Bad Faith

by Robert K. Tanenbaum

  “But you told the paramedics that their services weren’t needed. And you refused to let them and the police officers pass, saying that you would come at them with a sword. And you intimated to your friend Frank Bernsen that he should attack the police officer.”

  “I did no such thing,” LaFontaine said. “Frank may have been trying to protect the family and thus overreacted, but it was not at my request.”

  “Mr. LaFontaine, were you subsequently charged by my office with obstructing emergency personnel from the performance of their duties?”

  “I was.”

  “And were you found guilty?”

  “I was. Unfairly I might add.”

  “And was Mr. Bernsen also charged with obstruction, as well as attempted assault on a police officer?”

  “He was.”

  “And was he found guilty?”

  “Yes.”

  Karp walked over to the prosecution table and picked up a manila folder, but for the moment he just carried it with him back over to the jury rail. “Let’s talk for a moment about Mr. Bernsen. Would you say the two of you were close?”

  “We go way back,” LaFontaine said.

  “How far back?”

  LaFontaine shrugged. “Twenty years, maybe more.”

  “And where did you meet Mr. Bernsen?”

  Rottingham jumped to his feet. “Objection! What is the relevance of this line of questioning?”

  Karp turned to the judge. “Your Honor, the defendant and counsel have made Frank Bernsen the fall guy for any wrongs that may have been committed in the name of Mr. LaFontaine and his church. And as we all know, Mr. Bernsen will not appear in this courtroom to defend himself or answer questions.”

  “I’ll allow it,” Temple said. “Overruled; the witness may answer the question.”

  “We met at the Shelby County Penal Farm,” LaFontaine said.

  “And what were you doing there?”

  “Serving time.”

  “For what?”

  “Me, for kiting checks,” LaFontaine said. “Frank was in for assault.”

  “Kiting checks,” Karp said. “A type of fraud, right? You pretended to be someone you were not and illegally obtained cash, goods, or services, correct?”

  “Yes,” LaFontaine admitted.

  “How many other crimes have you and Frank Bernsen been convicted of?” Karp asked. “And let’s just stick to the felonies.”

  “Objection!” Rottingham shouted again. “Now Mr. Karp is fishing.”

  “On the contrary, I am taking careful aim,” Karp replied, holding up the manila folder. “This is fair game, particularly as any prior conviction, like fraud, may relate to moral depravity. The defendant’s criminal record may most certainly be considered by the jurors with respect to the defendant’s so-called credibility, as Mr. Rottingham well knows.”

  “Your Honor, may we approach the bench?” demanded Rottingham as he lurched to his feet.

  “Come on then,” the judge replied.

  “Your Honor, I request that this sidebar be on the record,” Karp said. “May we have the stenographer record it?”

  “Yes, indeed,” Temple agreed.

  Out of the jurors’ hearing and with the steno in place, Rottingham pleaded with the judge. “We have no idea where these alleged criminal histories come from, nor have we had a chance to look them over. In addition, I object to them on grounds of relevance. Reverend LaFontaine has already admitted that prior to his conversion he and Frank Bernsen led a life of sin, and he even just admitted to having been incarcerated for a crime.”

  The judge looked at Karp. “Your take?”

  “Your Honor, we obtained these certified records by serving the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives with a warrant,” Karp replied. “They’d been kept out of the national crime database due to this pair working as confidential informants for the ATF. The ATF wasn’t happy about it, but we won the day. As for LaFontaine already admitting to one crime and a life of sin, he still holds himself as a paragon of virtue while casting blame and culpability on his partner in crime. As such this history is relevant. The defendant exposed himself to this sort of character impeachment when he took the stand. It’s not the People’s fault that he thought his record would be kept secret. I am offering these files in evidence and handing a complete copy to Mr. Rottingham.”

  Judge Temple nodded. “I’m going to allow it. Mr. Karp is right; your client chose to take the stand.”

  “Not on my recommendation,” Rottingham mumbled.

  “Mr. Rottingham, you may return to your seat,” Temple told him. “The objection is overruled; the certified files regarding the defendant and one Frank Bernsen, People’s Exhibit Thirty-five inclusively, is admitted into evidence.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” Karp said. He walked up to the witness stand and handed one set of papers to LaFontaine. “In case you need to refresh your memory,” he said as the defendant glared down at him. “Now, you want to read off the list of felonies for which you’ve been convicted?”

  “As I said, before I saw the light I lived a life of sin—” LaFontaine tried to explain, but Karp cut him off.

  “That’s not what I asked. I asked you to read off the list of felonies for which you’ve been convicted,” Karp demanded, his voice booming in the courtroom.

  LaFontaine looked down at the papers. “Burglary. Assault. Robbery. Drug possession and distribution. Receiving stolen goods.” He put the papers down.

  “I believe you left one off,” Karp said. “It’s the second to the last one, right before ‘receiving stolen goods.’”

  “Impersonating a police officer,” LaFontaine said.

  “Impersonating a police officer,” Karp said. “Pretending to be someone you were not. I guess a leopard doesn’t change his spots.”

  “Objection!” Rottingham roared.

  “I’ll withdraw the comment, Your Honor,” Karp replied. “Now, would you do the same with Frank Bernsen’s record?”

  LaFontaine looked back down at the pages. “Assault. Assault with a deadly weapon.”

  “A few of those, aren’t there?” Karp commented.

  “Yes. Sexual assault. Burglary. Receiving stolen goods. Impersonating a police officer.”

  “That last one, impersonating a police officer, that was for the same occurrence that you were convicted for, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many years ago were you arrested and convicted for impersonating a police officer?” Karp asked.

  “A little more than two years ago.”

  “Shortly before you met Monique and Charlie Hale, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  Karp walked up to the witness stand and held out his hand to get the records back. “With all those convictions, how come you’re not in prison, Mr. LaFontaine?”

  “The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives offered us a deal,” LaFontaine admitted. “If we worked with them against an outlaw motorcycle club, our records were going to be expunged.”

  “You were working as informants, right?”

  LaFontaine stared at Karp for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah.”

  “And an informant, or snitch, is someone who tells on someone else in order to get out of trouble, right?”

  “That’s one way of putting it.”

  “Sort of like you snitching on Frank Bernsen about the life insurance policies, right?”

  “Objection.”

  “Sustained,” Temple said. “Mr. Karp, let’s save it for summations.”

  Karp nodded. “So, Mr. LaFontaine, if I’m right about the timing here, your conversion into a man of God happened about the same time you were making a deal with the ATF and shortly before you met the Hales. Am I correct?”

  “I saw the light about that time, yes,” LaFontaine said. “I was hurting in my soul for all the sins I’d committed and after I met that other preacher, I knew I needed to change.”

  “I see, and Frank changed with you
?”

  “I thought he had.”

  “Well, he’s named as the chief financial officer for both of your churches, here and in Memphis,” Karp said. “You lived with him. Blocked the doorway of an extremely ill child with him to prevent paramedics and police officers from performing their jobs with him. And if Monique Hale is to be believed, and the jury will determine that, you were almost inseparable and he did what you told him to do.”

  “I deny that,” LaFontaine replied. “Frank was his own man.”

  “But he was your brother in crime?”

  “He was also my brother in Christ.”

  “Except that according to your testimony, he must not have been living a simple, sin-free life like you.”

  “I guess not.”

  Karp paced slowly in front of the jury box before asking his next question. “I’m noticing that according to you, everybody else is a liar or simply mistaken. Is that true?”

  “What do you mean?” LaFontaine scowled.

  “Well, Monique Hale says you forbade her and her husband from seeking medical attention for their daughter, Natalie, and that you threatened to leave her alone spiritually and emotionally. That you were her lover. But that’s all a lie, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And she testified that Sarah Westerberg used to come to her house with you to talk to her about faith healing; that was also a lie?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Dr. Holstein says that it was you who approached him about targeting the families of ill children and expunging their records from hospital files, and that he spoke to you several times after that. But that’s a lie?”

  “Yes.”

  “They’re all liars because they all have it in for men of God. Is that correct?”

  LaFontaine shook his head. “Perhaps they’ve just been led astray by godless men.”

  “And was it godless men who threatened you so that you changed your name and moved to New York City?”

  “I would think so.”

  “Did you report any of these threats to the police?”

  “No. I didn’t think they’d take me seriously.”

  “That wouldn’t be because between you and Frank Bernsen, you had a pretty good record for violent crimes, would it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Mr. LaFontaine, do you have any proof that these threats were real? Or maybe you were just skipping town because it was getting too hot for you in Memphis.”

  “I object to counsel’s portrayal of my client’s reasons for leaving Memphis,” Rottingham said.

  “Sustained. Just ask your question, Mr. Karp.”

  “Mr. LaFontaine, I asked if you have any proof whatsoever that you were threatened because of your religious practices in Memphis.”

  “No. The threats were anonymous.”

  Karp was quiet as he studied LaFontaine on the witness stand. Time to change course, he thought.

  “Mr. LaFontaine,” Karp said, “would you say you’ve done rather well for yourself since coming to New York City?”

  “How do you mean?” LaFontaine asked.

  “I mean, you told the jury that you live a simple life,” Karp replied, “but let’s examine that.” He walked over to the prosecution table and picked up several sheets of paper. “Your Honor, we offer the bank records for the End of Days Reformation Church of Jesus Christ Resurrected as People’s Exhibit Thirty-six cumulatively.”

  “No objection,” said Rottingham wearily. He’d tried to keep the records out of the trial at a hearing and lost.

  Karp handed the papers to LaFontaine while keeping another set for himself. “Mr. LaFontaine, would you read the dollar amount contained on the line designated as ‘total deposits to date’?”

  LaFontaine looked at the papers. “Eight hundred and thirty-seven thousand.”

  “That’s eight hundred and thirty-seven thousand dollars, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And where did that money come from?”

  “Donations.”

  “Donations,” Karp repeated. “And I believe that there is one major ‘donation’ that makes up the bulk of the deposits … one for eight hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars. Do you recall where that money came from?”

  “The estate of Kathryn Boole,” LaFontaine said. “She left it to me when she passed away in April.”

  “And the remaining twelve thousand dollars?”

  “Smaller donations from members of the congregation.”

  “Mr. LaFontaine, did Mrs. Boole leave you anything else from her estate?”

  “Yes, her will included a building on Avenue A where she generously allowed our church to meet.”

  “The church, as well as living quarters for yourself and Frank Bernsen, is that correct?” Karp asked.

  “Yes, that’s true.”

  “Would you describe these quarters as part of living a simple life?”

  “It is a nice three-bedroom loft, but nothing fancy,” LaFontaine said.

  “Nothing fancy,” Karp said as he walked over to the prosecution table and picked up another sheet of paper. “Your Honor, may I have the real estate brochure for the property on Avenue A that Mr. LaFontaine has just described as nothing fancy marked as People’s Exhibit Thirty-seven for identification.”

  “Objection,” Rottingham said, rising from his seat. “I don’t see the relevance of this brochure.”

  “The relevance is that the defendant has described this ‘donation’ as nothing fancy,” Karp replied. “The jurors can look at the brochure and decide for themselves if that description is apt.”

  “I’ll allow it,” Temple said.

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” Karp said, walking back to the witness stand and handing the real estate brochure to the defendant. “Mr. LaFontaine, does this brochure fairly and accurately depict the property you inherited from Kathryn Boole?”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “Your Honor, the People offer this Exhibit Thirty-seven in evidence,” Karp said.

  “So granted,” Temple ruled.

  “Mr. LaFontaine, would you please read the description of the building from the brochure.”

  “It says it’s a ‘three-story building in an up-and-coming neighborhood on the Lower East Side with a large open first floor excellent for commercial use, a second floor containing four large office spaces’—”

  “Hold on just a moment,” Karp interrupted. “I just want to be clear about these office spaces. Who occupies them?”

  “The church uses one and the others are leased to business tenants,” LaFontaine replied.

  “I didn’t see any deposits from these leases on the bank statements,” Karp said. “Are they behind on their rent or does the money go somewhere else?”

  “The money goes into a corporation,” LaFontaine said.

  “And whose names are listed as officers in that corporation?” Karp asked.

  “Mine and Frank Bernsen’s.”

  “I see. And how much approximately do you bring in a month from those leases?” Karp asked.

  “There are three offices other than the church office and together they pay about twenty-one thousand a month,” LaFontaine said.

  “Twenty-one thousand,” Karp said. “And does that money go into church activities or charities?”

  “It’s for living expenses,” LaFontaine said.

  “I see,” Karp repeated. “For that simple life you lead.”

  LaFontaine glared at Karp but remained silent.

  “Objection,” Rottingham said, this time remaining in his seat. “Counsel keeps making superfluous comments that are not part of a legitimate cross-examination.”

  “No, Your Honor, counsel misspeaks, that’s a very legitimate question and I await an answer,” Karp shot back.

  “I have no intention of quibbling with you, Mr. Karp,” LaFontaine stated.

  “Well then continue reading the description of the building,” Karp said, pressing on.

  “‘The prop
erty includes a fully furnished twelve-thousand-square-foot loft with three bedrooms, three baths, a state-of-the-art kitchen, granite counters, and hardwood floors,’” LaFontaine read, then looked up.

  “Continue, Mr. LaFontaine, there’s more,” Karp said.

  “‘An entertainment room including a fifteen-foot projection screen and seating for twenty. Formal dining room. Built-in sound system.’” LaFontaine stopped reading. “That’s it.”

  “That’s it,” Karp agreed. “And what was the listed price for the building?”

  “Three point two million dollars,” LaFontaine said.

  “Three point two million dollars,” Karp repeated. “So I ask you again, Mr. LaFontaine, haven’t you done pretty well for yourself since coming to New York City?”

  “I don’t think it’s unusual for a minister to reap the rewards of a dedicated congregation,” LaFontaine argued. “You could ask Billy Graham how much he makes in a year.”

  “Billy Graham isn’t on the witness stand, Mr. LaFontaine,” Karp said. “Nor is he accused of using his influence and position of trust to prevent parents from seeking medical attention so that he can reap extravagant ‘donations’ and life insurance policies.”

  “Objection! Your Honor, counsel is doing his summations in cross-examination!” Rottingham yelled.

  Temple simply cocked his head. “I believe that your client drew the analogy. Overruled, but let’s get back to questions and answers, Mr. Karp.”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Karp replied. “If the witness would answer my question, please?”

  LaFontaine glared at Karp but then forced a smile. “I guess I’ve done pretty well due to the generosity of my congregation.”

  “And you stood to do even better on the death of Micah Ellis, is that correct?” Karp asked.

  LaFontaine looked at his defense lawyer, who remained quiet. “The Ellises had taken out a life insurance policy in which the benefits were assigned to the church.”

  “The church of which you and Frank Bernsen were the sole officers—the only ones who could make withdrawals,” Karp said, pressing him.

  “Yes.”

  “And this was a similar policy to the one Monique Hale testified about?”

  “Yes.”

  “Except there was a problem getting paid this time, wasn’t there?”