"It could be, if there was drop-down," said the witness.
There it was. No matter which side the expert was on, it all came down to one basic question that everyone could understand: Was it more likely that the fire had dropped down, or burned straight up?
The prosecutor gave the witness more questions based upon what Ole's employees had said, and he got concessions, and the witness admitted that he, like Sergeant Jack Palmer, had not known about the polyfoam.
The most damage to the witness was done, once again, by potato chips: "Now, were you aware that there were a couple of other fires on that night in the vicinity of Ole's fire?" Cabral asked.
"Other than the fact they were in supermarkets, no."
"So you weren't aware that there was a pattern of fires associated with someone using a device to ignite potato chips?"
"I don't recall anything being said about a device."
"And having three fires in the same vicinity on the same day in commercial businesses open for business is rare?"
"Yes."
"In fact, it is extremely rare?"
"Yes."
"And would you agree that that is a good indicator that you might have an arsonist setting fires?"
"It would certainly be an indicator," the witness said.
Another defense witness was a former cashier from Ole's who testified that the ceiling in the housewares department used to leak when it rained, implying that smoldering embers could've dropped down from an attic fire and ignited store merchandise. She said that they'd had to replace thirty to fifty ceiling tiles after one downpour.
There were conflicts. Six years earlier she'd told Rich Edwards that the tiles had been replaced prior to the big fire, but now she was saying that she'd been busy on the day that Edwards had interviewed her, and only later had remembered that they had not been replaced.
Another defense witness testified that she'd seen "rowdy" juveniles hanging around Albertson's Market on the day of the arson attempt. And that although she didn't recall what they'd said exactly, it could've been something like: "Burn, baby, burn!"
At last, a defense witness arrived whom Mike Cabral admitted that he'd feared. The man had a twenty-three-page curriculum vitae. Cabral had never seen one like it. The witness was a mechanical engineer, licensed in eighteen states. He had a background in chemistry and mathematics, and was a member of honor societies both in general engineering and mechanical engineering. He'd designed projects in other states and foreign countries, written peer-review technical papers, and been published twenty-five times or more.
Some of his articles dealt with fire growth and behavior, as well as with smoke and its control. An example of his esoteric knowledge could be gleaned by one of his articles delivered to the Society of the Plastic Institute, at its Thirteenth Combustibility Symposium.
And the witness had once delivered a paper on "Scale Modeling of Multistory Atria Fire Scenarios for Determining the Effectiveness of Mechanical Smoke Control Systems." It had been given in London and translated into multiple languages.
The witness just about wore out the court reporter, who, like everyone else in the courtroom, understood nothing except that he'd taught for a number of years at U. C. L. A. on "Fire Safe Building Design" and "Smoke Measurement and Control." He'd been retained several times as an expert involving civil litigation, and had authored various sections for building codes throughout America.
The portly prosecutor had been sweating right through his suit coat after getting the resume of this witness. And no doubt he'd prayed to Our Lady of Fatima or whoever it is that Portuguese kids pray to when they're in big trouble. Until he took a gander at the witness and at the jury gawking at the witness.
"Do you know what ZZ Top looks like?" Cabral commented later, when asked his impression of the distinguished engineer.
The guy had a belt-touching gray beard you could hide Ally McBeal in and a gray ponytail just as long; he did look just like one of the Texas blues-rockers whose hits included "Arrested for Driving While Blind" and "Jesus Just Left Chicago."
After he'd finally gotten through the curriculum vitae, the witness was asked various questions in connection with the Ole's fire, and whether the fire's behavior was consistent with a fire that had started in the attic, to which the witness answered in the affirmative. The engineer then said he'd been supplied with drawings representing what the building had looked like before it was Ole's Home Center, other architectural and construction drawings, and arson reports from various experts, as well as many photographs.
The witness said, "In summary, all of the information that was provided to me would tend to support their original finding."
Over objections and arguments, Rucker got to ask the witness some questions about lights flickering and breakers having been tripped, and finally, the judge cut off further questions about electrical failure as being beyond the witness's expertise. But it soon became apparent that almost nothing was beyond this witness's expertise.
During recess, the judge had a discussion with Juror Number Ten, the crossword puzzler, about a doctor's appointment. The judge was stunned when the juror said she could not move her appointment to suit the court, and in fact, she'd been instructed "to go through my attorney," if necessary, to get to the appointment on the only day that the doctor could fit her in.
The judge said in astonishment, "You say you are going through your attorney...
The American jury system had come to this: A juror was threatening the judge with legal action if she could not be excused for a doctor's appointment. Yet if asked, every one of the strange fish in that litigation tank would proclaim with indignation: "Of course our jury system works!"
When it got to polyurethane foam, the engineer enlightened the jury on the different types and subcategories of foam, both rigid and flexible, and that he'd done studies on foam in regard to fire inhibitors built into it. But he couldn't say much about the foam products at Ole's without more data.
He looked at a photo of polyfoam and said, "I am not certain just looking at this picture which it is. It looks like it could be polystyrene as opposed to polyurethane."
And of course, he was the only one who had any idea what polystyrene was. He said that, in order to give an opinion about each type's ignition characteristics, he'd have to know "the geometry of how it's stored." So, Euclid had joined Isaac Newton in the witness box.
Then Rucker asked the witness a long series of questions about smoke detectors, and the witness talked about draft stops and suspended ceilings.
When Rucker asked if there was an attic fire above a suspended ceiling, would people down below smell it, the witness answered, "You would if it were set up as a plenum."
Nobody knew what a plenum was, and Rucker didn't ask.
Then the witness became the first to say that draft stops in the attic could actually exacerbate fire by containing it to a smaller area, thus allowing it to heat up and "accumulate excess pyrolysis aids" which could result in backdraft or flashover.
Neither the court reporter nor anyone else knew how the hell to spell "pyrolysis" and Rucker wasn't about to ask that either.
Then the witness got a hypothetical from Ed Rucker, one that he'd asked others:
"Are those facts inconsistent with a fire on the floor, or a fire in the attic?"
The witness said, "Inconsistent with a fire on the floor."
"Okay, thank you, sir," said Rucker.
The judge said, "All right, cross-examination."
"The people would have no questions, Your Honor," said Mike Cabral, with a little grin.
Ed Rucker later said that his expert witness hadn't been particularly helpful. It could be that during the testimony the defense lawyer had spotted twelve people doing crossword puzzles.
Peter Giannini called Chief Gray once again, this time as a defense witness. Giannini showed Gray a two-page report concerning brush clearances made four months after the College Hills fire, indicating that the defendant ha
d been doing work relating to the blaze.
Flannery countered by taking a totally different tack, soliciting testimony from Gray that John Orr had a badge with a removable police banner, which had prompted a fire department inventory of all badges to see if others were being improperly used.
A Warner Brothers Studios firefighter testified that he'd been called out to the Waltons set, and that he'd seen the electrical panel "arcing" when they'd put water on the structure. That witness helped the defense, and the next witness, a fire inspector for Warner Brothers Studios, helped even more. The inspector corroborated that there had been arcing of wires when the firefighters were applying water to the blaze.
Joe Lopez, John Orr's last partner, again came to court as a defense witness, testifying to having been at training sessions where John had used a cigarette, match-book, matches, and rubber bands to set a delay device for training purposes. He said that on one occasion he'd even kept the cigarettes and matches in case they might be used again, which helped with the defense position that the items in John Orr's bag had not been suspicious.
After verifying that his partner had found three lighters at College Hills, Lopez was shown a video seized from John Orr's office. It displayed bad brush clearance, including shots of the Kennington house before and after it had burned, all designed to demonstrate to the jury that the sinister could be made simple.
When it was Cabral's turn, he went at Joe Lopez in regard to the badge with the removable police banner that John Orr had possessed. He asked, "You were aware that it was illegal to represent yourself as a police officer when you're not?"
"Yes, I am aware of that, yes," the witness said.
When Cabral asked about the Builder's Emporium fire on December 14, 1990, he said, "You later learned that John Orr pled guilty to setting that fire, is that correct?"
Joe Lopez answered, "I don't recall which charges he pled guilty to."
The supposition was that Joe Lopez still believed John Orr was guilty of nothing, and that the guilty plea had been a bad legal tactic, just as his mentor had so long maintained it was.
When asked if John had informed his partner that he'd found a tracking device on his car while in San Luis Obispo, the witness said, "I don't recall, no. I don't believe he did."
Toward the end of his cross-examination, Cabral asked, "You said that the location on Verdugo Road had fires almost every year?"
"Yeah, there were numerous fires in that general area, on the hillside."
"Have you had a fire on that hillside since the College Hills fire?"
The witness said, "It would be hard to have a fire anymore since our brush-clearance program is so aggressive."
Cabral wouldn't settle for that: "So is that, no, you haven't had any?"
"Not that I am aware of in that area," said the witness.
At a later time Joe Lopez said that the year he'd worked with John Orr had been the most productive, educational, best year of his career. The year after John Orr's arrest had been the worst. His mentor had complained in his chronicles about not liking a partner hanging on to his leg, but he'd enjoyed unwavering loyalty from this one.
The defense saved for last the woman who'd also remained loyal and constant since John Orr's arrest six and a half years earlier. Chris had even taken a part-time, unpaid job with Peter Giannini, in order to assist with work on behalf of John Orr. She was a small woman with a chestnut bob, and like his fourth wife, Wanda, wore little makeup and was businesslike, articulate, and very presentable.
Giannini established that she had a ten-year-old daughter who'd attended Robert Louis Stevenson elementary school in Burbank. He asked if there had been something scheduled at the school on the day of the Warner Brothers Studios fire. Chris answered that there had been a parent-teacher meeting which she could not attend, and that John had attended in her place.
She testified that John was there when she'd gotten home, and that they'd ordered a pizza, but he got paged before the pizza arrived, and had to go to Warner Brothers Studios.
Sandra Flannery later maintained that she and Mike Cabral had had no game plan for her to deal with Chris in a way that might inflame married female jurors, yet the first words out of the prosecutor's mouth were, "Good morning. When did you begin your relationship with John Orr?"
"Objection, irrelevant," said Peter Giannini.
The judge overruled Giannini, and Chris said, "I met John sometime during 1989."
Sandra Flannery then said, "And at some point in time during your relationship>, did you become aware of the fact that he was writing a novel?"
"He had mentioned it, yes," Chris said.
"In fact, were you aware of a character in the novel named Chris?"
"Yes."
"And you understood Chris to be, in essence, you. Is that correct?"
"He had told me later on that it was lightly based on his knowledge of me, yes."
"And on the relationship you had with him?"
Sandra Flannery emphasized the word relationship so much that she got the witness doing it. "I had not read the novel, and we did not get into the extent of the relationship with the character in the book."
"And during this time, how often would you say you saw John Orr?"
"Regularly."
"How many times a week?"
"It would depend on both of our schedules, but I would say on an average of at least twice a week."
"Three or four times a week, would that sound right?"
"Could be, yes."
"Are you presently John Orr's girlfriend?"
"I am a friend," the witness replied. "Prior to his arrest. And I've remained a friend."
"Prior to his arrest you were his girlfriend?"
"Yes," Chris admitted.
"And you are presently working on the defense team?"
"Yes, I mean ... I have volunteered my time to help."
"And you've been here every day during the trial?"
"Almost every day."
"And you've sat through the testimony every day that you've . . ."
"Yes yes yes," said the witness, cutting off the prosecutor.
"At some point in time did you help John Orr in giving an arson investigator's conference or instruction class of some type?"
"He asked me to assist as a role player."
"And did you play the role of an arsonist's wife?"
"Yes."
"And is it correct that the week before John Orr got arrested, he was planning to leave his wife for you?"
"I don't have knowledge of that."
"Did you ever make that statement to an investigator who worked for ATF?"
"I might have. I don't remember it, though."
After the witness was excused, a teacher from the Stevenson school testified that John Orr had come to the parent-teacher meeting at around 3:30 to 3:40 p. M. for a half-hour conference on the day in question, looking well dressed, composed, professional, and, in answer to a question from Giannini, "not smelling of smoke."
Sandra Flannery's cross-examination of Chris about the "relationship" was effective lawyering because it insinuated that John Orr was a serial philanderer in addition to being a serial arsonist, and to some jurors, that might be nearly as bad. And as to Sandra Flannery's disingenuous claim that the prosecution would never resort to exposing the defendant's womanizing, or to insinuate that Chris was a little home wrecker who'd inspired the hot scenes in John Orr's novel, one might respond to Sandra Flannery as Verdugo Dispatch had done when the lead-footed arson sleuth had tried to assure them he wasn't engaging in high-speed pursuits, but was only following fast: "Yeah. Riiiiiiiight!"
That afternoon the defense rested. Rebuttal was to begin the next day.
Chapter 19
THE MANUSCRIPT
The people's rebuttal case began on Wednesday, June 3, four weeks after the trial had begun. Sandra Flannery called employees of Warner Brothers to testify that the trees around the Waltons set were not dry and deciduous, but evergreen fo
r shooting purposes, and that the set was muddy, not parched. And she brought in the electrical foreman for lots of testimony about sparking, arcing, voltage dips, AC cable, DC cable, and amp loads, as if the jury hadn't had enough of that in this trial. None of the testimony sparked, not even a little bit.
And then a witness was called who hurt the defense's attic-fire hypothesis at Ole's Home Center. His name was Patrick Snyder and he had done work for the electrical contractor when Ole's Home Center was remodeled in 1981 and 1982. He'd personally inspected all of the electrical conduit in the attic, and he said that the attic was so well vented that the vents let in enough natural light that workers could see up there. And most important, he said there was no electrical material where Ed Rucker had suggested an electrical fire had erupted.
When it was Ed Rucker's turn at cross-examination, his first question was, "Mr. Snyder, you were an apprentice electrician at that time?"
"Yes, sir," the witness said.
But this witness was somebody who'd actually done the physical work in that attic, and on cross-examination he even remembered the plan for smoke detectors, and that everything in the attic was up to code and protected inside of conduit, with no high-voltage wires whatsoever outside of that protective conduit, and nothing where Ed Rucker had suggested it was.
Rucker later said that in every trial there seems to be one witness who unexpectedly inflicts more harm on a lawyer's case than all the others that the lawyer prepares for so diligently. And this was the one, an apprentice electrician who knew from firsthand experience how well vented the attic was, which suggested that an attic fire would have billowed smoke and heat out from the roof.
"One little working guy really hurt us,"
Ed Rucker later said.
The people finally rested their case, and the judge gave the jury a thirty-minute break, asking that they return in a half hour for jury instructions.
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