Glad to hear it.
Luca wasn’t fazed. “I figured you might say that, so I would limit Mike’s tenure on this case to a shorter period.”
“How short?”
“Six months.”
“Too long.”
“Three months.”
“Still too long.”
“One month.”
“Nothing will be resolved.”
“Mike is a very good lawyer.”
“Not that good.”
That’s my Rosie. I was starting to feel like I was being auctioned off like a head of cattle.
Luca finally dropped the posturing and invoked a lawyerly tone. “We would like Mike to represent Johnny for a short period to help us analyze the charges, develop a strategy, identify our options, and, if necessary, retain another attorney to whom Mike can transition the case in an orderly way. If things go well, Mike’s participation will last only a few weeks.”
“You don’t expect him to handle the trial?”
“I would love for him to handle the trial, but that isn’t realistic. I would not expect him to do anything beyond a preliminary hearing if we can’t get the charges dropped before then. It would mean a great deal to Johnny, Gio, Maria, and me. We would, of course, compensate Mike at an hourly rate.”
“That won’t work, either. A city employee can’t be on the payroll of another law firm.”
Luca spoke to me. “If that’s true, I’ll need to ask you to handle this matter pro bono.”
“Works for me.”
Rosie wasn’t sold. “It would set a bad precedent, and it could have political implications.”
“I’m prepared to make it worth your while.”
Rosie’s eyes narrowed. “If you’re suggesting a contribution to my re-election campaign, the answer is an emphatic no.”
“I’m suggesting no such thing.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a piece of paper. “I received this solicitation from you for a donation to the public defender’s summer internship program. It says that you’re trying to raise a hundred thousand dollars.”
“We are.”
“Coincidentally, I was going to contribute one hundred thousand dollars to underwrite this program.”
Rosie paused. “We’re very grateful, Luca, but there can’t be any quid pro quo.”
“There will be none. I will make an anonymous donation to this program—no strings attached. I will insist that my name and the amount of the donation not be revealed.”
Rosie was concerned. “What if I say that Mike isn’t available?”
“I’ll make the donation anyway. It’s a worthwhile program.”
Rosie looked at me. “You’re willing to do this for free for the next month?”
“Yes.”
She turned back to Luca. “I think we can work something out on a very limited basis.”
✽✽✽
Rosie’s eyes gleamed. “You understand that this is a bad idea, Mike.”
“I do.”
“Fortunately, you aren’t indispensable.”
I let it go.
“Do you have any active cases?” she asked.
“Not at the moment.”
“Good.” She lowered her voice. “I can’t give you any cover if things go sideways.”
I was flying solo. “Understood. Mind if I ask you something off the record?”
“Sure.”
“Do you think it’s a good idea to accept Luca’s donation?”
“If the Bacigalupi family wants to underwrite our summer program, I have no problem accepting their generosity.”
“You’re turning into quite the politician.”
“I’m learning. Do what you have to do, Mike. And I want you to be careful. This could get ugly.”
Yes, it could. “Rosie?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks.”
✽✽✽
“You sure that you want me to handle Johnny’s case?” I asked.
“Yes.” Luca was sitting in the swivel chair opposite my desk. “My father says that the Bacigalupi family always gets what it wants.”
“You sound like a character in Game of Thrones.”
“The same concepts apply.”
“The criminal justice system moves slowly. I’m going to give you a list of defense attorneys. I want you to line up somebody to bring in as co-counsel sooner rather than later.”
“I will.”
“And we’ll need a private investigator.”
“I already hired your brother.”
I’m not surprised. “Excellent choice. I’ll go down to the Hall and see if I can talk to the D.A. and find a judge who is willing to talk about bail.”
“Great.” His tone was confident. “Remember when the State Bar Journal said that you were the best public defender in the State of California?”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Now everybody is going to remember why.”
✽✽✽
My iPhone vibrated as I was heading out the door. Pete’s name appeared on the display. His tone was hushed. “Luca told me that you’re going to represent Johnny.”
“For now. When did you hear that?”
“About an hour ago.”
That was before Luca had asked me. Luca had confidence in his powers of persuasion. “I heard that you’re in, too.”
“Premium rates.”
“Attaboy.”
“Where are you?”
“Going to the Hall to see the D.A. Then I promised Luca that I would go see if I can find a judge to talk about bail.”
“A judge isn’t going to talk to you about bail before the arraignment.”
Probably true. “I told Luca that I would try.”
“Fine. When you’re finished, meet me over here in the Fillmore. They’re processing the crime scene. You’ll want to give it a look before they’re done.”
10
“ALWAYS GOOD TO SEE YOU”
The District Attorney of the City and County of San Francisco flashed a stunning and utterly phony politician’s smile as she extended a supple hand. “Here we are again, Michael,” she purred.
“Nice to see you, Nicole,” I lied.
“Always good to see you.”
As if. Nicole Ward had been San Francisco’s District Attorney for almost a decade, and she wore the accouterments of her office with panache. Her creamy complexion, immaculate make-up, and designer clothing made her look like a world-class politician. We had been on opposite sides of several high-profile cases back in the days when she still appeared in court. She was a formidable adversary who won cases more on style than substance—whatever works. Her frequent appearances on CNN and MSNBC had garnered a national following.
She invited me to sit in the armchair opposite the cherrywood desk in her corner office on the third floor of the Hall. Her paneled walls were covered with photos of local power players and Washington politicos.
She took a seat in her high-backed leather chair and smiled again. “Please give Rosie my very best.”
“I will.” Rosie and Ward were loath to be in the same room together. I pointed at the college graduation photos of her twin daughters from her second husband. Jenna and Missy were as stunning as their mother. “Everybody okay?”
“Just fine. Jenna is in law school at Yale. Missy is applying to medical school.”
“That’s terrific.”
She tugged at the sleeve of her St. Laurent blouse. “I’m very proud of them.”
“You should be.” In all the time I had known her, she had never asked about my kids.
She pointed at the middle-aged man sitting in the chair next to mine. “You’ve met DeSean?”
“Of course.”
A native of the Bayview, DeSean Harper had arrived at the D.A.’s Office via Cal and Harvard Law School around the same time that I had started at the P.D.’s Office. Smart, meticulous, and ambitious, he had worked his way up to the head of the Felony Division upon the retir
ement of his mentor, the legendary Bill McNulty, who had served with distinction for almost forty years. Harper was the first African-American to hold that position.
“Good to see you again, DeSean,” I said. I meant it.
“Same here.”
In court, in the office, and, I suspected, in his private life, he was painstakingly concise. He was also scrupulously honest and, unlike his boss, a straight-shooter.
Ward’s Botoxed forehead cracked as she continued to smile. “How can we help you?”
“I’m representing Johnny Bacigalupi.”
“So we’ve heard.” She darted a knowing glance at Harper, then she turned back to me. “You’re the last person I expected to see today.”
“I went to S.I. with Gio. We’ve known the family for decades.”
“So you know that Johnny won’t qualify for a public defender.”
“I’m doing this on my own time.”
“Rosie’s okay with that?”
Sort of. “Yes.”
“Really?” She arched a painted eyebrow. “We have policies prohibiting our attorneys from handling matters outside the office. I would have thought that the P.D.’s Office did, too.”
“We do. I’m taking a leave of absence.”
“Do you think that’s wise?”
“It’s an unusual circumstance.” And it’s none of your business.
The fake smile finally disappeared. “Why did you come to see us, Mike?”
“I was hoping that you would be willing to share information on Johnny’s case. For starters, have you decided on a charge?”
“First-degree murder.”
“There’s no malice aforethought.”
“Yes, there is.”
“It was self-defense.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“On what evidence?”
“He shot an unarmed man.”
“The victim had a gun.”
She corrected me. “They found a gun under the victim’s body. We don’t know how it got there.”
“The kid was armed. Period. He was reaching for the gun when Johnny shot him.”
“If you can provide sufficient evidence to prove that claim, we’ll reconsider the charges, and you can return to the P.D.’s Office.”
I would like nothing more. “Are you suggesting that the gun was planted?”
“I said that they found a gun under the victim’s body. We don’t know how it got there.”
We were going in circles.
Ward shot a glance at Harper, who spoke up. “The victim’s hands were up when he was shot. He wasn’t holding a gun.”
“How do you know?”
“I am not at liberty to discuss the evidence with you at this time.”
“Video?”
“I am not at liberty to discuss the evidence with you at this time.”
“You have a legal obligation to provide us with any evidence that would tend to exonerate our client.”
“Which we will do in due course. The evidence that I just described does not.”
“We’re entitled to talk to the witnesses and see all video evidence.”
“In due course.”
I wasn’t going to get any more from him today. “Has the arraignment been scheduled?”
“Tomorrow morning. Nine a.m. Judge Ramsey’s courtroom.”
An arraignment is a perfunctory legal proceeding where Johnny would enter a plea of not guilty. Our draw wasn’t ideal. Judge Martellus Ramsey was a former Alameda County prosecutor. He tended to give the benefit of the doubt to the D.A.
“We’re also going to ask for bail,” I said.
“We’ll oppose it.”
“I’m going to talk to a couple of judges.”
“You know as well as I do that no judge is going to grant bail before the arraignment.”
Probably true. “Be reasonable, DeSean.”
“We can’t show preferential treatment for a cop—especially the son of an assistant chief.”
“You’re doing this to make an example out of my client?”
“We’re following the law.”
✽✽✽
Luca’s voice was strained. “What did you find out from our esteemed D.A.?”
“Not much.” I held my iPhone to my ear as I walked through the lobby of the Hall. “The arraignment is tomorrow morning. They’re charging Johnny with first-degree murder. They’re saying he shot an unarmed man.”
“He shot an armed man in self-defense.”
“They claim that isn’t how it went down.”
“On what evidence?”
“They wouldn’t say. We’ll file papers to get their witnesses and video.”
“What about bail?”
“It isn’t likely before the arraignment.”
“See if you can find a judge.”
“I’ll do what I can.”
11
“NOT TODAY”
Judge Betsy McDaniel greeted me with a sardonic grin. “Twice in one day. I’m honored.”
“So am I.” I smiled back. “Rosie says hi.”
“Will I see her at Pilates in the morning?”
“Unless she has to go on TV.”
“Tell her that being a high-profile politico is bad for her exercise routine.”
“I will.”
She was sitting behind a mahogany desk in her paneled chambers on the third floor of the Hall. The workman-like office was her only remaining perk since she went on senior status. Budget cuts had decimated the court staff, so Betsy worked without a secretary.
I looked out the window at the cars on I-80. I nodded at the framed photos of her grandchildren lined up on her credenza between her laptop, multiple volumes of California Jury Instructions, and several signed first-edition Donna Leon novels. “Grandkids okay?”
“Everybody’s fine. Grace and Tommy?”
“Fine. You going to keep doing this for a while?”
“Yes. If I had known how nice it is to work part-time, I would have done this years ago.” Her smile disappeared. “You didn’t come here to talk about my grandchildren. Does this have anything to do with Johnny Bacigalupi?”
“Yes.”
“I hear you’re going to handle his case.”
“For now.”
“Why is the P.D.’s Office representing a client whose family clearly has the wherewithal to pay a private attorney?”
“Gio was my classmate at S.I. Gio’s dad was my father’s commander. Johnny is my godson. I’m taking a leave of absence and working pro bono.”
“That explains it.”
Despite the substantial influx of young people who work in the tech industry, San Francisco was still a small town where old neighbors looked out for each other.
She drummed her fingers on her desk. “Rosie’s okay with this?”
“She isn’t crazy about it.”
“Putting aside whether it’s appropriate for you to take on a private client, wouldn’t it make more sense for you to be talking to your client or looking for witnesses?”
“I need to talk to you about bail.”
“How many other judges have you talked to?”
“You’re the first.”
“How many wouldn’t let you inside their chambers?”
“Two.”
“You figure the third time is the charm?”
“Hopefully.”
“Not today, Mike.”
“Hear me out, Betsy. Johnny is a good kid.”
“Stuff happens.”
“Something else is going on. They’re rushing to judgment.”
“Roosevelt doesn’t arrest people on the spur of the moment.”
No, he doesn’t. “Maybe it wasn’t his call.”
“The mayor and our D.A. can’t bully him.”
No, they can’t. “It smells.”
“They’re saying he shot an unarmed kid.”
“Johnny says it was self-defense.”
“That’s why we have courts and juries.”
“In the meantime, he’s going to get killed if they keep him locked up.”
“They’ll give him his own cell.”
“Not necessarily. I’ve made the request, but I can’t get confirmation from anybody upstairs in booking.”
“It will get sorted out in the next few days. Has the arraignment been set?”
“Tomorrow morning in front of Martellus Ramsey.”
“It’s his case. I can’t help you.”
“Sure you can.”
“You know better, Mike. You can’t forum-shop. I can’t step in and interfere.”
“Johnny could get beat-up tonight—or worse. Please, Betsy.”
“Not today.”
✽✽✽
My iPhone vibrated as I was leaving the Hall. Luca’s name appeared on the display. There were no pleasantries. “Did you find a judge?” he asked.
“I talked to Betsy McDaniel. No bail tonight.”
“You need to find another judge.”
“I tried Judge Stumpf, Judge Vanden Heuvel, Judge Mandel, Judge Busch, and Judge Breall. They wouldn’t talk to me.”
“Try again.”
“It’s not going to happen tonight, Luca.”
There was a pause. Then I heard Luca mutter, “No bail,” to somebody. It was probably Gio. Luca came back on the line. “Find another judge.”
“It’s not going to work tonight.”
“Dammit, Mike. Johnny can’t stay in jail. You need to do something.”
“We’ll deal with it in the morning, Luca.”
“Where are you going now?”
“To the Fillmore.”
12
“IT WAS AN EXECUTION”
Pete held up a hand. “Over here, Mick.”
He and Roosevelt were standing in front of the post office on Geary, a half-block west of Fillmore. A cold drizzle was falling, but neither of them used an umbrella. Traffic was blocked off. The narrow street in front of the post office was bounded on the north by a chain-link fence separating upper Geary from the six-lane sub-surface Geary Boulevard built in 1961 when the Redevelopment Agency flattened a portion of the Fillmore to create a faster route between downtown and the Richmond. The sledgehammer approach to urban renewal had improved traffic flow and created an unsightly freeway through the heart of a vibrant neighborhood that survived the 1906 earthquake. More than a half-century later, people are still unhappy about it.
I walked by the old Fillmore Auditorium, a twenties-era ballroom that became the home of the Grateful Dead in the sixties. A makeshift memorial to Juwon Jones was set up outside the yellow tape on the sidewalk in front of the post office, a boxy structure flanked by the auditorium and a Korean massage studio. Three police units, an SFPD evidence van, and Roosevelt’s unmarked SUV were parked in front of the gate to the parking lot. Two crime scene techs were finishing their work. Down the block, a dozen onlookers huddled under umbrellas behind a police barricade. Through a megaphone, their leader repeated the phrase, “Justice for JuJu.”
Higher Law Boxset, Volume 3 Page 30