by Kenneth Eade
“There he is!” exclaimed Edwards.
Just ahead, they saw the white Mustang weaving in and out of traffic. It was pursued by a black and white SBPD patrol car.
“Call CHP and advise that we are in a high speed pursuit northbound 101; ask them to clear the freeway at Patterson Road,” Angela advised.
The Mustang swerved left on the left shoulder to get around a white Toyota Corolla in the number one lane, and bounced off the concrete barrier, and back into the Toyota, sending it spinning. Angela continued pursuit, avoiding the Toyota, which hit the divider, and came to an abrupt stop. Two CHP black and whites charged up the onramp ahead at Patterson, lights blazing like the Las Vegas strip.
As the Mustang accelerated, Angela passed the pursuing SBPD squad car. “What are you doing?” asked Edwards.
“As soon as he drops his speed, I’m going to PIT him,” she replied.
“What if he doesn’t?”
Angela pushed the Victoria even further, slamming her foot down on the gas pedal and wiping beads of nervous sweat from her forehead. If the PIT maneuver was successful, it would disable the Mustang. If not, it could result in disaster, killing not only Suskind, but her and Edwards as well.
“CHP, this is Agent Wollard. I am going to attempt to PIT the suspect vehicle; request assistance.”
“Angela, let CHP do it. They have the experience.”
The two CHP units began a controlled weave ahead, slowing methodically as the speeding pack approached.
Angela gained on the Mustang as its speed decreased a bit, and pulled alongside the rear of it. Suskind swung his head back to look and panicked, swerving to the right just as Angela pushed right into the rear of the Mustang, forcing the back of it to the right as well, sending it into a skid. The searing sound of screeching metal and burning rubber was all she could hear as the tarred smoke filled the interior of the Victoria, which flew into an uncontrolled spin itself.
As Suskind struggled to recover from the skid, the two CHP units attempted to box him in. Suskind, in his drug induced panic, turned against the spin and the Mustang began doing 360’s, finally landing in some bushes on the right shoulder.
In the Victoria, time seemed to go in slow motion. Angela steered in the direction of the spin at first, eased off, then straightened out, and eased off again until they came to a soft landing next to the Mustang.
Suskind jumped out the passenger side and ran into the brush, with two CHP officers and Angela in hot pursuit.
49
“The Plaintiff calls Steven Bernstein as an adverse witness,” Brent said, with his eyes on the jury.
Bernstein took a seat in the witness box to begin his ordeal. It was a “winner take all” match. In order to have a chance to win the RICO case, Brent had two impossible tasks; he had to prove that it was more likely than not that Bernstein had committed or aided and abetted a murder; and, even more difficult, that he had done it within the scope of his employment at Prudent Bank as part of the fraud cover-up. It may have been easier for Brent to produce a diamond from a lump of coal before the jury’s eyes, but he was going to give it his best shot. And, if the moon and the stars lined up properly, he had a secret weapon.
“Mr. Bernstein, you are the current Vice President in charge of the real estate loan department at Prudent Bank since September 26, 2008, is that correct?”
“Yes, I am.”
“And immediately before taking that position, you were the executive manager of Tentane Mutual Bank in Santa Barbara, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
Brent could see that the jury was already making their shoulder pillows ready for a long nap during his preliminary questioning, so he threw in a wake-up bomb.
“Mr. Bernstein, shortly after your appointment as Vice President of Prudent Bank, you were served with a subpoena in a Grand Jury investigation of alleged bank fraud involving Prudent Bank and Tentane Mutual, is that correct?”
“Objection!” said Stein.
At the bench, the judge ruled in Brent’s favor, giving Brent the opportunity to repeat the question for emphasis.
“Mr. Bernstein, you are aware, are you not, that you have a privilege against self-incrimination…”
“Objection!” yelled Stein.
“….And that you are not compelled to answer any questions that may tend to incriminate you…”
“Objection!” said Black.
“Counsel, approach the bench!” said the judge.
“Mr. Marks, I will not have you turn my courtroom into a cheap theater, is that understood?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“I hope so, now let us continue the questioning without any more theatrics, shall we?”
The judge sustained the objection, and cautioned the jury to disregard it, which, of course, was impossible. Brent continued.
“Mr. Bernstein, shortly after your appointment as Vice President of Prudent Bank, you were served with a subpoena in a Grand Jury investigation of an alleged bank fraud involving Prudent Bank and Tentane Mutual, is that correct?”
“You may answer the question, Mr. Bernstein,” said the judge.
“Yes, I was.”
“And you came to understand that the principal witness against your employer in this Grand Jury investigation was George Marsh, isn’t that correct?”
“Objection!” said Stein and Black, simultaneously.
“Overruled, the witness may answer if that was his understanding or not,” said the judge.
“I understood that he was a witness,” said Bernstein.
“You had a meeting with Marsh, where he asked for a refinance of the loan on his property, is that correct?”
“We discussed that, yes.”
“And you told Mr. Marsh at that time that a refinance was impossible, did you not?”
“I did.”
Every teacher of cross-examination points out that you never ask a question that you do not know the answer to, and you never ask the question “why” because that gives the witness the opportunity to answer in a narrative, but Brent wanted the jury to hear the answer to the next question in Bernstein’s own words, so he took the calculated risk.
“Why was it impossible?”
“Because Mr. Marsh was delinquent in his loan payments.”
“But Mr. Bernstein, didn’t you tell Mr. Marsh about six months earlier that, in order to qualify for a loan modification, he had to be delinquent in his loan payments?”
“That’s for a modification, not a refinance, and that was Tentane’s policy…”
“Object and move to strike,” said Stein, “argumentative.”
“Overruled. Please finish your answer, Mr. Bernstein,” said the judge.
“Tentane Mutual’s policy was not to consider any loan modification unless the borrower was delinquent in their payments. I told Mr. Marsh at the time that it may be easier for him to qualify for a loan modification than a refinance, because the qualification criteria was relaxed. But it was his decision.”
“But you didn’t tell Mr. Marsh at that time that falling behind in his mortgage payments would disqualify him from refinancing his home equity loan, isn’t that correct?”
“It was a different company and a different criteria…”
“Move to strike as non-responsive, Your Honor,” said Brent.
“Granted. Answer the question, Mr. Bernstein.”
“No, I didn’t.”
When he left the courtroom, Brent grabbed Jack by the elbow.
“Any word on Suskind yet?”
“Nothing.”
“Get on it, man, this is the last day I’ve got.”
Brent left for the morning break with the bases loaded and plenty of innings left to go in the game. But he was still a long way from getting enough evidence in front of the jury, and still holding out for a miracle.
50
Angela Wollard was not only the top of her class at Quantico during her 20 weeks of FBI training, she was also the top sprinter, which topped off a lo
ng series of trophies beginning in her childhood and finishing in college. As Kevin Suskind’s cocaine powered frantic getaway run propelled his fat body across the urban obstacle course over walls, in backyards and through the brush, she was, at times, so close to him she could hear him pant as she held the lead in the chase.
Suskind ran for his life. Escape was his only option, and he had nothing to lose. He had no idea what the FBI had on him, but he was certain that it was enough to put him behind bars for life. As he ran, he thought of nothing but running faster and finding a place to hole out until he could be whisked out of the country to safety.
As Suskind reached the fenced end of a dead end alley, Angela knew she had him. Suskind leaped onto the fence like a tree frog, scrambling up the mesh as Angela flew at him, missing his legs by inches. He scrambled over the top of the fence and jumped down and Angela hopped down after him, almost landing on him. Suskind regained his balance and ran through the vacant field, as the two CHP officers scurried over the fence, taking up the rear of the pursuit.
Angela ran so close to Suskind, she could hear the ruffling of his shirt and see the sweat on his neck. Calculating her last move, she tackled him around his knees, bringing him down, but in his drug powered, testosterone fueled strength, he dragged her through the dirt and broke loose.
As Angela stood, Suskind whirled around and pulled his .38 revolver from its hidden holster and pointed it at Angela. The loud, cannon-like boom was the last thing she heard as her body hit the dirt.
“Officer down!” screamed one CHP into his shoulder mike, as he felt for a pulse and his partner continued the pursuit.
51
“Damn it, where is Suskind?” asked Brent, pulling Jack aside during the break.
“Brent, I’ve got some bad news.”
Brent listened somberly as Jack told him what he knew so far; that Angela had been shot in the pursuit, and Suskind was still being pursued. Brent’s whole world came crushing down in that instant. What seemed to always be clear was not anymore. What seemed to be important before was inconsequential.
“Is she alright…is she alive?”
“She’s alive, on her way to the hospital in an ambulance. But we won’t know anything else until she sees the emergency doctors.”
“I’ve got to leave, have to ask for a recess.”
After the short afternoon break, Brent approached the bench to ask for a recess.
“Your request for a recess is denied, Mr. Marks.”
“But, Your Honor…”
“I understand your urgency, but, as I told you before, the time for trial has been set and it will not be altered.”
Nothing would tame the cold heart of Judge Masters. Not life or death, or even a near death crisis would convince her to bend her own rules
“Mr. Bernstein,” instructed the judge, “you will take your position in the witness box. Mr. Marks, please continue.”
Brent felt buried alive, suffocated. He couldn’t think about anything, only thoughts of Angela lying on the ground, shot, bleeding. That image came to him with every thought, and the anxiety was gnawing at his brain. He couldn’t leave the courtroom, and there was nothing he could do at the moment to help Angela.
Since the crisis of 2008, the big banks had been bailed out by the government; the tax payers stuck with the bill. Prudent Bank had been able to foreclose on Tentane Mutual’s properties, and had collected on its bad debts, to the tune of billions more than it had paid for them. The wealth of the United States had been redistributed; the middle class transformed into the “lower middle class.” It was time for someone to pay.
Suddenly, a surge of anger overcame him like a wave of power. He pointed that wave at Bernstein and let him have it.
“Mr. Bernstein, before the break, you testified that you didn’t tell Mr. Marsh that falling behind in his mortgage payments would make it impossible for him to refinance his property.”
“Not impossible, just more difficult.”
“And you didn’t tell him that his loan and deed of trust were not assigned to the Trust before the closing of the Pooling Service Agreement, is that correct?”
“He wasn’t a party to that agreement.”
“Move to strike as non-responsive.”
“Granted, answer the question, Mr. Bernstein.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“And you spoke to Mr. Marsh after he received this letter from Prudent Bank to make his further payments to Prudent, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And, at the time, you discussed the Grand Jury investigation with him, didn’t you?”
“I may have mentioned it.”
“You may have mentioned it. Wasn’t that your very purpose in going to see Mr. Marsh that day?”
“Objection!”
“Overruled.”
“No.”
“In fact, Mr. Bernstein, you found out about the Grand Jury investigation, a secret proceeding, from your superiors at Prudent Bank, didn’t you?”
“I don’t remember who told me.”
“And you knew that the Bank was being investigated for covering up forged documents…”
“Objection, Your Honor, assumes facts not in evidence.”
“…fraudulent transfers, like the assignment of Mr. Marsh’s loan to the trust…”
“Objection! Argumentative!”
“Sustained! Mr. Marks! The jury will disregard the question.”
“Shall the jury disregard the truth, Your Honor?”
“Counsel, approach the bench!”
Brent was hot, and had no intention of cooling down.
“Mr. Marks, you will obey protocol in my courtroom or I will hold you in contempt, and you’ll be spending the night in jail.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
Back at counsel table, Brent continued on his roll.
“You knew of the Grand Jury Investigation, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And you found out about the investigation from Prudent Bank.”
“I don’t recall.”
“And you went to Mr. Marsh because you knew he was a witness in the investigation, isn’t that correct?”
“No.”
“You discussed the investigation with Mr. Marsh?”
“I may have.”
“And you told him not to testify, isn’t that true?”
“No.”
“You told him that if he testified, he would regret it, didn’t you?”
“I said no such thing.”
Bernstein was wiggling in his chair, avoiding eye contact and avoiding the jury.
“Are you alright, Mr. Bernstein?”
“Objection, Your Honor.”
“Sustained. Mr. Marks, stick to the facts please.”
“You discussed your conversation with Mr. Marsh with your superiors at Prudent Bank, isn’t that true?”
“I may have; I don’t recall.”
“Who did you discuss it with?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Who was your immediate supervisor at the time?”
“Joel Simon.”
“And you discussed Mr. Marsh with Mr. Simon?”
“I don’t recall.”
“You told your superiors at the bank that Mr. Marsh intended to witness against the bank in the Grand Jury investigation, didn’t you?”
“I don’t recall.”
“Mr. Bernstein, after you came back to Prudent Bank, after seeing Mr. Marsh, and after having ‘possibly’ discussed your conversation with your superiors at the bank, a decision was made to prevent Mr. Marsh from testifying, isn’t that true?”
“No.”
“And you were charged with implementing that decision, isn’t that correct?”
“Objection, Your Honor, lack of foundation.”
“Sustained.”
“Mr. Bernstein, you ordered the murder of Mr. and Mrs. Marsh, didn’t you?”
“No!”
Bernstein was squirming
in his chair, blinking incessantly.
“And Prudent Bank knew about it?”
“Objection, lack of foundation, assumes facts not in evidence.”
“Sustained. The jury will disregard the question.”
“Mr. Bernstein, you hired two men to murder Mr. and Mrs. Marsh, didn’t you?”
“No!”
Bernstein scratched his nose. He tugged at his collar.
“You were there at the time of the attack, weren’t you?”
“No!”
“You know who beat the life out of Mrs. Marsh, don’t you Mr. Bernstein?”
“No! That’s ridiculous!”
“And you know who killed Mr. Marks in the hospital, don’t you?”
“Objection, lack of foundation!” Stein boomed.
“Sustained.”
“And you know who is responsible for the murder of my investigator on this case, Rick Penn, don’t you?”
“Objection, assumes facts not in evidence.”
“Sustained. Counsel, please approach.”
By the time they broke for lunch, Brent had been admonished by the judge countless times for improper grandstanding before the jury. If the secret weapon he had in mind materialized, he may be spending the night in a jail cell. But the only thing on his mind right now was Angela and, trial or no trial, he headed straight for the hospital.
52
Kevin Suskind, powered by paranoia and fueled by cocaine, was freaking out that he had shot an FBI agent. He couldn’t afford to stop running and being caught was not an option. He jumped another fence into a backyard, but the CHP officer was still hot on his tail. He jumped out of the yard into another, and another, but this strategy just seemed to slow the entire process down. He needed to break free of his pursuer, long enough to make a call and be picked up and taken to a safe house.
On the next jump, Suskind twisted his ankle on the landing in the soft rows of a broccoli farm, but his high and the need to escape dulled his pain. Nevertheless, it slowed him down.
“Freeze!” said the CHP officer. Suskind turned his head to glance behind him, and found the officer about 50 yards away, in a shooting stance with his weapon drawn.