Then it’s Christina Wesley’s turn to vent. “This is ridiculous! We don’t even know who committed those burglaries. How can we investigate a crime if we don’t know who the criminal is?”
The judge, Devlin Walker, and I all look at the young prosecutor. After a moment, I offer, “Well, gee, Ms. Wesley, I thought that part of the investigation process is finding out the identity of the criminal.”
Christina’s face turns crimson. I can’t tell whether she’s more embarrassed at herself or livid with me.
“Is there any talk of a plea here?” Bill Henry asks, out of the blue. “I know your client isn’t going to cop to first degree,” he continues, looking at me. “But what about voluntary manslaughter? Or even involuntary manslaughter?”
Devlin says he has little interest in a plea but will consider it if approached by the defense.
The judge shrugs and tells me to talk to my client, see if he’ll agree to plead to a lesser charge.
“I’ll run it by him, Your Honor,” I say, without enthusiasm.
The judge dismisses us until tomorrow, and I leave chambers ahead of Devlin and Christina. I’m walking toward the elevators when Walker comes up behind me.
“A minute, Mick,” he says.
I turn and wait.
“Early on,” Devlin says, “I offered to let your client save himself from life imprisonment by pleading to voluntary manslaughter. I’m making that offer again, for the last time, but only if—”
I put up a hand to stop him. “I know. I know it chapter and verse. How about you tell me something.”
Devlin stares at me, waiting.
“What’s the big secret?” I ask.
He looks at me, confused.
“Come on, Devlin. You’ve zeroed in on that computer from the get-go. What about it is so important that you’re willing to let go of the biggest murder conviction of your career? A conviction that would make you a shoo-in for DA when you-know-who decides it’s time to step down?”
“You know why I want that computer. Yamura had more information on the police drug ring. More names—maybe a lot more. I want those names and whatever additional evidence she had. I’ve never made a secret of that.”
I stare hard at Walker, let the corner of my mouth curl up just a little. “There’s more to it than that. You would never trade a David Hanson just to rope in a few more crooked cops.” Now it’s Devlin’s turn to stare. “It’s something close to home, is what I’m betting. The hard-on you have for that laptop isn’t because you want to see what’s on it. It’s because you don’t want someone else to see it.”
Devlin’s jaw stiffens. I’ve struck a nerve, as intended, but he still thinks I’m only guessing. “One last chance, Mick. Your client can plead to voluntary manslaughter tomorrow morning, before we start the day’s testimony. But that offer goes away the minute my first witness is sworn in. Forever.” With that, he turns and walks away.
It’s close to six o’clock by the time I get back to the office. I go right to the conference room, where Marcie is waiting for me. Seated at the far end of the table, she watches me as I enter and close the door behind me.
“There’s fresh coffee,” she says, nodding to the white porcelain pitcher sitting in front of her. “I assume you’re planning on a late night.”
“I’ll get some later,” I say, taking a corner seat closest to Marcie. For someone who’s spent all day sitting in a crowded courtroom, she looks remarkably fresh. Her conservative blue pantsuit doesn’t have a wrinkle, and not a hair is out of place on her head. The faintest wisp of perfume dances across my face, and I wonder whether Marcie just spritzed herself in the ladies’ room or if she’s wearing some immorally expensive fragrance that has a time-release element built in.
Marcie and I sit for a moment, looking at each other, until I split the silence with a single word. “Edwin.”
Marcie smiles. “Yes, Edwin,” she says, her eyes alight. “He and I had a little sit-down this morning at his office. The sun wasn’t even up, but he was already at work, as I knew he would be. He thought he’d have a fun day in the courtroom, hanging my husband out to dry. I convinced him otherwise, made him see that he hadn’t thought things through.”
“What exactly did you threaten him with?”
“David was general counsel at HWI for close to ten years. His job was to manage all of the company’s legal problems. Manage as in keep secret. Hide. Sweep under the rug. David told me to convey to his brother that if Edwin hurt him with the jury, the phones would begin ringing in every major news outlet in the country as well as in dozens of state and federal regulatory agencies. Payoffs to politicians, here and abroad. Environmental violations, big and bigger. Cover-ups of discrimination claims. Falsified drug-test results. Weapons technology sold secretly to certain unsavory governments. Violations of international trade agreements. And the paperwork to back it all up. By the time David and I finished with him, poor Edwin would have to spend the next decade testifying before congressional subcommittees. And then, of course, the United States attorney would take his turn.”
I sit back in my chair and take all this in. What Marcie is telling me without shame or hesitation is that her husband, along with his brother and their henchmen, engaged in corporate villainy on a titanic scale.
“What about Kevin Kratz?”
“What about him?”
“You’re going to lop off his head,” I say.
“As soon as the verdict comes down, no matter what that verdict is. Same with that worthless enabler, Barbara King. I made Edwin promise.”
“But what if Kratz makes the same threat to Edwin you have? Demands to be kept on or given some huge golden parachute?”
Marcie laughs outright at this. “Come now, Mick. Do you really think that little weasel has it in him?”
She’s right, of course. Kevin wouldn’t dare take on David or Edwin Hanson.
I tell Marcie what Judge Henry said after court about possibly reconsidering his admission of David’s gathering $4 million on the eve of trial. Marcie smiles and says, “I think after tomorrow, the judge will do just that.”
Her remark instantly fills me with worry. “What are you talking about?”
“Do you know how many people have been starving in South Sudan? How many have been displaced around the world by civil war?”
I can feel the blood draining from my face. “What have you and David done this time?”
Marcie pulls out a cigarette and lights it up. She stares at me as she takes a deep drag. Then a second. “David didn’t kill that tart. And I’m not going to let him go to prison for her death.”
“How can you be so sure he didn’t do it? Maybe they got into a fight. Maybe he lost control.”
“David doesn’t lose control,” Marcie said.
“Everyone loses control! You didn’t see David the morning of his arrest, sitting in that prison cell. That was not a man in control.”
Marcie glares at me.
“And what’s your answer to the video?”
“All it shows is David going in and out of the house.”
“During the time period Jennifer Yamura was killed. David would be sunk if that film ever got out.”
“Oh, knock it off. This isn’t just about you protecting David. If it ever got out about that video and your role in keeping it under wraps, you’d be charged with obstruction of justice. You’re protecting your own ass as much as you’re looking out for David.”
I grit my teeth but say nothing. Marcie’s right. That video would damn me, too.
Marcie stands, puts her coat on, wraps the strap of her handbag around her shoulder. I watch her walk to the door, thinking she’s going to leave without saying good-bye. But she turns.
“I know this case has been rough on you. And that it’ll probably get rougher—for a whole lot of reasons. David and I aren’t making it any easier. I know that, too. But we can’t just sit back and hope the legal system works the way it’s supposed to. David and I have
assets—relationships and avenues not open to most people. We’re going to take advantage of them. You disagree, but we think our efforts will help. But even if they don’t, at least David and I won’t look back with the regret that comes from not doing everything one could have.” Marcie looks at me for a long moment, then turns and walks out the door.
When she’s gone, I stare at the empty conference room for a long time.
I know all about regret.
30
WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 14
Devlin Walker, Christina Wesley, and I are seated before Judge Henry in his small office adjoining the courtroom.
“Well?” the judge asks. “Have you considered my request for a plea deal?”
Devlin jumps in before I can answer. “We offered Man One, Your Honor. As sweet a deal as this defendant could ever hope to get.”
The judge considers this, then looks at me.
“I met with Mr. Hanson this morning, and we talked at length.” I pause and withdraw a piece of lined yellow legal paper from my breast pocket. “My client paid close attention to everything I told him. Then he asked me for a pen and something to write on. He said he wanted to make sure Your Honor heard his message in his words. What he wrote is this: ‘I did not kill Jennifer Yamura. Not deliberately. Not accidentally. Not in a fit of passion. Not by reason of insanity or whatever other loophole could lessen the sentence. I did not kill Jennifer Yamura, and I will not plead guilty to any crime that implies that I did, even if it would keep me from spending a thousand years in prison. As to the lesser charges pertaining to altering the crime scene, I ask Your Honor to understand that the murder charges wrongfully brought against me by the jump-the-gun prosecutor have destroyed my reputation, left my career in ruins, and derailed a business deal that could have benefited every man, woman, and child living in Philadelphia. Like any innocent man, I shudder at the prospect of imprisonment. But I am not going to enter into any deal, on any charge, proposed by this wrongful prosecution.’”
I fold the piece of paper, place it back into my jacket, and look at the judge.
“So,” the judge says, “even if the DA offered Man Two . . .”
“Not even jaywalking.”
At this, Walker actually snorts his contempt. The judge casts him a disapproving glance and then orders us to go back to the courtroom. I pause at the doorway while Christina Wesley and Devlin leave. Then, before I cross the threshold, I glance back. Bill Henry is staring at me, and I can see he’s gotten the message—David Hanson is innocent and will cop to nothing.
Which will play perfectly into my endgame.
I watch the jury file in and take their seats.
“The Commonwealth calls Detective John Tredesco to the stand,” Devlin announces.
Tredesco enters the well through the gate on the left of the courtroom, the prosecution side, passing between the prosecutor’s table and the jury box. His thinning black hair is freshly cut, but it still looks greasy on his small head. He has his suit jacket buttoned as he walks past the jury, so they can’t see his gut sticking over his belt. Tredesco turns to face the jury and can’t help hard-staring them as he takes the stand.
Devlin begins with the usual questioning, about Tredesco’s having been raised in Philadelphia, his time at the academy, and his fifteen-year tenure as a detective, the last eight with homicide. Those boxes all checked, Walker takes Tredesco to the night of Jennifer Yamura’s murder.
“Officers Pancetti and Kujowski handed the defendant over to Detective Cook and me, and we drove him to the station house,” Tredesco begins. “He was processed and brought to an interview room. Detective Cook offered him coffee. He said no, at first, then after a while said okay. So we brought him the coffee and some milk, too, but he said he had to have skim milk. Detective Cook went and checked the fridge and brought back two percent milk, and the defendant said, ‘No. I said skim. Not two percent.’ So Detective Cook found some skim. But by then the defendant said the coffee wasn’t hot enough and asked could we nuke it.”
This is vintage Tredesco bullshit. Fabricated details to make a defendant look bad. Tredesco has been offering this stuff up on the witness stand as long as I can remember. When I was a prosecutor, I had to tell him to knock it off more than once.
“Did you question the defendant before he asked for a lawyer?” Devlin asks.
“Before, yes. Not after.” Tredesco knows to emphasize that anything he’s going to attribute to the defendant was said before the invocation of Miranda rights. “We asked him why he killed the girl, Jennifer Yamura. Was there a fight? Did she want to break things off? Did she catch him with someone else?”
“What did he say?”
“He denied everything.”
“Did you ask him where he was when the victim was murdered?”
“Yes.”
“Did he answer?”
“He said he was at work all afternoon, which I found a little odd.”
“Why did that strike you as odd?”
“I never told him when she’d been killed. So how did he know that it was that afternoon?” Devlin lets this hang in the air for a while. I see a couple of jurors raise their eyebrows. A few look toward the defense table to see how David and I react to this.
“So, he told you he was at work all afternoon,” Devlin follows up. “Did you come to learn whether that was true or not?”
Before Tredesco can answer, I stand. “Your Honor, we’ll stipulate that Mr. Hanson wasn’t at work all day. Ms. King testified to that, and we’ve never disputed it.” The judge casts me a cold look. David’s lying is an important point for the prosecutor, and Bill Henry isn’t going to let me pretend otherwise by offering to stipulate to it.
“Overruled.”
“We found out from his secretary,” Tredesco starts in, “that it wasn’t true that he was at his office. She told us that he took off without telling her where he was going and never showed up again.”
Devlin says, “I’m not going to ask you about fingerprints and DNA found around the house. That will be for the CSU witness to describe for the jury. But did you learn anything important about the house itself?”
“Absolutely. We learned that Mr. Hanson arranged for the purchase of the house about six years ago through a subsidiary of Hanson World Industries.”
“How do you know it was the defendant who was responsible for the purchase and not someone else at HWI?”
“His name was on the agreement of sale. He signed it as general counsel.”
Devlin requests permission to approach the witness, then walks to the stand and has Tredesco identify the sales agreement.
Devlin moves the exhibit into evidence, then asks Tredesco if he learned anything else about the house at 1792 Addison Street.
“The whole place had just been remodeled,” the detective answers. “New carpets, new furniture, new TV. A brand-new bed. I figured the defendant was planning to get a new girlfriend, too.”
I object, and the judge strikes the remark from the record, tells the jury to pretend they didn’t hear it.
Devlin asks Tredesco whether he considered any potential suspects other than David.
“Of course,” Tredesco lies. “I do that in every investigation. Even where it’s clear from the start who committed the crime, I try to play devil’s advocate, ask myself who else might have done it. If another lead does appear, I follow it wherever it takes me. That’s what criminal investigation is all about.”
Devlin spends another half hour with Tredesco, having him recount to the jury his and Detective Cook’s investigation, step by step. Their interviews with all the neighbors, giving their names and the dates and times they were interviewed. Their interviews with Edwin Hanson, Kevin Kratz, the garage manager, and then Barbara King and half a dozen of David’s other colleagues at work. Reviewing the evidence with the CSU team and the medical examiner. Interviews with Jennifer Yamura’s coworkers, friends, and even her parents and brother. Late nights and early mornings. Meals skipped.
Even an anniversary missed. Devlin’s message to the jury: the police conducted a thorough investigation and followed the evidence to David Hanson.
“Did you find anyone who could place the defendant anywhere other than at Jennifer Yamura’s house on the afternoon of her death?” Walker asks.
“No one placed him anywhere else.”
“Did you find anyone who had information that Mr. Hanson put, or intended to put, the four million dollars to any use other than as seed money for an attempt to flee the jurisdiction?”
“No one came forward with any other reason for the money.”
“One final area of questioning, Detective,” Walker says. “And it’s an important one. Did you find any other credible leads, any other suspects in Jennifer Yamura’s murder, that weren’t speculative?”
“That weren’t speculative, no. I mean, we knew Ms. Yamura wasn’t exactly liked by the police officers charged in the drug ring. But none of them were caught running out of her house. And the CSU team didn’t find any prints of those particular officers in the house. So we marked them off the list. After due consideration, of course.”
“Had Ms. Yamura received any death threats from any of the officers?” Devlin asks.
“There was no evidence of that.”
“Any phone calls to her house made from the numbers of any of those officers? Or calls from her to them?”
I’m ready to spring now. The court has made clear that Jennifer’s calls to me are out of bounds, but I can imagine Tredesco trying to slip them in.
He plays it straight. “No.”
“Other than her relationship with the defendant, did you learn of any romantic relationship that would give someone a motive to kill Ms. Yamura?”
“No one,” Tredesco answers.
“Thank you, Detective,” Walker says. “Your Honor, that’s all I have on direct.”
The court gives everyone a ten-minute midmorning break to stretch and use the bathroom. I wait for the deputy to take David through the side door to the holding cell. Then I turn to Ginsberg and Vaughn. Marcie is leaving the courtroom through the door on the left, Piper through the door on the right.
A Criminal Defense Page 27
