Beyond Blame

by Stephen Greenleaf

  The second matter was a burglary, with much the same result, though without the tears. The third, an assault with intent to commit rape; the fourth, malicious mischief. The fifth matter was People v. Usser.

  The professor and Jake Hattie met at the defense counsel’s table, shook hands, exchanged smiles, one spare and wan, the other hearty and encouraging. Howard Gable stepped to the second table, laid a file folder on its varnished top and crossed his arms and eyed his adversaries with cool suspicion. “People versus Lawrence Smithfield Usser,” the judge announced. “Number CR 84-2601. Is that your true name, Mr. Usser?”

  Usser nodded. “Yes, Your Honor.”

  The judge ruffled some papers. “The charge is murder in the first degree, as defined in Penal Code Section 189, with special circumstances as defined in P.C. 190.2, subdivisions 14 and 18. That is a capital offense, Mr. Usser. Thus you are required to be represented by counsel in all stages of the proceedings against you. Are you able to engage your own attorney?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “And have you engaged such an attorney?”

  “Yes.”

  Usser gestured to Jake Hattie. Jake stood as straight as a saluting solider. The judge began to smile. “Mr. Hattie, are you Mr. Usser’s counsel in this matter?”

  “I have that privilege, Your Honor.”

  “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Hattie.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor. It’s a pleasure to see one of my former law clerks serving the judiciary of this great state.”

  Judge Wu seemed momentarily embarrassed. “Thank you, Mr. Hattie. Now, since this is a capital case there are certain additional duties imposed upon you pursuant to Section 1240.1 of the Penal Code concerning the certification of the record on appeal following trial. Are you aware of those duties and do you agree to abide by them?”

  “I am and I will, Your Honor.”

  “Very well. Do you waive reading of the indictment?”

  “We do, Judge, subject of course to a later motion to set it aside as being improperly rendered.”

  “And is the defendant prepared to enter a plea to the indictment in this case?”

  Jake nodded. “He is, Your Honor.”

  “And what is your plea, Mr. Usser?”

  “I plead that I am not guilty of the offense charged.” Usser’s voice was barely audible to those of us in the back. Jake patted him on the back and whispered something in his ear.

  “Very well,” Judge Wu said. “Your plea has been entered on the minutes of the court.”

  “Your Honor?” Howard Gable’s voice caused every head to turn his way.

  “Yes, Mr. Gable?”

  “May the people know whether there will be a motion pursuant to Section 1367 that the defendant is not competent to stand trial in this case?”

  The judge started to speak but Jake Hattie raised a hand to stop him. “The people will know when and if such a motion is made, Mr. Gable. And the people may be assured that it will be made in a timely manner.”

  Gable returned Jake Hattie’s grin. “Such a motion might bear upon the issue of bail, Your Honor.”

  “Bail,” the judge repeated. “Mr. Hattie, what are your thoughts on the issue of bail? As if I didn’t know.”

  Jake grasped his lapels with his pudgy hands and leaned against the counsel table. “Defendant requests release on his own recognizance, Your Honor. He is a respected member of the community and of the legal profession. The possibility that he would fail to appear for his trial is nonexistent. I am prepared to offer testimony from his colleagues as to Professor Usser’s unimpeachable moral probity and reliability.”

  The judge nodded and swiveled in his chair. “Mr. Gable? What’s your view on the matter?”

  Howard Gable cleared his throat and shifted from foot to foot. “The defendant is charged with a serious offense. Bail is therefore not automatic. The district attorney’s office is informed and believes that Mr. Usser has made threats to a major witness in the case. On that ground, we ask that bail be denied.”

  Jake Hattie seemed to have grown six inches in the last six seconds. His voice threatened to shatter the lights that bathed him in a holy glow. “The recent amendment to Article I of the California Constitution requires proof that such a threat was made, Your Honor. I hear only Mr. Gable’s naked offer of a double-hearsay assertion of a preposterous event. Where is the proof? Where is the witness? In the absence of either, I request the defendant’s immediate release.”

  “Mr. Gable? Are you prepared to prove the constitutional requirement?” the judge asked softly.

  Gable hung his head. “Not at the moment, Your Honor. The witness is temporarily unavailable. However, I expect the witness to be located momentarily. Furthermore, this is a capital case. The people will seek the death penalty upon conviction. In view of the heinous nature of the crime, and of the recent amendment concerning public safety bail, release of the defendant would be inappropriate regardless of the amount of bail.”

  “Your Honor!” Jake Hattie thundered. “Mr. Gable is apparently determined to try Professor Usser in the media, which is represented in force at this proceeding, as Mr. Gable well knows. Bail is a right unless specifically restricted. Section 1268(a) provides that bail is inappropriate in a capital case only, and I quote, ‘where the proof is evident or the presumption thereof great.’ Neither of those circumstances is present in this case. Professor Usser will appear at his trial, and he will be acquitted of all charges against him. At that point he may have charges of his own to file, against the law enforcement officials who have conspired to persecute him in this manner because of his valiant defense of the rights of the psychologically disabled persons in this society, persons whom Mr. Gable and his cohorts would clearly prefer to see locked away in dungeons, out of sight and out of mind, regardless of the mens rea component of the criminal law, an element of willfulness that has been a hallmark of civilized societies since the thirteenth century. Therefore, I object strenuously to—”

  “That’s enough, Mr. Hattie,” the judge interrupted. “Bail will be set at five hundred thousand dollars, subject as usual to a petition for reduction or withdrawal. Now …”

  “Your Honor?”

  “Yes, Mr. Gable.”

  “May the people know whether defendant contemplates a change of plea prior to trial? Specifically, may we know whether Mr. Usser intends to plead not guilty by reason of insanity? If he does, then the court’s appointment of psychiatrists pursuant to Section 1027 could go forward immediately, and the evaluation of defendant’s mental state could be performed at a time as near as possible to the date the offense was committed.”

  Jake Hattie seemed about to explode. “The defendant will move for an amended plea when and if he chooses to do so. For the district attorney to attempt to force the issue is an outrageous—”

  Lawrence Usser said something but nobody could hear what it was, not at first. He coughed and tried again, and this time every ear could hear the words. “I do plead insanity, Your Honor. If I did in fact kill my wife, Dianne, it was because I was insane.”

  Jake Hattie frowned and pulled Usser toward him and whispered something urgent in his ear. Usser shook his head and leaned away. Howard Gable smiled. Jake Hattie looked up at the judge. “The plea at this time is against my advice, Your Honor. I ask that it be withdrawn.”

  “It is clearly the defendant’s wish,” Howard Gable insisted. “The plea should stand.”

  Judge Wu was frowning. Finally he shrugged. “This is a matter for the Superior Court. For now, both pleas will be entered. Preliminary hearing is set for November 19. Call the next case please, Mr. Clerk.”

  Both Hattie and Gable opened their mouths to object, then both thought better of it. I glanced at Carlton Usser. He already had his checkbook out. The man next to him looked more like a banker than a bail bondsman, but in either case I had no doubt that Lawrence Usser would be on the street by noon.

  The majority of spectators stood up an
d filed toward the hallway. The next defendant stood silently by his chair as the courtroom cleared, eyes closed, head bowed, thankful for anything that would delay for even an instant what life now had in store for him.

  TWENTY

  I joined the line of Usser’s supporters that was heading for the exit. Behind me, Jake Hattie was huddling with Lawrence Usser and his father, arranging the mechanics of the bail deposit with the banker/bondsman and the clerk of the court.

  In line directly in front of me was a tall, slim man, forty or so, with long hair and arms that seemed to hang to his knees. His jacket and slacks were of unmatched corduroy, his shoes the kind they used to call desert boots. Because he seemed a part of Berkeley’s past rather than its present, I tapped him on the shoulder.

  He must have assumed it was accidental because he ignored me and kept moving toward the door. I tapped again. By this time we were out in the hall, buffeted by the rest of the crowd. The tall man glanced back at me, then stopped and turned. “Yes?” he said. “Do you want something?”

  His words were as soft as chamois. “Is your name Pierce Richards?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I talk to you for a minute?” I gestured toward the window to a place out of everyone’s way.

  “Well, I …”

  “It’s about the Renzel case. About Dianne Renzel, in particular.”

  “I see.” He twisted uncomfortably, obviously reluctant.

  “You were her boss, weren’t you?”

  “Actually we were co-directors. You’re not from the police, are you?”

  “No.”

  “Are you a lawyer?”

  “No. A private investigator.”

  “Working for Professor Usser?”

  “No.”

  He was bothered by my reticence, but his chiseled cheeks supported kindly eyes and he was too much the gentleman to refuse me. He shrugged and walked to the window and waited for me to join him. I was squeezing through one last group of spectators when I noticed that one of them was Danny Wilken. When he saw me, he smiled his surfer’s smile. I asked him how collections were going.

  “About the same,” he said cheerfully, eyes casting beyond me to a target I guessed was Krista Hellgren. “Do you want to make another contribution?”

  I shook my head and thought about his phone call to Krista Hellgren, and about the phone booth next to the bike racks at the law school, and about the ticking sound that bicycles make when you push them. I put my hand on his shoulder in a comradely fashion. “I want to talk to you for a minute,” I said, and started to guide him toward the wall. When Danny began to resist, I squeezed the trapezius muscle until it hurt him.

  “Hey. What’s this all about?” The surfer’s grin was replaced by wide-eyed disbelief.

  “Just this,” I said, and shoved him toward an unoccupied space. Danny lost his balance and had to use his hands to keep from crashing into the wall. By the time he had turned back toward me I had my finger in his face.

  “Someone’s been making phone calls to the Renzels,” I said with my most sinister sizzle.

  “Yeah? So?” Danny had retrieved a portion of his courage, but his failure to ask who the Renzels were augmented my filmy hunch.

  “The calls are coming from someone who knows quite a bit about criminal procedure,” I said. “And they’re coming from someone who’s more concerned about Lawrence Usser staying in jail than about whether or not he killed his wife.”

  “Hey. I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, man.”

  “I think you do, Danny. I think you’re the one who’s been making those calls, in the hope that Usser will be held in jail from now till his trial, and then be found guilty and imprisoned for a long time after that.”

  “Why the hell would I care whether he’s in jail or not?” Danny protested, his voice high and whistling.

  “Because if he’s in jail you’ll have a better chance to make a move on Krista Hellgren. I know you’ve been trying to get her to go out with you, and I know she won’t do it. I don’t give a damn about that, but I do give a damn about the Renzels. They’ve got enough to worry about without you messing with their minds. So the phone calls stop. Right now. No more scare tactics; no more scenarios that suggest Usser will get off without being punished for murdering their daughter.”

  Danny’s top lip curled. “Yeah, well, look at what just happened in there. He is getting off, isn’t he?”

  I pressed Danny against the wall. “You’d better get back to the law school and learn a little more about the system, Danny. Usser hasn’t gotten away with anything. Not yet, he hasn’t. Pretrial detention’s a tool of dictators. Instead of making phone calls to frightened old ladies why don’t you take some time and learn why that is.”

  When I took my hand away, Danny Wilken stumbled toward the stairs. He looked back at me once, muttered a defiant oath, but he kept going until he had disappeared down the stairwell.

  I turned back to Pierce Richards, who was glancing at his watch and fretting about being late for something. I joined him at the window. Down in the parking lot the line of chained men was returning to the Hall of Justice. This time every one of them was black.

  I told Richards I was sorry for the delay. He told me it was okay. His blue eyes were clear and trusting. His narrow neck wobbled as he spoke, and his long, thin fingers slipped in and out of his jacket pocket, as though they’d been ousted from their former home and were looking for a new one. “I’m looking into Mrs. Usser’s death,” I began. “I—”

  “I’d prefer you refer to her as Ms. Renzel. It was the name I knew her by; the name she preferred.”

  Richards’ voice was deep and clinging, not easily ignored. “I understand you and she were close,” I said.

  “We worked together closely, if that’s what you mean.”

  “I mean closer than that.”

  I let the phrase lie there by itself, hoping Richards would give it meaning, but he merely nodded abstractedly, as though I had commented about the weather.

  “I was wondering if you had any idea why Usser killed her?” I asked bluntly.

  Richards’ eyes squeezed into a pained squint. “No. Why would I?”

  “I thought maybe you could tell me if Usser was jealous.”

  “Of whom?”

  “Of you.”

  “But why …?”

  “Because of your relationship with his wife.”

  “Who suggested I had a relationship with her? Other than a professional one, of course.”

  “The suggestion was made by someone in a position to know.”

  “I see.” Richards’ back stiffened and his jaw set. “Well, Dianne is dead. Her private life is no business of yours, nor of anyone’s. I have a staff meeting at the center, so if you’ll excuse me I’ll be going.”

  “I’ll tell you something that might interest you, Mr. Richards,” I said quickly. “The police may have arrested Lawrence Usser and charged him with the murder, but they don’t have the faintest idea why he did it.”

  “So?”

  “So juries like to know why. If no one tells them why, they frequently decide that if there was no reason for the guy to do it then maybe he actually didn’t do it. And they let him go. It would be a shame if that happened in this case, Mr. Richards, particularly if there was someone around who knew why. Someone like you, for instance.”

  Richards sighed heavily and turned to look out the window. Whatever he thought made him shudder. He turned back to me and wiped his brow with his spidery hand. “What do you want to know?”

  “I want to know whether Usser ever made any comment about your affair with Dianne Renzel, to you or to his wife.”

  “You mean threats of some sort?”

  “Yes. Or anything else that indicated he knew what was going on.”

  “Oh, he knew.”

  “How?”

  “Dianne told him.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not sure. She was mad at him for som
e reason.”

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing, as far as I know. Lawrence had his own women, of course. He always had. Now Dianne had someone too. Usser told her he was happy for her.”

  “Did she ask for a divorce?

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because she loved him.” Richards closed his eyes against the fact his words established.

  “Did you want her to divorce him?”

  “Of course.”

  “Did you and Usser have a confrontation over it?”

  “No. I rarely saw him. When I did, he seemed always to be laughing at me. Of course, that was before Dianne gave in to my advances.”

  “You sound as though you didn’t have much use for Usser.”

  “I hated him,” Richards said simply. “Because of the way he treated her.”

  “Even though his mistreatment ultimately drove her to you?”

  “I …” Richards fumbled with his thoughts.

  “How about Dianne? Did you hate her, too, when she wouldn’t leave Usser and live with you?”

  “I was upset. Yes. But I had hopes she would change her mind.”

  “Upset enough to kill her?”

  It was a silly question, but Richards’ reaction was deadly serious. “The murderer is in that courtroom, with his high-priced lawyer and his fat-cat father, and he’s going to get away with what he did. I know that as well as I know that I will never be as happy as I was the four short weeks before Dianne died.”

  “Your affair only lasted a month?”

  “Yes.”

  Richards twisted away from me and lurched toward the stairs, half blinded by a scrim of tears. “Can I come see you at the crisis center?” I called after him. “To talk about Ms. Renzel’s work?”

  Richards seemed to nod, though perhaps he was only urging his body to flee from me even faster than it was already.

  I was still thinking about Pierce Richards and Dianne Renzel when the door to the courtroom opened and Adam Lonborg, Usser’s psychiatrist friend, came into the hallway. When he saw me, he marched my way as though he suspected I had slandered him. “I thought that was you in there,” Lonborg said as he approached. “Why are you still poking around in Larry’s life?”