Higher Law Boxset, Volume 3

by Sheldon Siegel

  “Are you prepared to present this evidence now?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Mr. Daley, do you have any more questions for Inspector Lee?”

  “Not at this time, but we reserve the right to recall him.”

  “Fine. Redirect, Mr. Harper?”

  “No, Your Honor.”

  “I take it this means that you will call an additional witness to present this evidence?”

  “Objection,” I said. “There are no additional names on Mr. Harper’s witness list.”

  Harper smiled triumphantly. “Actually, for this purpose, we’d like to recall Officer David Dito, who is on our witness list.”

  31

  “HAVE YOU EXPLAINED THE RAMIFICATIONS TO YOUR CLIENT?”

  Harper approached the box. “I would remind you that you’re still under oath.”

  Officer David Dito’s uniform was pressed, star polished. “Yes, sir.”

  The lanky kid with the baby face and the crew cut had been with SFPD for three years. David was the nephew of my S.I. classmate, Phil Dito, a third-generation cop from the Excelsior, who had worked with Pete at Mission Station. Four of Phil’s brothers were cops. The other three were firefighters. SFPD had recruited David after he graduated from UC-Davis. He quickly developed a reputation as a solid cop with leadership potential.

  Harper’s tone was even. “You were on patrol in the Mission on the evening of December twenty-third of last year, weren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You were in the plaza of the BART Station at Sixteenth and Mission at approximately ten-thirty that evening?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did you observe?”

  “I saw the defendant, Ms. Low, purchase heroin from a dealer named Khalil Jones.”

  Lexy tensed.

  “Did you place the defendant under arrest?”

  “No, I placed Mr. Jones under arrest. We focus more on sellers than buyers.”

  Enough. “Move to strike, Your Honor. The fact that Officer Dito arrested Mr. Jones has nothing to do with our case. Furthermore, Officer Dito has offered no corroboration that Ms. Low was involved in the alleged transaction.”

  Harper turned to the judge. “I was just getting to that, Your Honor. We would like to introduce video taken by Officer Dito’s body cam on the night of December twenty-third.”

  Oh crap. “Objection. We had no advance notice.”

  Harper’s tone turned patronizing. “Mr. Daley knows that we are only required to provide evidence that would tend to exonerate his client. This clearly does not.”

  The judge nodded in my direction, as if to say “Gotcha.” “Overruled.”

  Harper introduced a brief video from Dito’s bodycam, which showed Lexy accepting a baggie from a burly man in exchange for cash, after which they walked in opposite directions. Dito and his partner took off after Jones on foot. They arrested him without incident on Mission Street. Lexy disappeared into the night.

  Dito pointed at Lexy. “It shows the defendant purchasing heroin from Mr. Jones.”

  Harper made no attempt to hide a satisfied grin. “No further questions, Your Honor.”

  “Cross-exam, Mr. Daley?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” I walked across the courtroom and positioned myself in front of the box. “Officer Dito, you testified that you didn’t detain Ms. Low, right?”

  “Correct.”

  “Did you retrieve the baggie that she allegedly purchased and confiscate it as evidence?”

  “No.”

  “Then how can you possibly know what was inside?”

  “Because Mr. Jones had two other baggies containing heroin in his possession.”

  That doesn’t help. “How can you possibly know that Mr. Jones didn’t hand Ms. Low an empty baggie or one filled with another substance?”

  “Objection,” Harper said. “Called for speculation.”

  “Overruled.”

  “I can’t. I did not handle that baggie, Mr. Daley. However, I handled two other baggies which had been in Mr. Jones’s possession, both of which contained heroin. We had been watching Mr. Jones for several weeks. Heroin was his only product.”

  “Did you find the baggies in his pocket?”

  “No. Mr. Jones opened them and dropped them into a puddle on Mission Street in an attempt to destroy the evidence as he attempted to flee. We were able to retrieve the baggies.”

  “So the substance in the baggies was exposed to water and other elements?”

  “Yes, but our lab was able to test them and confirmed traces of heroin.”

  “But you couldn’t have verified its quality or potency with any accuracy because it had been exposed to the water and other elements, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So the lab could not possibly have determined conclusively whether the traces of heroin found in the baggie at Mr. King’s house were the same as the heroin that Mr. Jones allegedly sold to Ms. Low, right?”

  A hesitation. “Right.”

  “And you have no direct personal knowledge or corroborating evidence that Ms. Low had the same baggie in her possession when she entered Mr. King’s house later that night, do you?”

  “No.”

  “You would therefore acknowledge that even if Ms. Low allegedly bought heroin earlier that evening, it does not prove that she brought it to Mr. King’s house later that night, right?”

  “Right.”

  I appreciated his honesty. “No further questions.”

  “Redirect, Mr. Harper?”

  “No, Your Honor.”

  “Any additional witnesses?”

  “No, Your Honor. The prosecution rests.”

  The judge turned to me. “Anything further for the prosecution’s witnesses, Mr. Daley?”

  “No, Your Honor.”

  “Do you wish to call any defense witnesses at this time, Mr. Daley?”

  “No, Your Honor.”

  “I take it that you would like to make a motion?”

  “Yes, I would. We ask the court to dismiss the charges against Ms. Low because the prosecution has failed to provide sufficient evidence to bind her over for trial.”

  The judge took off his reading glasses. “Based upon the evidence and testimony presented today, I believe that there is sufficient evidence that the defendant committed the crime for which she is accused. I am entering an order that Ms. Low be bound over for trial.”

  “But Your Honor—,”

  “I’ve ruled, Mr. Daley.” He glanced at his laptop. “We should spend a moment on scheduling. Trial will be set in Department 22. I trust your client will waive time?”

  “No, Your Honor.”

  His eyes shifted from his screen to me. “Excuse me?”

  “My client has a right to a trial within sixty days. She will not be waiving time.”

  He looked at Harper. “I trust you’ll be ready to go within that statutory timeframe?”

  “Of course, Your Honor.”

  He turned back to me. “Have you explained the ramifications to your client?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you are trying to set up an issue on appeal questioning the competence of her counsel, that isn’t going to fly.”

  “We aren’t. My client is being held on spurious charges. We want to deal with this as quickly as possible so that she can continue her treatments and move on with her life.”

  “Fine.” Ignatius Tsang was too experienced to show any hint of irritation. “How many trial days for the prosecution, Mr. Harper?”

  “No more than three.”

  It will take longer to pick a jury.

  “And for the defense, Mr. Daley?”

  “No more than five.” Probably fewer.

  He studied the calendar. “Your timing is fortuitous. Judge Elizabeth McDaniel will be sitting in for Judge Busch next month. She was supposed to start a trial on Monday, February fourth, but it was settled. I trust this works for you, Mr. Daley?”

  It was only four weeks a
way. “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Mr. Harper?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  His eyes shifted back to me. “Since you’re driving the timing, I can assure you that neither Judge McDaniel nor I will not be pleased if you come back and request an extension.”

  “Understood.”

  “Subject to confirmation by Judge McDaniel, I am ordering you to produce pre-trial motions and witness lists by the end of next week. I am ordering expedited discovery, so Mr. Harper must provide all relevant evidence as he receives it. The existing gag order stays in place along with standing limitations on media access. Are we all on the same page?”

  Harper and I nodded.

  “Good. I am sure that Judge McDaniel will look forward to seeing your papers. Anything else?”

  I spoke up. “We renew our request for reduced bail. Ms. Low is not a flight risk. She will wear a monitoring device and be subject to regular check-ins.”

  “Where would she live in the interim?”

  “The shelter where she has been living for the past six months.”

  “How would this impact her addiction treatments?”

  It isn’t ideal. “We will make arrangements to ensure an orderly transition.”

  “You’re asking a lot.”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary.” Yes, it is.

  He turned to Harper. “How do you feel about this?”

  “Given the gravity of the charge against her, reduced bail is inappropriate.”

  His objection was more tepid than I might have expected. Then again, he knew that unless the judge imposed an absurdly low bail, Lexy didn’t have the money.

  Judge Tsang pondered his options and made the call. “In my opinion, Ms. Low would have little to lose by attempting to flee. Bail remains at one million dollars.”

  I tried to sound reasonable. “She won’t survive in jail, Your Honor.”

  “I’ve ruled, Mr. Daley. You can file a motion for reconsideration.”

  “We will.” And even if you change your mind, Lexy will remain in custody because she’ll never be able to raise the money—and you know it.

  32

  “FASTEN YOUR SEAT BELT”

  “Did you buy smack from Jones on the evening that you went to King’s house?” I asked.

  Lexy was staring at the floor. “Yes.”

  “Had you ever bought heroin from him?”

  “A couple of times.”

  “Did he sell the high-end stuff that King took?”

  “No, he sold the cheap stuff that I took.”

  We were meeting in a consultation room at the Glamour Slammer at two o’clock on Monday afternoon. Even though Judge Tsang’s courtroom was a five-minute walk from here, it had taken the deputies a couple of hours to round up the defendants who had court appearances and escort them back to their cells.

  “How much did you buy?” I asked.

  “About a quarter of a gram. It cost fifty bucks. I didn’t have the money to buy more.”

  It isn’t uncommon for heroin addicts to buy multiple hits a day—and do whatever it takes to get more money to pay for another one after they run out. “What did you do with it?”

  She finally looked up. “I went into an alley, cooked it, and took it. I wanted to take the edge off before I went up to Jeff’s house.”

  “What happened to the baggie?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Any chance somebody will find it?”

  “No.”

  It ruled out the possibility that we could have an expert testify that the stuff she bought on the street was different from the stuff she injected into King. On the other hand, since Jones had tossed the baggies into a puddle and contaminated the evidence, it was unlikely that the D.A. would be able to prove that it was the same stuff, either.

  She added, “Do you think I brought Jeff some crap that I picked up on the street?”

  “I don’t know, Lexy. Did you?”

  “No. And even if I had, do you think Jeff would have taken it?”

  Maybe. “The prosecution is going to say that you brought the smack to King’s house.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Can you prove it?”

  “No.”

  Hopefully, they can’t either. “You appreciate how bad this looks.”

  “I do, but I’m giving it to you straight. I bought smack from Khalil, took it, and went up to Jeff’s house, where I found a baggie of high-end stuff in the drawer in his bathroom—just like always.”

  “You’d better hope they didn’t find Khalil’s prints on that baggie.”

  “If they did, it’s because Jeff bought the smack from Khalil, too.”

  * * *

  Rosie sat at the table, fingers templed. “I take it that you were not aware that our client had purchased heroin from a known seller earlier that evening?”

  “She didn’t mention it.”

  “I trust that you asked her about it?”

  “I did.” I filled her in on the details of my conversation with Lexy. “She says that she bought about a quarter of a gram of cheap smack that she consumed herself.”

  “You’re absolutely sure?”

  “I’m not absolutely sure about anything, Rosie.”

  “That’s the most honest thing I’ve heard today.”

  Rosie, Nady, Pete, and I were meeting in the conference room down the hall from my office. At four o’clock on Monday afternoon, the P.D.’s Office was buzzing. To the untrained eye, it appeared chaotic. To those of us who had lived in the hive for years, it was improvisational theater.

  Nady looked up from her laptop. “Did you ask Lexy about postponing the trial?”

  “Yes. The answer is no. Unless she has a change of heart, the trial will begin four weeks from today. We need to start on pre-trial motions, witness lists, and exhibits.”

  “Already working on them.”

  “Fasten your seatbelt. We’ll need to put Jeff King and everybody who was at his house that night on trial. We have plenty of unlikeable people to choose from.” I turned to Pete. “It won’t be easy getting people from Y5K to talk to us. Nobody is returning my calls.”

  “They’ve undoubtedly been told not to talk, but I’ll get something on everybody.”

  “That’s why we’re paying you the big bucks.”

  “This could be a disaster, Mick. We’re going to have to wallow in the mud to get information from these people.”

  “Where are you going to start?”

  “Palo Alto. You?”

  “Daly City?”

  “What’s there?”

  “The headquarters of Mature Relations.”

  33

  “I’M A HOPELESS ROMANTIC”

  The wiry man with the shaved head and the bleach-blonde goatee extended a hand and spoke in a baritone. “Brian Holton.”

  “Mike Daley. I’m Lexy Low’s lawyer.”

  “I was expecting you.”

  The founder, CEO, and majority stockholder of Mature Relations was sitting behind a second-hand desk in the corner of an unfinished space in a nondescript two-story building behind Serramonte Mall. His “office” was demarcated by moveable partitions separating him from three dozen programmers wearing noise-cancelling headphones. They were pounding on their laptops at long tables that looked as if they were borrowed from the lunch room at St. Ignatius. The gray walls were bare except for a few unframed posters of scantily attired women posing beneath the Mature Relations logo.

  “When did you start this company?” I asked.

  “Almost five years ago.”

  “You run the entire operation from here?”

  “Over ten million members.” He looked around at his empire—such as it was—with pride. “When you operate in the lower end of the Silicon Valley ecosystem, you have to watch your overhead.”

  “I take it this means that you didn’t get venture funding?”

  “Are you serious? Our business involves giving rich old guys an easy way to hook up wi
th attractive young women. Ten million members didn’t get me a cup of coffee with the players on Sand Hill Road like Blackjack Steele or Gopal Patel. Ironically, a guy like Jeff King who was banging every young woman in Silicon Valley got a hundred million in VC money. I got bupkis.”

  While I appreciated his forthrightness, at the end of the day, he was still a high-tech pimp. “Are you married?”

  “Thirty years. Two kids and four grandkids.”

  Go figure. “Did you ever meet King?”

  “Once at a cocktail party. He treated me like pond scum. Patel and Steele weren’t any better.”

  “Where did you get your funding?”

  “Initially, from me. Nowadays, from membership fees and advertising. We plow every penny back into the business to keep our subscriber base growing.”

  “Are you looking to go public?”

  “No, I’m looking to get bought out by a player like Match, Tinder, or Ashley Madison, whereupon I will find a sunny beach and sip fruity drinks with umbrellas for the rest of my life.”

  “Sounds pretty good to me. How did you get started?”

  “You remember Netscape?”

  “Sure. It was Google before Google.”

  “I was one of their first employees after I got out of Stanford. Once upon a time, we were a big thing and a bunch of us made millions. Then Yahoo and Google came along. After AOL bought Netscape, I formed a couple of startups, which failed. I hiked in Tibet for a couple of years. Then I came back and got bored, so I started this company.”

  “How did you happen to decide on this particular industry?”

  “I’m a hopeless romantic.”

  So am I.

  He turned serious. “Actually, I went about it methodically. I identified an area of substantial consumer demand that we could scale up quickly. Everybody is looking for love. I had experience in the dating space. One of my startups was a service that went head-to-head against Tinder—and lost. Our algorithm was better, but we couldn’t get to scale fast enough. The Netscape experience taught me that the first to market doesn’t always win. If MySpace had been a little smarter, nobody would have heard of Facebook.”

  He had his eye on the ball.

  He added, “The key is being greedy, but not too greedy. It’s better to get out a little early than a little late. People have short attention spans. One of these days, people will get tired of our site and move onto something new.”