Good Intentions

by J. D. Trafford

  There was nothing I could say. If I denied it, I’d be a liar. If I told the truth, I’d be in trouble.

  We sat in silence for a minute, maybe longer. Then Metina made her move.

  “If I were to write the story,” she said, “it’d look very bad. I don’t have the squad video yet, but it’s coming. The video will probably show that you’re intoxicated, and either you got the cop to let you go because you told the cop you were a judge, which is an abuse of power, or the cop knew you were a judge and let you go, which is preferential treatment.”

  “I thought we had a truce,” I said. “I give you access. I tell you what I’m thinking, and you back off a little bit.”

  Metina softened slightly. “I like you, Judge. And I don’t think you’re incompetent.” She paused, choosing her words and keeping it professional. “But I can’t ignore this, just like I can’t ignore the fact that your boss is telling everybody that you’re not handling child dependency cases anymore when, in truth, you are.”

  “I’m not going to argue with you,” I said, “and I’m not going to tell you what you can or cannot write.” Metina had made her move, and now it was my turn. I needed to take a chance. “What if I were to tell you that I’m a cooperating witness for the police in a criminal conspiracy case involving Harry Meyer, Helen Vox, and Marshall Terry? What if I were to tell you that I was talking with Detective Jarkowski for those three hours at the police station? We were working.”

  She leaned back and shook her head, skeptical.

  “It isn’t a conflict of interest with Vox and Marsh Terry,” I said. “It’s straight-up bribes.”

  She laughed. “Come on, Judge. That’s a big leap. Do you have proof?”

  “Not yet. But I’m getting there. I’m going to find it.”

  “And you want me to hold off on my drunk driving story while you go looking?”

  “That’s right.”

  Metina eventually agreed on a partial delay, but she made no promises.

  Peter Thill sat at the table next to his attorney. He had on jeans and a white dress shirt, no tie. He played with his pen while he stared at the attorney representing Alameda County’s Child Protective Services Division.

  This was likely the last time Sylvia Norgaard would handle a termination hearing. She’d been promoted, becoming the new Helen Vox. She stood, confident, wearing a new outfit and a fresh haircut. “Your Honor,” she said. “I ask that you preclude Mr. Thill’s oldest children from the courtroom. Although the youngest boys have chosen not to attend, I know that Neisha and Kayla want to be present, but the testimony is going to be graphic, and I don’t think it’s appropriate for them to hear.”

  I looked beyond Norgaard to the gallery. Benji Metina sat on one side, taking notes. The two girls sat along the back wall on the other side. The one with blue hair was Neisha. Her ear had been pierced four times, and she had a ring in her nose. Kayla was the one with dyed blonde hair and was a little more preppy.

  “How old are they again?” I knew they were in their early to midteens, but I couldn’t remember.

  Norgaard leaned over and looked at her notes, which were in four neat piles on the table. She picked a piece of paper off the second stack. “Sixteen and thirteen, Your Honor.”

  “Thank you.”

  Sylvia Norgaard sat down at the same time as Peter Thill’s attorney, Bob Finley, got up.

  Finley rolled his eyes at Norgaard. “These aren’t kids, Judge. Whether we like it or not, they’ve seen it all and heard it all. Nothing is going to surprise them about their dad. They want to be here, and I see no reason why they shouldn’t.”

  “They oppose the termination?”

  “They all do, Judge. They all oppose termination.” He was a brawler, and the county didn’t pay him enough to be nice. “None of them want their dad’s rights terminated.”

  Thill smiled. He loved the show.

  Sophia Delgado—whose client, Tanya Neal, was still missing—also opposed the agency’s motion to remove the children. Then the guardian ad litem, Cherelle Williams, said she didn’t mind their presence, either.

  After hearing the arguments, I denied the county’s motion to prevent the girls from watching the proceedings. Neisha and Kayla could stay. They deserved to know the truth about their dad. They needed to know that he wasn’t a victim of the government. They, at the very least, had to have the opportunity to hear why the government believed that their father was an unfit parent.

  When I pronounced the ruling from the bench, the girls giggled, and I thought to myself, What the hell?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  The next morning, I kissed Nikki goodbye. I got to the courthouse early again, but Karen was already there. She was hunched over her computer, finishing up the spreadsheet. She had her earbuds on and a tall coffee nearby. I knew better than to interrupt her.

  I went back to my office and held my breath as I clicked onto the San Francisco Chronicle’s website. The main story related to the never-ending dream to redevelop San Francisco’s old Pier 70, and the next covered the debate about whether there should be a limit to the number of marijuana dispensary permits issued in the city.

  The absence of a story about my night at Oakland police headquarters came as a relief. Maybe Benji Metina was laying off after all.

  The trial started at 9:30 a.m. “Good morning, everybody.” I looked at Karen and nodded, signaling that it was now OK for her to leave. There was no need for her to sit next to me for the whole trial. I’d rather she finish the database.

  “We are on the record In the matter of the children of Peter Thill and Tanya Neal. Before we go any further, I’d like those present to note their appearances.”

  The attorneys and their clients were all seated around the table, and one by one, each stood and introduced themselves. Afterward I asked, “Is there anything that any of the attorneys would like to put on the record before we begin?”

  Norgaard stood. “At this time, the agency would ask that Tanya Neal’s parental rights be terminated by default. She had notice of this trial. She was supposed to be here, but she is not present and has not made the county aware of any legal excuse for her absence.”

  Since Bob Finley represented the father, Peter Thill, and not the mother, he didn’t raise any objections or make any arguments against the motion. That was Sophia Delgado’s job.

  She stood. “Your Honor, you’ve been patient over the past few weeks. Each time this Court could’ve found my client, Ms. Tanya Neal, in default. We waited for trial, and here we are. We are ready to start, but Ms. Neal is not present and she hasn’t contacted me or the court. I do not believe I have a legal basis to oppose the motion to find her in default.”

  “Thank you,” I said as Delgado sat down. “The Court now finds that Ms. Neal has waived her right to contest the termination of her parental rights as to the four children in this case. She had proper notice of this hearing and is not present. Therefore, Ms. Neal’s parental rights are hereby terminated.”

  Just like that, Ms. Neal’s parental status disappeared. Her name would no longer appear on any of the children’s birth certificates. She had no right to visit her children or have any further contact. If she won the lottery and later died, the children would have no right to inherit any of the money.

  “Is there anything else?” I asked as the back door to the courtroom opened. Norgaard and Finley heard the noise and turned. All of us half expected to see the children’s mother, Tanya Neal. It’d happened before in other cases: a long-absent parent stumbled into the courtroom moments after the court found them in default. It created a scramble and a complete legal mess.

  This morning, however, it wasn’t Tanya Neal. It was Benji Metina. She made eye contact with me and smiled. Then she found a seat in the back row.

  “Your Honor.” Peter Thill stood, playing to Metina in the back of the courtroom. “I have a motion.”

  We took a break so that Bob Finley could talk to his client. Finley was a veteran. He
’d seen it all, and he had little patience for clients who embarrassed him in court. He was the lawyer. They were the clients. I could hear him scolding Thill as I exited the courtroom.

  The fifteen-minute break turned into an hour.

  Karen gaveled court to order, and I took my seat behind the bench and acted as if nothing unusual was happening.

  “Please be seated, everybody.” I looked at the attorneys. “Can you both approach?”

  Norgaard and Finley walked up to the bench. I covered the microphone with my hand and leaned over. “What’s going on?”

  Finley shook his head. “My client wants you to recuse yourself. He also doesn’t want me to be his attorney.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Finley smiled. “Well, I can’t tell you exactly because it would violate attorney-client privilege, but let’s just say I told him his odds of prevailing and he didn’t like my advice.”

  “And then what?”

  “He told me to fuck off, and I told him that I’d be glad to.” Finley chuckled.

  Norgaard’s lips pursed. “Your language, Bob. Watch your language in court.”

  Finley rolled his eyes. “You want to go to trial with this clown representing himself?”

  “Well . . .” Norgaard looked flustered. “Of course not.”

  “Then chill out.”

  I sent them back to their seats. “Just let him make the motion, and we’ll take it one step at a time.”

  The attorneys retreated. Norgaard sat down, but Finley remained standing. “I spoke with my client, and he feels very strongly that you should not be the judge in this matter. He believes that you are biased against him, and it was also his understanding that you were no longer assigned to hear child protection matters due to your lack of experience and questions about your legal knowledge in this area.”

  Finley was playing it straight, but he was careful to distance himself from every allegation. He was merely parroting what his client believed.

  “It’s true,” I said. “I’m transitioning to the criminal division, but the legal deadlines to resolve child protection matters in a timely manner are very clear.” I looked at the back row. Metina was writing down every word. “It is inappropriate to delay these proceedings. Do you agree, Ms. Norgaard?”

  Sylvia Norgaard stood. “That is absolutely correct, Your Honor. We have witnesses that are prepared to testify, having rearranged their busy schedules. It is not fair to the children to delay any further. Even if this is a legitimate motion, which I do not believe it is, then it should have been filed, in writing, prior to today. It is not timely, and I believe it is just an attempt by Mr. Finley and his client to manipulate these proceedings and delay a resolution.”

  “I agree.” I watched Metina, who appeared thoroughly entertained, scribble notes. Even though there wasn’t an article today, I was pretty sure there would be one tomorrow with or without our agreement. “The motion to recuse is denied. We’ll break for an early lunch and start testimony this afternoon.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Lunch was a granola bar and a Diet Coke in between phone calls and e-mails. Nikki offered to pick up whatever I wanted for dinner, and criminal assignment was pressuring me to break up the Thill trial. They wanted me to handle at least one half-day criminal calendar each day or a full-day criminal calendar every other day.

  I was politely refusing their offer when Karen appeared in my doorway. “Detective Jarkowski is here to see you.”

  I nodded, then told criminal assignment that I had to go when Jarkowski stepped into the room and closed the door.

  “How’s it going, Judge?”

  “It’s been better.” I looked at my watch but decided to ignore the time. I wanted to know what Jarkowski had found.

  “I’ve got a little information for you.” Jarkowski took a seat. “We’ve been doing research on that Florida corporation.”

  “Have you figured out where its money is coming from?”

  He passed me a packet of paper. “Some of it. The corporation owns a house in Sedona, Arizona.”

  The packet’s first few pages were simply advertisements of the house as a vacation rental: $570 per night. The rest were photographs.

  “We called a cop down there to go check it out.” The detective took the packet back. “The cop knocked on the door and a guy answered. He said he was renting the place for a month, and then the cop talked to the neighbors. The neighbors say they rarely saw anybody coming and going. The fact that there was currently a renter was unusual. The place is nice, they say, but it isn’t five-hundred-seventy-dollars-per-night nice.”

  “I know Harry liked Sedona,” I said. “I know he went there on vacation pretty regularly, but he never said anything about owning a piece of property over there.”

  “That’s what I wanted to know.” He stood up. “And you’ve never been there?”

  “No.”

  “And you never heard Helen Vox talk about it?”

  “Never.”

  “It ain’t a bad scam, though.”

  “You think they laundered money through this vacation rental?”

  “Pretty easy when you think about it,” he said. “If somebody wants to swing some money your way, they just rent this house for a week or even a few months. The owner is in complete control of the price. Judge Meyer can charge whatever he wants to charge, and nobody is around to verify anything.”

  “I believe that I represent the father, Peter Thill,” Bob Finley said. He looked down at his client. “Is that true, sir? Do you want me to represent you in this trial?”

  Thill did not respond. He looked up at Finley, then at me. I almost prompted him to answer, but Finley beat me to it.

  “Mr. Thill, you understand that I have been appointed to represent you, true?”

  There was a pause, then a slow response. “Sure.” He rolled his eyes. “If that’s what you call it.”

  “In private, I tell you what I think. In the courtroom, I’m your advocate. I’m not paid to be your friend or your cheerleader.” Finley put his hands on his hips, and I noticed Benji Metina watching intently.

  I thought what he was doing was great. Finley was building a record, making sure that we were all protected on appeal. Although a lawyer was there to advise his or her client, they were not a puppet. Legally, a lawyer didn’t simply do whatever the client wanted. Tactics were within a lawyer’s discretion. Finley wanted to make that clear.

  “Now, Mr. Thill, you are not happy with my advice, but you understand that I am your court-appointed attorney, and if you don’t like me, you have two choices. First, you can represent yourself, which no lawyer or judge would advise. Second, you can hire somebody else.”

  “But I can’t afford somebody else.”

  “That’s not my issue, Mr. Thill. You cannot shop around for a court-appointed attorney. You get who is appointed to you, unless there is something that I have done that mandates my discharge from this case.”

  There was silence. Finley crossed his arms and pouted.

  “Mr. Thill, what is your choice?”

  He mumbled something under his breath, and Finley leaned over to him. “Mr. Thill, you need to state that clearly for the record.”

  “I’m ready to go.”

  Finley folded his arms over his chest and pouted out his lower lip. “Ready to go, how?” Finley wasn’t going to let it go. He wanted to eliminate the ambiguity, and I was perfectly content letting him do it.

  “Ready to go with you.”

  “As your lawyer?” Finley glanced my way with a wry smile.

  “Yes.” Thill slammed his hands down on the table, and his daughters giggled in the back. Their immaturity was starting to make me rethink my decision to allow them to stay. “I want to continue with you as my lawyer, OK?”

  “Sounds good.” Finley put his hand on Thill’s shoulder, and he gave it a hard squeeze. “That’s all, Your Honor. The respondent is ready to proceed.”

  There were no opening stateme
nts, because there was no jury. It was a bench trial, and since we were already behind, Sylvia Norgaard wanted to get started. “Your Honor, the State calls Peter Thill to the stand.”

  “Very well.” I gestured at Thill and directed him to the witness chair. It was an aggressive move, but I didn’t blame Norgaard. Depending on how much he admitted, Thill’s testimony could make many of her other witnesses unnecessary.

  Benji Metina looked a little confused, but she probably didn’t understand that child protection proceedings were civil. The rules were different. Everybody who watched a cop show knew that in a criminal proceeding you had the right to remain silent, and your silence could not be used against you. In a civil trial, there was no general right to remain silent; if a witness refused to answer a question, the fact finder could use that silence against the person invoking their right to remain silent. Norgaard was just doing her job, and I was following the law by allowing her to proceed.

  I held my hand in the air. “Mr. Thill, can you raise your right hand?” Thill did as I instructed. “Do you swear to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth?”

  “I always do.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Please have a seat.”

  As soon as Thill sat down in the witness chair, Norgaard came after him.

  “You’re a sex offender, isn’t that right, Mr. Thill?”

  “I suppose,” he said. “That’s what they say.”

  “That’s what they say.” Norgaard looked bemused. “Meaning that twenty years ago you were convicted of kidnapping and raping an eighteen-year-old girl.”

  Thill shifted in his seat. “That was a misunderstanding.”

  Norgaard picked up the old police reports and began to summarize. “You befriended a homeless girl. You eventually got her in your car. You put duct tape over her eyes. You drove her to an abandoned house and raped her. Isn’t that correct?”