This is bad news. The chance that reason will prevail goes down ten-fold where the politicians try to use a case to make political capital. “What else is going on here?”
“Nothing.”
I’m not so sure. “Come on, Lisa. We’ve always been straight with each other. Does it have anything to do with old grudges between Nicole and Carolyn?”
She gives me an indignant look. “Absolutely not.” Her eyes lock onto mine. “Their personal history has no bearing on this case.”
I believe her. I try once more. “How can we fix this, Lisa? Some decent people are going to get hurt. Lives are going to get ruined.”
“My hands are tied, Mike.”
“What would you do if it were your kid?”
“Try to encourage him not to deal drugs.”
I deserved that. “What’s it going to take to make this go away?”
Her frustration seems genuine when she says, “Have him plead guilty to a felony. I’ll recommend a light sentence.”
“He’ll end up in jail with a bunch of real drug dealers.”
“It’s the best I can do.”
“It’s insane.”
“Tell that to the mayor.”
Dammit. Tell that to Ben. And to Carolyn.
*****
Chapter 24
“Say It Like You Mean It”
“I expect civility in my courtroom.”
— Superior Court Judge Elizabeth McDaniel. Remarks to new admittees to the California Bar.
Judge Elizabeth McDaniel peers over the top of her reading glasses at Angel and asks, “Do you understand the charges against you, Ms. Chavez?”
The temperature in the hushed courtroom is only slightly lower than it was in Lisa Yee’s office, and it smells like the locker room at the Embarcadero YMCA. Reporters jockey for position in the jury box. Jerry Edwards is in the front row, wearing the same suit he had on during Mornings on Two. Little Richard is in the first row of the packed gallery. Nicole Ward is sitting at the prosecution table along with Lisa Yee.
Rosie is at the lectern. I’m standing at the defense table next to Angel, who is wearing an orange jumpsuit. She looks like any other accused felon. Her lifeless eyes turn to Rosie, who nods. Angel whispers, “Yes.”
Judge McDaniel is a gregarious woman in her mid-fifties who came to the law after her children were grown. She jettisoned her husband, finished first in her class at Hastings and took a job with a big law firm. Bored with the endless paperwork in civil cases, she moved to the DA’s office and worked her way up to the head of the narcotics division. She was appointed to the bench about five years ago. She seems to enjoy her work as much as anybody in this building. She’s also something of a mother hen. In a tradition she started when she was a DA, she throws a holiday party every year to introduce the young prosecutors to the judges and other members of the legal community. It’s considered an honor for a defense attorney to get an invitation. I got to go once. Rosie gets invited every year.
Judge McDaniel’s round face takes on a serious cast. “Ms. Chavez,” she says, “I’m going to have to ask you to speak up so our court reporter and I can hear you.” Even though she’s lived in the Bay Area for more than three decades, you can still catch the hint of a Southern accent in her voice. If you ply her with a couple of double scotches, she’ll regale you with stories of her proper upbringing in rural Alabama. She gives Angel a sympathetic smile and adds, “I’m not as young as I was when I woke up this morning.”
There’s a smattering of chuckles in the gallery. The reporters who cover the legal beat consider it a perk to be assigned to Judge McDaniel’s courtroom.
I whisper to Angel, “You’ll have to talk a little louder.”
Angel turns to the judge and says in a voice that is now too loud, “Yes, Your Honor.”
“Thank you, Ms. Chavez. And your attorneys have explained to you that the charges include special circumstances?”
At least she didn’t say death penalty. Angel closes her eyes. She looks as if she’s in a trance. I take her by the arm and whisper, “You have to answer her, honey.”
Angel’s eyes are still closed as she whispers, “Yes, Your Honor.”
Judge McDaniel leans forward and gives me an inquisitive look. “Your Honor,” I say, “Ms. Chavez understands the nature of the charges.”
The judge nods and says to Angel, “Ms. Chavez, I need you to enter a plea.”
Silence. All eyes turn toward Angel. I can hear the buzz of the clock at the back of the courtroom. Angel swallows and gives Rosie a desperate look. Rosie nods and Angel faces the judge. Her lips form the words, “Not guilty,” but no sound comes out of her mouth.
Judge McDaniel takes off her reading glasses and gives Angel a patient smile. “I’m sorry, Ms. Chavez,” she says. “I need you to talk a little louder.”
Angel’s eyes are filled with unrelenting fear. She shoots a helpless glance at Rosie, who comes back to the defense table. I hear her whisper into Angel’s ear, “Say it like you mean it.”
Angel is struggling to fight back tears. She’s wiping her eyes with a tissue when she says in a broken voice, “Not guilty, Your Honor.”
I take Angel’s hand and gently assist her into her seat.
Judge McDaniel nods. “Thank you, Ms. Chavez.” She makes a note and then recites for the record that a plea of not guilty has been entered. She puts her reading glasses back on and studies her calendar. Without looking up, she says, “If there is no other business, we should set a date for a preliminary hearing.”
Rosie interrupts her. “There are a couple of items we’d like to discuss, Your Honor.”
The reading glasses come off. “Yes, Ms. Fernandez?”
Rosie walks to the lectern. “We would ask that the prosecution be ordered to comply with discovery before the preliminary hearing, and preferably by the end of this week.”
The judge looks at Ward and says, “Any problem, Ms. Ward?”
“That’s tight,” she says.
Rosie says, “They’re talking about a capital offense, Your Honor.”
Judge McDaniel doesn’t hesitate. “Sounds fair to me. So ordered. What else, Ms. Fernandez?”
“We’d like to request bail.”
“I understand my colleague Judge Vanden Heuvel wasn’t real excited by the idea.”
“That’s true,” Rosie says. “In fact she denied our request.”
The judge smiles. This is a bad sign. The scouting report says you’re in trouble if Judge McDaniel does it. You’re in serious trouble if she starts to use the royal we. She says, “We have a great deal of respect for Judge Vanden Heuvel’s judgment.”
Rosie reads the tea leaves. I catch a tiny grimace in the corner of her mouth. “So do we. But we were hoping you might reconsider in this case.”
Ward leaps to her feet and says, “Objection, Your Honor.”
Judge McDaniel motions Ward to sit down. “We’ll hear from you in a moment.” Her smile gets wider. It’s almost impossible to engage her in meaningful debate while she’s giving you that grandmotherly grin. You feel like an ass and look like a fool. The reporters eat it up. “Ms. Fernandez,” she says, “we understand Ms. Chavez was arrested at the parking lot at the Golden Gate Bridge. This suggests she was attempting to flee.”
“There are serious questions about exactly how Ms. Fernandez got to the bridge,” Rosie says. “We believe the evidence will ultimately demonstrate she was driven there.”
Ward’s up again. The judge tells her to sit down. Judge McDaniel leans back in her chair and says, “We understand your position, Ms. Fernandez. Nevertheless, one of the issues we’re required to consider is whether the accused is likely to flee. We must tell you that based upon what we’ve seen so far, it seems Ms. Chavez has a propensity for flight.”
“Your Honor,” Rosie says, “My client is willing to surrender her passport and submit to regular status checks. She’s prepared to wear an electronic wrist or ankle bracelet so the police can monitor
her whereabouts. She’ll abide by limitations on her movement and a curfew. Ms. Chavez can’t possibly leave town without being recognized. You have her word—and mine—that she’ll appear in court when called upon.”
Judge McDaniel points to Ward and says, “Your turn.”
Ward stands and says, “Your Honor, the defendant was actively fleeing when she was picked up. She was driving under the influence of alcohol and drugs at three in the morning. If she hadn’t passed out at the bridge, she might have left the country. She may have cash or other assets in bank accounts in other parts of the world. She’s already attempted to run. If you let her leave again, we may not be able to find her.”
Rosie reiterates that Angel will cooperate with the authorities and will not flee.
The judge leans forward and folds her hands. Her smile disappears. “Ms. Fernandez,” she says, “we’ve known each other for a long time, haven’t we?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve appeared in our courtroom regularly over the last few years, haven’t you?”
Rosie nods.
“And we’ve given you the benefit of the doubt on more than one occasion, haven’t we?”
“Your Honor has been very fair.”
Judge McDaniel points a finger at Rosie and says, “I’d like to be able to give you the benefit of the doubt in this case. But I have to weigh the interests of your client against the possibility that she might flee. In addition, I have to consider the seriousness of the charges. As you know, Ms. Fernandez, I’m not supposed to grant bail in a capital case.”
It’s true. The penal code says a judge can’t grant bail in a capital case where the proof of guilt is evident or the presumption thereof is great. As a practical matter, this means judges don’t do it. I’ve seen a judge grant bail in a death penalty case only once, and it was subject to strict limitations.
Rosie gives the correct response. “Your Honor,” she says, “in the interests of justice, you always have the discretion to grant bail. We believe you can make a legitimate determination that the proof of Ms. Chavez’s guilt is not evident and the presumption thereof is not great.” Rosie then launches into a discussion of why the evidence against Angel is shaky.
Judge McDaniel takes in Rosie’s argument without saying a word. Then she looks at Rosie and ends it by saying, “With all due respect to you and your client, Ms. Fernandez, it is the judgment of this court that the proof of guilt is evident enough and the presumption thereof is great. Bail is denied.”
The air leaves Angel’s lungs. I hold her hand as she struggles to catch her breath. Then her head drops down into her chest and she starts to cry.
“Your Honor,” Rosie implores, “Ms. Chavez is not a flight risk.”
“I’ve ruled, Ms. Fernandez.”
The first big call goes against us. Strike one.
Angel is shaking. Her breaths are coming in gasps. I put my arms around her shoulders. Rosie gives me a troubled look. Then Angel lifts her head, looks straight at the judge and shouts, “Judge McDaniel, if you leave me in jail, they’re going to kill me!”
The gallery erupts. Judge McDaniel bangs her gavel only once. The courtroom becomes completely silent, except for the sound of Angel’s muffled sobs. The judge points her gavel at Angel. There is no maternal grin now. “Ms. Chavez,” she says, “if you want to remain in my courtroom, you’re going to have to address us through counsel. Do you understand?”
Tears stream down Angel’s face as she whispers, “Yes, Your Honor.”
The judge points her gavel first at me and then at Rosie. “I trust the two of you will ensure that we won’t see another outburst of this nature?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” we say in unison.
Rosie is still standing at the lectern. “Your Honor,” she says, “as a precautionary measure and in the interest of my client’s safety, I would ask you to instruct the deputies to keep Ms. Chavez in administrative segregation. She needs her own cell.”
Ward jumps up again. “Your Honor,” she says, “while we always have concerns about the safety of the prisoners in our facilities, we believe the defendant should not be afforded any special privileges simply because she is famous.”
“Your Honor,” Rosie says, “Ms. Chavez was attacked before she was placed in her own cell. Surely, you can order that she be kept outside the general prison population.”
Judge McDaniel is unhappy. “We are concerned about Ms. Chavez’s safety. I will discuss this matter in chambers with the deputies.”
Rosie asks, “Does that mean you’ll arrange for Ms. Chavez to stay in her own cell?”
The judge isn’t giving an inch. “That means I’ll talk to the prison authorities to make arrangements to ensure her safety.”
Although she remains outwardly calm, I can see the frustration building in Rosie’s eyes. This is not going well. She keeps pushing forward. “Your Honor,” she says, “we have one other issue.”
“And that would be?”
“There will be a private memorial service for my client’s husband tomorrow. His ashes will be scattered at sea.” She leaves out the part about the fireworks.
“And?”
“We would request that Your Honor permit Ms. Chavez to attend the service.”
Ward won’t hear of it. “Objection, Your Honor. Bail has been denied. There is no authority to permit such an action. There are no standards for accommodating such a request.”
“Your Honor,” Rosie says, “we aren’t challenging the court’s ruling on bail. On the other hand, in the interest of fundamental decency and fairness, we would ask you to make arrangements to accommodate this request.”
If you have no real authority, you cite fundamental decency and fairness.
“Your Honor,” Ward says, “this is an extraordinary request. It’s outside the realm of accepted procedure. We would have to make special arrangements with the police and sheriff’s deputies. Surely Your Honor cannot expect us to go to such extraordinary means.”
Judge McDaniel takes in Ward’s diatribe with measured stoicism. Then her wide mouth rearranges itself into a subdued frown. The judge turns to Angel and says, “Ms. Chavez, do you have anything to say about this?”
Angel had been staring straight at the table in front of her. She looks up at the judge and says in a cracking voice, “He was my husband, Your Honor. I want to say goodbye.”
“Are you willing to pay for the cost of police overtime to allow you to do so?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
Ward can barely contain herself. “Your Honor,” she says, “this is highly irregular. At the very least, I believe you should hear from members of the victim’s immediate family to determine whether they feel it is appropriate for the defendant to attend this memorial service.”
Judge McDaniel’s head swings back to look at Ward. She says, “Ms. Chavez is the victim’s immediate family.”
“I think we should hear from other family members—those who are not accused of murder.”
Rosie leaps back in. “Your Honor—”
Judge McDaniel holds up her hand. She looks at Ward and says, “Is there a family member available to address this issue?”
“Mr. MacArthur’s son is in the courtroom.”
Judge McDaniel ponders for a moment and says, “Well, this is unusual, but in the interest of fairness, I guess we should hear what he has to say.” She looks at the gallery and says, “Would Mr. MacArthur please identify himself?”
All eyes turn to the front row of the gallery. Little Richard stands slowly. He’s dressed in a dark suit. In a measured voice, he says, “Your Honor, in the circumstances, the MacArthur family believes it would be inappropriate to include the defendant at the memorial service. We believe it would not be respectful of my father’s memory.”
Angel leaps to her feet. She points her finger at Little Richard, who is only a couple of feet from her. “You have no right to judge me,” she hisses. “Everything you have you owe to your father. You never show
ed the slightest respect. You were just trying to get his money.”
Judge McDaniel bangs her gavel and calls for order. Young MacArthur looks at Angel and says in a tone that drips with contempt, “Everything you have you owe to my father. He found you on the street. He gave you a place to live. He gave you money and he put you in his movies. And you turned around and killed him.”
“That’s not true,” Angel cries.
Ward shouts, “Your Honor!”
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