by Alexi Venice
Across the aisle from her, where people in support of the defendant sat, she saw some rough-looking men who struck her as the mob family whose relative was the defendant on trial.
A quick scan of the courtroom theater told her that the fire investigator was on the witness stand and one of her ADAs, Michael, was conducting the examination. Jeremy was seated at counsel table, handing exhibits to Michael as he needed them. They appeared to be well into the examination, the fire investigator explaining the evidence he used from the burned building to make his conclusions.
“So, after studying the charred fragments under the microscope and applying chemical tests to them, you concluded what, Investigator Blackburn?”
His last name is ‘Blackburn?’ Amanda thought. That guy went into the right profession.
“I concluded that an incendiary device made of cotton and polyester, soaked in gasoline, and lit in the main dining area, started this fire. It wasn’t the result of an accident, like a kitchen fire. The fire was started purposefully and intentionally with an accelerant.”
“Object, Your Honor,” the lawyer representing the defendant said. “Beyond the scope and lack of foundation. He can’t testify to state of mind for intent.”
“Overruled,” Judge Grady said.
“And, the samples that we’ve just discussed, the ones laid out in front of you on the evidence table before the jury, were all taken from the large bag of ashes on counsel table in front of Assistant District Attorney Jeremy Jones, right?”
“Yes. That’s the original bag of ashes that I collected at the scene, then I removed and microscopically examined the smaller pieces that I just described during my testimony.”
Michael held up the large bag of ashes for the judge and opposing counsel to see. “The prosecution moves Exhibit 28 into evidence, the original bag of ashes from the scene, Your Honor.”
“Any objections?” Judge Grady lowered his chin and looked over his half-glasses at the lawyer for the defendant.
“None,” the mob counsel replied.
Michael walked across the courtroom and set the bag of ashes on the evidence table in front of the jury.
The men across from Amanda looked at each other in surprise, then, one by one, turned to look at her.
She smiled her yes-I’m-not-afraid-of-you-and-actually-shot-one-of-your-ilk-a-few-years-ago smile then returned her gaze to Michael. What the fuck is going on? Why are those guys surprised, and more importantly, why are they looking at me like I did something wrong? She looked at the bag of ashes that Michael had just set on the evidence table.
The table was about 30 feet from her, so she had to squint to get a good look, but she saw it clearly. I’ve seen that bag before. What the fuck?! Could it be? Oh shit. That’s Zane’s bag of cremains!
Her mind raced back to her office yesterday morning when Frank set the bag of Zane’s ashes on her small conference table next to the case files she had been reading, including this case.
Yesterday afternoon, Amanda had asked Mel to return the files to the appropriate ADA. Did Mel pick up Zane’s bag of ashes and give them to Michael or Jeremy? Or, worse yet, slap a file sticker on them and send them to the Evidence Room?
That’s why those wise guys are surprised. They probably stole the original bag of ashes from the Evidence Room, thinking it would sabotage Investigator Blackburn’s testimony. Now, a substitute bag showed up, and they think the DA’s Office manufactured it. Fuck me!
She had to tell Jeremy and Michael before this case went any further.
Counsel for the defendant stood to conduct his cross-examination of Investigator Blackburn. “May the defense have a short break to prepare its cross, Your Honor?”
“Granted. The court will recess for a 20-minute break.” Judge Grady slammed his gavel and stood. The court reporter said, “All rise.” Everyone stood and watched the judge disappear through a door behind the bench.
Amanda carefully watched counsel for the mobster. He turned and looked at the wise guys in the gallery, lifting his shoulders and hands in a gesture that indicated, What the hell? I thought you guys took care of the bag of ashes.
She couldn’t help but smirk. At that moment, defense counsel and all the wise guys turned and looked at her. She raised her chin in her signature nod. They knew her reputation for taking on the mobster Nick Nutini, including shooting Eddy Valentine a few years ago, so respected her. Now, however, they looked at her differently, wondering if she played as dirty as they did.
Game face. Don’t give anything away until we get to the bottom of this and consider all our options.
She waited for Jeremy and Michael to come down the aisle with Investigator Blackburn. They greeted her.
“Jeremy and Michael, come with me. We need to talk. Investigator Blackburn, you’re on your own for 20 minutes. Good job, by the way.”
She led Jeremy and Michael down the hall to the DA’s Office, past the receptionist, and straight to Mel’s cubicle. Mel looked up. “Can I help you?”
“I have a question for you. There was a bag of ashes on my conference room table yesterday. Did you do anything with it?”
“Oh yes. I assumed it belonged to the arson case, so I made a file sticker, carefully attached it to the plastic, and added it to the boxes of files and other stuff in Michael’s office.”
Amanda turned to Michael. “Did you carry that bag of ashes to the courtroom this morning?”
“Well, sort of,” he said. “I carried several banker’s boxes of files, exhibits, pads of paper, etcetera into the court room.”
“Did you see the bag of ashes in one of those boxes?”
“Not until later, in court, when I was unloading. By that time, the evidence table was full of evidence that the officers had brought up from the Evidence Room.”
“What did you do?” she asked.
“I added the bag of ashes to it, thinking someone must have removed it from the table yesterday and put it in the box. I was confused and trying to hurry before the judge came into the court room.”
“Why?” Amanda asked. “The evidence is supposed to be handled only by the officers prior to being admitted into evidence during a case.”
“I don’t know what I was thinking. I was afraid that an officer had accidentally set it in one of our boxes, so I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. I was doing a thousand things at once, so I just set it on the evidence table with all the other exhibits,” Michael said.
“Why not ask Jeremy?” Amanda asked.
“It didn’t occur to me to cross-check with him,” Michael said.
Amanda turned back to Mel. “Thank you, Mel. In the future, if you could ask one of us before putting a file sticker on evidence, we’d appreciate it. Usually only the police do that. Gentlemen, please come into my office.”
“I’m really sorry,” Mel said.
“We’ll talk about it later. You’re good,” Amanda said as politely as her strained patience would allow. She entered her office. The conference table where Zane’s ashes had once rested was now bare. “Please, sit.”
Michael and Jeremy sat.
“So, I’ve established that Exhibit 28, the bag of ashes you just moved into evidence, contains the cremains of Jen’s dog, Zane. Frank picked up Zane’s ashes and brought the bag here yesterday. He set the bag on the conference table. Late yesterday, I asked Mel to return the files on the table to their owners. She picked up the bag of Zane’s ashes and added it to your trial boxes.”
“I can’t believe this,” Jeremy said, covering his face with his hands.
Michael wisely remained silent.
“Where’s the original bag of ashes?” Amanda asked.
“Come again?” Michael asked.
“If Zane’s bag is a duplicate, where is the original?” Amanda asked. “Wasn’t it with your evidence when the police brought it up from the Evidence Room?”
“I don’t think so,” Michael said.
“That’s why the wise guys looked at me like I d
id something wrong,” she said. “They stole the original bag, so they were very surprised to see a new bag in its place. Now they think we planted new ashes to replace the stolen evidence.”
“Those fuckers,” Jeremy said. “Joke’s on them. Let’s just continue the case with Zane’s ashes. That’ll teach ‘em not to steal evidence. We’ll just come up with more.”
“Great idea!” Amanda said sarcastically. “We can all be disbarred for proffering false evidence in the prosecution of a case. Hope you have a fallback career lined up when you get out of prison.”
“It’s not like the defense is going to rat us out. They’d have to admit stealing it themselves,” Jeremy said.
“They would not!” Amanda exclaimed. “They just need to put their own fire expert on the stand to look at the ashes and testify that they aren’t from a burned building. They’re fucking dog bones! Can you imagine the wrath from Judge Grady? The media? The Board of Professional Conduct? We’d all be charged with obstruction of justice, lying to a judge, among other things! Two-year prison sentence, minimum.”
“You’re right,” Jeremy said.
“Thank you.” Moreover, what the hell would I give Jen as Zane’s ashes? “Now, we’re going to tell Judge Grady what happened. You can still win this case without the original bag. You have all the smaller samples from the original bag that Investigator Black removed and just testified to. I’m sure Judge Grady will be interested to hear that the original bag is missing.”
“We’re tubed,” Jeremy said. “Defense counsel is going to challenge every piece of evidence on that table during his cross-examination of Investigator Blackburn.”
“Yes, he will. Hopefully, all the other evidence is real,” she said. “Let’s go get this over with. When court resumes, ask Judge Grady to approach the bench. I’ll join and explain.”
“Fine,” Jeremy said.
They left Amanda’s office. As they passed by Mel’s desk, she said, “I’m sorry if I did something wrong.”
“It’s okay. We’ll talk later,” Amanda said.
“Also, Detective Vietti is trying to get ahold of you,” Mel said. “He asked me to tell you to call him as soon as you can.”
“I have to return to court with these two. I’ll be back in 30 minutes,” Amanda said. She looked at the screen on her iPhone. Two missed calls from Tommy. Shit. What could be so important?
Chapter 10
Hall of Justice
Amanda was in a horrible mood when she returned from Judge Grady’s courtroom. She carried Zane’s bag of ashes, the file sticker and exhibit number crossed out with a big black Sharpie marker. Judge Grady had shown no mercy, giving her a verbal lashing that blew her hair straight back. Her mention of the “missing bag of original ashes” in the Evidence Room had held no sway. The judge simply cited it as another example of how the DA’s Office had botched basic evidence-handling and chain-of-custody procedures. Stopping short of calling her office incompetent, he had walked right up to the line, and she had felt every bit of disgrace that he intended.
Eating crow was not her favorite pastime in front a judge with whom she shared respect. She felt like she was going to be sick. She was at a low point in her career, admitting to a judge that her personal property had been moved into evidence in a criminal trial. The idiocy. The embarrassment. The humiliation. She hoped he didn’t hold it against her in future trials.
Counsel for the defendant had moved for a mistrial, but Judge Grady had denied his motion. He did, however, give defense counsel more time to cross-examine Investigator Blackburn on every piece of microscopic evidence he had used during his direct examination.
If Jeremy and Michael won this case, it would be a miracle.
Enough is enough, she thought. We need the security video of who went into the Evidence Room and stole the ashes. In the meantime, we can’t store anything in there.
She pulled up short at her assistant’s cubicle. “Hey, Mel.”
“Hi. What can I do for you?”
“Please never again assume that we handle evidence in this office, or that we can label it with a sticker. Only the police officers do that, okay?”
“I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“It was reasonable for you to assume the ashes were part of the arson file. However, in the future, ask before you act.”
“Is the trial ruined now?”
“No. We told the judge and hopefully cleared it up. The trial will continue.”
“If there’s anything I can do, please let me know,” Mel said. “Detective Vietti called again. He really wants you to call him back.”
“I’ll call him right now. Thanks.” Amanda went into her office, closed the door, and calmly set Zane’s ashes on the conference table, even though she wanted to throw them against the wall. Fucking nightmare.
She picked up her cell phone and tapped on Tommy’s contact info.
“About time,” he answered.
“Sorry. Got involved in Jeremy and Michael’s arson trial. We really need to address security in the Evidence Room. A bag of ashes went missing, and I know damn well the mob got to someone on the inside to steal it.”
“I spoke to Navarro. If you have a time frame in mind, he could look at video. Otherwise, it’s a shot in the dark. He thinks one of our own is on the take.”
“I need video of someone removing a bag of ashes about the size of a coffee can,” she said.
“Well, feel free to call Navarro after we hang up. I’m indisposed at the moment. I’m afraid we have a bigger problem on our hands.”
“And, that is?” she asked while typing an email to Navarro.
“Jared Carlisle was murdered last night.”
“Wait. What?” Her hands froze above the keyboard.
“The guy who alleged that Kara Montiago sexually assaulted him. Dead. Blow to the head. I’m at his house now with the coroner and forensics team.”
“Holy shit,” she whispered.
“No kidding.”
They both were silent as they processed the likely suspects. She could hear Tommy smoking a cigarette, which triggered her own nicotine desire. She opened her top desk drawer and removed the square bottle of Zantac pills. She popped one in her mouth and washed it down with cold coffee.
“Blow to the head from what?” she asked.
“An iron skillet.”
“Was a meal involved?” she asked.
“Your sense of humor is fucked. No. Someone he knew was in his house though. No forcible entry.”
“Either Kara Montiago or the guys who hired Carlisle to smear Kara Montiago.”
“Greats minds think alike.”
“I want to see Carlisle and the scene. What’s the address?” she asked.
He supplied it, they said goodbye, and she texted Frank to bring her car around.
After she grabbed her bag and donned her raincoat, she stopped at Mel’s cubicle. “I’m meeting Detective Vietti at a crime scene. Reschedule everything on my calendar for this afternoon and cancel all my meetings for the next two days. I’m going to be busy with this murder investigation.”
“What about the urgent meetings?” Mel asked.
“Talk to Jeremy after the trial to see if he can meet with people who need me.”
“Okay,” Mel said.
“Text me if you have any questions,” Amanda said and left.
Frank made quick work of driving Amanda to Potrero Hill. She had never spent much time in this neighborhood because it didn’t have any of the natural wonders she liked—beaches, hiking trails or good shopping. Even though it was no longer a green pasture, it wasn’t exactly the center of commerce. Consisting mostly of industrial-type buildings, a nuevo-residential atmosphere, including small restaurants, was budding.
When they arrived, several police cars and vans were parked around Carlisle’s house, which was a few doors down from Goat Hill Pizza. Frank found a parking spot and escorted Amanda to the scene, holding up the yellow tape as they ducked under.
They produced their ID badges for the officer manning the barricade and walked to the front gate of the house.
“Feel free to tell me what you see as you look around,” Amanda said.
Without hesitation, Frank said, “No forced entry at the gate. Security cameras at ten and three o’clock on the soffits of the house. Double entry to the house in front. One going up and one going to the lower level. No broken windows.”
“Let’s go around to the back,” she suggested.
Weaving in and out of officers clad in blue windbreakers, they walked down a cracked concrete driveway. Once they were in the back yard, Frank spun around, taking in the exterior of the house and the small, detached garage. “No broken windows or forced entry in the back of the house. I see one security cam above the door. None on the garage. We could go in the garage, but I see a team in there.”
“I’ve prosecuted many cases with weapons found in the garage,” she said.
“Tommy said the murder weapon is an iron skillet he found in the house?”
“True fact,” she said.
“Is there a suspect? Perhaps known by the victim?” Frank asked.
“Most likely. From my perspective, the suspects are his ex-lover, Kara Montiago, or someone paying him to smear her.”
Frank inclined his head and rubbed his chin. “The Kara Montiago?”
“Yes.”
“I see.” He looked down. “Was the victim a smoker?”
“I don’t know,” Amanda said, following his gaze to the driveway.
He knelt and looked at a cigarette butt. “I can’t read the writing on the side without my glasses, but I think we should ask the team to bag this.”
“I agree.” Amanda walked over to one of the officers and asked him to follow her. He had blue gloves on, so he picked up the butt and held it up for them to inspect. An inch of tobacco was still left in the cigarette, leaving a long bit of white paper remaining before the cork-colored filter. In tiny print, the name “Dunhill” appeared in red below the gold band that separated the filter from the white paper.