A Past That Breathes

by Noel Obiora

  “I already said, it’s too soon to tell. The trial hasn’t even started,” Cassandra said, amused.

  There was some teriyaki left on Cassandra’s plate, but after she sat down with Melissa and Amy, she did not eat again. When the attendant came to take Amy and Melissa’s orders, Cassandra asked for her bill, and both Melissa and Amy asked for another minute to make their selection.

  “I had an ulterior motive for inviting you to sit with me,” Cassandra said to Melissa.

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  “Very funny,” Cassandra said dismissively, Melissa laughed. “Anyway, we are planning a symposium on diversity, inclusiveness, and the criminal process in LA County, post riots. I was wondering if you would be willing to speak on a panel of practitioners, mostly talking about the perspective from your office.”

  “Sure,” Melissa said “Who else is on this panel? Anyone I know?”

  “Kenneth Brown, an African American friend of mine who would bring the private practice perspective. And the federal public defender has agreed to send someone as well. So far.”

  Amy appeared to sigh.

  “Anyway, that’s my ulterior motive. It will be great to have you.”

  The waiter returned with Cassandra’s bill, and she got up to leave.

  “I’ll take care of this with the cashier,” she said, taking the bill from the waiter.

  “Your friend, this Kenneth Brown. Is he originally from Philadelphia?” Amy asked Cassandra.

  “Yes,” Cassandra said.

  “And went to the University of Texas undergrad?” Amy asked.

  “Yes, and law school,” Cassandra said. “Do you know him?”

  “Sounds like someone I knew, but I haven’t seen him in years,” Amy said.

  “Do you have your card?” Cassandra asked.

  “I’m sorry,” Amy said, shaking her head.

  Melissa looked at Amy curiously.

  “Well, here’s mine,” Cassandra said, giving Amy one of hers, which Amy collected and said thanks.

  When Cassandra left them, Melissa got up and sat opposite Amy on the side of the table that Cassandra vacated. Amy scrunched her face, seeming puzzled.

  “I want you where I can watch you,” Melissa said and grinned.

  “I left the cards you gave me at the office,” Amy said, smiling shyly.

  “Of course, you did,” Melissa said with her eyes on the menu, but looked up to smile at Amy.

  They ordered their food.

  4

  Mothers’ Intiution

  Working together, Kenneth and his mother, Nancy, spent more time with each other than they had since he was a teenager. Neither had given much thought to how the arrangement would work when Nancy suggested it and both were pleasantly surprised, day by day. Nancy had taken an extended leave of absence from work to visit Kenneth after his third desperate attempt to borrow funds to run his office. A schoolteacher in Philadelphia, she was already due retirement, but still working a full schedule, active and healthy for all her sixty-three years.

  When Kenneth got home on Saturday night, Nancy was already asleep, and by the time he woke up, she had gone to church. On Sundays, she spent all day at the First African Methodist Episcopal Church in Los Angeles. Two services, and whatever visits to homes, hospitals, and food centers the church had scheduled for the day, meant that some Sundays Kenneth might not see her at all.

  On Monday morning, Kenneth got to his office and found his mother sitting at his desk rather than hers, which was the secretary’s desk in the outer office.

  “Paul’s mother just left, and I received her in your office,” Nancy explained.

  “That’s totally fine. I can sit out there if you need more time in the office,” Kenneth said.

  “No, no, don’t be silly,” Nancy said, getting up.

  “Was Paul arrested?” Kenneth asked.

  “No, but…I think I did something I shouldn’t have…” Nancy said.

  “What?”

  “Sister Ramatu didn’t know about Paul’s situation until I called her to see how she was taking it.”

  “Oh, Ma, no!”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You can’t discuss anything that happens in my office with anyone. Once an attorney is consulted, whether he is retained or not, whatever he is told becomes confidential. Now, obviously, Paul hasn’t consulted us, and we don’t owe him any confidentiality, but just think, if he wanted me to represent him, he might start worrying about what he tells me, that his mom might end up hearing from you because you work with me.”

  Nancy sat down again. Kenneth could see he was not telling her anything she had not already told herself.

  “And Paul doesn’t have a situation yet,” Kenneth said.

  “He doesn’t?”

  “No, he’s just a person of interest, like any boyfriend or spouse is going to be if someone they are involved with is found dead. Obviously he’s African American so they’ll lean heavily on him.”

  “Oh, I told her all that, just not in those words.”

  “How did she take it?”

  “She’s not taking any of it well. I think she came all the way here to have a good cry. She’s doesn’t want anyone over at their compound thinking she doesn’t believe him or that she thinks he did it, if she breaks down like she did here at home. But what’s a mother to do?”

  “If they had enough on him, they would be all over him right now.”

  “They searched his house with sniffing dogs and all.”

  “Did they find anything?”

  “She doesn’t know, but apparently some woman said they saw him at her house that same day.”

  “About the time she died?”

  “They don’t know, but Big John got his investigator friends trying to find out.”

  “I wouldn’t trust Big’s investigators to find a freeway in Los Angeles.”

  “Are you gonna represent him, if they ask you?”

  “If they’ll pay what it would take, why not? I’m gonna need my friend who’s a professor at UCLA to come in with me, which means they’re going to have to pay me enough to pay her.”

  “You’ll do a great job. Let me talk to Sister Ramatu for you.”

  “No, Ma. Don’t jump the gun again.”

  “You are destined for a case like this, Kenneth.”

  “And you are biased.”

  “If they arrest him, I’m talking to Sister Ramatu.”

  “Let’s talk about it when that happens, Mom.”

  •••

  At lunch, Amy had learned that Kate would be in trial in Pasadena every day for the next couple of weeks, with occasional short breaks during which she might run to the office to address urgent matters. She decided to put her recommendation on People v. Jackson in writing for Kate. She would have to work late and come in early tomorrow, all before she knew her way to the restrooms, not to mention the law library. Perhaps this was why the note was silent, or rather ambiguous, on the form the recommendation should take. It also explained why Melissa offered to find someone else to take the assignment.

  She sat down with her notes and began to look at the crime scene photographs. There was a large pile of photographs, many of which were pictures of Goldie lying on the floor of her bathroom, with shots of her face from every conceivable angle, close-up and medium range. There were details about each witness interviewed, the time and place of the interview, including their police records if any, a list of items found in the apartment and confiscated as evidence, with their corresponding tags.

  Having mostly done preliminary hearings, in which the court determined whether there was probable cause to proceed to trial against the defendant as charged, Amy knew the defense would focus on the apartment manager, Conrad Wetstone, to argue there was no probable cause. “He found the bo
dy, he probably killed her,” they would insinuate. She looked again at the police report on Conrad’s interrogation.

  Conrad Wetstone was a graduate physics student whose driver’s license showed a pale wide forehead and thinning brown hair that stuck to his head like a toupee. He had an expression like someone stuck in the middle of solving a complex mathematics problem or perhaps puzzled that his picture was being taken at all. LAPD officers followed up and verified most of what Conrad had done between 11:00 a.m. when he discovered the body and about 2:00 p.m. when he called the police. He had said he notified the building owners of the death and thought they were going to report it before he returned to campus to meet with a couple of students and go to the grocery store—to purchase alcohol, for which he still had the receipt for the officers to see. He had told two tenants, Rachel Johnson and Monsieur Arnot, about the murder. Rachel, who was closest to Goldie, had wanted to go in and see her body, but Conrad had been adamant that she would not be allowed into the apartment until the police arrived. He had collected the keys Goldie gave Rachel as well. This added to his credibility as far as the officers were concerned.

  Aside from Conrad, the other evidence supporting probable cause to arrest Paul was the ATM receipt, which purportedly placed him in West LA after 12:00 midnight, the beer bottles, his shoe prints on the tile, and the K-9 dogs picking up his scent. These were not very compelling to Amy. The defense would probably not deny that Paul Jackson had been at the apartment earlier that day when Ms. Ola Mohammed claimed to have seen him arguing with Goldie. But Goldie died more than a full twelve hours later. As improbable as it may seem, Mr. Jackson could have given someone his ATM card to withdraw money for him. The police had interrogated most of the tenants at the apartment and none saw Paul Jackson at the building, even at the time Ms. Ola claimed to have seen him. A note in the file stated that the police had not interrogated Monsieur Arnot and expected to do so by the time a complaint was filed.

  Alana, Amy’s mother, called to ask how she liked her new office. “It’s fine,” Amy answered, then proceeded to tell her about the assignment she found on her desk and the work she had to do on it. Alana was not impressed. A homemaker for most of Amy’s and her brother, Edward’s, childhood, Alana had become chief executive of the Wilson Family Foundation.

  “I hope this Kate realizes that the Wilsons have a memory longer than their reach,” she said to Amy’s amusement.

  “Well, maybe she did it just so you remember that she did me a favor, by assigning a Wilson a juicy case I never asked for. Have you thought about that?”

  “She has some way of showing it,” Alana said.

  Amy knew Alana was not being frivolous with the remark about the Wilsons’ reach. Wilson was a third generation family name that had become better known for the wealth it represented than the offspring who bore it. Wilson Pharmaceuticals, Wilson Power Train, and Wilson Engineering were a few of the family-found or majority-owned businesses, not to name the others where they chose not to attract scrutiny to their family name. Alana had hoped that after graduation from law school, Amy would take a job in investment banking or a junior executive position in a well-managed company and grow in the ranks before taking over as chief executive from her. But Amy chose the one position in which Alana’s sphere of influence would be wasted on her daughter. While an unsolicited call from Alana would mean so much to the Los Angeles district attorney, there wouldn’t be much in it for Amy. Besides Alana knew Amy would never forgive her if she made that call.

  “Your father sends his love. He left for Germany yesterday.”

  “They have phones in Germany, don’t they?”

  “Cut him some slack, will you. He’s got so much on his plate.”

  “I thought that was your job, not mine,” Amy wanted to say, but rather said, “When did he ever not?”

  “He knows you judge him harshly, you know.”

  “Please, Mom,” Amy said dismissively and decided to change the subject.

  She told Alana about the lunch she had with Melissa and the young UCLA professor they ran into, without mentioning the man the professor had brought to her attention.

  5

  Kate

  Amy met Kate on Tuesday morning. The receptionist had mentioned that Kate just asked about Amy, a moment before Amy got in at eight o’clock to continue work on the Jackson file, and Amy went immediately to see Kate.

  Kate’s office was bathed in natural light through large windows with an unobstructed view and was big enough to hold a small conference table in front of Kate’s desk. Amy surmised that Kate was probably four years older—to have risen to such a senior staff position in special prosecutions when Amy was just starting.

  “Thanks for agreeing to help on the Jackson case,” Kate said after they introduced themselves.

  “I should be thanking you for the opportunity. I am preparing a memo for you on my recommendation, like you asked.”

  “Oh, you can shelf that. They arrested him last night.” To Amy’s surprised expression, Kate continued. “A camera on the ATM took pictures of him withdrawing the money at 12:04 a.m.”

  “Is that enough?” Amy asked.

  “It is more than we have on anyone else. Besides, the officers picked up activities around him that suggested he might make a run for it.”

  Amy started to fold her arms across her chest, but quickly put her hands down, and flexed her fingers.

  “The investigation continues, I suppose,” Amy said for want of what to say.

  “What was your recommendation?”

  “To wait for the DNA.”

  “We’ve still got that coming, right?”

  “But we don’t know what it says.” Amy decided to be more adamant in stating her position clearly, not knowing what test Kate was putting her through.

  “Do you expect it will point to somebody else that no one saw going into that apartment?”

  “There was evidence of sexual activity in her apartment, and it doesn’t look like he slept with her and then killed her.”

  “So, she slept with someone else, which reinforces the fact that he was driven by jealousy to kill her.”

  “But why wouldn’t this other partner come forward?”

  “These are all good questions, Amy. Thanks. But he has been arrested and is in custody, which means we arraign him on Thursday. Can you see to that?”

  “Yes.”

  Amy felt Kate take her complete measurement in yards and amperes without caring that Amy had noticed. She wondered what reading Kate got.

  “Goldie wasn’t staying at her apartment. She hadn’t stayed there since she went to London to make her first record last fall. Her friend and neighbor, Rachel, was looking after the apartment for her and using it occasionally because she lived with her sister. Goldie only came there to meet Paul Jackson that day because her agent and business manager didn’t want him to know where she was staying after she returned from London.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t see that in the report.”

  “It wasn’t in the report. And when Goldie saw Mr. Jackson, she made sure there was someone there to deter them from fighting, if she could. That was why the lady across the street saw someone there in the afternoon when they were arguing. LAPD thinks he led her to come and meet him again but did not show up until whomever she had arranged to be there was gone. That person was probably the sexual partner you were talking about.”

  “That sounds plausible, but where did they get all that?”

  “From her manager…Didi Pare. And phone records that showed they talked that evening, and she tried several times to reach him very late.”

  “Mr. Pare wasn’t in the report either.”

  “That’s coming. LAPD will be sending the rest of the report from subsequent interviews, and the pictures from the ATM cameras to you later today.”

  Amy held her hands together in
front of her and nodded.

  “Charge Paul Jackson with first degree murder and special circumstances,” Kate said with finality in her voice.

  Outside Kate’s office, Amy paused to exhale, then recalled the one question she had wanted to ask Kate when they met: “Why did you choose me?”

  •••

  Officer Gonzalez was Alvarez and Fritz’s superior on People v. Jackson, and he was in Amy’s office before noon, looking concerned. He was a thin-lipped, bespectacled veteran with a lean physique and completely shaved head that seemed oiled.

  “Can I sit?” Gonzalez asked.

  Amy thought he had just come to drop off the reports Kate mentioned.

  “Yes, please. I’m sorry I didn’t offer you the seat to begin with.” Amy sat also, as Gonzalez pulled a chair.

  “Kate said I should send these to you, so I decided to drop them off on my way out. But now that I’m here, there’s something I need to ask you,” Gonzalez continued as Amy examined the ATM pictures. It was clearly Paul Jackson in them, and there was a date and time stamp on the bottom right corner of each picture. There was not a time stamp on the photographs that was exactly 12:04 a.m. but they were all within minutes of the time.

  “I think you should meet the mother of the victim. Her name is Helen Silberberg. She’s here in Los Angeles, to bury her daughter.”

  “Today?” Amy asked. “I’ll need to check with Kate. She might want to meet the mother herself.”

  “No, I think you should meet her, not Kate.”

  “This is only my second day in this office. I can’t make that call.”

  “This woman doesn’t seem all together, you see. I think it hit her really hard.”

  “What do you expect me to do for her?”

  “She found some documents at her daughter’s house that she wants to bring to us, and some letters. She was already crying before she finished telling us. I told her I would send somebody right away. I was gonna send an officer, but I think she would feel much better if you went. Seeing you will remind her that her daughter was doing the same thing many young women come out here on their own to do. Live their dreams.”