I nodded like this answer fit with a larger picture I was seeing.
“Okay, and you have also testified that you learned that the murders occurred just thirty-two days after the prenuptial agreement between Walter and Mitzi Elliot vested, thereby giving Mrs. Elliot a full shot at the couple’s financial holdings in the event of a divorce.”
“That’s right.”
“And that is your motive for these killings.”
“In part, yes. I call it an aggravating factor.”
“Do you see any inconsistency in your theory of the crime, Detective Kinder?”
“No, I do not.”
“Was it not obvious to you from the financial records and the appointment frequency that there was some sort of romantic or at least a sexual relationship going on between Mr. Rilz and Mrs. Elliot?”
“I wouldn’t say it was obvious.”
“You wouldn’t?”
I said it with surprise. I had him in a little corner. If he said the affair was obvious, he would be giving me the answer he knew I wanted. If he said it was not obvious, then he came off as a fool because everyone else in the courtroom thought it was obvious.
“In retrospect it might look obvious but at the time I think it was hidden.”
“Then how did Walter Elliot find out about it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Doesn’t the fact that you were unable to find a murder weapon indicate that Walter Elliot planned these murders?”
“Not necessarily.”
“Then it’s easy to hide a weapon from the entire Sheriff’s Department?”
“No, but like I told you, it could have simply been thrown into the ocean off the back deck and the currents took over from there. That wouldn’t take a lot of planning.”
Kinder knew what I wanted and where I was trying to go. I couldn’t get him there so I decided to use a shove.
“Detective, didn’t it ever occur to you that if Walter Elliot knew about his wife’s affair, it would have made better sense just to divorce her before the prenuptial agreement vested?”
“There was no indication of when he learned of the affair. And your question does not take into account things like emotions and rage. It was possible that the money had nothing to do with it as a motivating factor. It could have just been betrayal and rage, pure and simple.”
I hadn’t gotten what I wanted. I was annoyed with myself and chalked it up to rust. I was prepared for the cross but it was the first time I had gone head-to-head with a seasoned and cagey witness in a year. I decided to back off here and to hit Kinder with the punch he wouldn’t see coming.
Forty-five
I asked the judge for a moment and then went to the defense table. I bent down to my client’s ear.
“Just nod like I am telling you something really important,” I whispered.
Elliot did as instructed and then I picked up a file and went back to the lectern. I opened the file and then looked at the witness stand.
“Detective Kinder, at what point in your investigation did you determine that Johan Rilz was the primary target of this double murder?”
Kinder opened his mouth to respond immediately, then closed it and sat back and thought for a moment. It was just the kind of body language I was hoping the jury would pick up on.
“At no point did I ever determine that,” Kinder finally responded.
“At no point was Johan Rilz front and center in your investigation?”
“Well, he was the victim of a homicide. That made him front and center the whole time in my book.”
Kinder seemed pretty proud of that answer but I didn’t give him much time to savor it.
“Then his being front and center explains why you went to Germany to investigate his background, correct?”
“I did not go to Germany.”
“What about France? His passport indicates he lived there before coming to the United States.”
“I didn’t go there.”
“Then, who on your team did?”
“No one. We didn’t believe it was necessary.”
“Why wasn’t it necessary?”
“We had asked Interpol for a background check on Johan Rilz and it came back clean.”
“What is Interpol?”
“It stands for International Criminal Police Organization. It’s an organization that links the police in more than a hundred countries and facilitates cross-border cooperation. It has several offices throughout Europe and enjoys total access and cooperation from its host countries.”
“That’s nice but it means you didn’t go directly to the police in Berlin, where Rilz was from?”
“No, we did not.”
“Did you directly check with police in Paris, where Rilz lived five years ago?”
“No, we relied on our Interpol contacts for background on Mr. Rilz.”
“The Interpol background pretty much was a check of a criminal arrest record, correct?”
“That was included, yes.”
“What else was included?”
“I’m not sure what else. I don’t work for Interpol.”
“If Mr. Rilz had worked for the police in Paris as a confidential informant on a drug case, would Interpol have given you this information?”
Kinder’s eyes widened for a split second before he answered. It was clear he wasn’t expecting the question, but I couldn’t get a read on whether he knew where I was heading or if it was all new to him.
“I don’t know whether they would have given us that information or not.”
“Law enforcement agencies usually don’t give out the names of their confidential informants willy-nilly, do they?”
“No, they don’t.”
“Why is that?”
“Because it might put the informants in danger.”
“So being an informant in a criminal case can be dangerous?”
“On occasion, yes.”
“Detective, have you ever investigated the murder of a confidential informant?”
Golantz stood up before Kinder could answer and asked the judge for a sidebar conference. The judge signaled us up. I grabbed the file off the lectern and followed Golantz up. The court reporter moved next to the bench with her steno machine. The judge rolled his chair over and we huddled.
“Mr. Golantz?” the judge prompted.
“Judge, I would like to know where this is going, because I’m feeling like I’m being sandbagged here. There has been nothing in any of the defense’s discovery that even hints at what Mr. Haller is asking the witness about.”
The judge swiveled in his chair and looked at me.
“Mr. Haller?”
“Judge, if anybody is being sandbagged, it’s my client. This was a sloppy investigation that—”
“Save it for the jury, Mr. Haller. Whaddaya got?”
I opened the file and put a computer printout down in front of the judge, which positioned it upside down to Golantz.
“What I’ve got is a story that ran in Le Parisien four and a half years ago. It names Johan Rilz as a witness for the prosecution in a major drug case. He was used by the Direction de la Police Judiciaire to make buys and get inside knowledge of the drug ring. He was a CI, Your Honor, and these guys over here never even looked at him. It was tunnel vision from the—”
“Mr. Haller, again, save your argument for the jury. This printout is in French. Do you have the translation?”
“Sorry, Your Honor.”
I took the second of three sheets out of the file and put it down on top of the first, again in the direction of the judge. Golantz was twisting his head awkwardly as he tried to read it.
“How do we know this is the same Johan Rilz?” Golantz said. “It’s a common name over there.”
“Maybe in Germany, but not in France.”
“So how do we know it’s him?” the judge asked this time. “This is a translated newspaper article. This isn’t any kind of official document.”
I pulled the last
sheet from the file and put it down.
“This is a photocopy of a page from Rilz’s passport. I got it from the state’s own discovery. It shows that Rilz left France for the United States in March, two thousand three. One month after this story was published. Plus, you’ve got the age. The article has his age right and it says he was making drug buys for the cops out of his business as an interior decorator. It obviously is him, Your Honor. He betrayed a lot of people over there and put them in jail, then he comes here and starts over.”
Golantz started shaking his head in a desperate sort of way.
“It’s still no good,” he said. “This is a violation of the rules of discovery and is inadmissible. You can’t sit on this and then sucker punch the state with it.”
The judge swiveled his view to me and this time gave me the squint as well.
“Your Honor, if anybody sat on anything, it was the state. This is stuff the prosecution should’ve come up with and given to me. In fact, I think the witness did know about this and he sat on it.”
“That is a serious accusation, Mr. Haller,” the judge intoned. “Do you have evidence of that?”
“Judge, the reason I know about this at all is by accident. On Sunday I was reviewing my investigator’s prep work and noticed that he had run all the names associated with this case through the Lexis-Nexis search engine. He had used the computer and account I inherited with Jerry Vincent’s law practice. I checked the account and noticed that the default setting was for English-language search only. Having looked at the photocopy of Rilz’s passport in the discovery file and knowing of his background in Europe, I did the search again, this time including French and German languages. I came up with this French newspaper article in about two minutes, and I find it hard to believe that I found something that easily that the entire Sheriff’s Department, the prosecution, and Interpol didn’t know about. So Judge, I don’t know if that is evidence of anything but the defense is certainly feeling like the party that’s been damaged here.”
I couldn’t believe it. The judge swiveled to Golantz and gave him the squint. The first time ever. I shifted to my right so that a good part of the jury had an angle on it.
“What about that, Mr. Golantz?” the judge asked.
“It’s absurd, Your Honor. We have sat on nothing, and anything that we have found has gone into the discovery file. And I would like to ask why Mr. Haller didn’t alert us to this yesterday when he just admitted that he made this discovery Sunday and the printout is dated then as well.”
I stared deadpan at Golantz when I answered.
“If I had known you were fluent in French I would have given it to you, Jeff, and maybe you could’ve helped out. But I’m not fluent and I didn’t know what it said and I had to get it translated. I was handed that translation about ten minutes before I started my cross.”
“All right,” the judge said, breaking up the stare-down. “This is still a printout of a newspaper article. What are you going to do about verifying the information it contains, Mr. Haller?”
“Well, as soon as we break, I’m going to put my investigator on it and see if we can contact somebody in the Police Judiciaire. We’re going to be doing the job the Sheriff’s Department should have done six months ago.”
“We’re obviously going to verify it as well,” Golantz added.
“Rilz’s father and two brothers are sitting in the gallery. Maybe you can start with them.”
The judge held up a hand in a calming gesture like he was a parent quelling an argument between two brothers.
“Okay,” he said. “I am going to stop this line of cross-examination. Mr. Haller, I will allow you to lay the foundation for it during the presentation of the defense. You can call the witness back then, and if you can verify the report and the identity, then I will give you wide latitude in pursuing it.”
“Your Honor, that puts the defense at a disadvantage,” I protested.
“How so?”
“Because now that the state’s been made aware of this information, it can take steps to hinder my verification of it.”
“That’s absurd,” Golantz said.
But the judge nodded.
“I understand your concern and I am putting Mr. Golantz on notice that if I find any indication of that, then I will become… shall we say, very agitated. I think we are done here, gentlemen.”
The judge rolled back into position and the lawyers returned to theirs. On my way back, I checked the clock on the back wall of the courtroom. It was ten minutes until five. I figured if I could stall for a few more minutes, the judge would recess for the day and the jurors would have the French connection to mull over for the night.
I stood at the lectern and asked the judge for a few moments. I then acted like I was studying my notepad, trying to decide if there was anything else I wanted to ask Kinder about.
“Mr. Haller, how are we doing?” the judge finally prompted.
“We’re doing fine, Judge. And I look forward to exploring Mr. Rilz’s activities in France more thoroughly during the defense phase of the trial. Until then, I have no further questions for Detective Kinder.”
I returned to the defense table and sat down. The judge then announced that court was recessed for the day.
I watched the jury file out of the courtroom and picked up no read from any of them. I then glanced behind Golantz to the gallery. All three of the Rilz men were staring at me with hardened, dead eyes.
Forty-six
Cisco called me at home at ten o’clock. He said he was nearby in Hollywood and that he could come right over. He said he already had some news about juror number seven.
After hanging up I told Patrick that I was going out on the deck to meet privately with Cisco. I put on a sweater because there was a chill in the air outside, grabbed the file I’d used in court earlier, and went out to wait for my investigator.
The Sunset Strip glowed like a blast furnace fire over the shoulder of the hills. I’d bought the house in a flush year because of the deck and the view it offered of the city. It never ceased to entrance me, day or night. It never ceased to charge me and tell me the truth. That truth being that anything was possible, that anything could happen, good or bad.
“Hey, boss.”
I jumped and turned. Cisco had climbed the stairs and come up behind me without my even hearing him. He must’ve come up the hill on Fair-fax and then killed the engine and freewheeled down to my house. He knew I’d be upset if his pipes woke up everybody in the neighborhood.
“Don’t scare me like that, man.”
“What are you so jumpy about?”
“I just don’t like people sneaking up on me. Sit down out here.”
I pointed him to the small table and chairs positioned under the roof’s eave and in front of the living room window. It was uncomfortable outdoor furniture I almost never used. I liked to contemplate the city from the deck and draw the charge. The only way to do that was standing.
The file I’d brought out was on the table. Cisco pulled out a chair and was about to sit down when he stopped and used a hand to sweep the smog dust and crud off the seat.
“Man, don’t you ever spray this stuff off?”
“You’re wearing jeans and a T-shirt, Cisco. Just sit down.”
He did and I did and I saw him look through the translucent window shade into the living room. The television was on and Patrick was in there watching the extreme-sports channel on cable. People were doing flips on snowmobiles.
“Is that a sport?” Cisco asked.
“To Patrick, I guess.”
“How’s it working out with him?”
“It’s working. He’s only staying a couple weeks. Tell me about number seven?”
“Down to business. Okay.”
He reached behind him and pulled a small journal out of his back pocket.
“You got any light out here?”
I got up, went to the front door, and reached in to turn on the deck light. I glanced a
t the TV and saw the medical staff attending to a snowmobile driver who apparently had failed to complete his flip and had three hundred pounds of sled land on him.
I closed the door and sat back down across from Cisco. He was studying something in his journal.
“Okay,” he said. “Juror number seven. I haven’t had much time on this but I’ve got a few things I wanted to get right to you. His name is David McSweeney and I think almost everything he put on his J-sheet is false.”
The J-sheet was the single-page form each juror fills out as part of the voir dire process. The sheets carry the prospective juror’s name, profession, and area of residence by zip code as well as a checklist of basic questions designed to help attorneys form opinions about whether they want the individual on their jury. In this case the name would’ve been excised but all the other information was on the sheet I had given Cisco to start with.
“Give me some examples.”
“Well, according to the zip on the sheet, he lives down in Palos Verdes. Not true. I followed him from the courthouse directly to an apartment off of Beverly over there behind CBS.”
Cisco pointed south in the general direction of Beverly Boulevard and Fairfax Avenue, where the CBS television studio was located.
“I had a friend run the plate on the pickup he drove home from court and it came back to David McSweeney on Beverly, same address I saw him go into. I then had my guy run his DL and shoot me over the photo. I looked at it on my phone and McSweeney is our guy.”
The information was intriguing but I was more concerned with how Cisco was conducting his investigation of juror number seven. We had already blown up one source on the Vincent investigation.
“Cisco, man, your prints are going to be all over this. I told you I can’t have any blowback on this.”
“Chill, man. There’s no fingerprints. My guy isn’t going to go volunteering that he did a search for me. It’s illegal for a cop to do an outside search. He’d lose his job. And if somebody comes looking, we still don’t need to worry, because he doesn’t use his terminal or user ID when he does these for me. He cadged an old lieutenant’s password. So there are no prints, okay? No trails. We’re safe on this.”
The Brass Verdict Page 31