“Would you mind sharing if you get it before I do?”
“Sure.”
I looked my classmate in the eye. “What aren’t you telling me, Paula?”
“The powers-that-be think your client shot an unarmed kid.”
“They found a dozen AK-47s in the trunk of Jones’s car.”
“He didn’t have one in his possession when he was shot.”
“He had a handgun. They found it under his body.”
“So says your client. I’ve been told that Jones didn’t have a gun when he was shot.”
“Have you talked to Luca?”
“Briefly. Luca’s firm is going to represent Johnny in the civil case. We’ve agreed to coordinate our defenses to the extent possible. For now, the City’s and your client’s interests line up, but that could change. If we get an attractive settlement offer, we might take it—even if Luca doesn’t want us to do it. Johnny is a kid with minimal personal assets, which makes him judgment proof. There’s a lot more at stake for the City.”
“You’re really thinking about settling?”
“We need to be realistic. You saw what happened last night. There’s going to be another march tonight. And tomorrow. And Saturday. And Sunday. A couple of people got stabbed last night. It’s only a matter of time before somebody gets killed. If we can lower the temperature by considering a settlement, we will.”
It was a legitimate position. “At the very least, you should coordinate with Luca before you consider any settlements.”
“I’ll try, but I can’t make any promises.”
“It may impact the criminal case.”
“That’s not my problem.
“No, it’s mine.”
✽✽✽
Pete’s voice was tired. “Where are you, Mick?”
I pressed my iPhone to my ear as I walked through the rotunda at City Hall. “I just finished talking to Paula Griffith. She’s getting pressure to settle the civil case.”
“That’s quick.”
“Yeah. How are things down in the Fillmore?”
“Tense. The cops have blocked off the streets.”
“They’re worried about the march tonight?”
“They’re worried about a riot.”
30
“I DIDN’T SEE IT”
At six-thirty on Thursday evening, Pete was sipping coffee in the same booth at Subway where we’d met Dwayne a day earlier. “This is Belico,” he said.
The razor-thin young man with the wisp of a mustache extended a hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Same here. You from around here?”
“Ecuador.” His features were soft, but his eyes were hard. “I’ve been here since I was a kid. I’m a U.S. citizen.”
Even in liberal San Francisco, people felt compelled to let you know that they were legal. I glanced around at the otherwise empty sandwich shop. The windows and the door were covered with plywood. “You staying open all night?”
“We’re shutting down at eight. The cops told us to close early.”
“Rough night last night.”
“It’s going to be worse tonight. Reverend Tucker is leading another march from City Hall. There’s going to be trouble. We were lucky that nobody was shot last night.” He glanced at his watch. “Why did you want to talk to me?”
“Did you know Juwon Jones?”
“No.”
“Know anybody who did?”
“No.”
“You heard that they found some AK-47s in the trunk of his car?”
“Don’t know anything about it.”
And he wasn’t going to admit it if he did. “We heard that you were working here on Wednesday morning.”
“I was.”
“Our client stopped Jones in the Safeway parking lot. Did you see anything?”
“I wasn’t paying attention.”
“You must have seen flashing lights from the police car.”
“We see lights every night. Northern Station is three blocks from here.”
“Do you keep a gun behind the counter?”
“No.” He eyed me. “I can’t speak for anybody else who works here or any of the other businesses on the street.”
“Understood. Was anybody in the restaurant when Jones was pulled over?”
“No.”
“Was anybody out on the plaza?”
“Dwayne.”
“We’ve talked to him. Anybody else?”
“I don’t remember.”
His involvement was going to be limited. “Do you have security cameras?”
“Two. One behind the counter. The other above the door. We gave the video to the cops.”
“Did you look at it?”
“Yeah.”
One-word answers were unsatisfying. “Did it show Jones running by the store?”
“Yeah.”
“Could you see a gun in his hand?”
“I didn’t see it.”
This wasn’t helping. I turned to Pete, who took the cue. “Belico, did you talk to the police?”
“I told them the same thing that I just told you. I didn’t see anything. I gave them the security videos. I told them that I would be available to testify if they needed me. They said that they probably wouldn’t.” He stood up. “That’s all I know, guys.”
I handed him a card. “You’ll call us if you think of anything else?”
“Yeah.” He started to back away from the table, then he stopped. “Jones fell down when he turned the corner and ran up Fillmore. He got up and kept running. I don’t think he was hurt.”
“Did you see a gun?”
“No.”
“Did you mention this to the cops?”
“Yes.”
It wasn’t much. I extended a hand to thank him when I heard shouting outside. Then a horn blared, and tires screeched. Pete’s eyes opened wide.
The plywood-covered door exploded as a car crashed through it, sending wood and dust flying toward us. Instinctively, I covered my face as a Corolla lurched to a stop in the booth next to us.
My heart pounded as the horn blared. A young man was behind the wheel, unconscious, blood streaming from a cut above his eye. Pete walked over to the Corolla, his Glock G29 drawn. Belico followed him, a nine-millimeter handgun in his hand. I decided not to chastise him for lying to us about whether he was packing. Pete quickly put his gun back inside its holster. So did Belico. The episode had lasted less than a minute.
A moment later, Rick Siragusa arrived along with two other cops, service weapons. Siragusa saw us and lowered his gun. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“We were talking to Belico.”
“Go home.”
I pointed at the driver. “You know this guy?”
“Yeah. He runs errands for one of our local meth dealers.”
“You think he was trying to hit us?”
“I don’t think he knows who you are.”
“You think this has anything to with Jones?’
“I don’t know. Maybe he just lost control of his car. In addition to delivering drugs, he likes to sample the products himself. We’ll take him over to San Francisco General and sort this out in the morning. In the meantime, you and Pete should get out of here. We’re expecting trouble tonight.”
It was good advice. “Thanks, Rick.”
✽✽✽
Pete and I stood in a cold drizzle near the corner of Geary and Fillmore at seven-fifteen on Thursday night. “You going back to the office?” he asked.
“Yes. We’re supposed to get copies of the videos tonight. You want to come along? You have a good eye for this stuff.”
“I’ll come over later. I want to talk to a few more people down here.”
I looked at the crowd assembling in front of the post office. “This might not be a good time.”
“I’ll be careful.”
I surveyed Geary Boulevard, which was closed to traffic. Two blocks to the east, I saw thousands of people marching toward us in silence behind a poli
ce escort.
“Why don’t you come back tomorrow,” I said.
“I’ll be careful,” he repeated.
✽✽✽
I was checking my iPhone as I was walking to my car on the lower level of the underground garage in Japantown. I pulled out my key and pressed the unlock button. As I approached the driver-side door, I heard crunching beneath my feet. The driver-side window had been smashed, and the seat was covered with glass.
Crap.
My first instinct was that the broken window had some connection to Johnny’s case. Then I reminded myself that there were about seventy-five auto break-ins in San Francisco every day. SFPD was aware of the problem. They also acknowledged that they had insufficient manpower to do anything about it.
I took a deep breath and punched in the emergency number for AAA. Stuff always happens at the most inconvenient times.
31
“CAN THEY STOP IT?”
The aroma of leftover sandwiches filled the air as Assistant Chief Gio Bacigalupi sat in silence in the conference room in his brother’s law firm at nine o’clock on Thursday night. His expression was grim as he watched a live report from the Fillmore on Channel 2. “Unbelievable,” he said. “Is Pete still down there?”
“He’s on his way here.”
“Good call.”
Indeed. I stared at the flat-screen. The march had started peacefully at City Hall. The crowd had swelled as it got closer to the Fillmore. Reverend Tucker led the assembly in prayers in front of the post office. Then somebody threw a bottle. Somebody else set off a fire cracker. The police line gave way and a melee broke out between the marchers and the pro-police counter-protesters. The police responded with force. It started with shouting. Then fire hoses. Then tear gas. Then rubber bullets. The crowd went from agitated to angry.
A reporter from Channel 2 struggled to hold her microphone as she was jostled by the retreating crowd. Her hair was matted. Her voice was hoarse. “We have confirmation of at least two deaths. Dozens have been injured and taken to local hospitals. Police are trying to stabilize the scene, but protesters and counter-protesters are angry, tired, and wet. We will continue to bring you updates as we can, but the police have asked us to leave the area for our safety.”
The TV cut to the studio, where the air-brushed anchor was staring into the camera in disbelief. Flustered, he blurted out, “Stay safe, Rita.”
I looked over at Gio. “Can they stop it?”
“Eventually.” His voice filled with frustration. “They won’t let me near the area. The chief said that it would exacerbate the situation.”
He was probably right. “Did they let you see Johnny tonight?”
“Briefly. They finally gave him his own cell.”
That’s progress—albeit minor. “How is he holding up?”
“Not great.”
“We’ll get him out.”
“Eventually.”
“These things take time.”
“I know.”
“I’ll go see him in the morning.”
“He’d like that.” His tone turned pointed. “He’d like it even more if you can get him the hell out of there and get the charges dropped.”
“Working on it.” I filled him in on our conversations with Murphy, Siragusa, and Connor. “They’re prepared to testify that they saw a gun in Jones’s hand and that Johnny acted in self-defense.”
“Do you have a corroborating witness who isn’t a cop?”
“Pete’s working on it.”
“Tell him to work harder—and faster.”
If my kid was sitting in a cell, I would have wanted the same thing. I turned to Luca. “I talked to Paula Griffith about the civil case.”
“So did I. Is she going to fight it?”
“If it’s up to her, yes.”
“But?”
“Her boss is under a lot of pressure from the mayor’s office to settle.”
“This would be a bad time for the mayor to get squishy. It will send a signal to every plaintiff’s lawyer that the City will back down when things get hot. It also sends a terrible message to SFPD.”
“Politicians tend to misplace their backbones when there are rioters in the streets.”
“True.”
The door opened and Nady came inside. “We just got a delivery from the D.A.’s Office. Among other things, the package includes video from Johnny’s body cam.”
Finally. “Let’s give it a look.”
“I’ll get my computer. And you have a couple of visitors: your brother and your ex-wife.”
32
“DID ANYBODY SEE A GUN?”
The conference room was enveloped by an intense silence. Nady was loading a disk onto her laptop, which she had connected to the flat-screen. Luca sat next to Gio. I was sitting between Pete and Rosie. I was happy to see them. Pete was good at analyzing crime scenes. Rosie had an unmatched eye for detail.
I turned to my ex-wife. “For somebody who isn’t involved in this case, you seem to be spending a lot of time here.”
“I enjoy your company.”
“Is Tommy okay?”
“Fine. My mother is at the house again tonight.”
“We’ll need to do something nice for her.”
“You’ll need to do something nice for her.”
Fair enough. “All quiet at the office?”
“Two dozen people were arrested in the Fillmore tonight. Some will need public defenders. It’s going to be busy until we get everybody processed.”
“If you need help—,”
“It’s under control. The Head of the Felony Division is doing an excellent job.”
“Give Rolanda my thanks.”
“I will.” The corner of her mouth turned up slightly. “She asked me to tell you that you need to get the charges against Johnny dropped right away. We need you at work.”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” I turned to Pete. “Miss being a cop?”
“I’m getting too old to dodge rocks and bottles. I have a wife and a kid.”
Nady dimmed the lights and hit the Play button. The SFPD logo appeared on the TV. “This is from Johnny’s body cam,” she said.
I grabbed a pad of paper and a pen. Millennials took notes on their iPhones. I still did it the old-fashioned way.
All eyes turned to the TV. The technology for body cams is advanced, and the color picture and sound were clear. The cam was mounted on Johnny’s chest, so we were seeing essentially what he saw, albeit from slightly below eye level. The date and time were stamped in white. There was a notation that the footage had been taken on an Axon Body 2, the most popular model among U.S. law enforcement. Johnny activated his cam as he left his car at one-eleven a.m.
As Johnny approached Jones’s car, he looked at Murphy. “Quick and by the book,” the veteran cop said. “And check the trunk.”
“Right.” Johnny pulled on the trunk. “Locked.”
“Fine.”
Johnny continued forward and stopped adjacent to the driver-side window. Murphy disappeared out of camera view.
Johnny pointed his flashlight at the driver’s window, which reflected into the camera.
Jones lowered the window. He looked younger than eighteen. His features were soft. Full lips, a prominent nose, and facial hair that was more peach fuzz than a beard. He wore a black windbreaker. His hands were on the wheel, eyes forward. He turned slowly to face Johnny. His tone was respectful—as if somebody had coached him about how to address a cop during a traffic stop in the middle of the night. “Yes, Officer?”
“I’m Officer Bacigalupi of SFPD. Could you please put your car in Park, set the brake, and turn off the ignition?”
“Okay.”
“What’s your name?”
“Juwon Jones.”
“Are you the owner of this vehicle?”
“It’s my mother’s. Her name is Vanessa Jones.”
“You’re out late.”
“I was coming home from work.”
“The Jack-in-the-Box on Geary.”
“Is the food any good?”
“Not bad.”
“May I see your license and registration?”
“Is there a problem, Officer?”
“One of your tail lights is out.”
Jones feigned contrition. “I meant to get it fixed.”
“It’s dangerous to drive at night with a broken light.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Johnny tried again. “May I see your license and registration?”
“My license is in my wallet in my pocket. The registration is in the glove compartment.”
“That’s fine. Please take them out slowly.”
“Yes, sir.” He added, “I’m not armed, Officer.”
“Thank you for letting me know.”
Jones pulled out his wallet, removed his license, and handed it to Johnny. Then he reached into the glove compartment, pulled out the registration certificate, and gave it to Johnny.
“Mr. Jones, I need to ask you to stay here while I check your license and registration. Standard procedure. If everything checks out, I’ll write up a fix-it citation and you can go home.”
“Do you have to?”
“I’m afraid so.” Johnny started walking back to his unit. He told Murphy that he was going to check the license and registration. “The driver is Juwon Jones. Do you know him?”
“No.”
Johnny returned to his car, took a seat behind the wheel, and turned on the dashboard computer. He turned off the body cam for a moment, then he reactivated it as he began walking toward Jones’s car again.
As he reached the trunk of the Honda, he looked at Murphy, who asked, “Anything?”
“The car belongs to his mother. It isn’t stolen.”
“And the kid?”
“Valid driver’s license.”
“Rap sheet?”
“One conviction for auto theft. A couple of hits for shoplifting.”
“Probation violations?”
“He missed a check-in meeting last week. There’s an outstanding warrant.”
Murphy glanced at his watch. “You know what to do.”
“You sure?”
“Tell him that you need to search the car.”
“It’s late, Murph.”
“Do it by the book.”
Johnny walked to the driver-side window. “Mr. Jones, your driver’s license and ownership records checked out.”
Higher Law Boxset, Volume 3 Page 38