“Fuentes wants to meet us at ten o’clock tonight. He says he may have something.”
My heart starts to beat faster, but I try to keep my hopes under control.
“I was able to obtain some information about the Shanahan, Gallagher and O’Rourke trust account,” he says. He opens a battered manila envelope and removes a printout that has some computer-generated numbers on it.
I ask him how he got it.
“Legally. You’d be amazed what you can access if you know what you’re doing. I can tell you how much Judge Tsang is worth if you’re interested.”
“That won’t be necessary. Is there anything in this report that may help us?”
“Maybe.” He points to a column of numbers toward the bottom of the first page and says, “A cashier’s check was drawn on this account on Monday, December first.”
“To whom?”
“Cash.”
Which means it could have been converted into cold, hard currency at any bank. “How much?” I ask.
“Five million bucks.”
What? “Why did they pull so much money out of the trust account?”
“My guess is that they were trying to settle the O’Connell case.”
“Maybe. Who authorized the withdrawal?”
“Shanahan.”
Chapter 52
Dirty Little Secrets
“While we anticipate that Father Aguirre will be fully exonerated, our firm’s primary loyalties lie with our good client, the San Francisco archdiocese.”
— John Shanahan. San Francisco Chronicle.
As always, John Shanahan’s appearance is one of understated elegance as he sits in uncharted territory–the witness box–at five minutes to five. Judge Tsang has made it clear that we will adjourn as soon as I’ve completed my direct exam, and my hopes for a stunning grand finale have faded. Shanahan uses the grandfatherly tone as he says, “I am the senior partner of Shanahan, Gallagher and O’Rourke. We have over three hundred lawyers in nine offices in California and other major metropolitan areas. We have been the primary outside counsel for the San Francisco archdiocese for over four decades.”
I’m impressed. “Mr. Shanahan,” I begin, “your firm is defending the archdiocese in a lawsuit alleging certain misdeeds by a priest named Father Patrick O’Connell, isn’t it?”
“Correct.”
“That lawsuit is currently on hold, isn’t it?”
Shanahan turns to Judge Tsang. “Your Honor,” he says, “we cannot comment on legal matters relating to the archdiocese without violating the attorney-client privilege.”
“You can address issues that are a matter of public record.”
“But Your Honor–”
“Answer the question, Mr. Shanahan.”
I like the show of control.
Shanahan sighs melodramatically and says, “The O’Connell case is in abeyance because the plaintiff and her attorney are no longer available.”
No kidding. “Why is that, Mr. Shanahan?”
“They’ve passed away.”
“You mean they’re dead.”
“Yes, Mr. Daley. They’re dead.”
“The plaintiff was shot to death behind the Mitchell Brothers Theater, wasn’t she?”
“That’s been reported in the papers.”
“Do you know anything about it?”
“Just what I’ve read in the papers.”
“And it’s been alleged that Ms. Concepcion was murdered.”
“That’s why we’re here, Mr. Daley.”
Yes, it is. “It’s certainly convenient for your client’s case that neither the plaintiff nor her attorney is available to testify, isn’t it?”
“It’s highly unfortunate.”
I can see that you’re heartbroken. I approach the witness box. “Mr. Shanahan,” I say, “Ms. Concepcion started her career at your law firm, didn’t she?”
“Correct.”
“Was she a good lawyer?”
“She was competent and very conscientious.”
“Did your opinion of her legal skills change after she left the firm and began initiating lawsuits against the archdiocese?”
“She was still competent and very conscientious.” He should stop right there, but he can’t resist a swipe. “For some reason,” he adds, “she decided to devote her time to bringing spurious lawsuits against the archdiocese. She was unsuccessful.”
I wouldn’t expect you to admit otherwise. “It’s been reported that Ms. Concepcion had negotiated lucrative settlements in several of those lawsuits.”
“The press exaggerates.”
I point out that Peterson and Quinn confirmed that the archdiocese settled several suits.
Shanahan holds firm. “We never lost a case to Ms. Concepcion,” he says. “It is inaccurate to state that the settlement of a couple of cases for modest sums was anything other than an attempt to avoid the costs of protracted litigation.”
He certainly has his lines down. “How did you feel about the O’Connell case?”
“Our position was very strong.”
“But the charges have not been dismissed, have they?”
“No.”
“You were at a settlement conference with Ms. Concepcion on Monday, December first, weren’t you?”
“Yes, I was.”
“And you made a settlement offer there, didn’t you?”
“It was rejected.”
“And Mr. Peterson made another settlement offer later that evening, didn’t he?”
“Also rejected.”
“If you had such a strong case, why did you try so hard to settle it?”
“Trials are fraught with uncertainty, Mr. Daley. Settlements are not.”
It isn’t a bad answer. “A moment ago you said you were certain of the outcome. Now you seem to be saying you weren’t.”
“I said we made an economic determination that we would be willing to settle for a modest amount in order to avoid the costs of litigation–nothing more.”
“And any settlement would have included an agreement in which neither the archdiocese nor Father O’Connell would have admitted any culpability, right?”
“Those are customary terms in settling civil cases.”
It’s an absolute deal-breaker in any settlement. “And the terms would have been strictly confidential, right?”
“Correct.”
“Which would have also avoided adverse publicity.”
“We take many factors into account.”
“Did you have any other contact with Ms. Concepcion?”
“No. I provided a status report to Father Quinn later the same evening. He was disappointed, but not surprised.”
“Did you speak to Archbishop Keane?”
“No. Father Quinn indicated to me that he would inform the archbishop.”
I glance at Pete, who has taken a seat next to Ramon at the defense table, then I turn back to Shanahan and say, “Your law firm maintains a client trust account, doesn’t it?”
I catch a slight twitch in the corner of his mouth. “It’s required by law, Mr. Daley.”
“Can you explain its purpose?”
McNulty is up. “Objection, Your Honor. Relevance.”
The judge gives me an inquisitive look and I say, “I’ll tie this together in the next two minutes, and I promise this is the last subject on my list of questions for today.”
“Overruled.”
Shanahan folds his arms and lectures. “It’s a bank account maintained by our firm to hold funds in trust on behalf of our clients. We are frequently asked to advance filing fees, court costs and other expenses. On rare occasions, we hold advances of our legal fees.”
“Sometimes you hold larger amounts to expedite the payment of settlements, don’t you?”
“From time to time, it’s easier to facilitate the mechanics of a closing or a settlement if all funds are placed in our trust account.”
“You have several sub-accounts for the archdiocese, don’t you
?”
“It facilitates bookkeeping. Many of our clients ask us to provide detailed reports on advances and expense reimbursements.”
McNulty finally runs out of patience. “Your Honor,” he says, “this line of questioning is highly educational and very interesting, but I still fail to see the relevance.”
Judge Tsang gives me a stern look and says, “I’m going to give you one more minute to show some relevance, Mr. Daley.”
“Yes, Your Honor.” I turn to Rosie, who hands me four copies of the account information Pete obtained, and I distribute them to the judge, McNulty and Shanahan. “Your Honor,” I say, “the defense would like to introduce this bank account information into evidence.” He studies the paperwork as I keep talking. “This document shows the transactions in a sub-account maintained by Mr. Shanahan’s law firm on behalf of the archdiocese.”
McNulty reacts immediately. “Where did you get this?”
“An information service that may be accessed over the Internet by payment of a fee. Our private investigator would be happy to provide details if necessary.”
In reality, the only people who should have any objection are Shanahan and Quinn. McNulty sits down and mutters, “No objection, Your Honor.”
All eyes turn to Shanahan, who recognizes that his firm’s trust account records will be on the front page of the Chronicle in the morning. The experienced spin doctor makes the correct call. “Your Honor,” he says, “our firm has nothing to hide and we have no objection if Mr. Daley wishes to have this document admitted into evidence. We’re prepared to confirm that it shows transactions in a sub-account that we maintain on behalf of the archdiocese.”
Either he truly has nothing to hide or he doesn’t want to look evasive. I notice a wry grin on Edwards’s face. The judge enters the document into evidence, and I turn back to Shanahan and ask him to describe the purpose of the sub-account.
“It was established to facilitate payment of miscellaneous expenses.”
“Sort of a slush fund for contingencies?”
He repeats, “It was established to facilitate payment of miscellaneous expenses.”
“Do you have any other secret accounts to settle matters for the archdiocese?”
“If it were a secret, Mr. Daley, I wouldn’t be discussing it with you, and I can assure you that Father Quinn is well-aware of its existence. In fact, he’s the only person who can authorize deposits into the account.”
Probably true. “And what is the current balance of that account?”
He puts on his reading glasses and studies the statement. “About twenty-five thousand dollars,” he says.
“Is that generally the balance maintained in the account?”
“More or less.”
“Mr. Shanahan,” I say, “this document indicates that five million dollars was moved into this account on Friday, November twenty-eighth, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“It appears the same amount was withdrawn from this account on the afternoon of Monday, December first, in the form of a cashier’s check made payable to cash.”
“Correct.”
“The same amount was re-deposited into the account the following day, and the funds were moved to another sub-account the same day.”
“That’s also correct.”
It confirms that a big chunk of money was moved around his firm’s trust account for a couple of days, but tells us nothing else. I ask, “Who has signature authority over this account?”
“I do. So does my partner, Dennis Peterson.”
“Did you or Mr. Peterson authorize the five-million-dollar withdrawal?”
“I did.”
“A cashier’s check made payable to cash is essentially the same as cash, right?”
“It will be honored by any bank in readily available funds.”
“Would you mind explaining why you decided it was necessary to have such a large amount of cash on hand?”
“We were in the process of trying to resolve several matters and we wanted to be sure we had sufficient funds to cover all contingencies.”
“Including a settlement with Ms. Concepcion on the O’Connell case?”
“I can’t comment on any specific case.”
“Does that mean you were prepared to offer up to five million dollars to settle the O’Connell case?”
“I told you I can’t comment on any specific case. I am prepared to say we wanted to have enough cash on hand to handle any contingencies that arose at the time, which may have included the O’Connell case.”
Sure. “You were sitting around in your conference room at the Russ Building with a readily-negotiable document worth five million bucks?”
“It was in our safe deposit box at the bank.”
“And it’s purely coincidental that the money was withdrawn from your account just before the start of the O’Connell case and re-deposited immediately after Ms. Concepcion’s death?”
“Yes, Mr. Daley, and I resent any suggestion that the transfer of these funds was in any way related to Ms. Concepcion’s death.”
I push him, but I can’t prove anything beyond the fact that there was a significant withdrawal and redeposit of cash around the time Concepcion died. I ask, “Did you have any further conversations with Ms. Concepcion that night?”
“No.”
“Did you go to her apartment that night with the financial equivalent of a briefcase full of bills to try to persuade her to settle the O’Connell case?”
“Of course not.”
“Did you use the money from your slush fund to try to fix a matter that still promises to be highly embarrassing and potentially very expensive for the archdiocese?”
“No, Mr. Daley.”
I still can’t place him in the vicinity of Concepcion’s apartment. “Are there any other dirty little secrets relating to the O’Connell case that you’d like to share with us?”
“Objection, Your Honor. Argumentative.”
“Sustained.”
“No further questions.”
Judge Tsang looks at the clock and says, “We’re adjourned until nine A.M. How many witnesses do you plan to call, Mr. Daley?”
Time to up the ante again. “Just one, Your Honor. The archbishop of San Francisco.”
# # #
Rosie is furious when we meet in the consultation room a short time later. “That was complete bullshit,” she says. “Senior partners at big law firms don’t have unfettered access to that kind of money.”
“Evidently, this one did,” I say.
“He’s lying,” Rosie says. “Anybody with half a brain would realize they were going to use the money to try to settle the O’Connell case or to buy off Concepcion.”
“We have no proof,” I say. “A cashier’s check isn’t a smoking gun.”
“It’s the equivalent of five million dollars of unmarked bills.”
Pete’s tone turns practical. “We still need to place somebody else at Concepcion’s apartment that night.”
“Then that’s precisely what we’ll have to do.”
# # #
The green numerals on the digital clock on my dashboard indicate that it’s nine P.M. Rosie and I are driving toward the Mission when I punch the familiar number on my cell phone and Roosevelt picks up on the first ring. “What’s up, Mike?” he asks.
“How did you know it was me?” I ask.
“Spy phone.”
“I have an unlisted number.”
“I have a really good spy phone.”
Sometimes it’s fun to be a cop.
His voice is tired and he cuts to the chase. “What do you need?” he asks.
“To see if you’re prepared to exercise some degree of rationality and reopen the investigation in the Concepcion case.”
“You need more rest, Mike.”
“I won’t get it until Tommy is in high school.”
“The issues become more complicated when they become teenagers.”
“Something t
o look forward to. Have you made any progress on Doe’s murder?”
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