MD05 - The Confession

by Sheldon Siegel

  I suppose.

  “It started to get more personal in the last couple of months,” he says. “Shanahan didn’t like her and her ex-husband hated her. Oddly enough, Quinn was the voice of reason. He agreed to settle a couple of the more serious cases to avoid the bad publicity.”

  “He couldn’t settle the O’Connell case,” I say.

  “He tried. She wanted too much money.”

  I ask him if he saw anybody come or go from her apartment last Monday night.

  “Just your client. He arrived around eight and left a few minutes after ten.”

  So far, so good.

  He adds, “Then I saw him again around eleven-forty-five that night.”

  Not so good, but it jibes with Ward’s account earlier today. “Where?”

  “Walking down the alley behind Concepcion’s apartment.”

  “Do you see where he went?”

  “Inside the gate to Concepcion’s building.”

  “How long was he there?”

  “A few minutes.”

  This is consistent with Ramon’s story that he dropped off some flyers at Concepcion’s back door. “Did you see him enter her apartment?”

  “I couldn’t see the back entrance to Concepcion’s apartment from my vantage point, but he was clearly heading for the door.”

  I ask if he could see inside the apartment.

  “No. The curtains were pulled and the lights were off.”

  “Were the lights off the entire time he was there?”

  “Yes.”

  Ward will argue that Ramon killed Concepcion in the dark. I try not to show my concern when I ask, “How was his demeanor?”

  “He was in a hurry.”

  He would have been running if he’d just committed a murder. “Not to belabor this, but did you happen to see him kill her?”

  “No.”

  Good. “Can I ask you a question off the record?”

  “You can ask me anything you want.”

  “Do you or any of your people drive a green Impala?”

  He gives me a knowing look and says, “Somebody’s watching you, eh?”

  “We think so.”

  “Off the record,” he says, “we aren’t watching you and nobody in my operation drives an Impala.”

  I believe him.

  “On the other hand,” he says, “just because we aren’t watching you doesn’t mean that you aren’t being watched. There are a lot of people in town who have a vested interest in the O’Connell case, including the cops and the archdiocese. If I were in your shoes, I’d keep my backside covered.”

  It’s good advice. “How late were you at your post behind Concepcion’s apartment?”

  “Until about twelve-thirty.”

  I ask him why he didn’t stay all night.

  “My son called me from the Mitchell Brothers. Somebody was hassling Doe and he needed some help. It turned out to be a false alarm.”

  “Have you spoken to the police about all of this?”

  “I talked to Roosevelt this morning. He looks great.”

  Yes, he does. “Can you rule out the possibility that somebody entered her apartment after you left?”

  “No.”

  It helps a little. “Are you prepared to testify to that effect?”

  “Indeed I am.”

  # # #

  Friday night turns into Saturday, and Saturday turns into Sunday. We spend the weekend pounding on doors in the vicinity of Concepcion’s apartment, but we find no witnesses. We regroup in Rosie’s apartment at six o’clock on Sunday night and the mood is already somber when the call comes in. Roosevelt’s voice has an ominous cast when he says, “Did you get a fax from Ward?”

  “Not yet.” I can feel my heart starting to pound. “Is it the results of the DNA tests?”

  “Yes.”

  I take a deep breath and say, “And?”

  “I thought you’d appreciate hearing it from me. Your client is the father of Ms. Concepcion’s unborn baby.”

  Chapter 38

  “A Sin is Still a Sin”

  “DNA testing has confirmed that Father Ramon Aguirre is the father of Maria Concepcion’s unborn child.”

  — Nicole Ward. KGO-Radio. Sunday, December 14. 6:20 P.M.

  Ramon reacts with a combination of sadness and despair. His face is ashen and his voice is a whisper when he understates, “That isn’t good news.”

  I can’t disagree with him.

  Quinn is sitting behind his desk with his arms folded. His view is decidedly more direct. “This is a disaster,” he says.

  A stoic Shanahan nods in agreement.

  Rosie and I are sitting in the stiff chairs adjacent to Quinn’s conference table at seven o’clock on Sunday night. Ramon’s subdued reaction suggests the information didn’t come as a great surprise to him. Quinn’s lack of histrionics indicates that he had braced himself for the possibility as well.

  I try to focus on the bigger picture. “It doesn’t change the fundamental nature of the case or provide a shred of additional evidence,” I say.

  Quinn’s scowl becomes more pronounced and his response is more lawyerly than I might have anticipated. “It provides a motive,” he says. “The DA will argue that it was a clumsy attempt to cover up a sexual indiscretion. If word got out he’d fathered a baby, his career would have ended right there.”

  In all likelihood, it’s probably going to end right here.

  Ramon’s eyes are on fire. “You think I murdered my own unborn child?” he asks.

  Quinn’s tone turns patronizing. “It happens, Ramon.”

  “It didn’t happen here, Francis.”

  Shanahan raises a calming hand and invokes a practical tone. “It’s time to take a hard look at the facts,” he says. “They’ve placed you at the scene and you’re the father of the baby. The prosecution will argue you killed her to cover it up. Maybe she was trying to blackmail you or maybe it was in a fit of rage. In the final analysis, it doesn’t matter.”

  “That isn’t what happened, John.”

  “Do you think anybody is going to believe you?”

  “It’s the truth.”

  I’m tempted to defend him, but it won’t help. I try to shift from recriminations and finger-pointing to problem-solving. “We’ll need to talk to the people at the fertility clinic,” I say.

  “We already know that Ramon is the father,” Quinn says.

  “But it will demonstrate that he fathered the baby through artificial insemination.”

  “A sin is still a sin.”

  “Come on. It isn’t as sinful as having sex out of wedlock. You know that. We need to show it wasn’t some cheap one-night stand. It won’t look quite so bad.”

  The room fills with an uneasy silence. Quinn looks at the etching of Jesus above his desk in an effort to seek divine inspiration. Shanahan takes off his reading glasses and holds them tightly in his right hand. Ramon is sitting ramrod straight. Guilty people tend to panic at times like this, but Ramon doesn’t.

  Rosie breaks the silence. “We still have tonight and tomorrow morning to gather as much evidence as we can,” she says.

  “It isn’t enough time,” Shanahan says. “We should ask for a continuance.”

  “I don’t want to postpone the hearing,” Ramon says. “This will drag on for months.”

  “We’re going to talk to a man who lives down the alley from Concepcion’s apartment,” I say. “He was working on his car last Monday and might have something for us.”

  Quinn is unimpressed. “How did you find him?”

  He was recommended by his cousin–a hooker–and we agreed to trade stolen auto parts for information. “We spent the last couple of days asking around.”

  “What does he do?”

  He’s a pimp. “He’s a mechanic.”

  “What are the chances he might be able to help us?”

  “Hard to tell. He told us there was a black SUV parked in the alley behind Ms. Concepcion’s apartment around twelve-fort
y-five A.M.”

  Shanahan’s interest is piqued. “Did he see anybody get out?”

  “No.”

  “And this is supposed to give us some level of comfort?”

  “It’s all we have so far, John. We’re checking SUV registrations.”

  Quinn says, “There must be thousands registered in the Bay Area.”

  There are.

  There is a long silence before Quinn turns to Shanahan and adds, “You tell them.”

  “Tell us what?” I ask.

  Shanahan’s silver hair gleams against the artificial light coming from the fluorescent tubes above us. “I received a call from Ms. Concepcion’s mother,” he says. He turns to Ramon and adds, “She wanted me to convey her extreme disappointment in your behavior.”

  “I’ll talk to her,” Ramon says.

  “She has no interest in talking to you. She informed me that she has retained separate legal counsel to initiate a civil action against you and the archdiocese.”

  “On what grounds?” I ask.

  “Wrongful death.”

  “That’s absurd.”

  “That’s for a jury to decide.”

  It’s true, and the threshold for finding liability will be lower. In a criminal case, the prosecution needs to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt, but in a civil case, the plaintiff must prove its case only by a preponderance of the evidence. They couldn’t nail O.J. on murder, but they got him on the civil charges. Moreover, the civil discovery rules are more liberal. Ramon will be able to invoke his fifth amendment rights, but he can’t refuse to testify altogether.

  And now I know what’s coming next.

  Shanahan’s voice is its customary modulated tone when he says to Ramon, “Your behavior has put us into a decidedly difficult position that creates inherent conflicts of interest.”

  It’s what I’d been warning people about all along.

  “We may have to make a decision in the civil case that will be adverse to your client’s interests.”

  I don’t like the fact that he’s referring to Ramon as my client.

  “More precisely,” he continues, “it may be in the best interests of the archdiocese to settle all or some portion of the civil suit before the criminal case is resolved.”

  “Meaning you’re prepared to sell out Ramon if it’s better economically for you.”

  “It’s my job to protect the interests of the archdiocese.”

  “You’re willing to admit liability even if it means your client’s life and career will be put into jeopardy?”

  Shanahan clears his throat and says, “Obviously, that would not be an optimal result.”

  I turn to Quinn and say, “Do you agree with John’s analysis?”

  “It’s also my job to look out for the best interests of the archdiocese, even if it might result in a less-than-ideal situation for your client.”

  Ramon points a finger at his colleague and says, “I’m your client.”

  “Not anymore. You brought this upon yourself, Ramon.”

  “I’m willing to admit I made a mistake by helping Maria, but I didn’t kill her.”

  “You lied about your relationship and you may be lying now.”

  “Go to hell, Francis.”

  “Your ticket there is already punched.”

  Shanahan steps back like a hockey referee and lets them go at it as the vitriol escalates. Rosie looks to me for guidance, but I let them blow off steam. Murder cases are stressful and it’s helpful to let everybody cut loose every once in awhile. I’d rather let Ramon take out his frustrations on Quinn.

  The sniping subsides after a couple of minutes and I reassert myself. I turn to Shanahan and say, “Where does this leave us?”

  “We cannot represent Father Aguirre as long as the civil case is pending.”

  I turn to Quinn and say, “Is that your position, too?”

  His face is still red from his tirade, but his tone is even when he says, “We have no choice but to withdraw as counsel.”

  “You realize you’re still bound by the attorney-client privilege.”

  “Only with respect to issues we’ve discussed prior to our resignation.”

  Not true. “If you reveal any confidences, I’ll take you before the State Bar.” I point to Shanahan and say, “The same goes for you.”

  “Calm down, Michael.”

  No, I won’t. “You should expect to receive a subpoena later tonight. We’re going to call you as a witness in Father Aguirre’s case.” I shift my gaze slowly over to Quinn and say, “You’ll be getting one, too.”

  “Judge Tsang will never let you do it,” he says.

  “He may be inclined to rule our way after I explain to him that both of you spoke to Ms. Concepcion on the night she died.” I turn back to Shanahan and say, “We’re going to send a subpoena to Dennis Peterson.”

  “He’s skiing.”

  “We’ll find him.” I don’t say it out loud, but we will also subpoena Archbishop Keane. That should liven things up around archdiocese headquarters.

  Shanahan hands me a letter noticing the resignation of his firm and Quinn as counsel of record in Ramon’s case. “I was hoping we might have been able to do this in a civilized and orderly manner,” he says. “Even in difficult circumstances, it’s important to maintain your professionalism.”

  Rosie has heard all that she can stomach. “Professionals don’t quit on their clients the night before their prelims,” she snaps.

  “We have no choice.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “It’s out of my hands. My partners won’t let us continue.”

  “Your name is at the top of the letterhead. You can do anything you want.”

  “I can’t put my firm’s reputation at risk.”

  “But you’re prepared to ruin your client’s.”

  Genteel John tries to strike an imposing posture as he folds his arms and lowers his voice. “Let me give you some free legal advice,” he says.

  There’s no way I can possibly stop him.

  “I’ve been doing this for more than forty years,” he says. “I know you’re angry, but I think you should sleep on this before you start shooting out subpoenas to people who have the wherewithal to make your lives miserable.”

  Rosie responds before I can. “We don’t intimidate that easily,” she says.

  “I’m not trying to intimidate you,” he lies. “I’m looking out for your best interests.”

  Her tone oozes contempt when she says, “Thank you for your wisdom, John.”

  Their minds are made up and I need to address some practical considerations. I turn to Quinn and say, “I trust your decision to withdraw from this representation will have no bearing on your decision to post bail for Father Aguirre?”

  “We will honor that obligation.”

  “And you will continue to provide a place for Father Aguirre to stay?”

  “We intend to fulfill that commitment, too.” He isn’t happy about it, but it would be a public relations disaster if they go back on their word.

  “I don’t want you to discuss any matters with Father Aguirre unless I am present.”

  “Understood. I hope you will have no objection if we’re polite when we have contact from time to time. After all, he’s our guest.”

  “You can talk about the weather. I will make your lives a living hell if anybody in this building is talking to Father Aguirre without my permission, and I will bring the mother of all legal actions if Father Aguirre’s room or phone is bugged.”

  “You’ve made your position crystal clear.”

  “We’d like to talk to our client for a few minutes,” I say. “In private.”

  In addition to everything else, we are now officially at war with the San Francisco archdiocese.

  Chapter 39

  “It’s Better to Come Clean”

  “We must always bear in mind that the actions of one priest can cast a long shadow upon the archdiocese as a whole.”