“I’d like to ask you a few questions about Jeff King.”
“Happy to help. I have nothing to hide.”
Maybe you do. “How are things here at work?”
“Busy. There’s no Harvard Business School playbook for this situation. I am immensely proud of our people for their efforts after Jeff’s untimely death.”
And they’re keeping your IPO on track. “It’s fortuitous that you were available to step into Mr. King’s role as chairman.”
“There were several excellent options.”
Your humble-brag needs work. “The IPO is still on?”
“Full speed ahead.”
“Glad to hear it.” I couldn’t care less. “My client’s trial starts a week from Monday.”
“I’m well aware of that.”
“Your name appears on the D.A.’s witness list.”
“And yours.”
True. “Has Mr. Harper talked to you about your testimony?”
“No. He simply asked me to be available. As I said, I have nothing to hide.”
It’s the second time you mentioned it.
His showed his first hint of impatience. “Why am I on your witness list?”
“Just a formality. We included everybody who was at Mr. King’s house.” That’s true. “We probably won’t need you to testify.” That’s a white lie. “If we do, it will take just a few minutes.” That’s a real lie. “Did you know that Mr. King and his wife had separated?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know that he was seeing my client?”
“No.”
I find that hard to believe. “Did you ever meet her?”
“No.”
“Did you know that she was coming to Mr. King’s house that night?”
“No.”
“Did you see her?”
“I didn’t even know what she looked like until I saw her picture in the paper.”
“Did you know that Mr. King and Ms. Low met on a site called Mature Relations?”
“I do now.”
“Do you know anybody else who has used that site?” Other than you, Patel, and Pitt?
“No.”
His personal attorney finally spoke up. “Mr. Steele has given his statement to the police. He has nothing further to add at this time.”
Sure he does. “If I can ask just a few more questions, we can probably remove Mr. Steele from our witness list.” That’s a whopper.
The dignified mouthpiece from the white-shoe firm nodded. “Please be brief.”
“How was the party?” I asked Steele.
“Fine. It was low key. We had burritos and beer.”
“Drugs?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Did you know that Mr. King and Ms. Low always took heroin when they got together?”
“Jeff never mentioned it.”
“Did Mr. King have an addiction issue?”
“Not as far as I could tell.”
“Was Mr. King angry at Ms. Low? Or was she angry at Mr. King?”
“We never talked about it.”
Deny. Deny. Deny. “Was anybody else angry at Mr. King?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“I understand that Mr. King wasn’t always easy to deal with.”
“He was impatient at times.”
“And his behavior toward women wasn’t always exemplary.”
The general counsel interjected. “It is against company policy for Mr. Steele to talk about personnel matters.”
“Are you authorized?”
“Yes, but that information is privileged and strictly confidential.”
We’ll see. I pressed him for a moment, but he wouldn’t budge. I turned back to Steele. “We understand that Mr. King and his wife had an open relationship.”
“That’s my understanding, too.”
“At times, they were also involved in a multi-partner relationship known as polyfidelity.”
He looked over at Neils, who answered for him. “I fail to see how this is even remotely relevant to your case.”
“In a homicide investigation, everything about the decedent is relevant.”
“The judge will never let you talk about it at trial.”
We’ll see about that, too. I turned back to Steele. “Were you aware that Mr. and Mrs. King were in a polyfidelitous relationship with Gopal Patel and his wife?”
His eyes darted toward his lawyer, then back to me. “What they did outside the office was none of my business and had no bearing on the company.”
“The chairman and his wife were involved in a multi-party relationship with your venture capitalist and his wife. I would think that created some inherent conflicts of interest.”
“It didn’t.”
“How did King and Patel get along?”
“They had a respectful and mutually beneficial business relationship.”
“They never argued?”
“Jeff argued with everybody. This is a high-stress environment.”
“Did you go upstairs during the party?”
“Briefly. To use the restroom.”
“Did you see Ms. Low?”
“No.” He stood up. “Anything else, Mr. Daley?
“We understand that your daughter interned at the company last summer.”
“She did.”
“We’ve tried to contact her, but we haven’t been able to reach her.”
“She’s unavailable.”
“We’d like to talk to her.”
“She’s skiing at Tahoe. And she has no relevant information.”
She might. “She interacted with Mr. King.”
“So did all of our interns.”
“We’d really like to talk to her about her experience.”
“No.”
“It would be easier to do it informally than in court.”
His eyes narrowed. “You have a daughter about the same age as Debbie, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“How would you feel if a criminal defense attorney insisted on talking to her about something she knew nothing about?”
“Not great.”
“Leave her alone.”
“We included her on our witness list.”
“Let me be absolutely clear. I will not allow her to testify.”
Not your call. “We believe that she has relevant information about Mr. King.”
Neils spoke up again. “You’re crossing a line, Mr. Daley.”
“You can’t prevent us from talking to a legitimate witness.”
“If this harassment doesn’t stop immediately, we’ll bring legal action. Mr. Ben-Shalom will show you out. This conversation is over.”
It had lasted longer than I had expected.
* * *
I was driving past Serramonte Mall when I called Pete, who answered on the first ring. “How did it go with Steele?” he asked.
“About what you’d expect. I need you to find his daughter.”
“I may need some help, Mick.”
“Whatever it takes.”
46
“WE NEED YOUR HELP”
“Are all of our exhibits loaded onto my laptop?” I asked.
“All set.” Nady confirmed that our few items of low-tech evidence—charts, photos, and a diagram of King’s house, were also ready to go.
“Any word on pretrial motions?”
“Judge McDaniel will let Jones testify about selling smack to Lexy, but she won’t permit any testimony about Flynn’s death.”
It was what I had expected. “Any hint on whether she’s inclined to give a manslaughter instruction?”
“Nothing.”
A smart judge like Betsy McDaniel wouldn’t show her cards until she had to. “Any final additions to Harper’s witness list?”
“None.”
I turned to Rosie, who was editing my opening statement. “Any update from your moles on the Flynn investigation?”
“If the D.A. had enough evidence to charge Le
xy, they would have done so by now.”
Another week had flown by. On Friday, February first, we were three days from the start of trial. Exhibits, file folders, police reports, and printouts covered the floor of our conference room. The white board was filled with the names of witnesses. The prosecution’s list was on the left; ours on the right. Every few hours, we changed the order as we sharpened our story.
Rosie looked up again. “Is Harper still all-in on first-degree murder?”
“Yes.”
“Have you reconsidered your decision not to ask for a manslaughter instruction?”
“No.”
“Gutsy call, Mike.”
“I learned it from you, Rosie.”
Pete came inside, draped his bomber jacket over a chair, and took a seat. “You sure you want to do this, Mick?”
“Yeah. Is she here?”
“She’s waiting outside.”
Rosie took off her reading glasses. “Who?”
“Kaela Joy,” I said. “We need more help.” I quickly added, “I’m paying for it.”
“I don’t want to know.”
“It’s probably better that way.” I turned back to Pete. “Please ask her to come inside.”
* * *
Kaela Joy’s golden locks were hidden by the same baseball cap that she was wearing when we had seen her at Red’s. “You wanted to see me?”
“We want to hire you.”
She pointed at Pete. “You already hired him.”
“He’s stretched a little thin. We need your help.”
“You have competent investigators here in the office.”
“We need somebody with intimate knowledge of Silicon Valley.”
She folded her hands and waited.
“This is a short-term project,” I said. “Lexy’s trial starts Monday.”
“Premium rates plus expenses.”
“Fine. We need you to find Steele’s daughter. Steele said that she’s skiing at Tahoe, but Pete’s people haven’t been able to find her.”
“She isn’t skiing, and she isn’t at Tahoe.” Her eyes moved from me to Nady to Pete and then back to me. “In the Valley, ‘skiing at Tahoe’ is the current euphemism for rehab.”
“Can you find her?”
“Do you have any idea how many rehab facilities are located in Northern California?”
“Dozens,” I guessed.
“More. And it’s possible that she has gone someplace out of the area.” She turned to Pete. “We’ll divide the list and start with high-end places.”
“Sounds good.”
She looked at me. “What do you want me to do if I find her?”
“Call me. And see if she’ll talk to us.”
“And if she won’t?”
I hate my job. “I need you to serve her with a subpoena.”
* * *
I was sitting in my office at ten o’clock on Friday night when my iPhone vibrated. I answered it and was greeted by Jerry Edwards’ familiar smoker’s hack.
“Evening, Mr. Daley.”
“Evening, Jerry.
“My sources tell me that Khalil Jones has worked out a deal with the D.A. He’ll plead guilty to one felony for sale of heroin in exchange for full cooperation on several other cases, including Sexy Lexy’s. He will admit that he sold heroin to your client.”
“That’s news to me.”
“I also have it on good authority that the D.A. is getting closer to charging Ms. Low with murder of Paul Flynn.”
“I wasn’t aware of that, either.”
“I understand that you’re working on a plea bargain for Sexy Lexy.”
“I haven’t heard a word about it from the D.A.”
“If you can’t work things out, I’ll see you in court on Monday.”
I ended the call and Nady came into my office.
“Harper wants to see us first thing tomorrow morning,” she said.
47
“LAST CHANCE”
Harper was at his desk at nine o’clock the following morning. “Thanks for coming in on a Saturday.”
Don’t react. “Why did you want to see us, DeSean.”
His eyes shifted from me to Nady and then back to me. “Nicole has authorized me to make a final offer.” He cleared his throat. “Second-degree murder with a recommendation of fifteen years. We won’t pursue any drug or other charges.” He waited a beat. “And we will not bring any charges in connection with the death of Paul Flynn.”
“That’s the same offer that you made before the prelim.”
“It includes dropping all other charges.”
“You would have done it anyway.”
“And it includes my promise that we won’t bring charges for Flynn.”
Because you still don’t have sufficient evidence. “You need to go down to manslaughter. I can’t sell murder to my client.”
“Can’t do it.”
“It isn’t enough, DeSean. King exploited my client. He asked to be injected. You’ll never get a jury to convict her of murder.”
“Last chance. You have a legal obligation to take it back to your client. This offer will remain open until nine o’clock on Monday morning.”
“Are you planning to request that the judge instruct the jury on manslaughter?”
“No.”
Neither am I. “I’ll take it to Lexy.” But I won’t recommend it.
* * *
Lexy responded to Harper’s offer with an immediate and unequivocal, “No.”
“Give it a little thought.”
“No.”
Her eyes were lifeless as she stared at me from across the metal table in a consultation on the fourth floor of the Glamour Slammer at noon on Saturday.
“We have until Monday morning,” I said.
“It’s the same offer as last time.”
“It would eliminate any potential charges for Flynn.”
“I didn’t kill him, either. I didn’t even inject him. And unless they’re manufacturing evidence, there’s no way that they can prove that I did.”
“We can ask for a delay.”
“At the prelim, the judge said that he wouldn’t grant it.”
“Judges always say that. If you aren’t ready or you want to slow things down, we’ll file papers tomorrow to ask for a continuance.”
“I want to move forward and get this over with.”
“Then that’s how we’ll proceed.” I lowered my voice. “How are you feeling?”
“Better than a few weeks ago. The shakes have stopped. The cravings come and go.”
“That’s progress.”
“I guess.”
Nady took Lexy’s hand. “It’s going to be okay. We’ve got your back.”
“I appreciate everything you’ve done.” Lexy’s eyes filled with resignation. “Even if we get an acquittal, then what? I have no money. I have no place to live. I have nobody to help me.”
“We’ll deal with it after the trial,” Nady said.
As we headed back to the office, I felt as if we were going into battle with a client who had already surrendered.
* * *
Rosie’s cobalt eyes reflected the light from the street lamp outside her bedroom window at eleven-thirty on Sunday night. “You ready?”
“Yes.”
She leaned over and kissed me. “But?”
“Maybe I should have pushed DeSean harder for a deal for manslaughter.”
“He’s an excellent lawyer, but it was Nicole’s call.” She cupped my face with her hand. “You can get an acquittal on a murder charge. It would be harder on manslaughter.”
“Harper still has time to ask for a manslaughter instruction. Judge McDaniel might still rule in his favor. Or she may decide unilaterally to instruct on manslaughter.”
“Then you’ll deal with it. At the end of the day, even if Lexy is convicted of manslaughter—voluntary or involuntary—it would be a better result than a murder conviction.”
“It wouldn’t be as good
as an acquittal.”
“Did Kaela Joy find Steele’s daughter?”
“Not yet.”
“Do you really think she knows anything?”
I answered her honestly. “I don’t know.”
“Get some rest, Mike. You have a busy day tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Rosie.” After all these years, I still never slept the night before trial.
48
“LET’S GET TO WORK”
The bailiff recited the traditional call to order in a world-weary voice. “All rise.”
Showtime.
The stuffy courtroom came to life as Judge McDaniel emerged from her chambers and strode to her leather chair. She turned on her computer, put on her reading glasses, pretended to study her docket, and raised a hand. “Be seated.”
I had appeared before her dozens of times. She had never picked up her gavel.
The heating and plumbing systems at the Hall were having a good day, so her courtroom was reasonably warm and smelled only of mildew instead of excrement. Lexy stood between Nady and me, eyes straight ahead. She was wearing a navy pantsuit and a silk blouse which Nady had selected for her from the donated clothing closet in the P.D.’s Office. Harper and a Deputy D.A. were standing at the prosecution table along with Inspector Lee, who was the only witness permitted to be in court before his testimony.
I leaned over and whispered to Lexy. “Stay calm, keep your head up, and make eye contact with the judge and the jurors.”
The gallery was full, but Lexy had no rooting section. Rosie was sitting behind us in a seat usually reserved for family. I appreciated the show of support, and I always felt better when she was in court. Like many trial lawyers, I was superstitious, and Rosie was my lucky charm.
Pete couldn’t sit in the gallery because he was on our witness list and he was looking for Debbie Steele. It was unfortunate because he had a knack for reading potential jurors. In his absence, and since we didn’t have the resources to hire a jury consultant, Nady and I would have to rely on our instincts.
The second and third rows behind us were filled with members of the media, including Jerry Edwards, who was in his customary seat on the aisle. The last two rows were occupied by the usual rag-tag assortment of retirees, courtroom junkies, and hangers-on.
The prosecution side of the gallery was also filled with regulars. Ordinarily, family members of the deceased would be sitting in the front row, but Chloe wasn’t coming to court. Members of Y5K’s management team were also conspicuously absent. If anyone asked, they would say that they weren’t allowed in court because they were on our witness list. In reality, they were busy with the IPO and trying to distance themselves from King.
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