“I didn’t kill anyone.”
“Nobody is saying that you did.”
I nodded. “You see the problem?”
He smiled and I saw a lot of gold fillings. “Of course. Do I take this as a negative response?”
“It’s a ‘no.’”
“And you are aware that by turning down this most generous offer from the District Attorney you are placing yourself in dire jeopardy? Wait, don’t answer yet! Are you aware that the district attorney still can try you for first-degree murder? And that your life may be forfeited if I am not up to my usual standard?”
“Is your usual standard very good?”
“My usual standard is excellent. If I say so myself.”
“I didn’t kill that woman.”
“That is so.”
“It wasn’t even an accident. I had nothing to do with it. The murderer was on a roof across the street. He was one of those idiots who start shooting innocent people in a public place.”
Chen looked at me from behind his thick lenses and said nothing. He knew the truth, apparently judging it to be impolitic to refute my version.
“I will not voluntarily put myself in prison for a crime I did not commit. These people are crazy.”
“The district attorney knows this. The facts of the case are very clear.”
“Then please tell the district attorney that I regretfully decline his offer.”
“You regretfully decline. Very well, I shall tell the district attorney that you cannot accept his kind and generous offer. And shall I tell him that we are ready for trial immediately on the murder charge?”
“You’re ready?”
“I didn’t say that. I merely asked if I should tell the government that we are ready for trial. There’s a difference between reality and what you tell the government. Which is as it should be, as they have no compunction in lying to us.”
In spite of myself I smiled. I liked the man and felt comfortable in his presence. This old gunslinger could outthink a platoon of government lawyers. I was sure he could even teach Tala Sufai a thing or two.
“There is already an attorney in Honolulu who knows this case.”
“Miss Sufai. Yes, I’ve spoken with her. She is an extremely bright strategist, and she seems to know her way around the courtroom, too. I read the transcripts of your hearings. I must tell you that I was impressed.”
“I know she isn’t licensed to practice in California, but could she help you. She already knows the case.”
“You said that, Mr. Caine. And I would like to have her to sit by my side for the trial. She would be most helpful. We have ways to make it legal for her to become a temporary member of the California Bar, but it would take too much time to process the applications.”
“It’s just the paperwork,” I said.
“Exactly. With the stroke of a pen Miss Sufai could become an honored member of the California Bar. But the time required is more than we have if you wish to proceed immediately.”
“And with the stroke of a pen a man can be charged with murder when all he did was defend himself.”
“Well said, Mr. Caine. I trust that you wouldn’t mind if I use that analogy if and when I may find myself before a jury.”
I shook my head. “So you think we can win?”
He smiled. “I think we can win. Even without the formidable Miss Sufai. But it is never certain. There are twelve strangers walking around somewhere in this city who at this moment have never heard of you. Twelve men and women who will be hauled into court against their wishes and forced to sit and hear all kinds of tales told about you. And they will not be a happy lot. Nor will they be a particularly intelligent lot. Most of the really bright folk seemed to feel that they have a duty to find a way around jury duty. More’s the pity, Mr. Caine, more’s the pity. And yet, despite what I just said, those twelve people will somehow manage to figure it out and they will get it right. Time after time the juries I encounter continue to get it right, even when you know that their entire collective intelligence is most likely approaching that of lemon yogurt. It is amazing, a freak of nature. It shouldn’t work, but it does. The jury system, as flawed as it is, is the best system in the history of the world. You are in good hands, Mr. Caine.”
“I feel better already.”
He laughed, barking a long stream of haws around the room. His laugh was infectious, and I found myself joining in.
“Very good, Mr. Caine. A man with a sense of humor will not be easily cowed. I am depending upon you not to be cowed. Is that understood?”
“Yes.”
“I thought it would be. You don’t seem to be the kind of person who is frightened of anyone or anything. I’ve read about you, and your benefactor told me stories that would make exciting reading. It is too bad that you do not have a biographer. How is your health, by the way?”
“It’s fine. They’re taking good care of me here.”
“That is as it should be,” he said, smiling. “Now, I must go. I’ve got a message to deliver to the district attorney. I am going to have a little fun and deliver it personally.”
“Do you expect them to drop the charges?”
“Sadly, no. This is now a test of wills. The prosecution has ego involved. While it is necessary for trial lawyers to have a strong ego, it sometimes gets in the way of sound judgment. I think that is the case here. That detective, that Miss Henderson, bullied them into taking the case, based, I believe, solely upon your extremely violent history. They will have a very difficult time getting that into the record, however. And one word out of court and we shall change venue faster than the prosecution can blink.”
“So we’ll go to trial. When?”
“We have a hearing tomorrow. I’ll expect you to shave and look presentable. Not the pirate I see in front of me now. Shave the beard. Shave it all off. You have a nice face and I believe that you should not hide it behind such a bushy monstrosity. And wear your best suit.”
“I’ll shave.”
“Had it long?”
“Since … I was in mourning.”
“The ancient Romans used to do that, grow a beard to demonstrate their mourning. Are you over it?”
“Over what?”
“Over what caused you to mourn?”
“Yes. Part of it.”
“Then shave it off and leave it off. At least during the trial. Afterward, when you’re a free man again, you can grow hair down to your ankles for all I care.”
He looked expectant so I laughed politely.
“So be prepared for your hearing. Dress well, look smart, keep silent. You won’t have to say anything. I’ll do all the talking. You just have to sit there and not cause a disturbance. Can you do that?”
“I can do that.”
He smiled again. “Then I am blessed with the best kind of client.” He got up to leave and then he stopped. “Second best kind of client. Someone once said that the best kind of client is a scared millionaire.”
“I’m scared. And a millionaire is paying the bills.”
He nodded.
“Good enough.”
43
Her Honor Judge Sylvia Santo looked up from her desk and peered over the top of silver half-glasses at Mr. Chen. She glanced down again at the paper in front of her as if she did not believe what she had read there the first time. Then she looked at my attorney again.
“This is something new to my experience, Mr. Chen,” she said in a low, cigarette-roughened voice. “Usually the defendant wishes to delay the case as long as possible.”
“We are ready to proceed, Your Honor. The defendant not only stands accused of a crime that he did not commit, but he is accused of capital murder in a case where his only actions resulted in saving the lives of at least two people. And if I may be so bold, may I remind the Court that justice delayed is justice denied.”
The judge nearly smiled. “I haven’t heard that old saw since law school, Albert. Motion granted. I’ve never seen someone so eager to
drag his own client into court.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.”
“Excuse me.” Christopher Turley, the young attorney prosecuting the case for the county, spoke without rising. He had risen once and had been chastised for it by the judge. He had tried to interrupt once, and had been chastised for that, too. His senior was not present at this hearing and he was not having a good day. If I read the situation correctly, the judge was continuing the young man’s education. The experience was a kind of on-the-job training. It could not have been amusing for the young man, edifying as it was.
“Yes, Mr. Turley?”
“The prosecution needs more time.”
Mr. Chen grinned and winked at me, his face shielded from the front of the courtroom by a copy of the motion he had just filed.
“Are you saying, Mr. Turley, that the City and County of San Francisco is not ready to proceed? Is that what you’re saying?”
“I believe that we’re going to need a little time, Your Honor. I—”
“The defendant is ready to proceed. He has filed papers to that effect. It’s a fish-or-cut-bait thing at this juncture. Either you are or you aren’t. You’re aware, aren’t you, that your office brought the charges? Are you not ready to proceed?” Judge Santo’s voice was a low and menacing growl, reminiscent of a large jungle cat regarding its prey.
Young Mr. Turley may have been young Mr. Turley, but he was not young and stupid Mr. Turley, because he instantly understood where she was going with her questions and began backpedaling.
“The prosecution will be ready, Your Honor,” he said quickly, blushing furiously from his hairline to the spot where his neck disappeared into his tight white collar.
“Is? Or will be?”
“Is, Your Honor. The prosecution is ready to proceed.”
“So you have no objection to allowing the defendant his Constitutional right to a speedy trial?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“And the People will be ready, no matter when I set the trial date?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Very well.” She shuffled some papers and leaned over to speak with one of her clerks.
“Are we ready?” I whispered to Mr. Chen.
He nodded and put his finger to his mouth.
“We seem to have an opening, gentlemen,” said the judge. “We can begin jury selection Monday, Mr. Chen. How does that fit into your schedule?”
“That would fit perfectly. Thank you, Your Honor.”
She looked at the deputy district attorney, who merely nodded. He almost looked afraid to speak.
“You sound very sure of yourself, Mr. Chen.”
“It is the case, Your Honor. This is a travesty. The charges should never have been filed against my client. This one will be a pleasure to try.”
“Tell me that when it’s over,” she said. “You know all about the cup and the lip, don’t you?”
Chen gave her a perfunctory bow of acknowledgment. “Your Honor, we have one more piece of business.”
She nodded. “Your office provided me with some very interesting reading. Are you prepared to post bond for Mr. Caine?”
“Of course.”
Turley seemed to have found his voice, but he spoke without rising all the same. “Your Honor, the People oppose bail in any form. May I remind the Court that this is a capital case. We are not after the death penalty, but we are citing special circumstances.”
“Thank you, Mr. Turley. The court appreciates the reminder. Have you read the motion prepared by the defendant?”
“I have, Your Honor. It reads like a novel.”
“Then you are aware of the sworn statements of a Honolulu police detective detailing Mr. Caine’s activities of the night he was to fly here to California?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Mr. Caine apparently apprehended a kidnapping suspect while on his way to jail. And then he voluntarily waited while the arresting officer got to the scene. Don’t you think that warrants some trust from the People of California?”
“Mr. Caine did not make the arrest alone. He was in the company of a Honolulu police detective.”
“Who apparently trusted him.”
“The People believe that he represents a flight risk.”
She gave me an imperious look over the rims of her reading glasses. “Mr. Caine, are you going to run away?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“And you are not going to get into trouble again here in San Francisco, are you?”
“No, ma’am.”
She looked at Turley. “Have you read the other supporting documentation?”
Turley nodded.
“And you still oppose?”
“The People do.”
“The People’s opposition is noted.” She looked over at our table. “Bail is set at one hundred thousand dollars, Mr. Chen. Bail will remain in effect until the verdict, or until your client does something stupid. I do not expect your client to do anything stupid, and you will instruct him not to play with firearms, knives, or any other weapons, nor should he become involved with any troublesome characters while he is in our fair city. Any other motions?”
“No, Your Honor. Thank you, Your Honor.”
She looked to Turley, who shook his head. “No.”
“Then we’ll meet back here at nine o’clock on Monday. Have a nice weekend, everyone.”
“Sylvia Santo is a tough judge, but I think she likes you,” said Albert Chen to Christopher Turley after the judge had left the bench and the attorneys were picking up their law books and papers.
“Likes me? I feel like I’ve been beaten like a rented mule.”
“She likes to keep the momentum going. And she likes to mentor young attorneys she feels have promise. She mentored you today, nothing more. That, to me, told me she liked you.”
“I guess I’m flattered,” said Turley, closing his briefcase. “Funny, but I used to think it was a pleasant thing to be flattered.” He shrugged. “We’ll see you on Monday. Steven will be here, too. I’m not going to endure this flattery alone.”
“He is learning. He will be an excellent litigator when he has some experience under his belt,” Chen said to me after Turley left. “His senior is not so shy. Steven Brancato can be a passionate man in the courtroom. It is his weakness. When he gets going he puts on his blinders and rushes straight ahead. He looks neither left nor right.”
Chen grinned at me, showing me all of his gold. “We will use that passion against him. It is the basic principle of aikido. It works in aikido. It will work here, too.”
“Yeah, well, I’m sure they’re great people, but I’d like them a whole lot better if they weren’t so intent on putting me in prison.”
“Young Mr. Turley is not inept, he is inexperienced; Mr. Brancato is experienced, but very inept. We could not have been given a better team to fight in court. This could not be anything but a gift from my good friend, the district attorney.”
“Why didn’t your friend just drop the charges?”
“That is not the way of a politician. He is embarrassed that his office brought the charges against you in the first place. After I forced him to see the true issues, he made the offer that you rejected. Both actions were foreseeable. You would not take the offer. He could not back down. It would not look good, even though it would have been best for the community.”
“And for me.”
“And for you. But he could not do that because of the way it would look.” Mr. Chen looked at me sadly. “So he gave us these two, Mr. Turley and Mr. Brancato, so that if he lost the case he could blame it on his inferiors.”
“If he lost?”
“There is nothing certain in the courtroom. There is always the chance that the prosecution will win. Mr. Brancato has certain negative qualities, but he does win a case from time to time. And if he wins, then my friend the District Attorney will have won as well. His actions may be lacking in principle, but they are predictable. It is the way of the
politician to cover himself in layers of immunity.”
“I don’t like this.”
“As indeed you should not.”
“No wonder I hate politicians.”
“Yes.” Chen smiled, but his heart wasn’t in it. “They are a breed apart.”
Andrew White finished gathering the papers and notes that he had spread out on the top of the table. He nodded, but didn’t smile. I wondered if they taught that in those Ivy League universities.
“When do you post my bond?”
“Mr. Smith is posting it as we speak. We are waiting here for word so you may be processed out. Andrew will accompany you and take you to your hotel. Mr. Choy instructed me to put you up at the Mark.”
“Of course he did,” I said.
“Everyone is there. We have a floor. It makes it easier.”
“And Daniel is here?”
“He is here, as is your bodyguard. The one from here. His name is Chen, too.”
“Any relation?”
“There are many Chens in San Francisco.”
“And in China, too, I’d imagine.”
Chen showed me his gold collection again. “China has only fifty-two surnames for a billion and a half people. There are therefore many, many Chens, regardless of where you may find them.”
“So how long will this take?”
“Do not worry, Mr. Caine. We will get you out of here. But you must be patient. I guarantee you that you shall sleep between clean sheets tonight, and that you may lock the door from your side if you wish.”
He reached over and patted my hand.
“Or you may leave it wide open. That is entirely up to you.”
44
A s trials went, it wasn’t much. From jury selection through the final argument, the whole thing took less than a week.
As trials went, it may not have been long. But for me it was long enough.
The experience taught me many things, not the least of which was that justice had nothing to do with the truth. Everyone swore to it. The system was supposed to be based on it. But if it ever started to peek out from behind the layers of theory, rules and opinion that obscured it, the system immediately reacted and removed it. Truth was not the goal.
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