Higher Law Boxset, Volume 3

by Sheldon Siegel

  Judge McDaniel nodded at her bailiff. “Please call our case.”

  “The People versus Alexa Susan Low.”

  “Counsel will state their names for the record.”

  “DeSean Harper and Andrew Erickson for the People.”

  “Michael Daley and Nadezhda Nikonova for the defense.”

  Judge McDaniel looked over my shoulder. “I see that our Public Defender is here today. Nice to see you, Ms. Fernandez.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor.”

  “Any last-minute issues, Mr. Daley?”

  “No, Your Honor.”

  “Mr. Harper?”

  “No.”

  “Let’s get to work and pick a jury.”

  * * *

  Three days later, on Thursday afternoon, our twelve jurors and four alternates were seated in the uncomfortable plastic chairs in the jury box. It wasn’t a bad draw for us. Ten were college educated, which would have been unusual in many places, but not in San Francisco. Although it was risky to generalize, Nady and I were hoping that the nine female jurors might be more likely to give Lexy the benefit of the doubt.

  Judge McDaniel addressed the jurors in a maternal tone. She thanked them for their service. She invited them to notify the bailiff if they had any problems. She admonished them not to talk about the case. “Do not do any research on your own or as a group. Do not use a dictionary or other reference materials, investigate the facts or law, conduct any experiments, or visit the scene of the events to be described at this trial. Do not look at anything involving this case in the press, on TV, or online.”

  She said it nicely, but she meant it.

  She added the now-customary Twenty-first Century admonishment. “Finally, do not post anything about this case on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, WhatsApp, or any other social media. If you tweet or text about this case, it will cost you money.”

  The jurors nodded.

  The judge looked at Harper. “Do you wish to make an opening statement?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” He stood, buttoned his charcoal suit jacket, walked purposefully to the lectern, and spoke directly to the jury. “My name is DeSean Harper. I am the head of the Felony Division of the San Francisco District Attorney’s Office. I know that jury duty isn’t everyone’s lifelong dream, but I am grateful for your service, and I appreciate your attention. I will attempt to keep my presentation brief because your time is valuable.”

  No discernable reaction from the box.

  “The facts of this case are not in dispute.”

  I was tempted to point out that the facts of every case are always in dispute, but it’s bad form to interrupt during an opening—especially at the beginning.

  “On December twenty-third of last year, there was a party at the house of the victim, Jeff King, a Silicon Valley entrepreneur and founder of a company called Y5K Technologies. Jeff wanted to thank his management team for their hard work on a forthcoming public offering. Tragically, by the end of the night, Jeff was dead.”

  He pointed at Lexy. “The defendant is Alexa Low, who is sitting between her lawyers at the defense table. Jeff met the defendant on a dating website. He invited her to his house for a post-party rendezvous. The defendant took five thousand dollars from Jeff and then intentionally and with malice aforethought injected him with a lethal dose of highly potent heroin. He died a short time later.”

  That’s enough. “Objection, Your Honor. Argumentative. I would ask you to instruct Mr. Harper to stick to the facts.”

  “Please, Mr. Harper.” Judge McDaniel turned to the jury. “An opening statement should not be treated as fact. It merely constitutes a roadmap of what the anticipated evidence will show.”

  It was a small point, but at least the jurors knew that I was paying attention.

  Harper picked up where he had left off. “We will show you police video of the defendant purchasing heroin immediately before she went up to Jeff’s house. And security video from the victim’s house showing the defendant preparing a syringe. And video of the defendant injecting him with that heroin—which killed him almost instantly. And video of the defendant attempting to flee without providing help or calling nine-one-one. And video of the defendant accepting an envelope containing five thousand dollars in cash from the victim. We will show you a baggie containing traces of heroin—with the defendant’s fingerprints.”

  Lexy turned to me, jaws clenched. “Can’t you do something?” she whispered.

  “Stay calm and be patient.”

  Harper spoke for another ten minutes about the “multitude of overwhelming evidence” that Lexy had given King a lethal hot shot. Finally, he moved directly in front of the jurors. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is your job to determine what happened. It is my job to present evidence to make yours as easy as possible. At the end of the day, I will provide more than enough evidence for you to find the defendant guilty of first-degree murder.”

  He returned to the prosecution table and sat down.

  Judge McDaniel turned to me. “Opening statement, Mr. Daley?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  I could have deferred my opening until after Harper completed his case, but I wanted to connect with the jurors right away. I walked over to the lectern and worked without notes.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, my client, Lexy Low, has been wrongly accused of a crime that she did not commit. Mr. King had a serious heart condition. He died of a heart attack that was exacerbated by his own reckless drug use, all of which was completely out of Ms. Low’s control. She and Mr. King had a romantic and business relationship. They engaged in consensual sex and drug consumption, where Mr. King always provided the heroin and money. He was a billionaire who could afford it, and that’s precisely what he did. He took advantage of Ms. Low, who is a victim in this case. Mr. King asked Lexy to inject him and offered no resistance when she did so.” I lowered my voice. “Lexy isn’t proud of her relationship with Mr. King, but she had no intention of killing him. Mr. King was her only source of support. In fact, she had a huge incentive not to kill him. There was no premeditation. Consequently, you cannot vote to convict her of first-degree murder.”

  The juror who worked at Salesforce was paying attention—or doing an excellent job of pretending to do so—but it didn’t mean that she was buying everything I was selling.

  “Our medical expert will testify that Mr. King had a heart condition making him susceptible to seizures and heart attacks. That condition combined with the stresses associated with an IPO, an evening of eating and drinking, and the consumption of heroin caused Mr. King to suffer a fatal heart attack. His death was a tragedy, but it doesn’t mean that Lexy is responsible.”

  I moved closer to the jury. “Lexy has her own issues. She was once a rising star in the tech industry. Then she became addicted to narcotics. She lost her job. She lost her family. She lost her apartment. Mr. King was her sole source of support. Obviously, it wasn’t an ideal situation, and it wasn’t a fairy-tale relationship. On the other hand, she had no reason to kill him. In fact, she had every reason not to do so.”

  “We will provide video evidence that at least a half-dozen people had access to the bathroom where Ms. Low found the heroin. Every one of them had their own axes to grind against Mr. King. He was an entrepreneur, but he was also a liar, a cheater, and a misogynist.”

  I moved back to the lectern. “I know that you will use your best judgment, consider the evidence, and do your duty. At the end of the day, I am confident that you will conclude that Mr. Harper cannot prove Lexy’s guilt beyond a reasonable doubt.”

  There was no discernable reaction from the jurors. I walked back to the defense table.

  The judge spoke to Harper. “Please call your first witness.”

  “The People call Yoav Ben-Shalom.”

  49

  “THAT’S CLASSIFIED”

  Harper was at the lectern. “Please state your name and occupation for the record.”

  “Yoav Ben-Shalom. Director of Secu
rity at Y5K Technologies.”

  The jury was transfixed on the former Israeli commando, whose starched white shirt and matching pocket square dovetailed nicely with his charcoal suit and subdued necktie.

  Harper moved about three feet from the stand and walked Ben-Shalom through his C.V. Ben-Shalom finessed his time with the Mossad by saying that he worked for the Israeli military.

  Harper asked Ben-Shalom when he moved to the U.S.

  “Three years ago. I worked for a company in the defense industry.”

  “Can you give us its name?”

  “That’s classified.”

  “What are your responsibilities at Y5K?”

  “Securing our workplace. Cyber-security. Safety of employees and senior management.”

  Ben-Shalom confirmed that he was handling security at King’s house on the night of the party. Harper introduced the guest list into evidence. Ben-Shalom identified everyone and confirmed their respective arrival and departure times.

  “What time did the party end?” Harper asked.

  “Twelve-ten a.m. Our CEO, Mr. Steele, was the last to leave.”

  “Was anyone in the house other than you and Mr. King?”

  “Just the defendant, Ms. Low.”

  Harper had the first building block of his case: he had placed Lexy at the scene.

  “Mr. Ben-Shalom, had you ever met the defendant prior to that evening?”

  “I had never spoken to her, but I was aware of her relationship with Mr. King, and I was always nearby when they got together.”

  “In the same room?”

  “In the same building.”

  “They had sex?”

  “Correct.”

  “And took drugs?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who brought the drugs?”

  “Ms. Low.”

  “Every time?”

  “Yes. That was their agreement.”

  “You knew that Mr. King and the defendant had arranged a rendezvous after the party?”

  “Yes. I let the defendant into the house at eleven p.m. and instructed her to go upstairs and wait in the master bedroom. Mr. King went upstairs at twelve-fourteen a.m. I remained downstairs.”

  “When did you next see the defendant?”

  “Twelve-thirty-two a.m. She came running down the stairs and attempted to leave. I asked her if anything was wrong. She said that Mr. King was fine, and then she tried to leave again. I insisted that she accompany me upstairs to check on Mr. King.”

  “What did you find?”

  “Mr. King was on the floor. He wasn’t breathing. He had no pulse. I called nine-one-one and administered CPR. The EMTs arrived within minutes, but they were unable to revive him.”

  It was another point for the prosecution: a body.

  “Did Ms. Low offer any explanation?”

  “She said that she didn’t know what had happened.”

  “How was her demeanor?”

  “Calm—as if she had expected something bad to happen.”

  “Move to strike,” I said. “Mr. Ben-Shalom has no direct knowledge as to what was going on inside Ms. Low’s head.”

  “The jury will disregard Mr. Ben-Shalom’s last statement.”

  Sure they will.

  Harper had what he needed. “No further questions.”

  “Your witness, Mr. Daley.”

  “I walked across the courtroom and stood in front of Ben-Shalom. “Ms. Low was on the guest list, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “You let her into the house?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did she appear dangerous?”

  “No.”

  “You didn’t see heroin or other drugs in her possession, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Did you search her?”

  “No.”

  “You weren’t concerned that she may have been carrying a weapon or illegal drugs?”

  “Mr. King had instructed me not to search her.”

  “Did she show any anger toward you or Mr. King?”

  “No.”

  “Did you talk to her?”

  “Briefly. Other than instructing her to go upstairs, I didn’t say anything to her until she came downstairs after she had murdered Mr. King.”

  Nice try. “Move to strike, Your Honor. The determination as to whether this case involves a ‘murder’ is up to the jury, not this witness.”

  “The jury will disregard the characterization as ‘murder.’”

  I asked Ben-Shalom how many times King and Lexy had been together.

  “A few.”

  “How many is a few?”

  “A dozen.”

  “Where did they meet?”

  “At Mr. King’s house, the Four Seasons in Palo Alto, and a resort in Carmel Valley.”

  “They had sex and took heroin each time?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did Ms. Low ever force Mr. King to have sex or take drugs?”

  “No.”

  “So their relationship was consensual, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Mr. King compensated her for her services?”

  “Five thousand dollars per visit.”

  I tried to catch him off-guard. “And he provided the drugs, right?”

  “No, Mr. Daley. She provided the drugs.”

  “Seriously? A billionaire accepted heroin from a woman he met online?”

  “Yes.”

  “A moment ago, you testified that you didn’t see any drugs in her possession. How do you know that she brought heroin to the house?”

  “I believe that it was in her purse.”

  “Did you open her purse?”

  “No.”

  “Then how did you know that there was heroin inside?”

  “Because Ms. Low always brought the heroin.”

  “But you didn’t see it, right?”

  “Objection,” Harper said. “Asked and answered.

  “Sustained.”

  I had made my point. “Mr. King was married, right?”

  “Separated.”

  “Which means he was still married. Did it bother you that he was seeing Ms. Low?”

  “It was none of my business.”

  “Weren’t you concerned that he could have revealed trade secrets or been blackmailed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you do anything about it?”

  “I warned Mr. King about the risks and informed our board of directors. Our CEO, Mr. Steele, also advised Mr. King to use better judgment.”

  “That’s it?”

  “You’ll have to ask Mr. Steele.”

  I will. “Did Ms. Low ever threaten Mr. King?”

  “Not as far as I know.”

  “Did you monitor their activities in real time on the security video?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Mr. King asked me not to do so, and I was trying to respect his privacy.”

  “Weren’t you concerned when you left them alone in Mr. King’s bedroom?”

  “It wasn’t the first time.”

  “Surely you would have intervened if you thought Mr. King’s life was in danger?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “I saw no evidence to that effect that night.”

  Until you found King’s body. “You are aware that Mr. King and Ms. Low met through a dating app called Mature Relations, right?”

  “Right.”

  “That’s a so-called ‘sugar daddy’ site, which matches older men with younger women?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you said that Mr. King was paying Ms. Low five thousand dollars per date, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. King was her primary source of income, wasn’t he?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Why on earth would she have killed him?”

  “Objection, Your Honor. Calls for speculation as to the defendant’s state of mind. Assumes facts not in eviden
ce. And this line of questioning is completely irrelevant to this case.”

  Absolutely true, mostly true, and somewhat true.

  “Sustained.”

  “Mr. Ben-Shalom, are other members of the management of Y5K subscribers to Mature Relations?”

  “Objection. Relevance.”

  Judge McDaniel raised an eyebrow. “Overruled.”

  I didn’t think she’d give me that one.

  “Not as far as I know, Mr. Daley.”

  “Have you checked?”

  “No.”

  Really? “You aren’t concerned that other members of management may be subject to embarrassment or blackmail?”

  “No.”

  I find that hard to believe. Either way, we’ll get to that later. “No further questions.”

  “Redirect, Mr. Harper?”

  “No, Your Honor.”

  “Please call your next witness.”

  “The People call Dr. Joy Siu.”

  50

  “HEROIN OVERDOSE”

  Dr. Siu fingered the sleeve of her white lab coat and spoke with the precision of a world-class scientist. Her concise delivery combined the best elements of an experienced expert witness and a respected academic. “I have been the Chief Medical Examiner for three years. Prior to that time, I was the Chair of the M.D./Ph.D. Program in anatomic pathology at UCSF.”

  Harper was standing an appropriately deferential distance from her. “How many autopsies have you performed?”

  “Hundreds.”

  I shot a glance at Rosie, who tugged her left ear, confirming my judgment that we had nothing to gain by letting Dr. Siu read her resumé into the record.

  “Your Honor,” I said, “we will stipulate that Dr. Siu is an expert in autopsy pathology.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Daley.”

  Harper introduced Siu’s autopsy report into evidence and handed her a copy. “When did you perform the autopsy on Jeff King?”

  “December twenty-fourth of last year. I issued my final report on January eighteenth.”

  “Why was there a gap?”

  “I was waiting for final toxicology results.”