“It ought to be easy to serve the warrant, then,” Braun said drily.
“Except that the warrant is not forthcoming, Your Honor.”
“And why is that?”
Hardy finally had to say something. “Because there hasn’t been any evidence, Your Honor.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Randall exploded. “We have more than enough evidence for an indictment.”
“So get one,” Hardy snapped back.
Braun cast a stern eye. “Counsel will address the court, not each other. Is that clear?” After accepting the nods of apology, Braun softened her tone. “Now, Mr. Randall, correct me if I’m wrong, but Mr. Hardy’s point seems to me to be well taken. If you have the evidence to indict Mr. Beaumont, present it to the grand jury and it will order a warrant issued. That’s how it’s done. You should know that.”
Pratt spoke up in her assistant’s defense. “He does know it, Your Honor, but our investigation has been hampered at every turn in this case. Indeed, we believe that Mr. Hardy has influenced Lieutenant Glitsky to use his position as head of the homicide department to engage in a systematic cover-up of Mr. Beaumont’s activities.”
Hardy raised his hands theatrically. “Your Honor! This is really beyond the pale.”
But Braun, wanting to hear more, pointed him quiet. “These are serious charges, Ms. Pratt . . .”
Randall took over again. “Which is why, Your Honor, we wanted to explore them with the grand jury, with the police department’s Office of Management and Control, with our own department’s investigative staff.”
“In other words, Mr. Randall, it sounds like you want to do all of this investigating except you either haven’t actually done it or you haven’t found anything.”
Blindsided, Randall stammered, “W—well, no, Your Honor, of course not. We have strong evidence—”
Hardy cut him off. “Your Honor, they have nothing.”
“We are developing a case.”
Eyes on Braun, Hardy nevertheless was arguing with Randall. “And bringing accusations before there is anything to support them.” Now he turned to look up at the judge. “If I may, Your Honor, I have a suggestion that relates specifically to the hearing you have granted today, and will also address the very serious issues and charges raised by the district attorney”—he paused long enough to make the point—“and her staff.”
Braun was getting impatient. She glanced over the lawyers’ heads to the restless gallery beyond. This had already taken too much of the court’s time, of everyone’s time. “All right, Mr. Hardy, let’s hear it, but make it fast.”
Hardy took a breath. He was in the grip of high emotion, but it would serve him little to play to it. When he finally spoke, his was the voice of reason. “The gravamen of the contempt charge against my client—the subject of this hearing—is her refusal to disclose to the grand jury information relevant to a murder investigation. I believe we are all in accord here?”
No one objected.
“Both Mr. Randall and Ms. Pratt have been clear and unambiguous that the information my client refused to disclose bears upon the motive Mr. Beaumont may or may not have had to kill his wife. Isn’t that correct?”
Neither Pratt nor Randall nodded—their defenses had by now come up—so Hardy decided to drive the point home more forcefully. “Put another way, if Ron Beaumont didn’t kill Bree, whatever secret shared by my client and himself is not the proper concern of the grand jury or their investigation.”
“All right,” Braun said thoughtfully. “Where is this leading, Mr. Hardy?”
“It is leading, Your Honor, to this. Mr. Randall has made the point that the deaths of Sergeants Griffin and Canetta were pursuant to their respective investigations into the murder of Bree Beaumont, and I presume by extension that he concludes that all of these killings were committed by the same individual.”
“That’s exactly our contention.” Randall was glad to be able to get in a word, and Hardy was happy to let him do it.
“And it’s a reasonable one to which, for purposes of this hearing, you’d be prepared to stipulate,” he said.
Pratt saw the trap closing, and moved to stop it. “Well, I don’t know, Your Honor. This is a theory we’ve not yet—”
Braun stopped her cold. “Ms. Pratt, I’ve just heard Mr. Randall say that this is exactly—his word—what your office believes. More importantly, if memory serves this is the theory upon which you both have based, and raised in open court, your accusations against both Lieutenant Glitsky and Mr. Hardy. Now which is it? Did one man commit these murders or not?”
The two prosecutors exchanged glances. Pratt answered. “That is our belief. Yes, Your Honor. Subject to contradictory evidence of which we may become aware at a later date.”
“I would think so,” Braun declared. “Go on, Mr. Hardy. You’ve got my attention.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. Therefore, it follows that if Mr. Beaumont can be shown to be blameless in the deaths of either of the two police officers, it may be assumed that he is likewise blameless in the death of his wife.”
“That’s a nice syllogism, Mr. Hardy.” Braun remained tolerant, yet unconvinced. “But ‘blameless’ is a tall order. Do you mean to say that you can prove he’s absolutely innocent of one or more of these killings? Normally, that’s why we have jury trials.”
“But we don’t get to jury trials, Your Honor, until there is a grand jury indictment or preliminary hearing to ensure a threshold of sufficient evidence to where a jury might convict. In this case, we don’t have that, and yet my client’s continued incarceration is based upon Mr. Beaumont’s presumed guilt, and not his presumed innocence, as the law demands.”
“That’s rather elegant, Mr. Hardy, but—”
“Your Honor, if new and damning evidence about Bree Beaumont’s murder comes to light after this hearing, then my client will have the opportunity to testify again before the grand jury about Ron Beaumont. If at that time she declines to answer material questions, she will of course be subject to contempt charges again.”
Just when he might have been about to win one on the legal merits, to take the investigation back to the grand jury and hold Frannie until she decided to talk, Randall opened his mouth again. “Your Honor, with respect, you can’t put Mr. Beaumont on trial for murder right now in your courtroom.”
Braun’s visage was terrifyingly benign. The pupils of her eyes were pinpoints, skewering Scott Randall. “That’s not what I was contemplating, Counsellor. Rather, it seems to me that the question is whether, when faced with what you yourself admit would be compelling evidence of Mr. Beaumont’s innocence of the murder of his wife, you will seek to reinstate Mrs. Hardy’s incarceration for contempt, which is based upon his guilt. Do I have your argument correctly, Mr. Hardy?”
“Perfectly.”
“So, Mr. Randall?”
“Yes, Your Honor?”
“What is your decision?”
“I’m not sure I’m clear on what Mr. Hardy is proposing.”
“I presume he is proposing to call some witnesses at this hearing. Am I right, Mr. Hardy?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
Sharron Pratt was struggling for whatever face she could save. “And I presume that Mr. Hardy proposes to show that Ron Beaumont is factually innocent of one or more of these murders? Is that the case?”
Hardy agreed that it was.
Pratt was thinking fast. On the one hand, she didn’t have to reveal what was going on in the grand jury. Since the judge couldn’t know what evidence they had, Hardy could never prove here that Ron Beaumont was actually innocent, only that it might be less likely that he was guilty. She could point that out and terminate Hardy’s end run right here.
On the other hand, she knew that her office really had nothing. She wanted badly to know what Hardy knew. And the public appearance of reasonableness was increasingly important as the mayor and the media bashed her office.
She decided to let Hardy have his show. A
nd, of course, they could cross-examine whomever Hardy intended to call. “We don’t object, Your Honor, so long as it doesn’t take too long.”
“All right,” Braun said. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
39
But Hardy found himself in an unexpected bind. Having convinced the judge and coerced the DA into pushing ahead smartly with his unconventional game plan, now he looked out into the gallery and realized that he had to stall. He had been planning to start with the testimony of Jim Pierce and had assumed that, like the other witnesses he’d served who were now sitting in the gallery, Pierce would show up on time.
While he’d argued with Pratt and Randall during side-bar, he’d expected to turn around when he was finished and see Pierce seated in the gallery. But now it was time to begin and Pierce hadn’t yet arrived.
Having gotten to here, he couldn’t very well ask Judge Braun for a short continuance or even so much as a recess. He was going to have to juggle while doing a tap dance, and could only hope he could keep the balls in the air until it was time for the main event.
“My name is Abraham Glitsky. I hold the rank of lieutenant in the San Francisco Police Department, and currently I am the head of the homicide unit.”
“And how long have you held that position?”
“Five years.”
“And before that?”
“Your Honor.” Scott Randall was on his feet. “We all know Lieutenant Glitsky.”
“Is that an objection, Counsellor?” Objections, like so much else in a court of law, were part of the orchestrated ballet of justice, and had to be based on deviations from the Evidence Code. Telling the court that everyone knew Abe Glitsky didn’t fall anywhere near that category. But, more, Braun’s response reaffirmed Hardy’s belief that Scott Randall no longer had any kind of friend on the bench. “But Mr. Hardy,” she added, “let’s move it along.”
“I’m trying to make the court aware of Lieutenant Glitsky’s credentials, Your Honor.”
“All right, but briefly, please.”
It took less than two minutes. Five years lieutenant of homicide, twelve years a homicide inspector, steady rise through the ranks from street cop, through vice, robbery, white collar. Four departmental citations, one medal for valor.
People could always turn bad, of course, but Hardy wanted to show Braun that if someone predicted the next one to do so would be Glitsky, it would be a pretty wild—and bad—guess.
Braun had told him to keep it brief, and that was his intention with Glitsky—put him on the stand, establish him as a good and honest cop, and then see if Randall rose to the bait and tried to take him apart, discrediting himself in the process. “That’s all for this witness,” he said. “Cross?”
The young prosecutor couldn’t wait. “Yes, I’d say so.” Randall strode up to the witness box and positioned himself squarely in front of Glitsky. “In your position as head of homicide, Lieutenant, were you originally involved with the investigation into the murder of Bree Beaumont?”
“Not in a hands-on way. Only in an administrative capacity.”
Comfortable after years of practice in the witness seat, Glitsky quickly took the opening Randall had provided and outlined his job description—he had a staff of inspectors who reported to him and who worked in coordination with a crime scene investigations unit, forensic specialists, lab technicians, and the city and county coroner to gather and collate evidence on homicides in this jurisdiction.
None of this had anything to do with Ron or Bree Beaumont, and Hardy could never have introduced a word of it on direct. But he’d counted on the fact that Randall had an ax to grind. The young prosecutor wanted to prove to Braun that his unorthodox and even extralegal tactics had been justified all along because the head of homicide was corrupt. Hardy could have objected all day and been sustained, but he was happy to let Randall hang himself.
“And when your staff assembles this evidence, Lieutenant, and determines that there has in fact been a crime and they’ve identified a suspect, what do they do next?”
“We go to the DA, who decides if they want to charge the individual, and what the exact charge will be. First-degree murder, manslaughter, that kind of thing.”
“And how long does it take, roughly, from the commission of a homicide until you make this submission to the DA?”
“It varies widely. A couple of days to a couple of years.”
“Okay.” Randall was covering ground familiar to every professional in the courtroom, but obviously he felt he was making his case to Braun. Now he became specific. “In the case of Bree Beaumont, it’s been over a month. Can you tell the court why that is?”
“The original inspector assigned to the case, Carl Griffin, was shot to death five days after Bree was killed. That slowed things down somewhat.”
A ripple of nervous laughter spread through the courtroom. Randall seemed oblivious to it and Braun let it pass.
“And at that point, did you get personally involved in the investigation?”
“No, I did not.”
“Did you interrogate witnesses?”
“No.”
“Did you have occasion to talk to the victim’s husband, Ron Beaumont?”
“No.”
“But isn’t it a fact, Lieutenant, that this morning you escorted Mr. Beaumont and Mr. Hardy to this courtroom?”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“But you say you had never before met or talked to Mr. Beaumont?”
“No.”
“I remind you, Lieutenant, you are under oath.”
A small lifting of the mouth. “I understand that. The answer’s still no.”
The questions went on rapidly, without interruption, as Randall walked Glitsky through the steps of his eventual personal involvement in the case. The proximity of Griffin’s murder scene to the residences of Bree and the other suspects, and finally to Canetta and the ballistics test proving that both men had been shot with the same gun.
Hardy picked up no sense of impatience from the judge. Finally, Randall got to where he’d been heading all along. “Now, Lieutenant, after you had determined that Sergeants Griffin and Canetta had been killed with the same gun, did you immediately turn this information over to the district attorney?”
“No, I did not.”
“Can you tell the court why that was?”
Glitsky turned to face Marian Braun. “It is standard procedure to withhold information from the media so that potential suspects will not be privy to incriminating evidence we might have against them. That way, if they tell us something that hasn’t been released . . . I think this is probably pretty obvious, isn’t it?”
“But this wasn’t the media, Lieutenant. This was the District Attorney’s office, with which you are supposed to cooperate. Why didn’t you tell them?”
“Two reasons. One, we’ve had a lot of trouble with leaks.” Everyone in the building knew this was a constant problem, although every department accused every other one of being the source of them. “Second, a little more prosaically, I wasn’t sure of any of this until last night. If I didn’t have this hearing this morning, I might have brought the information to the DA already.”
Hardy couldn’t believe that Randall still thought he was scoring points. But evidently he did, and now moved on to another area where Glitsky had allegedly failed in his duties. “Lieutenant, do you know a Sergeant Timms?”
“Yes. He’s a crime scene specialist.”
“Did he work with you on the cars of Sergeants Griffin and Canetta?”
“Yes.”
“And did you tell him about your suspicions that the two deaths of these policemen might have been related?”
“Of course. I’m the one who asked him to check ballistics on the slugs.”
“And did you tell him not to mention this suspected connection to anyone?”
“Yes.”
“Why was that?”
“It was premature. I didn’t know if it was true. You h
ave one person killing two policemen, it stirs up the force. I thought maybe we could avoid that if it turned out not to be true.”
Randall threw his hands up theatrically. “But it did turn out to be true? Isn’t that the case?”
“Yes it did.”
“And both men were investigating the death of Bree Beaumont?”
“Yes.”
Hardy was just thinking it was going to be too easy when Randall finally hit a nerve. “Lieutenant, did Sergeant Canetta work in the homicide detail? Was he a homicide inspector?”
Glitsky threw a neutral look at the defense table, returned to the prosecutor. “No. He worked out of Central Station.”
“Central Station? Perhaps you can tell the court how he came to be working on a murder case?”
“He was connected to the case through one of the witnesses we’d interviewed.”
“Who was that?”
“Jim Pierce, a vice-president for Caloco oil. Mr. Pierce used to be Bree Beaumont’s employer, and he’d also employedSergeant Canetta for security at some conventions and so on.”
“And so on,” Randall aped. “Isn’t it true that Canetta was in fact working for Mr. Hardy?”
“In what sense?”
“I mean the sense of working, he was his employer ...”
“On his payroll? Not to my knowledge. No. Ask Mr. Hardy.”
Randall had made the cardinal mistake, asking a question in court for which he didn’t already know the answer. It left him speechless for a beat.
And into the silence Marian Braun finally spoke up. “Where are you going with all this, Mr. Randall? Do you have any proof that Mr. Hardy had hired Sergeant Canetta?”
“No, Your Honor, not yet.”
“Then find another line of questioning, establish this one’s relevance, or sit down. This courtroom is not the old fishin’ hole.”
It was a little after ten-thirty and Braun called for a ten-minute recess. Jim Pierce had not yet arrived, but the way this free-form hearing was developing, Hardy thought that even without the oil company executive’s testimony, there was still some chance that he could succeed in freeing Frannie and keeping Ron and his children out of the system. Randall’s arrogance had played beautifullyinto his hands, and now Hardy believed that the judge was primed for his next revelation, which should erode the DA’s credibility to the point of extinction.
Nothing but the Truth Page 43
