for a moment about Mr. Bernsen. Would you say the two of you were close?”
“We go way back,” LaFontaine said.
“How far back?”
LaFontaine shrugged. “Twenty years, maybe more.”
“And where did you meet Mr. Bernsen?”
Rottingham jumped to his feet. “Objection! What is the relevance of this line of questioning?”
Karp turned to the judge. “Your Honor, the defendant and counsel have made Frank Bernsen the fall guy for any wrongs that may have been committed in the name of Mr. LaFontaine and his church. And as we all know, Mr. Bernsen will not appear in this courtroom to defend himself or answer questions.”
“I’ll allow it,” Temple said. “Overruled; the witness may answer the question.”
“We met at the Shelby County Penal Farm,” LaFontaine said.
“And what were you doing there?”
“Serving time.”
“For what?”
“Me, for kiting checks,” LaFontaine said. “Frank was in for assault.”
“Kiting checks,” Karp said. “A type of fraud, right? You pretended to be someone you were not and illegally obtained cash, goods, or services, correct?”
“Yes,” LaFontaine admitted.
“How many other crimes have you and Frank Bernsen been convicted of?” Karp asked. “And let’s just stick to the felonies.”
“Objection!” Rottingham shouted again. “Now Mr. Karp is fishing.”
“On the contrary, I am taking careful aim,” Karp replied, holding up the manila folder. “This is fair game, particularly as any prior conviction, like fraud, may relate to moral depravity. The defendant’s criminal record may most certainly be considered by the jurors with respect to the defendant’s so-called credibility, as Mr. Rottingham well knows.”
“Your Honor, may we approach the bench?” demanded Rottingham as he lurched to his feet.
“Come on then,” the judge replied.
“Your Honor, I request that this sidebar be on the record,” Karp said. “May we have the stenographer record it?”
“Yes, indeed,” Temple agreed.
Out of the jurors’ hearing and with the steno in place, Rottingham pleaded with the judge. “We have no idea where these alleged criminal histories come from, nor have we had a chance to look them over. In addition, I object to them on grounds of relevance. Reverend LaFontaine has already admitted that prior to his conversion he and Frank Bernsen led a life of sin, and he even just admitted to having been incarcerated for a crime.”
The judge looked at Karp. “Your take?”
“Your Honor, we obtained these certified records by serving the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives with a warrant,” Karp replied. “They’d been kept out of the national crime database due to this pair working as confidential informants for the ATF. The ATF wasn’t happy about it, but we won the day. As for LaFontaine already admitting to one crime and a life of sin, he still holds himself as a paragon of virtue while casting blame and culpability on his partner in crime. As such this history is relevant. The defendant exposed himself to this sort of character impeachment when he took the stand. It’s not the People’s fault that he thought his record would be kept secret. I am offering these files in evidence and handing a complete copy to Mr. Rottingham.”
Judge Temple nodded. “I’m going to allow it. Mr. Karp is right; your client chose to take the stand.”
“Not on my recommendation,” Rottingham mumbled.
“Mr. Rottingham, you may return to your seat,” Temple told him. “The objection is overruled; the certified files regarding the defendant and one Frank Bernsen, People’s Exhibit Thirty-five inclusively, is admitted into evidence.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Karp said. He walked up to the witness stand and handed one set of papers to LaFontaine. “In case you need to refresh your memory,” he said as the defendant glared down at him. “Now, you want to read off the list of felonies for which you’ve been convicted?”
“As I said, before I saw the light I lived a life of sin-” LaFontaine tried to explain, but Karp cut him off.
“That’s not what I asked. I asked you to read off the list of felonies for which you’ve been convicted,” Karp demanded, his voice booming in the courtroom.
LaFontaine looked down at the papers. “Burglary. Assault. Robbery. Drug possession and distribution. Receiving stolen goods.” He put the papers down.
“I believe you left one off,” Karp said. “It’s the second to the last one, right before ‘receiving stolen goods.’”
“Impersonating a police officer,” LaFontaine said.
“Impersonating a police officer,” Karp said. “Pretending to be someone you were not. I guess a leopard doesn’t change his spots.”
“Objection!” Rottingham roared.
“I’ll withdraw the comment, Your Honor,” Karp replied. “Now, would you do the same with Frank Bernsen’s record?”
LaFontaine looked back down at the pages. “Assault. Assault with a deadly weapon.”
“A few of those, aren’t there?” Karp commented.
“Yes. Sexual assault. Burglary. Receiving stolen goods. Impersonating a police officer.”
“That last one, impersonating a police officer, that was for the same occurrence that you were convicted for, right?”
“Yes.”
“How many years ago were you arrested and convicted for impersonating a police officer?” Karp asked.
“A little more than two years ago.”
“Shortly before you met Monique and Charlie Hale, correct?”
“Yes.”
Karp walked up to the witness stand and held out his hand to get the records back. “With all those convictions, how come you’re not in prison, Mr. LaFontaine?”
“The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives offered us a deal,” LaFontaine admitted. “If we worked with them against an outlaw motorcycle club, our records were going to be expunged.”
“You were working as informants, right?”
LaFontaine stared at Karp for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah.”
“And an informant, or snitch, is someone who tells on someone else in order to get out of trouble, right?”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
“Sort of like you snitching on Frank Bernsen about the life insurance policies, right?”
“Objection.”
“Sustained,” Temple said. “Mr. Karp, let’s save it for summations.”
Karp nodded. “So, Mr. LaFontaine, if I’m right about the timing here, your conversion into a man of God happened about the same time you were making a deal with the ATF and shortly before you met the Hales. Am I correct?”
“I saw the light about that time, yes,” LaFontaine said. “I was hurting in my soul for all the sins I’d
committed and after I met that other preacher, I knew I needed to change.”
“I see, and Frank changed with you?”
“I thought he had.”
“Well, he’s named as the chief financial officer for both of your churches, here and in Memphis,” Karp said. “You lived with him. Blocked the doorway of an extremely ill child with him to prevent paramedics and police officers from performing their jobs with him. And if Monique Hale is to be believed, and the jury will determine that, you were almost inseparable and he did what you told him to do.”
“I deny that,” LaFontaine replied. “Frank was his own man.”
“But he was your brother in crime?”
“He was also my brother in Christ.”
“Except that according to your testimony, he must not have been living a simple, sin-free life like you.”
“I guess not.”
Karp paced slowly in front of the jury box before asking his next question. “I’m noticing that according to you, everybody else is a liar or simply mistaken. Is that true?”
“What do you mean?” LaFontaine scowled.
“Well, Monique Hale says you forbade her and her husband from seeking medical attention for their daughter, Natalie, and that you threatened to leave her alone spiritually and emotionally. That you were her lover. But that’s all a lie, right?”
“Yes.”
“And she testified that Sarah Westerberg used to come to her house with you to talk to her about faith healing; that was also a lie?”
“Yes.”
“And Dr. Holstein says that it was you who approached him about targeting the families of ill children and expunging their records from hospital files, and that he spoke to you several times after that. But that’s a lie?”
“Yes.”
“They’re all liars because they all have it in for men of God. Is that correct?”
LaFontaine shook his head. “Perhaps they’ve just been led astray by godless men.”
“And was it godless men who threatened you so that you changed your name and moved to New York City?”
“I would think so.”
“Did you report any of these threats to the police?”
“No. I didn’t think they’d take me seriously.”
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