Exquisite Justice

by Dennis Carstens

  “Just for the fun of it,” Marston replied.

  Marc expected the next witness would be from the police civilian review board. Instead, Jennifer Moore called Philo Anson to the stand.

  The prosecution wanted Philo to testify about the photo in the paper. They were looking to subtly impress upon the jury the impact that photo had on the community. Of course, it was absolutely irrelevant to the issue of guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. But add a little spice by putting it in the jurors’ minds that children saw this, well, it couldn’t hurt.

  To accomplish this, Moore was using Philo’s proximity to the shooting as a witness to the act itself. He did not see the shooting, but he saw Rob afterward.

  Philo had never testified at a trial before and he was determined to make the most of this one. Moore did a good job of getting him to explain who he was and why he was there.

  As part of the preparation of each witness, they are told to look at and speak to the jury. Moore quickly lost control of Philo. One of the first things Philo looked for when he sat down was the camera set up in a back corner of the room. Every time Philo spoke, and it was a lot since he took over his testimony, he was looking directly at the camera.

  Philo prattled on about his education, his years at the paper and the articles he had written about the racial unrest. Clearly, he was auditioning, and Moore was able to figure it out.

  Marc considered objecting that Philo’s answers were nonresponsive, which they certainly were. Instead, Marc let him go. The jury seemed very annoyed with him so why should Marc help the state and put a stop to it?

  At one point he even got up without asking the judge and went to the drawing of the scene and pointed out where he was. Maybe fifteen feet ahead of Ferguson.

  It took over an hour, but Moore finally got to the point.

  “What did you do after the shooting?”

  “Well, I’ll tell you,” Philo began. “My journalism instincts apparently took over. Sure, I ducked down, but I also pulled my phone out to get photos.

  “What I saw was bedlam. People were running in all directions, screaming and panic-stricken. I kept my cool. I remember seeing a cop standing in a shooter’s stance, his arms extended, holding a gun.”

  “Did you get a picture of him?”

  “Unfortunately, no. I tried to, but there were too many people running around. I couldn’t get it.”

  “Could you identify this police officer?” Moore asked.

  “Sure, no problem. It was the defendant, Officer Robert Dane.”

  “What did you do, then?” Moore asked an open-ended question she quickly regretted.

  It took him fifteen minutes to explain how courageously he acted by getting photos of the dead Ferguson.

  “How many days did the photos appear in the paper?” Moore asked.

  For the sole purpose of aggravating Jennifer more than she already was, Marc objected. “Objection. Assumes facts not in evidence.”

  “Sustained.”

  Moore drew a deep breath and asked, “Did the photo appear in the Star Tribune?”

  “Yes, it ran three consecutive days starting with the front page, A section, above the fold the next day.”

  Moore asked for and received permission to approach the witness. She carried with her a copy of that day’s A section with the photo of Ferguson on the front page.

  She went through the steps of having Philo identify it and then asked that it be submitted into evidence.

  “May I see it?” Marc asked.

  Jennifer handed it to him, and, after a few seconds, Marc said, “The defense objects to its admission, your Honor. Both the photo and the headline are highly prejudicial and have no probative value.”

  “I agree,” Tennant said. “The newspaper will not be allowed into evidence and there will be no further mention of it.”

  Tennant looked at the jury and said, “If any of you remember seeing it, you will put it out of your mind. A photo and story in a newspaper are evidence of nothing.”

  Moore took the paper away from Marc, went back to her seat and passed the witness.

  “Do you recognize this man?” Marc asked of the photo on the TV screen.

  “Yes,” Philo replied. Not waiting for Marc to ask another question, Philo went right to it. “He was marching in the protest every day. He seemed to be having a good time.”

  “Mr. Anson, please answer only the question I ask,” Marc said.

  “Oh, yeah, sure. Sorry.”

  “On the day of the shooting, did you see him before the shooting of Ferguson?”

  Philo thought for a moment, then said, “Yes, he was there that day.”

  “Was he in close proximity to Ferguson?”

  “Yes, yes, he was.”

  “Did you see him after the shooting” Marc asked.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Your testimony was that you heard the shots, turned around and saw Ferguson on the ground but you did not see this man running away, is that correct?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  Marc hesitated, thinking he might try to cast some doubt on Philo’s story of his journalism heroics. Obviously, Philo did not do the things he claimed, or he would have seen the homeless man running away. Getting him to admit it was not likely.

  “I have nothing further, your Honor,” he said instead.

  Carvelli parked the Lincoln on Chicago Avenue a half a block from the restaurant. He was meeting with the FBI, Jeff Johnson and Tess Richards. The guys going through the recordings that Conrad had made came up with more incriminating evidence. It even included discussions Damone had with Saadaq Khalid. Very detailed discussions about dealings with Imam Sadia and his Somali accomplices. What would really pique the Feds was the Cedar/Riverside State bank and the other various laundry services they used. The numerous small businesses that they were using to wash money.

  Carvelli slid into the booth next to Tess across from Johnson. Before he could say a word, his favorite waitress was there.

  “Hi, Tony,” she said. “What can I get you?”

  “Hey, Sherry. You know what? I’ll have a soda, a Coke and a cheeseburger and fries.

  “You two…” he started to say to Johnson.

  “We ordered.”

  When the young girl left, Carvelli removed two disks in plastic cases from his inside jacket pocket.

  “Here it is. At least so far. We have more to get through,” Carvelli said. “Dates, times, you name it.”

  “And your guy, the guy who has this, he’s not working for any law enforcement entity at all?”

  “Nope. I don’t know if this is kosher, but I may as well tell you. He set up the recording system, both audio and video, for our pal, Damone. He’s gonna want immunity.”

  “Tell Conrad that won’t be a problem,” Johnson said.

  “How did you know it was Conrad?” Carvelli asked.

  “A good guess. This sounds like him,” Johnson replied.

  “This is gonna take a few days,” Tess said.

  “A few days? If the federal government only takes a few days to do something, it would be a land speed record. What about Paxton?”

  “We’ve been talking to her. Things are moving. We’ll get coordinated with her end in Chicago and here and hit them at the same time. Does she have this?” Tess asked referring to the disks.

  “Yes, she does.”

  Fifty-Five

  “Detective Fontana,” Marc began. He was doing the cross-examination of the prosecution’s lead investigator.

  Gondeck had finally put her on the stand to testify to the investigation. She was very thorough but added little. They did not find a gun, nor did they find anyone who saw a gun. They did not find anyone who saw the shooting. The investigation was basically to find a motive for Rob to have shot Ferguson. She tried to testify about the police officer, Daniel Schilling, who came to them with the racism claim against him. Marc objected that this was hearsay and Tennant sustained their objection.

 
“You were contacted by a Minneapolis police officer by the name of Daniel Schilling, were you not?” Marc asked.

  “Yes, that’s true.”

  “He approached you three days after the death of Lionel Ferguson, isn’t that true?”

  “Yes, I believe that is correct.”

  “And he called you, personally?”

  “Yes, I believe so.”

  “Well, did he contact any of the other two investigators who then referred him to you?”

  “No.”

  “Before he called you, how many MPD cops had the three of you, your investigation team, interviewed?”

  “I can’t remember specifically,” she said with a puzzled look.

  “More than ten?”

  “Yes, at least.”

  “More than twenty?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Would twenty-five sound about right?”

  “Actually, that might be a little high.”

  “Officer Schilling was not one of the police officers you sought out to interview, was he?”

  “No, he was not.”

  “You didn’t interview Officer Schilling before that because, although he was on crowd control duty for the protest march, he was stationed at least a half mile away from Officer Dane. Is that right?”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “Your prior testimony was that, in total, you interviewed over one hundred police officers, most of them after you spoke with Schilling, isn’t that correct?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “The twenty-five mentioned previously were interviewed before Schilling?”

  “Yes, that would be correct.”

  “All of the others were interviewed because of what Officer Schilling told you, isn’t that true?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Of those one hundred in total, how many were African Americans?”

  “I would need to check my notes.”

  “Please do,” Marc told her.

  Fontana had her case notebook on her lap. It took her a minute or so to find it and when she did, she answered, “Twenty-seven.”

  “Isn’t it true that of all of the officers of the Minneapolis Police Department that you interviewed, except for Daniel Schilling, not a single one had anything bad to say about the defendant, Officer Robert Dane?”

  “Well, cops will try to…”

  “Yes or no,” Ms. Fontana.

  “Yes, that is true,” she replied.

  “In fact, not a single one, even the black officers, told you anything that would lead you to believe that Robert Dane is a racist, did they? Yes or no, Ms. Fontana.”

  “No, they did not,” she admitted.

  “And you specifically asked every one of them that question, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, by that point we were looking for it.”

  “Isn’t it true, Ms. Fontana, that Daniel Schilling came to you claiming he had information about Robert Dane that you had not discovered yourself, then after interviewing Schilling, your team interviewed another eighty cops and none of them backed up what Schilling claimed? True or false, Ms. Fontana?”

  “Yes, that’s true.”

  “Ms. Fontana, did any of the people you interviewed tell you about a homeless man marching with the protestors every day near Reverend Ferguson?”

  “Not to my knowledge, no.”

  Arturo put up the photo of Charlie Dudek as the homeless man on the TV screens.

  “Ms. Fontana, do you recognize the man now being displayed on the court monitors?”

  “No, I do not,” she answered.

  “I have nothing further, your Honor.”

  Damone, along with Lewis and Monroe, were watching the trial in Damone’s office. After the cross-examination of Fontana, the judge adjourned for the day.

  “I’m trying to decide if he looks anything like the man I met at Minnehaha Falls,” Damone said. “I don’t see any resemblance at all. I’ll tell you something else, if you saw either of them walking down the street, you wouldn’t notice him. A minute later, if you were asked to describe him, you couldn’t do it.”

  “What now?” Rob asked.

  The four of them, including Maddy, were in a small conference room attached to the courtroom. This little room, with a round wooden table and four chairs, had become their conference room.

  “He must be about done,” Arturo said. “Unless he has a surprise, he’ll bring in the civilian complaints and Schilling tomorrow.”

  “Should be about it,” Marc agreed.

  “Any way to keep the complaints from the jury?” Rob asked.

  “We argued about this at our suppression hearing,” Marc said. “Margaret doesn’t believe they’re too damaging. The prosecution is arguing his motive is racism and they have a right to present evidence of it.”

  “I don’t think they are that bad,” Arturo said. “He was exonerated in all of them. A couple of them, he was, at most, minimally involved.”

  “It’s a done deal,” Marc said. “They’re coming in.”

  “The State calls Cornell Wright, your Honor,” Jennifer Moore announced.

  Cornell Wright was a member and Deputy Director of the City’s Department of Civil Rights. His primary responsibility was overseeing the Police Conduct Oversight Commission. He was also its chairman and the most despised man known to the Minneapolis Police Department. A master’s degree from Princeton in diversity studies and a Ph.D. from Howard University certainly qualified him for the position.

  Wright was a slender, forty-something, single, black man. Just shy of five-foot-seven inches tall. In Cornell Wright’s opinion, he never met a cop who was not guilty of something. Rumor had it that there was no one angrier with the world than him.

  Of the seven members of the oversight committee, four were black—two women, two men—two were American Indians, both women, and one white man. None of the others held the same ‘guilty until proven innocent’ attitude Wright did. He did little to hide it, often saying they were not a court of law. Those rules did not apply.

  Jennifer used up the entire morning session getting the loquacious Cornell Wright to go over each complaint. He did so in a calm, rational manner. No one in the courtroom could have known his personal opinion about any of them. He even openly admitted that, in a secret ballot, Officer Robert Dane was exonerated for all of them.

  Except Jennifer had used Wright’s education, experience and curriculum vitae to skillfully get Judge Tennant to qualify him as an expert. He had never testified before Tennant previously. She had no idea who he was or the bias he brought with him.

  “In your professional expert opinion, Dr. Wright, what do you see regarding the racial attitude of the defendant?” Jennifer asked.

  “Objection,” Marc said. “This question is outrageous and lacks any foundation for it. This witness-”

  “Overruled,” Judge Tennant said. “The witness can give his opinion and you may cross-examine him on it.”

  “Given the number of complaints, the clear pattern of racial involvement and the fact that he does not have a single complaint from a white person, he is obviously a closet racist.”

  “A closet racist,” Jennifer said. “Would you explain that, please, Doctor?”

  “Certainly. His racism is not overt. It is not out in the open. He doesn’t talk like a racist all the time. He doesn’t ordinarily use racial epithets. But he never seems to miss an opportunity to use violence against an African American. That’s far more dispositive of a racist police officer than the fact he rarely uses the ‘N’ word.”

  Jennifer paused for a moment while looking at her witness. She was thinking about possibly more embellishment. Having received what she wanted from him, she had enough sense to stop.

  “Nothing further, your Honor.”

  Following the lunch break, Marc wasted little time with pleasantries.

  “Doctor Wright let’s talk about the worst of the complaints first,” Marc began. “Now, bearing in mind that you are under oath,
subject to perjury…”

  “I resent that!” Wright indignantly said.

  “The witness will refrain from making comments,” Tennant said.

  “Isn’t it true, in the case of Faaruq Noor, the vote to exonerate Officer Dane was six to one?”

  “How do you know that? These are secret ballots and…”

  “Nonresponsive, your Honor,” Marc said.

  He was absolutely correct. The committee’s votes are supposed to be secret. It took Maddy Rivers two scotch on the rocks and less than half an hour sitting next to him in a bar to get Peter Forester, the only white man on the committee, to spill it all.

  “You’re under oath and I can bring in witnesses,” Marc said.

  “Yes, that’s true, but I did not find his claim credible. That he only hit Faaruq once.”

  Marc would have normally cut him off from explaining except he wanted it out there.

  “Really. So, you didn’t believe the doctor, you didn’t believe Sergeant Dave Powell or Officer Diane Logan? That Mr. Noor jumped on top of Officer Dane and, while holding a knife to his face, tried to get his gun. And Officer Dane, in a fight for his life, punched Mr. Noor once and broke his jaw?”

  “No, I did not.”

  “In fact, Doctor, isn’t it true that of the other three complaints against Officer Dane, the vote on all of them was six to one, you being the lone vote against him?”

  “They all appeared to be good complaints,” Wright mildly claimed.

  “Doctor, isn’t it true you almost always, with very few exceptions, vote guilty when the complainant is black and the officer involved is white?”

  “I, ah, don’t believe that, no.”

  “I said almost always, Doctor Wright, and I am prepared to subpoena witnesses to back it up. So, I will give you a chance to correct your answer. Isn’t true you almost always vote guilty when the complainant is black and the police officer is white. Yes or no, Doctor?”

  “Maybe, perhaps,” he answered, trying to soften it.

  Marc sighed and said, “One more time, Doctor. Isn’t it true…”

  “All right, yes, I suppose but…”