“He didn’t see one.”
“That isn’t going to help your self-defense claim. Will he make a credible witness for the prosecution?”
“Not bad. He’s a veteran and is reasonably articulate.”
“Anything else?”
“I talked to Roosevelt. He said that we need to look at the videos.”
“I don’t like it.” She closed her computer and looked at Sylvia. “Anything on the news?”
Rosie’s mother put down her knitting. “There’s video from the post office parking lot. They’re trying to decide whether to release it.”
Uh-oh. “What does it show?”
“They aren’t saying.”
We needed to see it as soon as possible—if it existed. I turned back to Rosie. “I need to go home and pick up my going-to-court suit.”
“You remember how to tie a tie?”
“I’ll figure it out.” I reached over and touched her hand. “Are you getting any more grief about my taking Johnny’s case?”
“It’s part of my job.”
“I hope this isn’t going to cause you any political fallout.”
“The next election is three years from now. People have short memories.”
“You’re a good sport.”
“I’ve decided that the best part about being in your fifties is that you stop caring about what other people think.” The crow’s feet at the corners of her cobalt eyes became more pronounced as she displayed the glowing smile that looked as beautiful as it did when we first met. “Get some rest, Mike. You’re going to have a busy day.”
“Do you have time to come to the arraignment?”
“I have a meeting, but I’ll try to send Rolanda.”
✽ ✽ ✽
“You up, Mick?”
I held my iPhone against my right ear as I tried to focus on the red numerals on the alarm clock on my Ikea night stand. Five twenty-two a.m. I had been asleep for a little over an hour.
“Where are you, Pete?”
“The Fillmore. I kept an eye on Dwayne. He spent the night in the basement of an apartment building on Fulton.”
It seemed a bit odd for a homeless guy. “You think he knows something?”
“I’m not sure, Mick.”
“I’m due in court at nine for the arraignment. I call you when we’re done.”
25
“I ALWAYS HAVE TIME FOR GOD”
The rail-thin man with the crooked white hat and the heavy knee brace smiled broadly. “Good morning, young man,” he sung out.
I returned his smile. “Good morning, Zvi.”
At seven a.m. on Thursday, there was a break in the rain, and the cheerful ninety-two-year-old was standing at the landing at the seventy-sixth of the one hundred thirty-nine steps between Magnolia Avenue and the top of the hill above downtown Larkspur. He showed up every morning, rain or shine. My record for my new fitness regimen was a bit spottier.
“I didn’t think I would see you this morning,” he said. “I saw you on CNN. You said that Officer Bacigalupi was innocent.”
“He is. Johnny is a good kid.”
The man in the crooked hat gave me a crooked look. “Did he kill that boy?”
“It was self-defense.”
“Then I’m sure you’ll be able to help him.” He started walking down the steps. “Give my best to Rosie.”
✽ ✽ ✽
“Bless me father, for I have sinned.”
“Didn’t expect to see you this morning, Mike.”
“I always have time for God, Andy.”
My seminary classmate, Father Andy Shanahan, let out a hearty chuckle. “How long has it been since your last confession?”
“I was here on Monday.”
“Why weren’t you here Tuesday or yesterday?”
“I didn’t do anything bad for a couple of days.”
“Or maybe we have some catching up to do.”
“Maybe.”
At seven-twenty on Thursday morning, I was sitting inside the confessional at St. Patrick’s Catholic Church in downtown Larkspur, a block north of the steps, and around the corner from my apartment. Long ago, Father Andy had taken advantage of his six-foot-eight-inch frame as the starting center on the S.I. varsity basketball team. A knee injury ended his college career at St. Mary’s, so he turned his attention to the Church. Smart, charismatic, and politically savvy, Andy was wildly popular at St. Pat’s Parish. If you believed the gossip mongers at the Archdiocese, he was on the fast track for a position with the Archbishop’s office.
He scrunched his face. “You smell a bit raw, Mike. Did you do the steps?”
“Five up-and-downs.”
“Zvi does twenty.”
“When I’m his age, so will I.”
His chiseled face transformed into a smile. “Let’s go outside. The rain finally stopped.”
We exchanged pleasantries as we took seats on a bench near the door. Magnolia Avenue was starting to stir. In another twenty minutes, the children would start arriving at St. Pat’s School next door.
Andy’s blue eyes gleamed as he took a sip of water from a paper cup. “I saw you on TV. Why is a public defender working on this case?”
“Gio.”
“Thought so. How are he and Maria holding up?”
“Not great.”
“And Johnny?”
“It’s been a couple of rough days, Andy.”
“I’ll bet. And Rosie is okay with your decision to moonlight?”
“She isn’t crazy about it, but we worked it out.”
“You guys are doing a lot better than when you were married.”
“We’re older. We don’t have the energy to fight.”
“CNN said the D.A. is going to charge Johnny with first-degree murder.”
“It was self-defense.”
“Okay.”
“You sound skeptical.”
“Seems there’s always a backstory for an officer-involved shooting.”
Not you, too. “Don’t jump to conclusions.”
“I’m not. Either way, you’ve put yourself in the middle of a situation that could turn combustible.”
“It already is. A dozen people ended up in the hospital last night. They’re planning another march tonight.”
“You sure that it’s wise to do this?”
No. “I’m trying to do what’s right.”
“Why’d you come to see me this morning, Mike?”
“You may recall that I’m Catholic. I like to go to church.” Notwithstanding the fact that I failed as a priest, that much was still true.
“It’s nice of you to fit us into your busy schedule.”
“I wanted a little quiet time. I figured that you’d put in a good word for me with God.”
“I’ll do the best that I can. Did you want to confess to something?”
“Yes. I lied to Rosie. I told her that I would be able to extricate myself from this case in just a couple of weeks. That may be unrealistic.”
He pondered his options. “I’m going to go light on you and ask for just two Hail Marys.”
“That’s it?”
“You get mitigation points because you’re helping a fellow Catholic.”
“A minute ago, you were questioning Johnny’s innocence.”
“Fortunately, I don’t have to sit in judgment of him.” The corner of his mouth turned up. “I’ll hit you up to do some painting in the rectory when things calm down. In the meantime, I want you and Pete to be careful. I want you to be walking up and down the steps like Zvi when you’re ninety-two.”
“Thanks, Andy.” I glanced at my watch. “I’m due in court.”
26
“MAYBE YOU AREN’T AS GOOD AS I THOUGHT”
A steady drizzle was falling as I made my way through the media horde on the steps of the Hall at eight-forty-five on Thursday morning. SFPD had blocked off Bryant Street. Reverend Tucker had assembled a contingent behind police barricades at the east end of the Hall. A pro-police
group led by a dozen uniformed officers stood guard at the west end.
Media vans lined the south side of Bryant where a couple of enterprising bail bond shops had rented their driveways to CNN and Fox News for eight hundred dollars an hour. Nice coin if you can get it. I kept my eyes forward, pushed my way through the cameras, and pretended to ignore the shouted questions.
“Mr. Daley? Is your client going to plead guilty?”
“Mr. Daley? Is your client going to accept a plea bargain?”
“Mr. Daley? Is it true that there is video showing Juwon Jones was unarmed?”
“Mr. Daley? Mr. Daley? Mr. Daley?”
I turned around and faced the music. “I am pleased to have this opportunity to defend Officer Bacigalupi, who has been unjustly arrested in a rush to judgment. I am confident that this error will be corrected, and my client will be able to return to his duties.”
I entered the lobby, hoping that my impassioned platitude would turn out to be true.
✽ ✽ ✽
Luca was standing in the crowded hallway outside Judge Ramsey’s courtroom on the second floor of the Hall. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.” I pulled him out of earshot of the nearest reporter. “Are Gio and Maria inside?”
“First row. The boys are here, too.” He lowered his voice. “Johnny had a little scrape in the lockup last night.”
Crap. “How little?”
“You’ll see. He’s okay, but he has a nasty cut over his eye.”
“They promised to put him in Ad Seg.” It was the euphemism for “Administrative Segregation,” meaning that Johnny would be housed in his own cell.
“They didn’t.”
“We’ll get that fixed right away.”
“I expect you to get him out of here this morning.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Judge Martellus Ramsey’s courtroom was packed as Luca and I stood at the defense table on either side of Johnny at nine o’clock on Thursday morning. Nady was to my left. It was the first time she had ever been in court on official business. DeSean Harper was at the prosecution table next to Roosevelt. They were wearing matching charcoal suits. I turned and nodded to Gio and Maria, who were sitting behind us. They were flanked by their sons. The remaining three rows on the defense side were filled with uniformed cops.
The gallery behind Harper was packed. Jones’s mother was sitting next to Reverend Tucker in the first row. Chief Green and four assistants were behind them. The third row was filled with members of Reverend Tucker’s church. The back row was occupied by the press.
I glanced at the last row of the defense side of the gallery, where Rolanda was sitting. She gave me a subtle nod, then turned her eyes to the front of the courtroom.
I leaned over and whispered into Johnny’s ear. “Stay calm and be respectful.” I pointed at the TV camera next to the court reporter. “It’s all theater. Everybody will be watching you. I want you to look the judge in the eye when you talk to him.”
“Right.”
I pointed at the bandage over his right eye. “What happened?”
“I got into a shoving match with a guy in the lockup. I’m fine.”
Sure. “Did you get any sleep?”
“Not much. Can you get me out of here?”
“Yes.” Maybe not. I needed to manage his expectations. In a first-degree murder case, the chances of bail were slim, but I didn’t want to suggest that I was anything less than confident.
Luca quickly added, “Absolutely.”
We’ll see. I continued talking to Johnny. “They’ll read the charges and ask you to enter a plea. I want you to look the judge in the eye and say, ‘Not guilty,’ in a respectful tone. Then we’ll talk about bail.”
The door to the hallway leading to the judge’s chambers opened. His world-weary bailiff took off his glasses. “All rise.”
The courtroom came to life as Judge Ramsey emerged from behind the bench using an electric wheelchair. He had lost the use of his legs in a skiing accident a decade earlier. The imposing jurist moved into position behind a custom-designed bench, turned on his computer, and addressed nobody in particular. “Please be seated.”
We did as we were told. The courtroom was silent as the judge pretended to study his docket. He turned to his bailiff. “Would you please call our first case?”
“The People versus Giovanni Carlo Bacigalupi the Fourth.”
Johnny tensed. It always sounds ominous when they recite all of your names.
There was a commotion behind the prosecution table. Jones’s mother muttered, “Murderer.”
Judge Ramsey spoke to her in an understated tone. “Ms. Jones, I am very sorry for your loss. However, I want to make something clear to you and everyone in this courtroom. Except for myself, the attorneys, and the witnesses, nobody is allowed to speak.” He pointed at the TV camera. “I have agreed to televise these proceedings so that our community can watch. If anyone fails to abide by my rules, I will have the bailiff escort them outside.”
The courtroom was stone-cold silent.
Judge Ramsey looked at me, then he turned to Harper. “Counsel will state their names for the record.”
“DeSean Harper for the People, Your Honor.”
“Michael Daley, Lucantonio Bacigalupi, and Nadezhda Nikonova for the defendant.”
“Which one of you will be addressing the court today?”
I nodded. “I will, Your Honor.”
He pulled his microphone toward himself. “This is an arraignment. We will read the charges and the defendant will enter a plea.” He looked at Johnny. “Do you understand the reason for this proceeding, Officer Bacigalupi?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Thank you.” He spoke to Harper. “Would you please inform us of the charges?”
“First-degree murder under California Penal Code Section 187.”
“Thank you.” The judge went through the ceremony of reading the complaint. Then he looked at me. “Mr. Daley, do you have any questions?”
“We would like to discuss the nature of these charges.”
“Denied.”
“But Your Honor—,”
“You and Mr. Harper are free to discuss an amendment if you believe it is appropriate.”
“These charges should be dropped,” I said.
“That’s up to Mr. Harper. Does your client wish to enter a plea?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
He spoke to Johnny. “On the charge of murder in the first-degree, how do you plead?”
“Not guilty, Your Honor.”
“Thank you. Mr. Daley, as you are aware, by statute, I am required to schedule a preliminary hearing within ten days.”
A preliminary hearing, or “prelim,” is a mini-trial where the prosecution must demonstrate that there is probable cause that Johnny committed murder. It’s the D.A.’s show, and all evidentiary issues are resolved in the prosecution’s favor. We had the right to demand a prelim within ten days. Most defendants “waive time,” which means that the prelim can be held outside that timeframe. Ordinarily, we would have had little to lose by waiving time because it would have given us more time to prepare. In this instance, I was under orders from Johnny and Luca to expedite the process.
“Your Honor, Officer Bacigalupi chooses not to waive time.”
“May I ask why you believe that it is in your client’s best interests?”
“He’s innocent. He wishes to begin his defense as soon as possible so that we can clear his name and he can get back to work.”
The veteran judge had been on the bench too long to show any appearance of surprise, but he clearly hadn’t expected this. “Are you sure, Mr. Daley?”
“I am, Your Honor.”
He turned to Harper. “I trust that you will be prepared to move forward within ten days?”
Harper hadn’t anticipated the expedited schedule, either. “I need to check my calendar.”
No you don’t. “If Mr. Harper wasn’t prepared to proceed on an exp
edited basis, he shouldn’t have filed the charges.” So there.
“Mr. Harper, in this circumstance, Mr. Daley is correct.”
“We’ll be ready, Your Honor.”
I shot him a snarky glance. “Or you can simply drop the charges.”
“That isn’t going to happen, Mr. Daley.”
I didn’t think it would.
The judge looked at his computer. “While this matter would ordinarily go to Department 20 for a longer hearing, it turns out that I am available to preside over the prelim on Monday, February fourteenth, at ten a.m. I trust this is acceptable to you, Mr. Daley?”
It was a quick turnaround, but we had no choice. “Yes, Your Honor.”
“If there is no further business—,”
“Your Honor, we’d also like to discuss bail.”
He feigned surprise. “Am I correct in assuming that bail has not been set?”
As if you didn’t know. “Correct. Bail is appropriate in this case. Officer Bacigalupi has significant community ties. He is willing to wear a monitor and surrender his passport. He will also agree to other reasonable accommodations as directed by the court.”
Harper wasn’t buying. “The People oppose bail. The defendant is charged with first-degree murder. He is dangerous and a threat to the community. His family has significant assets making him a flight risk.”
No, he isn’t. “Officer Bacigalupi has no criminal record. He has lived here for his entire life. So have his father and grandfather. He isn’t going anywhere, and he is entitled to bail.”
Harper shot back. “It would be very unusual to grant bail in a first-degree murder case.”
Yes, it would. “Not true,” I lied. “Your Honor has discretion. In addition to the usual ankle bracelet, my client would agree to live with his parents until his next court appearance. I’m sure you know Officer Bacigalupi’s father.”
“I do.”
Harper’s voice went up a half-octave. “While we have great respect for Assistant Chief Bacigalupi, it would be improper to provide special treatment for his son.”
“Whose record is spotless and whose integrity has never been questioned,” I said.
“Until now.”
Judge Ramsey listened intently as Harper and I volleyed back and forth for another five minutes. Finally, he made the call. “I am not going to grant bail at this time.”
Serve and Protect (Mike Daley/Rosie Fernandez Legal Thriller Book 9) Page 11