“Correct.”
“And even though you saw a gun in his hand?”
“Yeah.” He put his massive elbows on the table. “Are you saying I did something wrong?”
Maybe. “No.”
“You think we turn our cameras on every time we stop somebody for a broken tail light?’
Maybe you should. “No.”
“I don’t have to be here. I don’t have to talk to you. In fact, if I was smart, I probably wouldn’t talk to anybody other than my commander, the captain, and my union rep.”
“I’m not suggesting that you did anything wrong, Murph.”
“Either way, you’re beating up the wrong guy. I was there. I’m prepared to testify that Jones had a gun and that the kid shot him in self-defense. I don’t understand why you’re crapping on me.”
“We’re just trying to figure out what happened.”
“I just told you what happened: the kid shot him in self-defense.”
“Then why is the D.A. charging him with murder?”
“Every time there’s an officer-involved shooting, the mayor and the chief get nervous and try to blame the cops instead of the criminals. Helluva way to run the department.”
“How many other cops were there?”
“Two: Rick Siragusa and Charlie Connor. Both work out of Northern Station.”
“I presume that they talked to the chief and the D.A.?”
“No doubt.”
“Were they wearing their body cams?”
“You’ll need to ask them.”
I lowered my voice. “Is there something else going on here, Murph?”
“I don’t know.” He pointed at the flat-screen above the pool table, which was tuned to the Channel 2 news. It was showing video from the march into the Fillmore. “You see that? It’s already getting get out of hand. You need to stop this crap.”
“We will.” Well, we’ll try. “Thanks for your time, Murph.”
✽ ✽ ✽
“Can you find Siragusa and Connor?”
Pete nodded. “Will do, Mick.”
We were still sitting in the booth at the back of Dunleavy’s. Murphy had gone home.
Pete was staring at his iPhone. “I’m also going to look for witnesses in the Fillmore. The more time that passes, the colder the trail.”
“I’m going down to the office to start putting together document requests.”
“It’s almost eleven o’clock.”
“The day is still young.”
Big John came over and refilled my coffee. “You want that beer now, Mikey?”
“Not tonight. I’m working.” I pointed at the empty chair. “Got a minute?”
“For my two favorite nephews, always.” He deposited his heavy frame on the wobbly wooden chair. “What is it?”
“Did you hear our conversation with Murphy?”
“I was washing the dishes.”
“You were pretending.”
“Maybe.”
“You know Murphy better than we do. What did you think?”
“I know his father. Murph is an honest guy and a solid cop.”
“You think there’s any chance he’s stretching the truth to protect Johnny?”
“Everybody stretches a little.”
He was being more coy than I had anticipated. “What are you saying, Big John?”
“There’s more to this story.”
“How do you know?”
“Bartender’s intuition.”
His was finely tuned.
He picked up his towel. “You lads should go home and get some rest. Your jobs are going to get harder before they get easier.”
He was undoubtedly right. “Thanks, Big John.”
20
“THE SITUATION JUST GOT MORE COMPLICATED”
At eleven-fifteen on Wednesday night, I was sitting at my desk down the hall from Luca’s office. The ceiling light buzzed as the rain pounded the window. I heard a knock on the open door. I looked up and saw Luca, his expression grim.
“Anything I can do to help?” he asked. In a moment of what passed for whimsy for him, his necktie was loosened.
“I have everything under control for now.” Well, sort of.
“Nady is still here if you need anything.”
“I’ll get her started on some additional document requests as soon as I finish putting together the templates. Have you talked to Gio?”
“Briefly. Given the circumstances, he and Maria are holding up okay.”
“Did he get any more information about what happened?”
“Nobody’s talking to him.”
Wonderful. “You reminded him to bring a suit for Johnny?”
“I did. The rest of the family will be in court for the arraignment. Did you get anything useful from Murphy?”
“He’s prepared to testify that Johnny acted in self-defense.”
“That’s good.”
“It would have been better if he had turned on his body cam.”
“That’s not so good.”
“No, it isn’t. I’m preparing documents to get access to the police videos. Pete is looking for two other officers who arrived at the scene as backup. He’s also looking for witnesses in the Fillmore. We want to be sure that we have corroboration that Jones had a gun.”
“Murphy can do it.”
“We want at least one other witness—preferably somebody who isn’t a cop.”
His tone turned somber. “The situation just got more complicated.” He handed me a legal document. “They’ve already filed a civil suit on behalf of Jones’s mother.”
“That was quick.” And inevitable. “I take it that Johnny is named as a defendant?”
“Along with the City, SFPD, and the chief.”
“I don’t handle civil cases.”
“One of my partners will represent Johnny.”
“Good.” While the interests of the City and Johnny converged at the moment, it was possible that the City’s lawyers would throw Johnny under a bus if they could negotiate a quick and—more important—inexpensive settlement. “Will the City pay for you to defend Johnny?”
“We’ll have that discussion tomorrow. In the meantime, the City Attorney’s Office is representing the City for now. It’s possible that they’ll hire outside counsel.”
“Can you extricate Johnny?”
“We’ll try.”
It was a more equivocal answer than I had expected. “I don’t want you or the City Attorney to engage in any settlement talks without discussing it with me first.”
“I can only speak for myself.”
“If the City settles, it may impact the criminal case.”
“I won’t let that happen.”
We’ll see.
✽ ✽ ✽
Pete’s voice was tired. “Where are you, Mick?”
I pressed my iPhone against my ear. “Luca’s office.”
“It’s almost midnight.”
“Gonna be a long night.”
“I talked to the two cops who provided backup. I know Rick Siragusa. He worked at Mission Station when I was there. He’s fundamentally a good cop. Sometimes, he likes to bang heads when he can’t figure out anything better. Charlie Connor just got out of the Academy. His record is clean.”
“Did they tell you anything?”
“Siragusa might be willing to sit down with us. Connor needs to clear everything with his commander.”
“I’m not surprised. Were either of them wearing body cams?”
“Just Connor. We need to get our hands on the video before somebody puts it up on YouTube.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Luca appeared in my doorway again at twelve-thirty on Thursday morning. “You have a visitor,” he said.
Who would be here at this hour? “Pete?”
“Your ex-wife.”
21
“WE THOUGHT YOU COULD USE A LITTLE HELP”
The Public Defender of the City and County of San Francisco glanced at the emp
ty bookcases and bare walls. “Nice office,” Rosie deadpanned. “Have you thought about hiring a decorator?”
“I’ve been busy.”
At twelve-thirty on Thursday morning, she was sitting in the uncomfortable wooden chair opposite the desk. Her only minor compromise to the late hour—or, more precisely, the early hour—was the fact that she had replaced her contacts with her wire-framed glasses.
Rosie’s niece, Rolanda, was sitting next to her. Rolanda was the daughter of Rosie’s older brother, Tony, who ran a produce market in the Mission. Except for the longer hair and a slightly taller frame, Rolanda was a dead-ringer for her aunt in appearance, temperament, and lawyerly ability. Our long-ago babysitter and one-time law clerk was now one of the best attorneys at the P.D.’s Office.
Rolanda smiled. “You look tired, Mike.”
“I am. How’s Zach?”
“Fine. He’s in Houston for two weeks.”
Her longtime boyfriend worked for one of the big downtown firms. He spent most of his time living in hotel rooms and working on class action lawsuits that took decades to resolve. Over the seven years that they’d been together, I would guess that they’d spent about a year under the same roof. It gave Rolanda a little more elbow room in their overpriced studio apartment in the Mission.
“How are the wedding plans coming?” I asked.
“Slowly. We’re still trying to work out a date.”
They had been “trying” for two years. I turned back to Rosie. “All quiet at home?”
“Yes. My mother is staying with Tommy tonight.”
Rosie’s mother, Sylvia, was an eighty-three-year-old version of Rosie. She had been slowed a bit by knee and hip replacements, but otherwise remained spry. Her innate intelligence and occasionally sharp tongue hadn’t changed since I’d met her almost a quarter of a century earlier. Sylvia continued to rebuff Rosie’s suggestions that she sell the bungalow in the Mission that she and her late husband had bought in the fifties for twenty-five thousand dollars which could fetch almost two million today. She had no interest in moving into a high-end condo or independent living community. To her unending credit, she understood the demands on Rosie’s time, and she spent many nights at Rosie’s house. While she rarely said it aloud, she was immensely proud of her daughter.
I looked into the beautiful eyes of my ex-wife, former mentor, and current boss. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight.”
“Officially, we aren’t here. It would violate our policies for the Public Defender and the Head of the Felony Division to meet with you.”
Got it. “Why are you not here?”
“We thought you could use a little help.”
I gave her a sideways look. “You said that the Head of the Felony Division is here. Last time I checked, that was my job.”
“You’re on leave.” Rosie’s eyes filled with pride as she looked at her niece. “Meet your replacement.”
Uh-oh. “That didn’t take long.”
“It’s an important position that I needed to fill immediately. Everybody is replaceable, Mike.”
Indeed. “Congratulations,” I said to Rolanda.
“Thank you.”
“You feeling better? Judge McDaniel was asking about you this morning.”
“I’m fine.” She handed me a thumb drive. “This has everything you’ll need for the next few days: document requests, subpoenas, motions, the works. You’ll need to tailor them for specific witnesses and various types of evidence.”
“Thanks.” I smiled. “The Felony Division is in excellent hands.”
“I learned from the best.”
I appreciated the sentiment.
Rosie clasped her hands in front of her chin. “What have you found so far?”
“The D.A. is saying that Johnny shot an unarmed kid.”
“What is Johnny telling you?”
“That Juwon Jones flashed a gun when Johnny pulled him over. Jones fled on foot. Johnny cornered him in an enclosed parking lot and shot him in self-defense when Jones reached for the gun.”
“Is there video?”
“From Johnny’s body cam. There may be more. I haven’t seen any of it yet.”
“That would be a good place to start. What’s the narrative?”
I expected the question. From the day that I met Rosie in the file room of the old P.D.’s Office at the Hall, she always said that you build your case around a compelling theme. Then you tell a story with a beginning, a middle, and an ending leaving no doubt that the prosecution has not proved its case beyond a reasonable doubt. You get bonus points if you can demonstrate that your client is innocent—which rarely happens.
“Self-defense,” I said. “It may change depending on what we see in the video.”
“Hopefully, a gun.” Rosie’s eyes narrowed. “It’s going to come down to a Graham v. Connor defense. Do you have enough evidence to make a credible argument?”
“We’ll see.” Graham v. Connor was a 1989 U.S. Supreme Court case which set forth the law in officer-involved shooting cases. Chief Justice Rehnquist’s opinion held that a determination of whether an officer used appropriate force required an examination of the facts and circumstances surrounding the actions of the officer at the scene. It was intended to create an objective test where juries are supposed to consider the totality of the circumstances to decide whether an officer used reasonable force at the time (and not with the benefit of 20/20 hindsight). Among the factors are the severity of the crime, whether the suspect posed an immediate threat to the officer or others, and whether the suspect resisted arrest or attempted to flee. “Johnny said that Jones reached for a gun.”
“It would be helpful if the exchange was caught on Johnny’s body cam,” Rosie said.
“It wasn’t.” I explained that Johnny’s body cam fell off as he was climbing over the gate into the parking lot.
“What about his partner?”
“He didn’t turn his body cam on.”
“You’d better have somebody who can corroborate his story.”
“His partner will.”
“Another witness would be better. Preferably someone other than a cop.”
“Pete’s looking. In the meantime, we know that they found a gun under Jones’s body.”
“The D.A. will say it was planted. Are you going to be here all night?”
“Probably.”
Rolanda chimed in. “I’ll stick around and help you put together some of the documents.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“You’d do it for me.”
Yes, I would. “Luca’s associate is helping me. She doesn’t know anything about criminal law, but she’s very smart.”
“That’s great. For the moment, can she make us a pot of fresh coffee?”
“Of course.”
Rosie pointed at the feed from Channel 4 on my laptop. “I trust you’ve heard that things got a little out of hand in the Fillmore.”
“I did.”
“They’re going to do it again tomorrow.”
“This is going to get ugly.”
“It already is, Mike. You and Pete need to be careful. Text me when you get home.”
“I will. Rosie?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks.”
✽ ✽ ✽
My head was throbbing at one-thirty on Thursday morning as Rolanda, Nady, and I were preparing requests for documents, videos, phone records, witness lists, officer statements, and other information. Pete’s name appeared on my iPhone.
“You got time to come down to the Fillmore?” he asked.
“Sure.” What else would I be doing at this hour? “What have you got?”
“A witness who was on the plaza near the Safeway. Meet me at the Subway. And bring some cash.”
22
“I KNOW WHAT I DIDN’T SEE”
Fillmore Street was quiet at one-forty on Thursday morning. The protesters had gone home, and the rain had turned into a drizzle. The block between O’
Farrell and Geary was lined with police cars in a display of force. Plate-glass windows were boarded up in the currency exchange, a sandwich shop, and the Starbucks.
I opened the door to the Subway next to the plaza, where I saw Pete. “Over here, Mick.”
He was sitting at one of the plastic booths in the otherwise empty shop. It was the only open business in the vicinity. The kid behind the counter was staring at his cell phone. The restaurant smelled of cold cuts, vegetables, bread, and my rain-soaked jacket.
I ordered a six-inch chicken sub and a Diet Coke. I took a seat next to Pete. A homeless man of indeterminate age sat across from us. He had a scratchy gray beard and a U.S. Marines tattoo on his neck. His soiled fatigues and Salvation Army overcoat were drenched. A shopping cart holding his belongings was parked outside the door. The wrapper from a foot-long roast beef sandwich sat on the table next to an empty Doritos bag. His stench was unpleasant, but not overpowering.
“This is Dwayne,” Pete said.
“Mike Daley.” I shook his calloused hand. “You want another sandwich?”
“Yeah.”
I went over to the counter and ordered two foot-longs, two bags of chips, and a half-dozen chocolate chip cookies. Dwayne was a cheap date. I went back to the table. “You from around here?” I asked him.
“Yeah.”
“You live nearby?”
“Yeah.”
This was going to take a while if he insisted on one-word answers. Then again, I wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight regardless of whether I talked to Dwayne for five minutes or fifteen. “Where did you grow up?”
“The projects.” His sad eyes opened a little wider. “My dad worked at the Hunters Point Shipyard. My mom waited tables.”
“They still around?”
“No.”
“Sorry.”
“Me, too.”
“Did you go to Gateway?”
“Yeah.”
It was the public high school on Geary and Scott. “I went to S.I.”
“A lot of cops and lawyers went there.”
“Guilty.” I pointed at Pete. “He used to be a cop. I’m a lawyer.”
“I know. I saw you on TV.”
“That’s me. A TV star.” I pointed at his tattoo. “Marines?”
“Yeah.”
“Vietnam?”
“Iraq.”
He was younger than I thought. “What did you do?”
Serve and Protect (Mike Daley/Rosie Fernandez Legal Thriller Book 9) Page 9