Art Drysdale stood up, reached his hand over the desk. ‘Done,’ he said.
* * * * *
‘Line Six.’ Mr Zapata was back up at the podium. ‘I’m sorry, there was a scheduling conflict, my mistake. The trial will be in Department,’ he looked down again, making sure, ‘Twenty-four, Judge Thomasino.’
Leo watched Line Six being led out in his yellow jumpsuit. Time was standing still. It wasn’t yet noon and he’d just had a recess. His blood was rushing. Well, it was done. It was possible that Ms Rogan would never understand the significance of the change of department. Art would make sure he would be forewarned on any other Zapatas, and the whole thing would never have to come up again. Still…
He shook himself, chilled in the hot room.
‘On the arraignment calendar, line one thirty-seven,’ the clerk intoned. ‘Penal code section 187, murder.’
Suddenly the chill was gone. Something about murder cases got your attention, even when you were already familiar with them. This was the one he and Elizabeth Pullios had discussed after the indictment on Thursday —Owen Nash. They were dragging their feet over in Muni and the D.A. wasn’t going to stand for it. On Friday, Art Drysdale told Chomorro it would hit this morning, and they were going to move ahead if not with haste then with dispatch. Send a little message to the junior circuit.
Line 137, May Shintaka, had surrendered on the grand-jury indictment and bailed again. She was in the gallery, Chomorro had noticed her earlier this morning, the one flower in a field of weeds. This was Line 137? He raised his eyebrows, then looked back down. Now she stood, unbowed, at the podium. Next to her was David Freeman, about the best defense attorney in the city. The defendant and her rumpled attorney were a study in contrasts. Leo theorized that Freeman’s sloppy dress was a conscious ploy to appeal to juries as a common man, one of them, regular folks.
But regular folks didn’t make half a million or so a year.
‘Mr Freeman,’ he said, ‘how are you doing today?’
Freeman nodded. ‘Fine, thank you, Your Honor.’
During his recess with Art, Elizabeth Pullios had come into the courtroom and sat at the prosecution table with her second chair, one of the new men. He nodded to them.
‘Is the prosecution ready to proceed?’
‘I object, Your Honor.’ Freeman, wasting no time.
‘We are, Your Honor.’ Simultaneously, from Pullios.
‘Grounds?’
Freeman’s voice rose. ‘As Your Honor knows, Municipal Court continued proceedings on this matter until after Labor Day.’
‘Well, you’re in Superior Court now, Mr Freeman. What’s the point?’
‘There is no evidence to support —’ Freeman stopped, started again. ‘The preliminary hearing would have revealed insufficient evidence to proceed to trial, Your Honor.’
‘Evidently the grand jury doesn’t agree with you. They issued an indictment.’
‘Your Honor.’ Pullios was standing. ‘The people —’
Chomorro brought down his gavel. ‘Excuse me, Ms Pullios. I understand the people’s position here. Mr Freeman, we’re not going to debate the evidence at this time. That’s for a jury to decide. Perhaps a request for a shorter continuance in Municipal Court could have avoided this problem.’
‘Your Honor, my client should not be subjected to the expense of a trial on this charge. I’m going to move for remand back to Municipal Court.’
Chomorro smiled. Freeman was pulling out the stops early. ‘I’m afraid that option is foreclosed, Mr Freeman.’
Defense counsel didn’t seem to take a breath. ‘This hurry-up show trial is clearly motivated by state’s counsel enjoying the publicity of this high profile —’
‘Your Honor, I object!’
Chomorro nodded to Pullios. ‘I think I would, too.’
Freeman kept right on. ‘— to say nothing of the blatant racial and class discrimination evidenced by —’
‘Mr Freeman! Enough. I remind you that this court operates under the grand-jury system. I will not tolerate these outbursts. The prosecution says it is ready for trial. If their evidence is weak it seems to me that should be to your advantage. All right, then.’
Chomorro didn’t even have to look down to see where the next trial was going. ‘It sounds like there will be extensive motion work in this case. I’m sending the whole matter — arraignment, motions, pretrial and trial — to Department Twenty-seven, Judge Fowler. Forthwith. You can fight it out down there.’ He brought his gavel down again, allowed himself a small smile. ‘Goodbye, Counsel. Now.’
* * * * *
It wasn’t a long walk down the hallway, so there wasn’t much time for Hardy to tell Pullios about his relationship with Fowler.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘Have you discussed the case with him outside the office?’
‘No, no place, in fact.’
‘Then I wouldn’t worry about it.’ It was another opportunity to remind him of their respective positions, so she took it. ‘Besides, you’re not the attorney of record here. I am. You’re assisting me.’
‘I think if Freeman even gets a whiff of it, though, he’ll move to dismiss.’
‘Freeman moves to dismiss if the bailiff has a runny nose. So what?’
‘So I’m a little worried about it.’
She stopped and faced him. ‘Dismas, look. He’s not your father-in-law anymore, is he?’
‘No.’
‘So essentially it boils down to the fact that you’ve met the judge socially. Well, I’ve met the judge socially and we get along like pickles and milk. I wouldn’t be surprised if Freeman’s met him socially. Hell, they’re both in the rich men’s club, they probably play poker together. Maybe they trade stock tips. It’s irrelevant. Judge Fowler and you are not related, legally or otherwise. It’s not an issue.’
Pullios, Hardy thought, was good on things that weren’t issues. She was good on everything. It got to you.
Pullios got to the doors of Department 27 and held one of them open for Hardy. ‘Age before beauty,’ she said.
* * * * *
The orbits had aligned themselves.
Friday had been a busy day, a couple of prelims, some plea bargaining, a lunch with four of the office gang, nobody even thinking about homicides.
Frannie and Hardy had made love twice over the long Fourth of July weekend. The first time, Friday night, intense and silent, then the closeness, body to body, lying there, talking until after midnight.
Saturday was the picnic with Moses, his current girlfriend Susan, all the Glitskys, and Pico with Angela and their kids. And Rebecca was healthy again, finally — her jolly gurgling wonderful little self. Baseball, beer and barbeque. America’s birthday party on another miracle of a warm day.
Then Sunday morning they went out for brunch and shared the best paella in the city. Afterward, back home, Frannie telling Hardy it was okay, Rebecca might remember that her parents had laughed and wrestled a lot when she’d been a baby, but it probably wouldn’t damage her psyche.
On Monday, the sixth, back on his own center again, Hardy and Frannie had spent the morning stenciling some pastel horses and dolphins onto the wall in Rebecca’s room. In the afternoon he did a little work in his office, asking if Abe could get hold of May Shinn’s phone records for the day Owen Nash had been killed. He realized that if she had made a call on that day, their case was in trouble, and as far as he knew, no one had checked those records. He asked Abe if they could pinpoint flurries of gas or water use, electricity, anything that might indicate somebody had been home, and Abe had told him no, those utilities weren’t monitored that way.
Celine wasn’t clouding things. Hardy knew that Pullios in a hurry was not the imperial wizard of detail, and after his oversights on Thursday with the grand jury, he was simply double-checking himself.
30
Jeff Elliot hissed at him from the gallery side of the rail in Department 27. He must have also been in 22 for Calendar, though
Hardy, his mind on other things, hadn’t seen him. In fact, come to think of it, Hardy hadn’t seen Jeff for a few days, and now he didn’t look so good — his face was puffy and he was wearing dark glasses, even here inside the courtroom. Still, he was smiling, his usual high-energy self. And why not? His story was back in the fast lane.
Jeff was motioning him back toward the rail. He nudged Pullios. ‘That’s Elliot back there,’ he said. ‘The reporter. You wanted to meet him.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Good.’ She was putting down some papers, starting to turn, Hardy waiting, when the bailiff called out, ‘Hear ye, hear ye! Department 27 of the Superior Court of the City and County of San Francisco is now in session, Judge Andrew Fowler presiding. All please rise.’
The judge appeared in his robes from chambers. Elliot would have to wait.
Seeing Andy, Hardy felt a twinge of guilt — he hadn’t followed up worth a damn on seeing how the judge was doing, whatever it was that had been bothering him. He should have called and set up a squash date. Something.
He hadn’t heard from his ex-wife, Jane, either. Maybe the crisis — if there had been one — had passed. Certainly, up on the bench, Andy looked as he always did, magisterial and commanding. He gave Hardy a friendly nod. His eyes rested on the defense table for a moment — May Shinn was looking directly at him, meeting his gaze. She was one tough lady, although antagonizing a judge wasn’t recommended defense strategy. Freeman was busy emptying his briefcase. He seemed to miss the exchange of glances.
Fowler broke first, his eyes drifting back to Pullios, then Hardy again. He arranged some work in front of him while the bailiff read the indictment again — Section 187, murder.
The gallery had filled up already. It was so unlikely as to be impossible that the trial would begin today. Normally the earliest trial date would be sixty calendar days from the arraignment. But setting that date would be up to Fowler. It was his courtroom.
Nevertheless, a murder trial, especially this one, was news. After the indictment on Thursday, Hardy had heard that Locke had gotten calls from Newsweek, Time, all the big ones — they couldn’t escape it.
Fowler welcomed counsel to his courtroom. He barely got a word in before Freeman predictably requested his continuance. The district attorney was using this as a publicity vehicle, there was racial discrimination. Hardy heard it with half an ear.
Fowler listened to most of it, nodded sympathetically, then touched his gavel to its block. ‘We’ll set a date now, Mr Freeman, and before that, if there is good cause for continuance, you can make a motion.’ He smiled. That was the end of that story. The trial would begin about when the Municipal Court would have held the preliminary hearing. This was a good sign.
The judge adjusted his robes and addressed the courtroom. ‘Mr Freeman,’ he said, ‘did you have the opportunity to exercise a challenge in Department Twenty-two?’ Defense counsel had a one-time right to challenge the judge to which the trial had been assigned, on no grounds whatever. If Freeman didn’t like Andy Fowler for any reason on earth, he just had to say so and they would go back to Calendar for another department.
But Freeman barely rose to answer the question. ‘No challenges, Your Honor.’
Fowler paused a minute, his face darkening. ‘Mr Freeman?’
Freeman was still fiddling with his binders, laying out papers, whispering to May. ‘I said no challenge, Your Honor.’
The judge seemed to be moving things around behind the rim of his desk. He leaned back in the high chair, arms straight out before him. His frown was pronounced. The instant passed. ‘Would defense counsel approach the bench, please?’
Hardy became aware of a growing stillness in the courtroom as Freeman pushed his chair back, patted May on the shoulder and stepped up before the judge. Fowler leaned over and there was the briefest of whispered exchanges, after which he straightened up, hit his gavel and announced a recess. He would see Mr Freeman in his chambers.
‘What the hell is going on?’ Pullios asked Hardy.
‘I don’t have a clue. Maybe they’re trading stock tips again.’
* * * * *
Jim Blanchard from the Tribune came up and touched Elliot on the shoulder. ‘You got a call upstairs. Some girl.’
Jeff had been trying to get Hardy’s attention since the recess was called. He knew there was an element of cheating in it but he had to get caught up, since he hadn’t given five minutes of thought to anything but Dorothy Burgess since Thursday night. He thought he would use Hardy to catch up, grab back the inside track he seemed to have lost to both the local and national media over the long weekend.
And now it looked as though something between Freeman and Fowler was happening right here at the outset. He wanted to be here when the judge returned to court, see if an explanation would present itself.
But Dorothy — it had to be Dorothy — was the priority. There would be other stories. He would not have traded the last four days for anything — not for his job, not even for the use of his legs.
Hardy and Pullios appeared to be in some kind of argument. He wasn’t going to get anything out of them, so he grabbed his crutches and awkwardly crabwalked out of his row in the gallery, then out the doors.
In the reporters’ room he picked up the telephone. This is Jeff Elliot,‘ he said.
‘Mr Elliot,’ she said. ‘This is Ivana Trump. You’ve got to stop pestering me.’ Jeff lowered himself into the school desk. Dorothy’s voice got lower. ‘Jeff, you’ve got to get over here. You’re not going to believe what I found.’
‘What?’
‘I’m not sure what it means, but Maury’s been out all morning and I finally got to typing up the paperwork on that story you were working on, the May Shintaka bail?’
‘Yeah?’
‘You’ve got to come see this, the collateral on the bail loan. You said you needed a paper trail, someplace to start. This looks like the trailhead. But you realize you’re going to have to pay for this information.’
‘Of course.’
‘It won’t be cheap.’
He smiled, remembering the bartering system they’d developed over the weekend to pry secrets from each other — secrets they couldn’t wait to tell. ‘I’ll be ready,’ he said.
* * * * *
Andy Fowler sat back down, banged his gavel, and continued the trial until September 14, at nine-thirty.
‘Your Honor!’ Pullios was up.
‘Counsel?’
‘Permission to approach the bench?’
The judge nodded and motioned her forward. She walked firmly, with none of her usual sway. ‘What is it, Elizabeth?’
‘Your Honor, with respect, the state would be interested in the substance of your conference with defense counsel.’
Fowler, gravitas intact, glared down from his elevated position. There was no love lost between these two. ‘With respect, Counsel, what I do in my chambers is none of your business. But —’ He leaned forward with his hands folded in front of him — ‘but you’re right, we must avoid even the appearance of impropriety. You think defense counsel and I are colluding?’
‘No, of course not, Your Honor, I —’
‘But you think it may look like that to others. I appreciate your concern. Do you read the newspapers, Elizabeth? Watch television?’
Pullios stared at him. ‘Yes, Your Honor, occasionally.’
‘You might have noticed that this Owen Nash murder has attracted more than a modicum of publicity.’
‘Yes, Your Honor.’
‘Well, in keeping up with this story over the past week or so, it occurred to me that a fair trial might be hard to obtain in San Francisco. I was quite certain defense counsel would move for change of venue. And, as you’ve no doubt noticed, Mr Freeman made no such motion. I wanted to make it clear to him that this strategic decision — if it backfires — could not be used later on as grounds for a mistrial. How’s that?’
‘That’s very fine, Your Honor, thank you. No disrespect intend
ed.’
Fowler allowed himself a chilly smile. ‘Of course not, Counsel. An honest question.’
* * * * *
After Fowler left the bench Pullios stomped out of the courtroom, leaving Hardy to gather their papers and eventually follow along. Freeman came over to the prosecution table and told Hardy he hoped there were no hard feelings about their initial meeting in the visitors’ room at the jail.
‘None at all.’
‘You know, if you wouldn’t mind a little free advice, I wouldn’t recommend using my client’s little slip about being on the Eloise. She really wasn’t there.’
Hardy smiled. ‘That seems debatable, doesn’t it?’
Freeman had his hands in his pockets, his leg thrown casually over the corner of Hardy’s table. ‘I’ve listened to the tape several times. The way you phrased it, it will come out as a trick question. It will only cast the prosecution in a poor light, make the playing field uneven.’
‘Well, we wouldn’t want that.’ Hardy finished picking up the papers, closed the briefcase. Thanks for the tip,‘ he said. ’I’ll pass it along.‘
Hardy was beginning to get used to it. These trial attorneys played a no-limit game and didn’t go about it according to Hoyle. How could Freeman get the balls to offer such advice? Did he think he was so green he’d be taken in by so transparent a bluff?
But the more Hardy thought about that, the more it made no sense at all. So maybe it wasn’t a bluff, it was a double reverse. Which made it a very effective bluff, if it was one.
Slick, he thought, walking along the hall back to his office. You had to admire it.
What did Freeman really want? He wanted to win. In a circumstantial case like this, if he could cause the prosecution to have doubts about bringing up any evidence whatever, it could only help the defense. On the other hand, on the surface his advice was sound — Hardy hadn’t planned to bring up May’s slip of the tongue, which had seemed to imply she’d been on board the Eloise because not only was it in itself unconvincing, Hardy didn’t want to introduce into the record his impropriety in visiting May in jail without her attorney present.
Hardy 03 - Hard Evidence Page 24
