Last Lawyer Standing

by Douglas Corleone

  Once Irvine’s credentials were exhausted, Dapper Don led him through the crime scene as Irvine purportedly found it. The body of fellow officer Detective Kanoa Bristol was discovered immediately upon arrival. Irvine himself checked his longtime friend for a pulse. But it was too late. Two bullets had struck Bristol, one in the upper left part of the chest, the other in the throat. The first bullet had lodged into Bristol’s Kevlar vest, the second went out through the back of Bristol’s neck.

  “I immediately instructed my team to seal off the area,” Irvine testified. “Once that was accomplished, we immediately began the investigation.”

  “What was the first step you took with respect to this investigation?” Dapper Don said in his usual cerebral tone.

  “I made a preliminary survey of the crime scene.”

  “And what did you discover during that preliminary survey of the crime scene?”

  “Using a flashlight, I found two bullet casings approximately twenty-five feet away from Detective Bristol’s body.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Not during that preliminary survey, no.”

  “What was the next step you took in this investigation?” Dapper Don asked.

  “Immediately following that preliminary survey, I walked across the street and rang the doorbell of Mrs. Doris Ledford, the woman who had called Emergency Services.”

  “And did Mrs. Ledford answer the door?”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “What happened next, Detective?”

  “Mrs. Ledford invited me inside, and we sat in her living room, where I asked her a series of questions regarding what she heard, what she observed, and what she did in response.”

  “Were any other officers present inside the house?”

  “No, not at that time. It was just me and her.”

  “What did Mrs. Ledford tell you?”

  I objected, claiming the answer called for hearsay, though I knew this testimony wasn’t being offered for its truth. I just wanted to remind the jury of that, and fortunately Dapper Don did that for me before Narita could overrule.

  Continuing with the witness, Dapper Don asked, “What did you do based on the information Mrs. Ledford provided you?”

  “I put out an APB—that’s an all-points bulletin—for a man fitting the suspect’s description.”

  “What was the description given?”

  “A heavyset, possibly obese, man, possibly of Hawaiian or Samoan descent.”

  “Briefly moving back to your conversation with Doris Ledford, Detective, did you at any time in the conversation suggest answers to the questions you were asking her?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Did you at any time ask leading questions?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Thank you, Detective.” Dapper Don bowed his head in apology. “Now, returning to the crime scene. After issuing the APB, what did you do?”

  “I went back outside. By that time, officers were collecting evidence and photographing the crime scene. I then met with the chief medical examiner, Dr. Charlie Tong. Just about two minutes into our conversation, I received a radiocall informing me that a man meeting the suspect’s description had been pulled over in an old, black Nissan Pulsar just a few blocks away. I instructed the officer to hold the suspect and informed him I would be there shortly to ask questions and determine whether there was probable cause to make an arrest.”

  “What happened next?”

  “Before I could leave to meet the suspect, an officer at the crime scene informed me he’d made a discovery.”

  “What was that discovery?”

  “A forty-four-caliber Glock found under a sewer grate on the far curb, approximately seventy feet from the victim’s body.”

  After entering the Glock into evidence, Dapper Don next took Detective Irvine to the scene of the arrest. Irvine stated that Turi Ahina met the description of the suspect provided by Doris Ledford. So Irvine immediately informed Turi Ahina of his Miranda rights, then asked Turi what he was doing in the vicinity. Turi refused to answer any questions and asked for his lawyer, Mr. Kevin Corvelli. Turi was cuffed and placed in the backseat of a patrol car. Irvine then conducted a search of the Nissan, wherein he discovered an envelope filled with cash. Five thousand dollars to be exact.

  * * *

  When I reached the podium to cross-examine Detective Ray Irvine, I suddenly froze like a fly on a windshield in the middle of winter in upstate New York. The only weapons I had to break this dirty cop to pieces were my words. No physical evidence, no corroborating witnesses. It would be like attacking a tank with stones, like killing a man using a water gun filled with nothing but water. I glanced over my shoulder at Audra and remembered her words from last night, her incredulity. Then the double doors to the courtroom swung open, and John Tatupu stepped inside. I swelled with confidence again as he nodded in my direction.

  Dapper Don rose from his spot at the prosecution table when he saw Tatupu enter the courtroom. Tatupu was on my witness list, and at Dapper Don’s request, Narita would have ordered Tatupu excluded from the courtroom so that he couldn’t hear the testimony of other witnesses. Strategically, it would have been the smart move, even if Tatupu didn’t listen to, or later offer, a single word of testimony. Just by being present in the courtroom Tatupu would serve as a silent witness, unnerving Ray Irvine on the stand. But Dapper Don had known Tatupu too long, worked with him on too many cases, knew that Tatupu was as honorable a cop as any he would ever meet. So instead of objecting, Dapper Don sat back down and waited for me to proceed.

  “Detective Irvine,” I said without greeting him, “prior to your recent transfer to the Homicide division, you were a member of the Narcotics Intelligence Unit, or NIU, were you not?”

  “I was. For nine years.”

  I hesitated. By merely mentioning a single name I was about to open a door that could not be closed. Once I asked the next question, Donovan Watanabe could have a field day on redirect, asking Irvine questions about Turi Ahina’s criminal past that could never have otherwise been asked. My next query was the quintessential double-edged sword.

  “During those nine years, Detective, were you involved in an ongoing investigation into the operations of a criminal drug syndicate known as the Masonet Organization, so named for the head of that organization, Orlando Masonet?”

  “Objection, Your Honor,” Dapper Don said from his seat. “Exceeds the scope of direct.”

  “Judge,” I countered, “Mr. Watanabe had Detective Irvine detail his time in the Narcotics Intelligence Unit. I am merely asking the detective about one specific investigation.”

  Narita took his time making a decision. “I’ll allow it.”

  On the stand, Irvine swallowed visibly. “Yes, I was involved in the investigation into the Masonet Organization.”

  “How long were you involved in that investigation?”

  “All nine years of my service with the NIU.”

  “And in those nine years, Detective, were any arrests made in connection with that investigation?”

  “There were numerous arrests made, yes.”

  “Approximately how many members of the Masonet Organization were arrested during your involvement in that investigation?”

  Irvine shifted on the witness stand. “It’s hard to say. When we conduct a raid on a meth lab based on, say, an anonymous tip, we don’t always know who is at the top of the food chain. It may be Masonet, it may be someone else entirely. The individuals we arrest aren’t always forthcoming. But if I had to venture a guess, I would say dozens. We arrested dozens of members of the Masonet Organization over those nine years. Possibly hundreds.”

  “So, what you are saying, Detective, is that during your nine years as part of the Narcotics Intelligence Unit, dozens, possibly hundreds, of Masonet Organization members were arrested, yet the syndicate itself continued to operate illegally. How is that?”

  Dapper Don objected to the question, but Narita overruled him.


  “Most of the arrests we made were of small-time dealers. We were unable to penetrate the upper echelon of the Masonet Organization. Partly because the NIU was poorly funded; we didn’t have the money or manpower to conduct the surveillance an adequate investigation required. And partly because of an apparent code of silence among the organization’s members. The suspects we interrogated either immediately clammed up and asked for their lawyer or insisted that they knew nothing about the organization and were only doing their job, just as a Wal-Mart cashier may know nothing about the management of the corporation beyond their individual store. We also suspect that members of the Masonet Organization are reluctant to talk for fear of retribution.”

  “Members of the Masonet Organization, you’re saying, are quite possibly afraid that they might be executed if they reveal information to authorities or testify against other members of the organization, correct?”

  “That’s what we suspect, yes.”

  “To your knowledge, has Orlando Masonet himself ever been arrested here in the state of Hawaii?”

  “He has never been arrested here, no.”

  “During the course of your investigation into the Masonet Organization, Detective, did you ever become aware of the existence of a clandestine methamphetamine superlab in Waialua, known to some as the Tiki Room?”

  “Yes, I became aware of the lab shortly before my transfer from NIU to Homicide.”

  “Did the Narcotics Intelligence Unit ever formulate plans to conduct a raid on that lab?”

  “Yes, we did. Following several days of surveillance.”

  “And was a raid in fact conducted on the Tiki Room by the Honolulu Police Department?”

  “No, one was not.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the US Drug Enforcement Administration beat us to the punch.”

  “To your knowledge,” I said, “was the NIU or anyone at HPD made aware of the plans for the federal raid on the Tiki Room prior to the DEA’s raid being conducted?”

  “No, we were not informed.”

  “Isn’t that unusual, Detective? Isn’t it customary for federal and state law enforcement agencies to combine their efforts and intelligence to conduct such raids together?”

  “That’s been my experience.”

  “Was there any effort made by the DEA to form a joint task force with the NIU?”

  “Not to my knowledge, no.”

  I feigned surprise. “Despite the lengthy investigation of the Masonet Organization by the NIU, there was no request from the feds for information or intelligence before the DEA conducted this dangerous raid in Waialua?”

  “No, there was not.”

  “Why do you suppose that is, Detective?”

  Dapper Don rose to his feet. “Objection, Your Honor. Calls for speculation.”

  “Sustained,” Narita said.

  “Could it be, Detective,” I said, slightly raising my pitch, “that the Honolulu Police Department was not informed of the DEA’s plans for this raid on the Tiki Room because federal agents feared that members of the HPD, specifically the Narcotics Intelligence Unit, of which you and Detective Kanoa Bristol were a part, would tip the Masonet Organization off as to the raid, thereby placing the lives of federal agents in further jeopardy?”

  “Same objection!” Dapper Don was on his feet again, eyes narrowed, teeth clenched. “Your Honor—”

  “The objection is sustained,” Narita said. “Mr. Corvelli, tread carefully.”

  “Of course, Your Honor.” I stepped back from the podium, gathered my courage. “Detective, at some point after the DEA raid on the Tiki Room was conducted, did you become aware of the raid?”

  “Yes, later the same day.”

  “And were you made aware that individuals suspected to be members of the Masonet Organization were arrested by the DEA during that raid?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “And was one of the suspects arrested during the raid of the Tiki Room the defendant in this case, Mr. Turi Ahina?”

  “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “Did you discuss the arrest of Turi Ahina or any of the other suspects apprehended at the Tiki Room with any other member of the Narcotics Intelligence Unit in the days immediately following the raid?”

  Irvine hesitated. “Maybe just briefly.”

  “Did you discuss the arrests with Detective Kanoa Bristol?”

  Irvine shook his head. “Not that I recall.”

  “At any time, did Detective Bristol convey any fear regarding the arrest of Turi Ahina by the DEA?”

  “I don’t quite understand your question.”

  “Well then,” I said, “did you yourself experience any fear regarding the arrest of Turi Ahina by the federal government?”

  “Of course not. Why would I?”

  I stepped in front of the podium and spoke clearly so that every member of the jury could follow my words.

  “Well, Detective, let me put it this way. Did you at any time fear that Turi Ahina would cooperate with federal authorities and reveal the NIU’s association with the Masonet Organization, and the HPD’s ongoing protection scheme that permitted Orlando Masonet and his syndicate to continue to act with impunity in these islands?”

  “Objection,” Dapper Don roared. “Assumes facts not in evidence.”

  “Sustained!” Narita shot at me. “Counselor, you’ve been warned.”

  “Detective,” I said without pause, “did you personally ever accept money from Orlando Masonet or his organization in return for protection and intelligence, such as tips on when and where raids would be conducted?”

  “Objection! Argumentative,” Dapper Don said, still standing from his last objection. “Mr. Corvelli is stating conclusions and asking the witness to agree with him.”

  “I’m doing no such thing, Your Honor.”

  “The objection is sustained,” Narita said. “Mr. Corvelli, if you wish to avoid a contempt citation, you will cease what you are doing right now.”

  “Isn’t it true, Detective, that following Turi Ahina’s arrest by the DEA and subsequent release on bail, members of the Narcotics Intelligence Unit, including you and Kanoa Bristol, fearful that Mr. Ahina would cooperate with federal authorities, conspired with the Masonet Organization to assassinate Turi Ahina?”

  “Objection!”

  “Sustained!” Narita rapped his gavel. “Mr. Corvelli, you are now in contempt of this Court.”

  I didn’t relent. Let Narita throw me in fucking jail.

  “Isn’t it true, Detective, that Kanoa Bristol was chosen to be that assassin? That he attempted to execute Turi Ahina that evening in Pearl City, and that you and your team did everything in your power to cover it up?”

  A rap of the gavel, an eruption in the courtroom, then Narita called for a recess and ordered, “All lawyers to my chambers. Now.”

  CHAPTER 48

  I wasn’t placed under arrest. And Watanabe’s appeal for a mistrial was denied. I wrote a check for my contempt citation and assured Judge Narita that I would back up every allegation I’d made with hard evidence and corroborating testimony. In other words, I lied. Not that it mattered. An hour later we resumed proceedings and I took another crack at cracking Detective Irvine. I asked whether he or any of his team removed evidence from the Pearl City crime scene, specifically a bullet casing from Detective Bristol’s service weapon. I asked whether he or any of his team had discovered a bullet in the bumper of a navy-blue Honda Civic parked at the end of the cul-de-sac. I asked whether he or any of his team had the Honda Civic removed from Kolohe Street, whether the owner of that Civic, Max Guffman, was bribed or otherwise coerced to say that the Civic never existed. I asked whether he or any of his team switched out Bristol’s service weapon for another so that it appeared that Bristol never fired a shot. I asked him why in his experience Detective Kanoa Brostol would have been wearing a Kevlar vest while off duty at that time of night.

  And I got nowhere. Detective Ray Irvine proved much more slippery t
han I ever anticipated.

  Later, after Narita adjourned for the day, Jake and I sat in the Lawyers Room at the courthouse.

  “Mind taking the state’s ballistics expert tomorrow?” I said, loosening my tie. “I think this judge and jury have seen enough of me for a while.”

  “I’ll handle Denis Ritchie, son. I’ll handle Charlie Tong, too. ME’s not going to have much to add in this case.”

  It was late, and we were the only two lawyers in the room. “So what did you think?” I said.

  “It was either brilliant or it was a disaster. Maybe both.”

  I leaned back in the plastic chair, took a sip from a warm can of Diet Pepsi. “Wouldn’t be my first brilliant disaster.”

  “You need John Tatupu. And you need one of the feds.”

  “The feds will deny everything. All I have is one shitty Queen for a Day agreement signed by Boyd. Besides, we don’t know that they have anything besides what Tatupu told them. And even that will be struck down as hearsay.”

  “Maybe the feds have conducted more of an investigation than we think. Maybe they have photos and wiretaps. For all we know, they may be waiting for this trial to be over to indict half the department.”

  I thought about it. I thought about what Tatupu had told me at Chinaman’s Hat, that the feds had hinted that a dirty cop had recently decided to come clean and cooperate. If there was an ongoing investigation into the HPD’s corruption, it wouldn’t be the DEA doing the investigating. It would be the FBI.

  “Slauson,” I said aloud.

  “You might be able to make a trade,” Jake said.

  I was thinking the same thing. “The location of Lok Sun for Slauson’s testimony at Turi’s trial.”

  “Problem is, soon as Slauson knows that you know where Lok Sun is, he doesn’t have to bargain. He can simply arrest you for obstruction of justice and haul you before Platz, who will lock you up until you talk. Platz will probably have you share a cell with SoSo.”

  I had been receiving letters from SoSo just about every other day since mid-August. SoSo blamed me for the additional fifteen years Justice Platz slapped him with at his sentencing. It was my fault, SoSo said, because I should have warned him that insulting the judge could have negative ramifications. At the conclusion of each letter, SoSo promised that he would visit me at my home the very day he left prison. SoSo had a new lawyer working on his appeal, and his lawyer was confident that his conviction and/or sentencing would soon be overturned and SoSo would be a free man. Luckily for me, SoSo’s new lawyer was Mickey Fallon, one of the dumbest attorneys ever to be spit out of an American law school. And that was truly saying something.