“Are you ready to call your next witness?” Judge Kelly asks.
“Yes, Your Honor,” I reply. “The defense calls Turner Hamilton Stanford the Fourth.”
Turner glides to the front of the courtroom. He glances at the jury as he’s sworn in. I’m not sure, but I think I see him wink at the investment banker.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Stanford,” I say. When I ask him to describe his occupation, he says he’s an attorney, political consultant, private investor and restaurateur. Four careers running at full throttle. Two of the jurors in the back row nod at each other as if to say “Not bad.”
I stand at the lectern and start with an easy one. “Mr. Stanford, you were a partner of Mr. Gates’s at the Simpson and Gates firm, weren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve been neighbors for many years?”
Payne is already jumpy. “Objection,” she says. “Relevance.”
I try to keep my tone subdued. “I’m trying to show that Mr. Stanford and Mr. Gates are friends and former colleagues, Your Honor. I promise to show the relevance in a moment.”
“Overruled. Let’s keep moving, Mr. Daley.”
I look contrite. “Yes, Your Honor.” I turn back to Turner and get him to acknowledge that he and Skipper are friends and neighbors as well as former law partners. “And you are his campaign manager, aren’t you, Mr. Stanford?”
“Yes.”
I approach him. “You were at the Fairmont on the night of September sixth, weren’t you?”
He confirms that he was at the campaign rally and the summit conference. He says he left around twelve-thirty A.M.
So far, so good. I move in closer. “Mr. Stanford,” I say, “did you go straight home?”
“Yes.”
“And did you remain at home the rest of the night?”
He looks at Skipper, then at Payne. “No,” he says. “I returned to the hotel for a few minutes at approximately three twenty-five in the morning. Mr. Gates called me at home and said that he had a problem. He said there was an unconscious prostitute in his bed and he needed my help.”
So far, this squares with Skipper’s account. “Until you received that phone call, were you aware that Mr. Gates had made arrangements to procure the services of a prostitute that night?”
“No. Mr. Gates’s personal life is none of my business.”
Bullshit. “You knew nothing about it?”
“That’s correct.”
He’s lying, but I have no way to prove it. “So you returned to help Mr. Gates?”
“Yes.”
“What happened when you arrived at the hotel?”
“I went to his room. I couldn’t see any signs of activity, and there was no answer at his door. I couldn’t get in, so I left.”
I try to act unimpressed. “So you decided to let Mr. Gates fend for himself?”
He doesn’t show the slightest hint of emotion when he says, “What else could I do, Mr. Daley? I couldn’t very well go down to the front desk and ask them to let me into his room because he might be in there with a prostitute.”
A smattering of laughter in the gallery. Judge Kelly pounds her gavel.
He’s holding his own. I need to try to knock him off balance. “Mr. Stanford,” I say, “you have an ongoing social relationship with Mrs. Gates, don’t you?”
Murmuring in the back. Judge Kelly silences the gallery with a frown.
“We’re friends.”
“Isn’t it a fact that you and Mrs. Gates are more than just friends?”
He holds his hands in front of him with the palms up and says with just the tiniest edge of irritation, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I move right in front of him. “I thought you might say that. I’m going to give you one more chance. Isn’t it a fact that you and Mrs. Gates are more than just friends?”
“Objection. Asked and answered.”
“The witness hasn’t answered truthfully, Your Honor,” I say.
Before Judge Kelly can rule on the objection, Turner blurts out, “If you’re suggesting that we are involved romantically, you are badly mistaken.”
If you think you can get away with lying on this one, you are badly mistaken.
Judge Kelly overrules the objection. Turner issues another adamant denial. I turn to the judge and say, “We would like to interrupt Mr. Stanford’s testimony for a few moments while we recall another witness.”
Judge Kelly’s impatience is starting to show. “Very well,” she says.
“The defense calls Nicholas Hanson.”
Payne and McNasty look at each other in disbelief. Payne’s objection is overruled. Nick the Dick was supposed to be their witness. I overhear an exasperated McNasty whisper to Payne, “Whose side is he on?”
It takes Nick the Dick longer to walk down the center aisle than it does for him to testify. We introduce his photos of Turner entering and exiting Natalie’s house. He confirms that Turner was there the entire night. I sit down.
Payne is flustered. She exacerbates the situation when she challenges Nick’s stamina and eyesight. She suggests that he may have fallen asleep while Turner left Natalie’s house. Nick assures her that he hasn’t fallen asleep on a job in sixty years. She tries to get him to admit that it was dark outside when he took the pictures. Nick says his state-of-the-art telephoto equipment works just as well at night as it does in the daytime. Turner is outside the courtroom while Nick the Dick shreds his credibility in front of the jury. After just a few minutes of cross-exam, Payne throws in the towel. I notice a reporter from the Chronicle looking inquisitively at the seat where Natalie had been sitting. McNulty is at the prosecution table, his eyes closed.
Turner returns to the witness box a few minutes later. The fact that the jury now has conclusive evidence that he’s a liar doesn’t seem to have the slightest bearing on his demeanor. He continues to try to charm them. “Mrs. Gates and I have been involved for some time,” he acknowledges. He says he lied about it just fifteen minutes ago to protect Natalie’s reputation. He turns toward the jury and adds, “I’m sure everyone in this courtroom can understand.”
Not everyone, Turner.
I move in closer. “Mr. Stanford,” I say, “you went back to the Fairmont that night because you knew Mr. Gates was in trouble, didn’t you?”
“As I told you, I was concerned.”
“And you claim you wanted to protect him?”
“Yes.”
“In fact, Mr. Stanford, you knew that Mr. Gates had made arrangements to obtain the services of the victim that night, didn’t you? In fact, you knew all about the operation that provided the prostitutes, didn’t you?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Are you lying again, Mr. Stanford?”
“Objection. Argumentative.”
“Sustained.”
I take a step back to the lectern. It’s time to start fitting some of the pieces together. If we are to have any hope of convincing the jury of Skipper’s innocence—or at least get them to reasonable doubt—I’m going to have to do this in a manner they will understand. I turn on a computer projector. The first thing that appears on the screen in the front of the courtroom is the home page of the Boys of the Bay Area Web site. It all starts there.
I approach Turner and ask, “Are you familiar with an Internet Web site called Boys of the Bay Area?”
He glances at the screen. “No.”
“I thought you might say that,” I say. “We’ve talked about it earlier in this trial.” As a reminder to the jury, I explain to him that Johnny Garcia’s picture appeared in the site and that the prosecution has asserted that Skipper obtained prostitutes through that site. None of this should be news to him, although he feigns ignorance. “It’s a pretty nasty business, Mr. Stanford. It’s a bodies-for-sale business—boys’ and young men’s bodies. A boy like Johnny Garcia. Are you sure you’ve never heard of it?”
He holds up his hands. “Doesn’t ring a bell,” he says.
Okay. I introduce a written affidavit from a company called Network Solutions, the major registrar of Internet domain names in the United States. It states that the domain name for the Boys of the Bay Area Web site is owned by a corporation called El Camino Holdings. I show the affidavit to Turner and ask, “Does the name El Camino Holdings ring any bells?”
A brief pause, then, “No.”
“Really?” I say. I look at the jury for a moment and then turn back to Turner. “Didn’t you file incorporation papers for that entity?”
“I don’t recall,” Turner says. “I’m called upon to form many new entities. It’s a perfectly routine process.”
“But not all new entities own the domain names to pornographic Web sites,” I say. “And not all Web sites provide the services of male prostitutes, one of whom happened to be the victim in this case. In fact, it was this Web site that provided the services of Johnny Garcia to Mr. Gates. Are you still saying you had nothing to do with that?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
It’s exactly the answer I expect. I introduce the certified copy of the articles of incorporation of El Camino Holdings. I have already provided it to Payne, who doesn’t object. I distribute copies to the jury. A moment later I hand a copy to Turner and ask him, “Is your memory of El Camino Holdings getting any better?”
“No.”
“That’s your signature on the articles of incorporation, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re an astute and experienced attorney, right? It’s hard to believe you would have signed your name to something you knew nothing about.”
For the first time in the years I’ve known Turner, he shows a hint of concern. “Now that you mention it,” he says, “I do recall the entity. A client asked me to file the incorporation papers.”
“A client asked you to form an entity that was engaged in pornography and prostitution?”
He swallows. “A client asked me to file the papers. I had no idea what the entity would be used for.”
Right. “Which client?”
“That’s confidential.”
I ask the judge to compel Turner to answer.
Judge Kelly considers the issue for just a moment. “The witness will answer.”
Turner looks up at the ceiling and says, “My client was Mr. Donald Martinez.”
“I see. And you and Mr. Martinez were business partners on this deal, weren’t you?”
“No.”
“And you helped form a profitable pornography and prostitution business and now you’re trying to protect its main investor, Mr. Martinez.”
“Objection. Argumentative.”
“Overruled.”
“No. Mr. Martinez asked me to file the papers because he and an associate wanted a corporation in place for a potential new deal. I didn’t have anything to do with the business. I just filed the articles of incorporation. And I can assure you that Mr. Martinez is not involved in pornography or prostitution.”
When in doubt, deny. For the moment, however, it’s all I can get. It will serve no useful purpose to accuse Turner of putting the GHB in the drinks or the duct tape on Garcia’s nose. There is no evidence suggesting that he did, and we’ll lose credibility with the jury if we do. I’m going to try to raise questions in the minds of the jurors. Payne doesn’t cross-examine Turner. We’ll see what Martinez has to say about all of this in a moment. He’s up next.
Donald Martinez’s gold cufflinks gleam as he sits in the witness box a few minutes later. The jury seems appropriately impressed when he says he owns a major produce business, a construction firm and several car dealerships. I see the BART supervisor nod when Martinez says that he is the president of the Mission Redevelopment Fund.
The home page of the Boys of the Bay Area Web site is still projected on the screen at the front of the courtroom when I approach him. “Mr. Martinez,” I say, “we understand that you asked your attorney, Mr. Stanford, to form an entity called El Camino Holdings.”
“That’s correct.”
“Would you mind telling us the purpose of the entity?”
“Of course. I have no secrets. It was formed as an investment vehicle for one of my business associates. It was going to take title to a property on Valencia Street. It is very common to form a separate entity in such circumstances in order to minimize potential liabilities.”
“Would you please identify your business associate?”
“Kevin Anderson.”
The ball is bouncing from Turner Stanford to Donald Martinez to Kevin Anderson. We’ll see where it bounces next. I ask him if he has any ownership interest in the business.
“None.”
“Are you an officer or a director?”
“No.”
“Mr. Martinez,” I say, “Mr. Anderson is a sophisticated businessman. He has his own lawyers. Why did he ask you to form the new entity?”
“We had discussed the possibility of being coinvestors in the deal. And we use the same lawyer on certain matters, Mr. Stanford.”
He has a tidy answer for everything. “And did you complete the deal?”
“No. The property acquisition never moved forward. We never used the corporation.”
I point to the screen and say, “Are you familiar with a pornographic Web site called Boys of the Bay Area?”
“I’ve heard the name. I have nothing to do with it.”
It’s the answer I expect. I show him the domain name affidavit and ask, “Do you have any idea how the corporation that you formed happened to acquire the domain name of an entity that engages in pornography and prostitution?”
He shakes his head. “I have no idea.”
“And is it your testimony that you had no involvement in the setup or operation of this Web site?”
“That’s correct.”
That figures. “Mr. Martinez,” I continue, “you are the president of a nonprofit corporation called the Mission Redevelopment Fund, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And one of the properties that the fund owns is the Curtis residential hotel located on Valencia Street, isn’t it?”
“That’s true.”
I ask him if he is aware that a police action took place at Room 204 of the Curtis on Saturday night. He acknowledges that he was told about it. “In fact,” I say, “the police found all sorts of drugs and pornographic materials in Room 204, didn’t they?”
“I can’t comment on the details, Mr. Daley.”
“Well, maybe I can help you with that. It was reported that Room 204 was the location where the Boys of the Bay Area Web site was produced, wasn’t it, Mr. Martinez?”
“Yes.”
“And they found something else up there, didn’t they?”
He frowns. “They found drugs.”
“A substantial amount of drugs, right, Mr. Martinez?”
“Yes.”
“In fact, Mr. Martinez, they found heroin in that room with a street value of over a quarter of a million dollars, didn’t they?”
He exhales loudly. “So I’m told.”
“Mr. Martinez,” I say, “were you aware that the Boys of the Bay Area Web site was maintained in a room at the Curtis?”
“That was brought to my attention this week. I was very disturbed by this information.”
“Do you know the name of the tenant who signed the lease with your agency?”
He pauses and says, “My property manager informed me that there was no lease on that room.”
I stop to give the jury a chance to think about his answer, then I say, “Isn’t that unusual, Mr. Martinez? Isn’t it customary for your agency to sign a lease with each tenant?”
He has no choice. “Yes.”
“Yet there was no lease in this case.”
“That’s correct.”
“Can you explain why?”
He shakes his head and says, “No.”
“Who had access to the room?”
He ex
hales loudly and says, “I don’t know.”
How convenient. “And neither you nor your colleague, Mr. Anderson, had anything to do with this business?”
“That’s correct.”
Not so fast. “Yet it was operating out of one of your rooms.”
“We own a lot of properties, Mr. Daley. We can’t possibly keep track of the activities in every room.”
Sure. “Mr. Martinez,” I say, “do you spend any time at the properties owned by the redevelopment fund?”
“Yes.”
“Did you spend any time at the Curtis?”
“From time to time.”
“In fact, it’s just around the corner from your office, isn’t it?”
“That’s correct.”
“Did you ever check out what was going on in Room 204?”
“Mr. Daley,” he says, “we don’t enter the rooms unless we have a compelling legal reason to do so. We had no idea what was going on behind its doors. We had no reason to investigate.”
“So the fact that one of your rooms was being used to run a pornography and prostitution ring in a building just around the corner from your office never found its way onto your radar screen, did it?”
“That’s correct.”
“That’s absurd, Mr. Martinez.”
“Objection.”
“Sustained.”
It’s as far as I can go with Martinez. Payne asks him just a couple of questions. He issues yet another denial of any involvement in the Boys of the Bay Area Web site. The connections between Turner, Martinez, Anderson and the events at the Fairmont are still too tenuous to make a credible case to the jury that any of them might have been involved in Garcia’s death.
It’s almost four o’clock when I call Kevin Anderson to the stand. This is our last chance to put everything together for the jury. The jurors are still staring at the home page to the Boys of the Bay Area Web site. I get Anderson to confirm that he asked Martinez for help forming an entity called El Camino Holdings for the purpose of buying a piece of property on Valencia Street. Turner filed the incorporation papers. “We never bought the property,” he says. “We never used the corporation.”
“Do you have any idea how the corporation came to own the domain name for the Boys of the Bay Area Web site?” I ask.
MD02 - Incriminating Evidence Page 35
