Levin continues to flip through the penal code. Without looking up, he says, "Mr. Daley, let me give you some advice. I realize you haven't been in my courtroom in a while. When I hear the words ‘With all due respect, Your Honor,’ I interpret them to mean, ‘You doddering old fool, Your Honor.’ Now, let's try to come up with some authority on this subject, okay?"
Touchy, aren't we? Before I can respond, for some inexplicable reason, Skipper starts talking. He's prepared a speech and he's going to make it. "Your Honor," he says, "the defendant is, in fact, a flight risk. The weekend before he was arrested, he and his wife left town."
"One moment, Your Honor," I say. I turn to Joel. He whispers that he and Naomi did, in fact, drive up to Mendocino the weekend before he was arrested. He says they needed time to talk. "Your Honor," I say, "Mr. Friedman and his wife took a drive up the coast for a day. That hardly constitutes flight. He wasn't a suspect at the time."
Levin isn't listening. He looks at Skipper. "Mr. Gates, isn't there some statutory authority?"
Skipper shrugs and turns to McNulty, who stands and says, "Your Honor, Section twelve-seventy-five point five of the penal code says ‘a defendant charged with a capital offense punishable by death cannot be admitted to bail when the proof of his guilt is evident or the presumption of guilt is great.’ " McNulty recites the code section from memory. Impressive.
Levin looks pleased and he nods. "That's it. I knew there was something on this."
"But, Your Honor," I say, "this is not a capital offense." At least not yet. "The proof of guilt is not evident and the presumption of guilt is not great in this case." I can recite penal code sections, too.
He looks skeptical. "Mr. Daley," he says, "we can argue all day about whether the proof is evident and the presumption is great. I'm not going to take the court's time for that."
I see what's coming. "Your Honor," I begin.
He cuts me off. "Mr. Daley, the law is clear. The proof is evident enough for me."
And you have an early tee-off time. He's about to pound his gavel when I hear a distinctive nasal voice from behind me. "Your Honor, may it please the court."
What the hell? Mort is walking through the gate into the well of the courtroom. Levin smiles. "Why, Mor—Mr. Goldberg," says Levin, "we haven't seen you in this court in some time."
"Thank you, Your Honor. It's nice to see you." This is a truly touching reunion. I'm waiting for Mort to ask Levin about his grandchildren.
"Your Honor," I interrupt, "may I have a moment with Mr. Goldberg?"
Levin casts a stern glance at me. "You've got one minute, Mr. Daley."
I pull Mort aside. I whisper, "What the hell are you doing? He was just about to rule."
"He was about to rule against you. I think I can help."
"I don't think it's a good idea."
"I know this guy. We go to the same temple. Besides, you got any better ideas?"
I pause. He's probably right. "You think you can pull a rabbit out?"
"Watch me." He turns back to the judge. "Your Honor, I have just been retained as special counsel to Mr. Friedman. I must confess I haven't read the entire file yet."
And I'm reasonably sure you never will.
"Rather than ask you for a continuance," he says, "I have a suggestion as to how the bail issue might be resolved."
Levin looks at me. I look at Joel. Joel looks at his father. "Any objections?" Levin asks.
"Uh, no, Your Honor. I will defer to my colleague, Mr. Goldberg." God help us.
Levin looks interested. "Go on, Mor—I mean, Mr. Goldberg."
"Your Honor," Mort begins, "I understand your concern about bail. The charges are serious."
Skipper is speechless. McNulty stares straight ahead.
"Nevertheless, Your Honor," Mort continues, "I have a creative solution that will ease your concern. I know Your Honor is acquainted with Mr. Friedman's father, Rabbi Neil Friedman, of Temple Beth Sholom."
"Yes," says Levin.
"I would propose, subject to your approval, of course, that bail be set for Mr. Friedman, subject to his agreement to remain at all times in the house of Rabbi Friedman, except when he has to be in court. And we would, of course, expect Your Honor to require a fairly substantial bail."
Levin scowls. He looks at Rabbi Friedman in the gallery. He addresses him directly. "Rabbi, is this acceptable to you?"
"Yes, Your Honor."
Skipper leaps up. "This is highly unusual. The people respect Rabbi Friedman, but it's highly unusual for a defendant to be placed in the custody of his own father. Highly unusual."
You're right, Skipper. It's highly unusual.
Levin ponders. He turns to me. "Is this arrangement acceptable to you, Mr. Daley?"
No. I'd rather let Joel stay with his cellmate the pimp. I glance at Joel. "It's acceptable to us, Your Honor."
"Well, it's highly unusual. On the other hand, this court greatly respects Rabbi Friedman. Bail is set at a million dollars. The defendant will be released to the custody of Rabbi Friedman. He is to remain at Rabbi Friedman's house except to appear in court. He may have visits from his attorneys and immediate family only. That's it. We're adjourned."
Levin pounds his gavel. Joel turns to me. "Am I out?"
"Yeah. We need to post bail. And you have to stay at your dad's house."
"It's better than the place I've stayed the last few nights."
Mort taps me on the shoulder. "So, what did you think of that one?"
"Pretty smooth."
"It helps when the judge is on the board of directors at the temple." Mort walks toward Rabbi Friedman. I hear him say he's willing to have the temple building pledged as collateral for Joel's bond.
I glance at Rosie. She's pleased. As we walk out, she whispers, "Do you think we can find a trial judge who's on the temple board of directors, too?"
15
THE DREAM TEAM
"Hiring Mort Goldberg was brilliant. They should put him in charge."
—NEWSCENTER 4 LEGAL ANALYST MORGAN HENDERSON. TUESDAY, JANUARY 13.
"It's nice to see the TV stations have been able to rehire their legal analysts from the O.J. trial to give us some helpful suggestions." I'm eating a bagel and talking to Joel as we sit in the heavy wooden chairs in his father's dining room at nine o'clock the next morning. Mort nibbles on a sweet roll. Rosie sips a Diet Coke. I don't know how she can drink soda this early. Pete stands next to Mort. He hates meetings.
I look around the table. It's a tough crowd. Mort is a first-rate prima donna. Rosie runs her own cases. Pete works solo. Rabbi Friedman is used to having everybody listen to him. Joel makes all the important calls on his deals. Not exactly a roomful of team players.
Showtime. "Let's get started," I say. "I'd like to welcome the Dream Team. We have only a week until the preliminary hearing and we have a lot of work to do."
Rosie grins. "Which one are you, Mike? Cochran or Shapiro? Does that make Skipper Marcia Clark? He'd look good in a dress."
"Enough of that," Rabbi Friedman snaps. We turn toward him. He lowers his voice. "I'd like to thank Mort for his contribution at the arraignment yesterday."
Silence. Mort smiles uncomfortably and waves his unlit cigar. "It was nothing," he says.
All eyes turn toward me. I hand out copies of the first police reports. "I want you to study these. We should have the coroner's report later today." I summarize the evidence. The fingerprints on the gun and the computer keyboard. The taped phone messages. The fight at Harrington's. The argument in Bob's office. The allegations of an affair. Diana's pregnancy.
Rabbi Friedman cringes.
"Our mission is simple," I say. "If we're going to get the charges dropped at the prelim, we have to get a lot of information in a hurry. They have a week to show they have enough evidence to hold Joel over for trial. We have a week to show they don't.
"I want to find out as much as we can about Bob and Diana. We need to find their friends and relatives. We need to talk to the
people at S and G. We have to get a copy of Bob's will and look at his investments. He probably had life insurance."
I turn to Mort. "I'd like your help with legal issues, motions and strategy. We should try to get our hands on every piece of evidence before the prelim."
Mort is pleased. "I guess that makes me Alan Dershowitz."
Rabbi Friedman rolls his eyes. "For better or for worse."
Pete looks at me. It's like looking in a mirror. He's a little shorter, stockier than I am, and he has a neatly trimmed mustache. His hair is darker. Otherwise, we could be twins. "Where do you want me to start?" he asks.
"I want you to look at the physical evidence and the forensics. I want you to look for holes in the police report and the coroner's report." It's nice to have an ex-cop on the team. "And I want you to figure out what happened to Vince Russo." I pause. "And, I have something special planned for you. I need you to figure out who was sleeping with whom—and when."
The corners of Pete's mouth turn up slightly. "Sounds like it's right up my alley."
"I want you to look into Bob's personal life. I want you to see what Bob's widow is up to. And there are some other people I'd like you to watch. They're pretty high up in San Francisco society, so you'll have to be discreet. I want you to tail Arthur Patton."
"I like it. What do you want me to look for?"
"The usual. He's in the middle of an ugly divorce. See if he's shtupping anybody. Evidently, he's had some problems keeping his pants on. And he may have sexually harassed Diana Kennedy."
Mort interrupts. "Pete," he says, "if you need some help, I have the name of a couple of PIs that I've used over the years. They're very good."
Pete looks at me. "Mort," I say, "Pete has his own people. He'll be all right."
"Look," Mort says, "I wasn't suggesting that Pete isn't up to it. I was just trying to help."
Before I can answer, Pete stares him down and says, "If I need help, I'll let you know."
Mort shrugs at Rabbi Friedman.
Joel asks, "What can I do?"
"I want you to make a list of everything you saw and everyone who was there."
"I'm on it. I'll have it for you right away."
"One other thing. I want you to get on your laptop and start looking at the corporate filings in every state you think Vince Russo had business. Maybe we can find him, if he's still alive. Or maybe we can figure out what happened to him."
"Do we need to worry about the attorney-client privilege for Russo?"
It's a legitimate legal point. He's not supposed to divulge the deep dark secrets of his client. The correct legal answer, therefore, is yes. The practical answer, of course, is no. I'll take anything that may help us. "I don't want you to do anything illegal. On the other hand, try to get everything you can. Russo isn't doing you any favors."
"The prelim is before Judge Brown," Mort says. "He's a law school classmate of mine. Kenny and I play cards together at the Concordia Club. It seems to me that it may make sense for me to take a leading role."
Silence. I look around the room. Rabbi Friedman is nodding-
"Mort," I say slowly, "I appreciated your efforts at the arraignment yesterday. But I'm the person most familiar with the evidence. I'll take the lead in the prelim."
Rabbi Friedman frowns. Mort looks at his unlit cigar. "It was just a suggestion."
I glance at Rosie. Then I turn to Mort. "Let's get one thing straight here, Mort. I'll make the final calls on strategy. Do you understand?"
"Yes, I do," he says quietly.
I dart a glance at Rabbi Friedman. I look at Mort. "Listen," I say, "it may make sense for you to argue some of the prehearing motions. Think you're up to it?"
"Sure, Mike. You're the boss."
"Let's get to work," I say.
I'm driving Mort toward downtown on Bush Street in the pouring rain later the same morning. "Do you think we can get this knocked out at the prelim?" he asks.
"It's going to be tough."
He looks at the raindrops hitting my windshield. "So the girl was pregnant."
So much for political correctness. "Yeah."
"You know who the father is?" For all his idiosyncracies, at least he doesn't pull punches.
"Not yet."
"You thinking what I'm thinking?"
"Depends. What are you thinking?"
"If Joel is the father, we're fucked. We'll know in a few weeks. He told the cops he never slept with her. If it turns out he's the father, he lied to us and he lied to the cops. The jury will nail him."
He may be a pleader, but he has good instincts. He cuts right to it.
"Just between us," he continues, "what do you think the chances are that he did it? You know—jealous rage. You've seen it a thousand times."
"NFL, Mort. Not fucking likely. He's just not the type."
"How well do you know him?"
"Very well."
"Well, hypothetically, let's suppose he's not quite the Boy Scout you think he is. You suppose it might be a good idea to see what our new DA has up his sleeve?"
His true colors are coming out. "You can't seriously be thinking about a plea," I say. "It's way too early. We've had the case for just a few days."
"I know how these guys think. New DA. First big case. Doesn't want to fuck up. Doesn't know what he's doing. That's why McNasty's there to hold his hand. If he can get a guilty plea, he's golden. It's instant political capital. He can say he caught the bad guy and saved the city a ton of money in trial costs. In a few weeks, nobody will remember the plea. They'll just remember the case was solved."
You lazy sack of shit. "I respect your instincts, Mort, but you're way off the mark. I know this guy. He didn't do it. We're going to get this thing knocked out. Or we're going to beat them at trial."
He gives me a knowing grin. "I figured you'd say that. I'm not saying he did it. I'm just saying we should look at all our options. I've been doing this for a long time. There are good times and bad times to talk to the DA. For what it's worth, I think now is a good time."
I can't tell if he's exercising cautious judgment or if he's a tired old man who's lost his nerve. "It's too soon to talk about a plea, Mort," I say again.
"Whatever you say," he replies. "Would it change your thinking if I told you things haven't always been so great between Joel and Naomi?"
Huh? "What are you talking about?"
"You know I'm tight with Joel's dad. Joel and Naomi have had some problems."
"What kind of problems?"
"She had postpartum depression after the kids were born. She's still going through it."
"Their kids are six years old. Nobody has postpartum for six years."
The rain pounds my windshield. "Well, she did. They spent about thirty thousand bucks last year on shrinks. That's one of the reasons Joel wanted to make partner—he needs the money."
I pause to let this sink in. "Rabbi Friedman told you this?"
"Yeah. In fact, a few years ago, he asked me to recommend a doctor for her."
I watch my windshield wipers swish back and forth as I stop at the corner of Bush and Montgomery to let him out. "What are you saying?"
"I wouldn't rule out the possibility that Joel may have had some extramarital relations."
Bullshit. No way. "What makes you think so?"
"It's like President Clinton. Sometimes, a guy's just got to have it. And I'll bet you anything for the last six years she hasn't been giving it to him very often."
The gospel according to the great philosopher, Mort Goldberg.
"What would you suggest?" I snap. I'm trying to remain calm.
"I think we ought to feel out the DA." He opens the door.
"We aren't going to consider a plea until we investigate."
He reaches for his umbrella. "You're the boss. But, if we don't get somebody else to confess by Tuesday, they've got enough to bump this case over for trial."
There's a visitor sitting in my office when I get back at eleven o'clock. "Hi
, Mike." Naomi looks embarrassed. "I know I should have made an appointment." She's wearing jeans and a plain white cotton blouse, no makeup. Her eyes look sad.
"You can come see me anytime." I offer her a drink. She asks for a glass of water.
She smiles uncomfortably. "I wanted to talk to you for a few minutes."
"Sure." I don't know why she's here. I figure I'll start slowly. "How are the kids?"
"They're okay, all things considered. It was difficult at school yesterday, but they're more resilient than we think. In some respects, they're more resilient than the grown-ups."
"That's for sure." I look at her closely. Her voice is tentative. "How are you holding up?"
She closes her eyes and slowly opens them. "Fair," she says.
"Understandable." I collect my thoughts. "Naomi, why did you come to see me?"
She looks at her fingernails. "I wanted to see if there's anything I can do to help."
"There is. I need you to take care of the kids. And yourself And I need you to support Joel. The next few months may not be easy."
"I figured that much already. I'm not sure I'm up to it."
"You are. You're tougher than you think."
"I hope so."
I look directly into the eyes of this decent young woman whose life has been turned upside down through no fault of her own. "Why did you really come here, Naomi?"
Her lips form a tight, thin line across her face. "There are a few things I think you should know." She pauses. "Joel doesn't know I'm here. Do you have to tell him I came to see you?"
"Not if you don't want me to." Actually, if she tells me something that will impact the case, I probably have a legal duty to tell Joel. We'll see. "What is it?"
She folds her hands. "This isn't easy to talk about."
"Take your time."
She takes a drink of water. "We've had some problems the last few years. Things haven't always been so good between us. And when you're the rabbi's son, you don't talk about your problems. You figure everybody at the temple will find out."
"I can relate. My dad was a cop. When other kids got in trouble, it wasn't a big deal. When I got sent home from school, word always seemed to get out that Officer Daley's son got in trouble."
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