Last Lawyer Standing

by Douglas Corleone

Doris Ledford looked well for a woman of seventy-two. No doubt her recent vacation to the mainland—first to visit her grandchildren in Arizona, then to fabulous Las Vegas for buffets and slot machines—had done her some good. The spots where her cheeks had once been were rosy, she wore makeup, and her hair was dyed a bright orange that made you think that at any minute she’d bust out the balloon animals.

  After less than an hour of direct examination, during which Doris Ledford positively identified Turi Ahina as the obese man “running like the wind” from the scene of the shooting, Donovan Watanabe turned the witness over to me.

  “Don’t confuse the issue,” Jake warned me before I went up to the podium. “We can’t prove the police arranged for her to win a trip to Vegas after the shooting, so let it go. Focus on what we do know.”

  I nodded, reassured Turi, then took my place at the podium.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Ledford.”

  She bowed her head politely, then looked over at Dapper Don as if to ask, Was that okay?

  “Mrs. Ledford,” I said, using the voice I reserved for children and the elderly on the witness stand, “would you please tell the jury, before that evening, how many times in your seventy-two years had you heard the sound of gunshots being fired?”

  Her eyes widened, her left hand went to her mouth. “Never.”

  “Earlier, Mrs. Ledford, on direct examination, you testified that you heard two gunshots, is that correct?”

  “Yes, two.”

  “And would you please remind us how much time passed between the first shot and second shot you heard on that evening?”

  “No time at all,” she said. “It was one bang right after the other.”

  “And that was why, as you said earlier, the shots sounded a lot like firecrackers to you, correct?”

  “Yes, that’s right. Just like firecrackers.”

  “Let me backtrack just a bit, Mrs. Ledford. When you first heard these bangs, these gunshots that sounded like firecrackers, were there any lights on inside your house?”

  “Inside?” She thought about it, her eyes drifting toward the ceiling. “Yes, in both the living room and in the kitchen. Both those lights were on.”

  “And to refresh the jury’s memory, the kitchen window is the window you went to after hearing the gunshots, right?”

  “Yes, the kitchen window. That’s correct.”

  I pretended as though I needed to consider my next question before asking it. Frankly, I wanted this witness to think I was dumb. I wanted her to let her guard down, not to worry about being tricked. If possible, I would have liked her to feel sorry for me, the ignoramus that I was.

  “Mrs. Ledford, did you shut the kitchen light off before you went to the kitchen window to look outside?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Weren’t you afraid?” I said gently.

  “I guess I didn’t really think about it.”

  I nodded to her as though I understood. “Maybe because you thought the sounds were nothing but firecrackers?”

  “Yes, I suppose that could be the reason.”

  I scratched at my scalp, a puzzled look across my face. “Just so that we’re sure, Mrs. Ledford, if you were mistaken about the nature of the sound, could you possibly be mistaken about how many shots you heard?”

  The witness shook her head. “I don’t think so, no.”

  “Though you did testify that the shots came one right after the other, correct? Could it as well have been three shots fired consecutively, one right after the other, as opposed to just the two?”

  She scrunched up her face. “No, I’m pretty sure it was just the two.”

  I don’t think so, I’m pretty sure—it was enough ammunition for my closing, at least for now.

  “Immediately after looking out your kitchen window, you dialed 911 from your kitchen phone, correct?”

  “I certainly did.”

  “Please remind us what you told the Emergency Services operator, Mrs. Ledford.”

  “I told the operator that I heard something that sounded like firecrackers, and that I ran to my window and saw an obese man running like the wind down the street.”

  “During that telephone call, you never mentioned how many sounds you heard, did you?”

  “No.”

  “You never mentioned the number two, correct?”

  “Or any other number,” she said.

  “Because at that point, you still didn’t know it was gunfire that you heard, isn’t that right?”

  “That’s right, I guess.”

  “Understandably, you thought it was firecrackers, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Firecrackers are fairly common in Hawaii, aren’t they, Mrs. Ledford?”

  “Yeah, sure, the kids set them off all the time.”

  “And firecrackers are fairly easy to obtain here in Hawaii, aren’t they?”

  “Too easy,” she conceded. “The Honolulu City Council didn’t pass a ban until a couple years ago. I know because I went to the public hearings. But the kids had plenty of time to hoard the firecrackers before the ban went into effect. They still stick those M-80 things into mailboxes all the time in Pearl City. Everywhere else on the island, too, I’d bet.”

  “And you had called 911 before when children set off firecrackers along your street, hadn’t you?”

  “Well, they could set our damn houses on fire, so yeah, sure.”

  I walked over to the defense table and took a long sip of ice water.

  When I returned to the podium, I said, “You testified earlier, Mrs. Ledford, that while you were on the phone with Emergency Services, you looked out your window a second time, correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “Was your kitchen light still on?”

  “Yes. I can’t walk around in the dark. I’ll fall and break my hip.”

  “And the kitchen curtains, you testified, were open?”

  “Yes, they were open. I don’t close them until I go to bed.”

  “You were still unafraid at this point, then?”

  “I guess.”

  “What did you see when you looked out the window this second time?”

  “I saw a man lying in the street.”

  “What did you say to the 911 operator when you saw this man lying in the street?”

  “I screamed, ‘Oh, dear God,’ and I told the operator what I had seen.”

  “This man you saw lying on the ground, did you describe him for the operator?”

  “No.”

  “Did the operator ask for a description?”

  “She asked me a few questions, like, ‘Is he moving?’ And I told her I couldn’t tell.”

  “Could you have described the man to the operator if she’d asked you to?”

  “I don’t know, not really, I guess.”

  “Could you have told her if he were white or black or Hispanic or Asian or something else?”

  “No, not at the time,” she said. “Later I learned he was white.”

  “Could you have told her if he was heavy or thin?”

  “No.”

  “Could you have told her if he had facial hair?”

  “No.”

  “How far was this man from your window, Mrs. Ledford?”

  “I’d guess about a hundred feet.”

  “And he was just lying there and yet you couldn’t describe him?”

  “That’s what I just said. I couldn’t describe him.”

  “Maybe part of the reason was that the street was dark?”

  “Very dark. One of the streetlights has been out for six months already.”

  “And your kitchen light was on, that couldn’t have helped, right? It creates somewhat of a mirror effect with the window.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Remind the jury to what you testified earlier—how far away was the man you saw ‘running like the wind’ away from the scene?”

  She hesitated, suddenly upset with herself. “About thirty yards, I think I
said.”

  “So, in other words, about ninety feet?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yet you testified earlier that you got a perfect look at him. Under the same conditions—it was dark, your kitchen lights were on. Yet you were able to point at my client today and say, ‘That is the man I saw,’ correct?”

  “That’s correct,” she said meekly. “Your client has a very distinctive feature.”

  “And what feature is that?”

  “He’s obese.”

  I let her words hang in the air before I continued, “What steps did you take after you saw the man lying in the street?”

  “I closed my kitchen curtains and shut all the lights.”

  “Because by then you were scared, right? By then you realized you weren’t dealing with an M-80 in the mailbox but rather something much more serious.”

  “That’s right. I was scared then.”

  “How long after you closed the kitchen curtains and turned off the lights did the police arrive at the scene?”

  “Not long at all. Almost immediately.”

  “And how long after the police arrived at the scene did they come to your door?”

  “Again, almost immediately.”

  “Did the police ask you what you witnessed?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “I told them that I heard gunshots and—”

  “But that wasn’t the truth, was it, Mrs. Ledford? You actually heard what you thought were firecrackers. You realized they may have been gunshots only after you saw the man lying in the street, correct?”

  “Um, yeah, that’s right.”

  “So what did you actually tell the police about the noises you heard?”

  “That I thought I heard firecrackers, but I don’t see what you’re trying to get at because surely they were gunshots.”

  “Sure, Mrs. Ledford, what you heard were probably gunshots, not firecrackers. But you didn’t think that they were gunshots until after you saw the body, and you didn’t know that they were gunshots until you were actually told so. Am I right?”

  “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “What precisely did the police tell you, Mrs. Ledford?”

  “That the man lying in the street was an off-duty officer and that he had been shot twice.”

  “And you hadn’t told the police how many gunshots you heard—or that you had heard gunshots at all—up until they told you this, correct?”

  “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “Only after the police told you that the officer had been shot twice did you say that you heard two shots, right?”

  “Well, the police officer said, ‘You heard two gunshots, ma’am, correct?’ and I said, ‘Yes.’”

  “Didn’t you find it odd that the police were telling you how many shots you heard?”

  “No, I mean, I don’t know. They weren’t telling me, they were asking me.”

  “I see. The police were asking you in the same way that I am questioning you, leading you, suggesting to you the answers. So, I ask you, Mrs. Ledford, are you certain that you heard only two shots that night?”

  “I believe so, yes.”

  “Mrs. Ledford, you believe in a god, you believe in ghosts, in dragons, in werewolves, in Santa Claus, in the tooth fairy. You do not believe in the number of gunshots you heard.”

  “Objection,” Dapper Don shouted. “Counsel is making argument.”

  “Sustained.”

  “Mrs. Ledford, the shots you heard were fired in rapid succession, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you had never heard gunshots before in your entire life, correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “So three gunshots may have possibly been fired that night, isn’t that right?”

  “It’s possible, yes. But the police only found two bullets.”

  “Or so they would have us believe, Mrs. Ledford.”

  I withdrew that last statement before Dapper Don could complete his objection.

  CHAPTER 46

  After court, I picked up two cheeseburgers at Cheeseburger in Paradise in Waikiki and drove to Audra’s home in Ewa. We ate in silence at her dining room table, then she offered me a gin and tonic.

  “What, no wine?”

  She didn’t smile. She poured me a Bombay Sapphire and tonic and set it on the table. “So how’s your case going?”

  “The state put on its first witness today, a seventy-two—”

  “No, I mean your case. The prostitution charges.”

  It was my turn to not smile. “You know it’s bullshit. I had no idea I was walking into a rub-and-tug. I went in for a massage to try to thwart the constant pain in the back of my neck.”

  Audra shrugged. “Have you spoken to the prosecutor?”

  “Of course not. Why would I do that?”

  “It’s your first offense. They’ll probably offer you a plea to a petty misdemeanor and slap you with a five-hundred-dollar fine.”

  “It’s already a petty misdemeanor. But that’s beside the point. I’m not pleading guilty to anything. I didn’t do anything.”

  “What do you say to your clients when they tell you that?”

  I almost told her that my clients were liars, that the truth was irrelevant, that trials were all about what could be proved. In my head, a thousand voices seemed to shout at me all at once, each of them protesting their innocence, just as I had to Audra a moment before.

  “Look,” I said, massaging my temples, “can we talk about something else?”

  “Sure. What do you want to talk about?”

  “You.”

  “What about me?”

  “When you return to work, are you going back to the US Attorney’s Office?”

  “Of course, why wouldn’t I?”

  I shrugged. I wasn’t sure why I asked. What would have possibly changed her in the past two months? Did I think she was suddenly going to switch sides and ask to join my firm as an associate?

  “Do you plan on staying in Hawaii?” I said.

  “Yeah. How about you?”

  I took a pull off my drink. “How about me, what?”

  “Are you staying in Hawaii after Turi’s trial?”

  “No,” I said, though I hadn’t given the matter much thought in recent weeks. But then, I’d made my decision to leave Honolulu when I decided to expose its entire police department, hadn’t I? I couldn’t stay here in the islands. Not if I wanted to live. Bullets are bad for my health.

  “They finally broke ground on Water Landings,” she said after a few moments of awkward silence.

  “Congratulations,” I said, my mind flashing on the brochure still sitting at home on my kitchen counter. “No more protesters?”

  “Some. But most of them moved up to the North Shore. That’s where the next big fight is taking place.”

  “The Waimea Valley project,” I said, leaning back. “Pamela Omphrey told me that if the governor caved on that issue and allowed development to go forward, she’d divorce him.”

  Audra shrugged. “He may not be in office long enough to cave.”

  I frowned. The governor remained seven points ahead with less than a month to go before the election. Of course, you couldn’t script October. Not in baseball, and certainly not in politics.

  “What’s John Biel’s stance on the Waimea Valley project?” I finally said.

  “He’s generally against any further development on the North Shore, but he’s been uncharacteristically quiet on the Waimea Valley project.”

  “Who’s the developer on that project?”

  “Who else? T. S. Duran Properties.” The name dripped off her tongue like sour milk. Meeting Tommy Duran in person had no doubt diminished some of the excitement surrounding her first home purchase. “So, is Detective Tatupu going to testify at Turi’s trial?”

  “Not unless I can prove the corruption at the department independently. Then I have a shot at him. He won’t bury the HPD himself, bu
t I get the feeling he’d be more than happy to put the final nail in the coffin.”

  She shook her head as her mouth contorted into a frown. “How are you going to prove that Detective Bristol intended to kill Turi when there’s no physical evidence whatsoever to suggest that?”

  “By showing the jury where that physical evidence went, and how.”

  “You’re truly going to suggest to the jury that the police, one, removed a bullet casing from the scene; two, removed the vehicle that the bullet had lodged into and brainwashed the owner of that vehicle to say that vehicle never existed; and three, destroyed Bristol’s service weapon and handed over a false weapon to the defense so that it would look as though Bristol never fired a shot.”

  I pursed my lips. “Among other things, yes.”

  “Solely by crossing the lead detective on the case?” she said incredulously.

  “That’s right.”

  “And when is this scheduled to happen?”

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  Audra folded her hands and rested her chin on top of them.

  “What are you thinking?” I said.

  “I’m thinking I might actually leave the house tomorrow morning. This is going to be something to see.”

  I took a hit off my gin and tonic, thinking about how much I hated gin.

  “You wouldn’t mind my being there, would you?” she said.

  “Just be sure to get to the courthouse early tomorrow morning,” I cautioned her as I stood to leave. “Or else you won’t get a seat.”

  CHAPTER 47

  The next morning Donovan Watanabe called Detective Ray Irvine to the witness stand. Irvine didn’t look like a cop, but then again, neither did Kanoa Bristol. Both were big men with heavy, thuggish faces, both in their late thirties, though either could easily have passed for fifty. I supposed they didn’t look like cops because they weren’t cops, not really. Hell, knowing what I did, I should have been surprised that they still looked human.

  On direct examination Dapper Don took Ray Irvine through his illustrious career as a Honolulu police officer, from his days patrolling Waikiki on bicycle through his years as part of the Narcotics Intelligence Unit, right up until his promotion to Homicide earlier this year. What wasn’t mentioned was that Irvine was only promoted to Homicide after John Tatupu was transferred to Auto Theft, following the press conference held on behalf of the governor by yours truly.