Bad Faith bkamc-24

by Robert K. Tanenbaum

  “That wouldn’t be because between you and Frank Bernsen, you had a pretty good record for violent crimes, would it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Mr. LaFontaine, do you have any proof that these threats were real? Or maybe you were just skipping town because it was getting too hot for you in Memphis.”

  “I object to counsel’s portrayal of my client’s reasons for leaving Memphis,” Rottingham said.

  “Sustained. Just ask your question, Mr. Karp.”

  “Mr. LaFontaine, I asked if you have any proof whatsoever that you were threatened because of your religious practices in Memphis.”

  “No. The threats were anonymous.”

  Karp was quiet as he studied LaFontaine on the witness stand. Time to change course, he thought.

  “Mr. LaFontaine,” Karp said, “would you say you’ve done rather well for yourself since coming to New York City?”

  “How do you mean?” LaFontaine asked.

  “I mean, you told the jury that you live a simple life,” Karp replied, “but let’s examine that.” He walked over to the prosecution table and picked up several sheets of paper. “Your Honor, we offer the bank records for the End of Days Reformation Church of Jesus Christ Resurrected as People’s Exhibit Thirty-six cumulatively.”

  “No objection,” said Rottingham wearily. He’d tried to keep the records out of the trial at a hearing and lost.

  Karp handed the papers to LaFontaine while keeping another set for himself. “Mr. LaFontaine, would you read the dollar amount contained on the line designated as ‘total deposits to date’?”

  LaFontaine looked at the papers. “Eight hundred and thirty-seven thousand.”

  “That’s eight hundred and thirty-seven thousand dollars, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And where did that money come from?”

  “Donations.”

  “Donations,” Karp repeated. “And I believe that there is one major ‘donation’ that makes up the bulk of the deposits … one for eight hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars. Do you recall where that money came from?”

  “The estate of Kathryn Boole,” LaFontaine said. “She left it to me when she passed away in April.”

  “And the remaining twelve thousand dollars?”

  “Smaller donations from members of the congregation.”

  “Mr. LaFontaine, did Mrs. Boole leave you anything else from her estate?”

  “Yes, her will included a building on Avenue A where she generously allowed our church to meet.”

  “The church, as well as living quarters for yourself and Frank Bernsen, is that correct?” Karp asked.

  “Yes, that’s true.”

  “Would you describe these quarters as part of living a simple life?”

  “It is a nice three-bedroom loft, but nothing fancy,” LaFontaine said.

  “Nothing fancy,” Karp said as he walked over to the prosecution table and picked up another sheet of paper. “Your Honor, may I have the real estate brochure for the property on Avenue A that Mr. LaFontaine has just described as nothing fancy marked as People’s Exhibit Thirty-seven for identification.”

  “Objection,” Rottingham said, rising from his seat. “I don’t see the relevance of this brochure.”

  “The relevance is that the defendant has described this ‘donation’ as nothing fancy,” Karp replied. “The jurors can look at the brochure and decide for themselves if that description is apt.”

  “I’ll allow it,” Temple said.

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” Karp said, walking back to the witness stand and handing the real estate brochure to the defendant. “Mr. LaFontaine, does this brochure fairly and accurately depict the property you inherited from Kathryn Boole?”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “Your Honor, the People offer this Exhibit Thirty-seven in evidence,” Karp said.

  “So granted,” Temple ruled.

  “Mr. LaFontaine, would you please read the description of the building from the brochure.”

  “It says it’s a ‘three-story building in an up-and-coming neighborhood on the Lower East Side with a large open first floor excellent for commercial use, a second floor containing four large office spaces’-”

  “Hold on just a moment,” Karp interrupted. “I just want to be clear about these office spaces. Who occupies them?”

  “The church uses one and the others are leased to business tenants,” LaFontaine replied.

  “I didn’t see any deposits from these leases on the bank statements,” Karp said. “Are they behind on their rent or does the money go somewhere else?”

  “The money goes into a corporation,” LaFontaine said.

  “And whose names are listed as officers in that corporation?” Karp asked.

  “Mine and Frank Bernsen’s.”

  “I see. And how much approximately do you bring in a month from those leases?” Karp asked.

  “There are three offices other than the church office and together they pay about twenty-one thousand a month,” LaFontaine said.

  “Twenty-one thousand,” Karp said. “And does that money go into church activities or charities?”

  “It’s for living expenses,” LaFontaine said.

  “I see,” Karp repeated. “For that simple life you lead.”

  LaFontaine glared at Karp but remained silent.

  “Objection,” Rottingham said, this time remaining in his seat. “Counsel keeps making superfluous comments that are not part of a legitimate cross-examination.”

  “No, Your Honor, counsel misspeaks, that’s a very legitimate question and I await an answer,” Karp shot back.

  “I have no intention of quibbling with you, Mr. Karp,” LaFontaine stated.

  “Well then continue reading the description of the building,” Karp said, pressing on.

  “‘The property includes a fully furnished twelve-thousand-square-foot loft with three bedrooms, three baths, a state-of-the-art kitchen, granite counters, and hardwood floors,’” LaFontaine read, then looked up.

  “Continue, Mr. LaFontaine, there’s more,” Karp said.

  “‘An entertainment room including a fifteen-foot projection screen and seating for twenty. Formal dining room. Built-in sound system.’” LaFontaine stopped reading. “That’s it.”

  “That’s it,” Karp agreed. “And what was the listed price for the building?”

  “Three point two million dollars,” LaFontaine said.

  “Three point two million dollars,” Karp repeated. “So I ask you again, Mr. LaFontaine, haven’t you done pretty well for yourself since coming to New York City?”

  “I don’t think it’s unusual for a minister to reap the rewards of a dedicated congregation,” LaFontaine argued. “You could ask Billy Graham how much he makes in a year.”

  “Billy Graham isn’t on the witness stand, Mr. LaFontaine,” Karp said. “Nor is he accused of using his influence and position of trust to prevent parents from seeking medical attention so that he can reap extravagant ‘donations’ and life insurance policies.”

  “Objection! Your Honor, counsel is doing his summations in cross-examination!” Rottingham yelled.

  Temple simply cocked his head. “I believe that your client drew the analogy. Overruled, but let’s get back to questions and answers, Mr. Karp.”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Karp replied. “If the witness would answer my question, please?”

  LaFontaine glared at Karp but then forced a smile. “I guess I’ve done pretty well due to the generosity of my congregation.”

  “And you stood to do even better on the death of Micah Ellis, is that correct?” Karp asked.

  LaFontaine looked at his defense lawyer, who remained quiet. “The Ellises had taken out a life insurance policy in which the benefits were assigned to the church.”

  “The church of which you and Frank Bernsen were the sole officers-the only ones who could make withdrawals,” Karp said, pressing him.

  “Yes.”


  “And this was a similar policy to the one Monique Hale testified about?”

  “Yes.”

  “Except there was a problem getting paid this time, wasn’t there?”

  “The insurance company has not yet paid.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the Ellises were charged with reckless manslaughter, and if they’d been found guilty, the company wouldn’t have paid. The company was waiting to see what would happen.”

  “Were the Ellises found guilty?”

  “No.”

  “And why not?”

  “I’m not sure. David Ellis is dead. I don’t know what happened to his wife, Nonie. I guess she’s still charged with reckless manslaughter.”

  “Are you aware that there is a warrant out for Nonie Ellis for failure to appear both in her own case and as a witness in this one?”

  “I’ve been told that.”

  “Did you benefit by the death of David Ellis?”

  LaFontaine scowled. “Of course not, David Ellis was a friend and trusted member of my congregation. I loved David. We were brothers in Christ!”

  “Do you know what happened to David Ellis?”

  “He was killed.”

  “By whom?”

  “By Kathryn Boole. She shot him.”

  “Where did she shoot him?”

  “In front of this courthouse.”

  “And what happened to Mrs. Boole?”

  “She was subsequently shot and killed.”

  “By whom?”

  “By Frank Bernsen … because, I might add, she had pointed a gun at you,” LaFontaine said.

  “Indeed, she was pointing a gun at me,” Karp said. “Why did she shoot David Ellis?”

  “I don’t know,” LaFontaine said. “She didn’t tell me her plans.”

  “Do you recall your actions when David Ellis arrived in front of the courthouse, shortly before Mrs. Boole shot him?”

  “I was part of a group protesting the charges against the Ellises,” LaFontaine said.

  “But what did you do and say when you saw David Ellis arrive at the courthouse?”

  “I don’t recall exactly,” LaFontaine replied.

  “Well, perhaps this recording of the events will refresh your recollection.” Karp turned toward the judge. “Your Honor, I’d like to play a DVD of a newscast that recorded certain relevant events pertaining to this issue.”

  Judge Temple turned toward the jurors. “There’s an old law school saying that argues you can use virtually anything to refresh the recollection of a witness, even a shoe. Mr. Karp will now show you part of a newscast taken from the day in question to ascertain whether it will refresh the defendant’s recollection. That’s all it’s being displayed for. You may proceed, Mr. Karp.”

  The lights in the courtroom were dimmed as a court clerk set up a television screen so that the jurors, judge, LaFontaine, and the spectators could all see it. Karp pressed a button on the lectern and a female television reporter appeared on the screen standing on the sidewalk in front of the Criminal Courts Building.

  “This is Tessa Laine, and we’re at the Manhattan Criminal Courts Building, where this morning jury selection is set to begin in the reckless-manslaughter case against David and Nonie Ellis. The Ellises are accused of not seeking proper medical attention for their son, Micah, who later died. As you can hear behind me, emotions are running high, particularly among a group of protesters across the street who claim that this prosecution is a violation of the parents’ religious rights.”

  As Laine spoke, the camera panned across the street to take in the protesters led by LaFontaine. “Ah, we believe that David Ellis has arrived,” Laine said. “There’s no sign of his wife yet. That’s odd, but for some reason the protesters seem to be angry with Mr. Ellis, who up to this point they’ve been supporting.”

  The camera panned across the street, zeroing in on LaFontaine as he pointed at Ellis and shouted. “ ‘The fool says in his heart, “There is no God.” They are corrupt, their deeds are vile.’” At that point, the protesters surged into the traffic, where they stopped cars and were met by police. However, one woman continued through the stopped cars.

  “That’s Kathryn Boole,” Karp, who was standing next to the screen, said, pointing.

  As the camera recorded, Boole pulled a handgun from her purse and walked up to David Ellis. “Judas!” she screamed, and then shot him.

  Karp stopped the tape and signaled for the lights to be turned up again. “Mr. LaFontaine, does the tape we’ve just seen refresh your recollection regarding what you did when David Ellis arrived at the Criminal Courts Building?”

  LaFontaine sat silently staring at Karp. Finally, he nodded.

  “Please speak up, Mr. LaFontaine,” Karp demanded.

  Again there was silence from the defendant, before he shook his head, then answered. “Yes, it does.”

  “Objection! Your Honor, please, my client is not on trial-nor should he be-for the murder of David Ellis. He is not responsible for the actions of any one member of his congregation any more than Mr. Karp would be responsible if one of his assistant district attorneys walked out of the Criminal Courts Building this afternoon and shot a hot dog vendor. This is just an attempt to make my client guilty by association with a deranged woman.”

  “A deranged woman who was apparently enough in control of her faculties to give Mr. LaFontaine a three-point-two-million-dollar building and eight hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars cash,” Karp argued. “Apparently she was sane enough for that! We just saw the defendant point at David Ellis and a minute later one of his followers turns into a murderer. This whole trial is about LaFontaine’s influence over susceptible people.”

  “Enough!” Temple ordered. “Mr. Rottingham, I’m going to overrule your objection to the question, but I caution you and Mr. Karp to keep the rhetoric to yourselves. Now, Mr. Karp, do you want to continue without the additional comments?”

  “Yes,” Karp said, and turned back to LaFontaine. “How powerful do you believe your influence to be over members of your congregation?”

  “I’ve said before that all I do is explain what I believe,” LaFontaine retorted. “What they choose to do with that is up to them. They are all thinking individuals.”

  “Do you know why Kathryn Boole murdered David Ellis?”

  “I do not.”

  “You have no idea why she would yell, ‘Judas,’ and then pull the trigger?”

  “No idea.”

  “Would it be because if David Ellis was dead and Nonie beat the reckless-manslaughter charge, you would collect on the insurance policy?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Was it because David Ellis planned to plead guilty to the charge and expose you as a fraud because of the insurance policy?”

  “I have no knowledge of that.”

  “No? David Ellis never told you those were his plans?”

  “I said he did not,” LaFontaine snarled.

  Karp stood in front of the witness stand with his hands on his hips, glaring up at the witness. “Mr. LaFontaine, right now there are two people in this courtroom who know that you just lied again under oath. Me and you!”

  Rottingham again jumped to his feet, but before he could object, another voice shouted in the courtroom.

  “No, Mr. Karp, there are three!”

  Everyone in the courtroom turned to see who’d spoken. Karp was surprised as the woman who’d been sitting next to Marlene now stood up. She shook visibly as she removed the scarf, followed by a blond wig and dark glasses. “I’m Nonie Ellis, and I have something to say.”

  Karp looked at his wife, who gave him a knowing smile. He shook his head and glanced over at Rottingham, who stood with his mouth agape, and then up at LaFontaine. For the first time since he’d met the man, he saw fear in his eyes.

  “Your Honor,” Karp said, “I’d suggest that this might be a good time to adjourn so that we can sort this out.”

  Judge
Temple closed his mouth, which had fallen open when Nonie Ellis shouted. He now recovered and banged his gavel. “Mr. Karp, I couldn’t agree with you more. Court is adjourned. Uh, and happy Halloween.”

  34

  Nadya Malovo smiled at Federal Agent Michael Rolles as they waited on the northwest corner of Sixth Avenue and 8th Street and watched the revelers pass them by tooting horns, beating drums, dancing, shouting, and laughing. “You make a good wolf; nice fangs,” she said.

  For once Rolles smiled back at her. “The better to eat you with, my dear,” he growled.

  “Promise, promises,” Malovo replied as she adjusted her red hood and switched her picnic basket from one hand to the other, the folds of her cape hiding the fact that her wrists were cuffed with plastic ties.

  They were both feeling good about the evening. She because her plan-for all its complexity and potential pitfalls-was coming to fruition. He because she’d finally let him in on her plan the night before, after she’d met with the men in Bedford-Stuyvesant, and he realized that it was going to work. All that he wanted-power and money-would soon be his.

  Only outwardly was Rolles an agent for the National Inter-Departmental Security Administration. In reality, he worked for the Sons of Man, another one of its legion of foot soldiers who had been assigned to infiltrate the political, military, law enforcement, and business establishments of the United States. Many years earlier, he’d begun his double-agent life working for the Central Intelligence Agency until the World Trade Center attacks of 9/11. In the rush to consolidate and expand national security under one umbrella, the hierarchy of the Sons of Man had seen an opportunity and ordered Rolles and many others like him to switch agencies.

  That past spring he’d been given the assignment of a lifetime. Malovo, whom the Sons of Man had used in the past for a variety of their nefarious plans, had gotten word out of her federal cell that she could deliver a very valuable prize. Her asking price was her freedom and enough money to live like a queen for the rest of her life, and not in some crummy witness protection program.

  At least that was what she’d told Rolles when he showed up at the maximum-security federal penitentiary, ostensibly to try his hand at questioning her. When they’d agreed on the deal, they played it cool. At first she pretended that she was no more interested in talking to him about sleeper cells than she had been with any of the other federal agents, like Espey Jaxon. But over time, she had started to “divulge information” that led to the destruction and apprehension of some of the cells, including the one she goaded into attacking the Liberty Island ferry, and then let it be known that she was only going to cooperate with Rolles.