Blanket Immunity

by Adam Van Susteren

  “Don’t talk to the police without a lawyer present. It’s that simple. Do not talk to the police.”

  “So you’ll come down here?” Cassie asked, while her eyes inspected the tape recorder.

  “No. You wouldn’t want to hire me for criminal law. I don’t practice in that area, so don’t know how to proceed.”

  “Bu-but you just said not to talk to the police. Isn’t that like, knowing criminal law?”

  “That’s knowing common sense. Police don’t have to be honest with you. If you were to decide you wanted to cooperate for a reduced plea, you’d need to make sure a lawyer got the agreement down before you say anything that can hurt you.”

  “Why can’t you do it? You know about this stuff,” Cassie whined.

  “I took criminal law in law school and studied it for the bar. I haven’t touched it in ten years. You do not want me as your lawyer for this.”

  “Yes, I do,” Cassie felt trapped and abandoned in this tiny office.

  “I’m sorry, Cassie. You retained me for your civil lawsuit. This is outside the scope of our agreement. I’d suggest, strongly, that you call a criminal defense lawyer before you speak with the police.”

  Cassie looked at the tape recorder with disbelief. “You really won’t help me.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Can you recommend someone else?”

  “Michael Owens is a top criminal defense lawyer. His rates might be high, but he’s worth it. Jo Channing, but there could be a conflict there.”

  “Wait,” Cassie interrupted. “How much will they charge?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe a few thousand to start. A good one would be worth every penny to make sure you protect yourself.”

  “Did the check from the City come in yet?”

  “No.”

  “You said you would give me an advance before so I could move. Could you give me an advance so I can hire that Michael Owens guy?”

  “I’m not sure. I’d need to understand how strong the government’s case is against you and Brad. If the settlement is cancelled for fraud, there’s no money to advance against.”

  Cassie deflated into her chair, hung up on Aaron, and stared over her shoulder at the office door.

  On the other side of the frosted glass window, Larson stood, watching Cassie’s blurred outline. He thought he saw her set the phone down, so he maneuvered the two mugs into one hand, knocking gently with the other. He opened the door. “Can I come back in?”

  “It’s your office.”

  Larson set both cups on his desk and opened a drawer to pull out packets of sugar and creamer. “How do you like your coffee?”

  “Sugar and cream.”

  Larson set both next to her mug. He took a sip of his hot, black coffee. “Do you want to wait for a lawyer?”

  Cassie shrugged.

  “Here’s what we can do. I can tell you of your rights, we can start, and if at any time you want to stop and get a lawyer, we will. How does that sound?”

  “Okay,” she said in a defeated tone.

  “I’m going to press record now.” Larson pressed the record button. “This is Detective David Larson, present with Ms. Cassie Young. We are talking about an incident with Brad Gecina. Ms. Young, do you understand that I am recording us now?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you want to stop recording at any time, please let me know. And before you answer any questions, I want to make sure you are aware of your rights. You have an absolute right to remain silent. You do not have to answer any of my questions. Anything that you say may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney present while we talk. If you can’t afford an attorney, you have the right to have one appointed to represent you. Do you understand your rights?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “I’m sorry,” Larson said softly. “Is that a yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you agree to talk with me even though you don’t have to?”

  “Yes. I can stop at any time, right?”

  “That’s right.” Larson nodded.

  “You know how Brad got immunity. The good kind. For the rape charge against me?”

  “Yes,” Larson said and took another sip of his coffee.

  “Can I get that?”

  “That depends on a few different things. If you help the People prosecute Brad for committing fraud, I know that I’d be grateful. I know I could get someone from the district attorney’s office here in a few minutes and they’d be grateful. I imagine they would waive a lot of charges for help in prosecuting Brad.”

  “What kind of charges?”

  “I’m still investigating. Right now it looks like filing false charges, conspiracy to commit fraud, and two counts of fraud. Added up it could be up to twenty years in prison. That’s less than Bernie Madoff’s hundred and fifty years for the same type crimes. But a really long time.”

  Tears streamed down Cassie’s face. “Twenty years in prison?”

  “Maybe?”

  “What about with cooperation?”

  “I’d think a couple. If there was a two-year sentence, someone would be out within one year. They’d be young, with their whole life ahead of them, and a crazy story to tell when they were older. But twenty years. That changes a life.”

  “Could. You. Get. Me. No. Prison?” Cassie sobbed out between forced breaths.

  “Could you get me proof that Brad Gecina committed fraud?”

  “Uh huh,” Cassie sobbed.

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Yes.”

  Larson reached behind him, without looking, to the third shelf on his bookshelf and grabbed a box of Kleenex. He placed it next to Cassie’s untouched coffee.

  “Then why don’t I get a deputy DA in here to make sure we have a deal set up to protect you before you tell me what you know.” Larson stood. “When I went to get coffee there was one in a meeting, I’m hoping he’s still here. Let me check.”

  A few moments later Detective Larson came back with a folding chair and Matt Terry. “Matt, why don’t you sit at my desk and I’ll just sit back here while you two chat for a while.”

  “Okay,” Matt agreed, as he plopped a legal pad down on the desk than sat across from Cassie.

  “Hi, Ms. Young. Do you remember me?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “My name is Matt Terry. I’m a deputy district attorney. I understand that you want to talk to the police about cooperating in their efforts to convict Brad Gecina for fraud. And that you’d like some sort of incentive, like a plea deal, or immunity to some of the potential charges made against you, for your help.”

  “Uh huh. I want the immunity that Brad got.”

  “Just for the record, we are recording. Do you understand that?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t think I can give you blanket immunity for every transaction. Maybe for some.” Matt smiled at her. “Here’s what I can offer. You will have use and derivative use immunity for anything you tell Detective Larson today.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Great question. It means that, even though we’re recording this, we won’t be able to play it or read it back or have Detective Larson repeat any of this in Court. Understand that?”

  “Yeah. How is that different from the other immunity?”

  “Because if you tell us about something and we come across it later because Brad tells us, or on our own investigation, we can still use that as evidence against you. So it doesn’t cover you completely, like a blanket would. But if you provide a lot of helpful information, I can tell you we would agree to drop at least half the charges against you. If you agree to testify against Brad and completely cooperate, I could see pleading to one small felony. A year or two in prison.”

  Cassie’s lip trembled. “If I don’t. And I’m guilty. I could be in prison ‘til I’m old.”

  Matt nodded and let Cassie wallow for a moment. “Generally, the way a prison sentence works is, for every day an in
mate behaves well, they get credit toward the sentence and closer to the possibility of parole. Somewhere between half and two thirds of the sentence will be served in prison, the rest, out on parole.”

  Cassie nodded.

  “You tried to take eight million dollars from the taxpayers. There is no deal that won’t result in you going to prison. But if you want to help us get Brad, I’ll work with you so there’s a two-year sentence and you’ll probably be out in one. You could start your life over before the next Olympics.”

  Cassie sat silently.

  In a stern tone Matt said, “People need to know how bad filing false charges is. You signed a witness statement under oath, as did Brad, that was full of lies. That is perjury, a violation of California Penal Code Section 126. The charges you brought against Brad were also false charges, a violation of Penal Code Section 148.5. If you plead guilty to those, testify against Brad Gecina and cooperate in his prosecution, I will waive the conspiracy to commit fraud against the City, the fraud against Aaron Baker for tricking him out of his legal services, and the fraud against the taxpayers charges that could keep you in prison for your adult life.”

  She sat, stone-faced.

  Matt let out a breath and softened his tone. “Cassie. Women, and men, and even children,” Matt shook his head solemnly, “do get sexually assaulted. They are very hard cases to prosecute. They get even harder when people hear confirmed stories of false charges. You can take a little pride in your punishment helping set an example that lying about false charges is serious. That will make it easier to catch real predators. People can learn from your mistake.”

  Cassie nodded. “Okay.”

  Matt flipped through his legal pad and pulled out a white, pre-printed sheet of paper. “I’m going to fill out the terms of my offer. Do you want Detective Larson to see if he can find a public defender to talk with you about the deal before you sign?”

  “Uh uh.”

  “Is that a no?”

  “Yeah.”

  Matt looked up from his sheet and gave her a gentle smile. “Yes, that is a no. You do not want to speak to an attorney before you sign?”

  Cassie almost giggled. “I don’t need to speak to a lawyer. I want this over with and to make a deal before Brad tries to make one against me.”

  Matt finished the form and walked Cassie through it. Twice. After which they both signed a use and derivative use immunity agreement. “I’ll let Detective Larson and you talk about Brad and get a copy of this for both of you. And if the conversation goes well, I’ll draft a plea agreement.”

  Matt left the office and Detective Larson sat in his chair. He had Cassie start at the beginning of how she met Brad on Valentine’s Day when he pulled her over. She went into details of being naked on tape with Brad and that Brad wanted to get money from her for the incident. Larson felt something was off with her story, but he had enough to get an arrest warrant for Brad Gecina, so he would circle back with her before a final plea arrangement.

  “We’re just about done. You were so cooperative I was thinking that you could have tomorrow and the rest of the weekend to get your affairs in order. Come back to the police station at noon on Monday and we’ll finalize a plea deal and we can process your arrest for the perjury and false report charges.”

  “So soon?” Cassie said with fear in her voice.

  “Because you were so helpful, it’s not right now.” Detective Larson said with a faint smile. “You can post bail while you wait for your plea, but if I were you, I would stay in jail for as long as you can, to count as time served on your prison sentence.”

  “What do I do?” Cassie shook slightly. “I just got a dog.”

  “Call a friend you trust. Call your parents. Call someone to come help pack up your stuff and make sure it’s safely stored for a year or two. You’ll get through it.”

  “Yeah, I will,” Cassie said with resolve. She stood and shook Detective Larson’s hand and followed him through the department.

  Chapter 32

  Brad woke to a rapping at the motel door. “Tareas,” a feminine voice called.

  “One second,” he called back.

  “You want housekeeping?” the voice answered in accented Spanish.

  “No. Thank you.” Brad looked at his room, the broken memory of the pretty young lady flashing before him. He got out of bed, dust flittered as he pushed the drape covering the window open. “How the fuck did I get to Mexico?” he muttered as he put on his shirt. He saw his socks and pulled them on. “Where are my fucking pants?” he cursed in frustration.

  After a quick pee and splashing water on his face, he found his phone and turned it on. He scrolled through text messages as the low battery warning flashed. He checked his texts and email, nothing important in either. Why am I here? he wondered, looking at the popcorn ceiling of his shitty room.

  Just as the local news website was loading on Brad’s phone, it powered down. “Fuck!” Brad exclaimed as he gave his phone a death grip. He picked up the covers and shook them out, tossing them back on the bed. He got on his hands and knees and looked under the bed, spotting two strange little metal canisters. “Where the fuck?”

  Brad stood and searched the corners surrounding the bed. Convinced his pants weren’t in this part of the room, he went to the bathroom to search. While there, he looked at the faucet. I’m thirsty.

  He put on his shoes and thought how ridiculous he looked, wearing a nice button-down shirt, boxers, black socks and dress shoes. But he had to get drinkable water and find a way to charge his phone.

  With his wallet, keys, and phone in tow, Brad gave one last search in the room for his pants. He opened each of the four dresser drawers, hoping they were in there. Nope. Completely empty. Shit, he didn’t even have a key to this room.

  Brad was happy to be outside, the change in the smell making him realize how bad his room really smelled. With his head hung low in defeat, Brad walked to the registration office. A Hispanic couple was talking in Spanish to the woman behind the counter, Brad sat in one of the three old wood chairs lining the wall opposite the desk.

  He caught a whiff of coffee, causing him to look up and smile at his good fortune. There was free coffee, bananas, orange juice, and donuts on a little table in the opposite corner. Brad filled a cup with orange juice and slammed it down. He filled the same cup with coffee and stuffed half a donut into his mouth.

  The elderly couple concluded their conversation with the clerk, the wife giggling at Brad’s lack of pants. The husband whispered, “El borracho.”

  The woman behind the counter called out, “Can I help you?”

  Brad’s eyes widened with excitement. “You speak English. Thank you.”

  She rolled her eyes at him.

  “Do you know where I can get a phone charger?”

  She looked at his bare legs. “Same place you can get pants. The mall.”

  Brad rested his arms on the counter. “I’m sorry to bother you. But I have no idea how I got here. I can’t find my pants. And I can’t figure anything out without being able to look things up on my phone.”

  “Too much tequila, eh?”

  “I guess. I don’t remember,” Brad said with honest sadness.

  She nodded at his hand. “That an iPhone?”

  “Yeah.”

  She rolled in her chair to the other side of her tiny office and reached under a second desk to pull out a box. She sorted through wires. “The new kind?”

  “Yeah.”

  She put the box back under the desk. “Sorry. Don’t have none.”

  Brad put his head in his hands.

  “You want give me your phone? I charge it here on my charger?”

  Brad nodded. “Yes. Please. That would be so great.” He held out his phone.

  She took it and plugged it into a cord that wasn’t visible from where Brad was standing.

  “Thank you so much.” Brad looked at her adoringly.

  She nodded. “You okay?”

  “I don’t know
.” He shrugged. “How far are we from the border?”

  She looked confused. “A minute. Maybe two.”

  “How far is that mall?”

  “Walking?”

  Brad nodded.

  “Maybe ten minute. But you walk up to bridge to walk over five. Maybe twenty minute.”

  Brad looked around the office. “Five? The Five? Highway Five?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are we in the United States?”

  She tilted her head, wondering if he was crazy. “Uh huh.”

  Brad jumped up in victory and pumped his fist. He looked back at the confused woman and excitedly said, “I don’t have my passport. I thought I woke up in Mexico and was stuck there. I can go home.” He walked closer. “Can I reach my phone on your charger and call an Uber? And check out of room…” He looked out the window. “I don’t know my room number.”

  “Can you checké your number?”

  “Of course.” Brad bounced out of the office and jogged a few paces to see if he was in three or four. He popped back in and reported it.

  She checked Brad out, no additional charges. Brad didn’t even complain at the charge of nearly three hundred dollars for this shithole. Instead, he smiled as he leaned over to tap his phone and request an Uber. Jeff was three minutes away in a Nissan Sentra.

  Brad scarfed down a banana and finished his coffee. “Miss, thank you so much for charging my phone. I’ll take it now.”

  Brad stood in the parking lot, staring at his phone until the car in the parking lot was the car on his little screen. He excitedly hopped in the back seat.

  “Brad?” the driver asked, a touch wary of the excited pantless man jumping into his car.

  “Yes. Happy to be in the USA. I thought I was in Mexico.”

  The driver played with his phone. “Sounds like a rough night. Want a water?” he picked one off the front passenger seat and held it back for Brad.

  “Thanks,” Brad took it. “You got an iPhone charger?”

  “Won’t reach. But I could plug it in up here for you or you could come sit here.”

  “Naw, fuck it. Let’s just go.”

  Brad recapped what he remembered about his story. He was having drinks with a hot attorney in the Gaslamp and the next thing he remembered, he was waking up to a hot Mexican chick in that shitty motel. Brad enjoyed telling the tale so much that he didn’t notice his phone had completely powered down again.