Hardy 03 - Hard Evidence

by John Lescroart

  There was one definitely new tab here, though, in Hardy’s own folder — Newspaper. He had gone back and cut out all of Jeff Elliot’s stories to date. Most crimes in the big city didn’t get any ink. This one was already on the front page. Hardy figured he’d see the name Pullios in the paper within a day or so and he wanted to have a record of it.

  He hadn’t gotten far that morning on Glitsky’s reports, when the gun issue — that he hadn’t seen it on Wednesday — had stopped him cold. He’d been looking for an excuse to blow some steam anyway, get out of the office. Well, now he’d done that. He’d checked in on his baby, had a good lunch. It was time to go to work. He opened the folder again, turned to the first witness interview, the transcript unedited off the tape:

  * * * * *

  Three, two, one. This is Inspector Abraham Glitsky, Star number 1144. I am currently at the office of the Golden Gate Marina, 3567 Fort Point Drive. With me is a gentleman identifying himself as Thomas Waddell, Caucasian, male, 4/19/68. This interview is pursuant to an investigation of case number 921065882. Today’s date is June 27, 1992, Saturday, at 1415 hours in the P.M.

  Hardy skimmed quickly through the preliminaries, down to where Abe had started talking about putting May at the crime scene.

  Q: You remember locking up the Eloise with Mr Hardy?

  A: That’s right. It wasn’t locked before then.

  Q: It was just left open?

  A: It happens all the time. We notice it, we lock ‘em, but we don’t do a regular check, like that.

  Q: But you locked it, when, Wednesday night?

  A: I’m not sure. When the D.A. guy came by, after that.

  Q: That was Wednesday.

  A: Okay.

  Q: And did you see anybody else board the boat, the Eloise?

  A: No, not exactly. You guys, you know, the police, were still here Friday when I came on. You mean besides that?

  Q: Right. What do you mean not exactly?

  A: Well, you know I remembered ‘cause of locking it up special, but Mr Nash’s lady friend came by.

  Q: His lady friend?

  A: You know, the Japanese lady? She was out here a few times. I recognized her all right.

  Q: This is a snapshot of a woman named May Shintaka. Do you recognize her?

  A: Yeah, that’s her. She was by, like, Thursday night, out on the float.

  Q: What time was that?

  A: Still light. Maybe seven, seven-thirty.

  Q: What was she doing there? Did you talk to her?

  A: No. I don’t know. She walked by the office when I was with some other people, went out onto Dock Two by the Eloise, stayed a minute, then when I got done and looked up, she was gone.

  Q: Did she go aboard the boat?

  A: It was locked up.

  Q: I know it was. Maybe she had a key?

  A: I don’t know, I guess she might’ve. I don’t know. I didn’t see her again, and later I went to check the boat, and it was still locked up. She wasn’t in it.

  Q: How do you know that?

  A: Well, the lock is outside. You can’t go in and lock the door from inside. So if she was still inside, it couldn’t have been locked.

  Q: But you didn’t actually see her leave?

  A: No, sir, but I wasn’t looking. People are going by all the time. I only put it together about Mr Nash after she was already out there.

  Hardy couldn’t put his finger on it, but he wasn’t happy gathering these nails for May’s coffin. She wasn’t his anymore, maybe that was it. She was Elizabeth Pullios’s. And the more he looked at it, the more nails he seemed to find.

  Glitsky’s theory — that May had gone back to the Eloise to pick up her gun because it was the only physical evidence tying her to the crime — was starting to look pretty good. And certainly her idea that she and Owen Nash were going to be married was ridiculous.

  He went around his desk and absently grabbed his darts again. His door was closed and he threw, not aiming, not paying any attention. He used his darts like Greeks used worry beads.

  Thursday, the twenty-fifth, had been the day of Elliot’s story linking Owen Nash, the Eloise and May. On that same day, she’d bought her ticket (without a return) to Japan and gone down, presumably, to get her gun back. And failed.

  Why did he so badly want her not to have done it?

  He thought it might be that so many of the people he’d been seeing on his other cases had been the kind you’d expect to be doing bad things. May Shinn, when he’d gone up to see her in jail, wasn’t that type at all. She’d talked to him openly, until Freeman had shown up, unconcerned about her rights, the way innocent people might be expected to start out until they found out how the system worked.

  Hardy was willing to believe she was a liar, but if she was, she was very good at it. Hardy knew such people existed. He just hadn’t run across too many of them among the lowlifes — liars, sure, good liars not often.

  There was a knock on his door, it opened and Pullios was in, watching him poised, dart in hand, ready to toss. She grinned her sexy, charming, I’m-your-best-friend grin and leaned against the door jamb. ‘Reviewing the Shinn case?’ she asked.

  Hardy wanted to put a dart in her forehead, but thought he’d have a hard time pleading accident. It was one of the drawbacks of having talent.

  ‘As a matter of fact, I am,’ he said. He threw the dart and sat down.

  ‘You’re mad at me.’ She actually pouted.

  ‘I’m not much at games, Elizabeth. How do you want to play this?’

  She sat herself down, the kitten disappearing as soon as it saw it wasn’t going to get petted. ‘Come on, Dismas, we’re on the same team.’

  ‘That’s what Locke said, so it must be true.’

  ‘Look, I know how you feel.’

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘That’s a load off my mind. The thing is, I don’t know how you feel, so we’re not even. I don’t, for example, know why you let me jerk myself off on this case for most of a week before you showed any interest in it, other than encouraging me to push for my rights, beat the bureaucracy.’

  ‘I meant it.’

  Hardy studied her face. Elizabeth Pullios, he was coming to understand, had a gift for sincerity. It probably played well in front of juries. ‘But then it was a skull case, and now it’s hot ink.’

  ‘No, what it is, is a homicide and I do homicides. I’ve worked my way up to there.’

  Hardy looked longingly at his darts stuck in the board across the room. In lieu of them, he picked up his paperweight and leaned back in his chair, passing it from hand to hand. It might be unfair, and it might be manure, but it was a done deal, and he didn’t want to discuss it anymore. ‘Farris says the will was Nash’s handwriting,’ he said.

  Pullios was right with him. ‘Definite?’

  ‘Until we get an expert, but it looks like it.’

  ‘That’s great, that’s what we need.’

  ‘What do we need?’

  ‘It’s a hell of a motive, don’t you think? Two million dollars?’

  Hardy couldn’t help himself. Things were just falling too easily. If Pullios wanted this job, she ought to do a little work for it. ‘It seems to me,’ he said, ‘that if May were going to collect money on Nash’s death, she wouldn’t have dumped him in the ocean.’

  ‘Didn’t she?’

  ‘I mean it was pure luck he washed ashore. How could she have known that?’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So if you were going to kill somebody for two million dollars, wouldn’t you want to make sure they found the body? You don’t get the money until he’s dead, right? And he’s not dead till there’s a body, unless you want to wait seven years or so.’

  ‘But there is a body.’

  ‘But she couldn’t have known that.’

  He enjoyed watching her stew over that, but it didn’t last long. ‘I’ll be prepared for that argument,’ she said. ‘It’s good you brought it up. The great thing is the money angle.’

  �
�The great thing?’

  ‘Murder for profit. Makes it a capital case.’

  ‘A capital case?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Pullios declared. ‘We’re going to ask the State of California to put May Shinn to death.’

  21

  Hardy sat next to Pullios in the courtroom, randomly chosen by computer for Department 11 in Municipal Court, which was where the arraignment in a no-warrant arrest, even on a capital case, was scheduled.

  Glitsky was there, sitting next to Jeff Elliot in the mostly empty gallery seats. David Freeman, looking more disheveled than he had on Saturday, came through the low gate and shook hands cordially with both Pullios and Hardy, which was some surprise. Hardy found himself liking the guy and warned himself to watch it. If he was good at trial, he was by definition — like Pullios — a good actor. You could admire the technique, but beware of the man.

  The judge was Michael Barsotti, an old, gray, bland fixture in his robes behind the desk. Barsotti had been in Muni Court forever and he wasn’t known for moving things along.

  The court reporter sat at a right angle to Hardy, midway between the defendant’s podium and the judge. Assorted functionaries milled about — two or three bailiffs, translators, public defenders waiting to get clients assigned.

  Hardy leaned over the table, organizing his binder, now knowing what his role, if any, would be. He wasn’t prepared for his first sight of May Shinn.

  She looked so much smaller, diminished. The yellow jumpsuit hung on her. He supposed she’d been in her jail garb on Saturday, but his focus had been talking to her, eye to eye, concentrating on her face.

  She walked up with the bailiff, hands cuffed, and stood at the podium next to Pullios, giving no indication she’d ever seen Hardy before, or anyone else.

  The gravity of a murder case was underscored by the judge’s first words. Even Barsotti gained a measure of authority, casting off his boredom, caught up in the drama of the formal indictment being pronounced, the courtroom getting still.

  ‘May Shintaka,’ Judge Barsotti intoned, ‘you are charged by a complaint filed herein with a felony, to wit, a violation of section 187 of the Penal Code in that you did, in the City and County of San Francisco, State of California, on or about the twentieth day of June, 1992, willfully, unlawfully and with malice aforethought murder Owen Simpson Nash, a human being.’

  ‘How do you plead?’ Barsotti asked.

  ‘Not guilty, Your Honor.’ Freeman spoke for May. After Freeman’s booming oratorio in the interview room on Saturday, Hardy was struck by the modulation of his voice. He was matter-of-fact, conversational. But there was a fist under the glove. Suddenly, he put on his trial voice. ‘Your Honor, before we continue with this charade I’d like to move to have all charges against my client dismissed due to procedural error.’

  ‘On a murder charge, Mr Freeman? And already?’

  ‘Mr Hardy of the district attorney’s office interrogated my client on Saturday morning without informing her —’

  ‘I object, Your Honor.’ Elizabeth Pullios was up from the D.A.‘s desk, where she’d appeared during the recess. ’Mr Hardy informed Ms Shintaka that she had the right to have an attorney present and Ms Shintaka waived that right. The prosecution has a tape recording of that meeting.‘

  ‘I think we can establish coercion…’

  Barsotti tapped his gavel. He sighed. ‘Mr Freeman,’ he said, ‘save it for the hearing. In the meantime, we’ll move on to bail.’

  He adjusted his glasses and double-checked the computer sheet in front of him. The handwritten notation next to the computer line read ‘No bail.’

  ‘The prosecution asks that no bail be granted?’ he asked Pullios.

  ‘This is a capital murder case, Your Honor.’

  Freeman turned and looked directly at Pullios. ‘You’re not serious.’

  Barsotti tapped his gavel again. ‘Mr Freeman, please direct your remarks to the bench.’

  ‘Excuse me, Your Honor, I am shocked and dismayed by this mention of capital murder. I can see that this is alleged as a special-circumstances case, but I can’t believe that the state is asking for death.’

  Pullios stood up. ‘Murder for profit, Your Honor.’

  ‘I assume you have some evidence to substantiate this claim, Ms Pullios.’

  ‘We do, Your Honor.’

  ‘Your Honor, Ms Shintaka poses no threat to society.’

  ‘No threat? She killed somebody last week!’

  The sound of the gavel exploded in the room. ‘Ms Pullios, that’s enough of that. Both of you hold your press conferences outside this courtroom.’

  Hardy was impressed. Barsotti might be a bland functionary, but he was in control here.

  Freeman had recovered his cool. ‘Your Honor, my client has never before been accused of a crime, much less convicted.’

  Pullios wasn’t slowed down by the rebuke. ‘Your Honor, the defendant was attempting to leave the jurisdiction when she was arrested.’

  ‘Mr Freeman, was your client attempting to flee?’

  ‘She was going to Japan on business, Your Honor. It’s our contention the arresting officer overreacted. She was intending to come back. There had been no warrant issued. She was going about her normal life, which included a previously planned trip to Japan.’

  ‘She’d only bought the ticket the day before, Your Honor, and she didn’t buy a return. She’d also packed many personal effects.’

  ‘And she’d left many more. She wasn’t fleeing the jurisdiction. She was going on a trip. She will gladly surrender her passport to the court. There is no risk of flight here.’

  Pullios started to say something more, but Barsotti held up a hand. ‘I’m going to set bail at five hundred thousand dollars.’

  Pullios leaned over and whispered to Hardy. ‘Close enough.’

  ‘A half million dollars is a lot of money, Your Honor.’

  ‘I believe that’s the point, Mr Freeman. We’ll set the preliminary hearing for —’

  ‘Your Honor.’ Freeman again.

  Even Hardy the novice knew what was next. Although the defendant had an absolute right to a preliminary hearing within ten court days or sixty calendar days of arraignment, no defense lawyer in his right mind would agree to go to prelim that soon, at least until he’d gotten a chance to see what kind of evidence the prosecution had gathered. ‘The defense would request three weeks for discovery and to set.’

  ‘Will the defendant waive time?’ Which meant that in exchange for this three-week delay, May would give up her right to a preliminary hearing within ten days.

  ‘Yes, Your Honor.’

  Barsotti scratched his chin. ‘Three weeks, hmm.’ He looked down at his desk, moved some papers around. ‘Will counsel approach the bench?’

  Pullios, Hardy and Freeman moved around their respective tables and up before the judge. Barsotti’s eyes were milk-watery. The drama hadn’t lasted long. ‘We’re getting ourselves into the beginning of vacation season here. Would there be any objection to, say, the day after Labor Day?’

  ‘None here, Your Honor,’ Freeman said.

  ‘Your Honor, Labor Day is over two months away. The defendant has a right to a speedy trial, but the people have no less a right to speedy justice.’

  ‘I don’t need a lecture, Counselor.’

  ‘Of course not, Your Honor. But the prosecution is ready to proceed in ten days. Two months is a rather lengthy delay.’

  This was not close to true, and everyone knew it. Barsotti looked at Pullios over his glasses. ‘Not for this time of year, it isn’t. We got a full docket, and you know as well as I do it can go six months, a year, before we get a hearing.’ Barsotti clearly didn’t expect to get any argument, and it put his back up. He shuffled some papers, looked down at something on his desk. ‘We’ll schedule the prelim for Wednesday, September sixth, nine-thirty A.M. in this department.

  ‘Thank you, Your Honor,’ Freeman said.

  Pullios had her jaw set. ‘That
’d be fine, Your Honor.’

  ‘That’s all now.’ He brushed all counsel away and looked over to the bailiff. ‘Call the next line,’ he said.

  * * * * *

  Prelim courtrooms were on the first and second floors. The hallway outside the courtrooms on both floors was about twenty feet wide, the ceilings fifteen feet high, the floors linoleum. But except for the sound of falling pins, it had all the ambience, volume and charm of a low-rent bowling alley.

  During the hours court was in session there were seldom less than two hundred people moving to and fro —witnesses, lawyers, clerks, spectators, families and friends. People chatted on the floors against the walls. Mothers breast-fed their babies. Folks ate lunch, kissed, cried, cut deals. On Monday and Thursday mornings, after the janitors had cleaned up, the hallway smelled like the first day of school. By now, seven hours into the workday, it just smelled.

  Hardy, Glitsky and Jeff Elliot stood in a knot outside Department 11. All of them were watching Pullios’s rear end as it disappeared around the corner down near the elevators. ‘Good thing justice is blind,’ Glitsky said, ‘or Freeman wouldn’t have a chance.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Elliot said. ‘He’s got May.’

  ‘Yeah, her dress though, that baggy yellow thing doesn’t show it off like old Betsy.’ Hardy liked calling her Betsy. He knew he was going to get used to it and slip someday. He kind of looked forward to it. He pointed at Elliot. ‘That was off the record.’

  Jeff was happy to be included again. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Just making sure.’

  ‘So what do you think,’ Glitsky asked, ‘Christmas for the trial? Next Easter?’

  Hardy said he didn’t know how long Freeman could delay if he wasn’t going to make bail. He wouldn’t want to leave May in jail for a year, awaiting trial.

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe she’ll make bail,’ Glitsky said.

  ‘How’s she gonna make bail?’ Elliot asked. ‘Half a million dollars?’