MD01 - Special Circumstances

by Sheldon Siegel

  "Objection. Speculative."

  "Overruled."

  Chuckles shakes his head. "I was with Officer Chinn in the lobby for only a few moments. I don't see how Mr. Friedman could have unloaded the gun so quickly."

  I look at the revolver. "Mr. Stern, you were in the military service, weren't you?"

  "Objection. Relevance."

  "Your Honor, Mr. Stern has expressed an opinion as to how fast this particular weapon could have been unloaded. His background and experience with weapons is relevant."

  "Overruled."

  Chuckles pinches the bridge of his nose. "I was in the Marines."

  "And you're familiar with firearms, aren't you? In fact, you've shot this weapon, haven't you?"

  He adjusts the microphone. "Yes. Mr. Holmes and I went to the range from time to time."

  "And you've unloaded this weapon at the range, haven't you?"

  He scratches the back of his head. "Yes."

  "How long did it take you to unload it?" I emphasize the word "you" as I say it.

  "A few seconds."

  "And it took you more than a few seconds to meet with Officer Chinn, didn't it?"

  "Yes," he says grudgingly.

  "Mr. Stern, you knew Mr. Holmes kept this revolver at his desk, didn't you?"

  "Yes," he replies. "For self-protection, I might add."

  Of course. "And he kept it loaded, didn't he?"

  Heavy sigh. "Yes, he did."

  "No further questions."

  During the recess, I ask Joel when he unloaded the gun.

  "Right after we walked in," he replies. "He saw me do it. He's lying."

  "Did anybody else see you?"

  "No. We were the only people there."

  "Why would he lie?"

  "I have no idea. Maybe he has something to hide."

  "The people call Arthur Patton," Skipper announces forcefully later that morning.

  Patton lugs his chins through the courtroom. He smiles at the jury as he's sworn in. He says he's the managing partner at S&G. He confirms he was there on the fatal night.

  "Did you have occasion to see the defendant late that evening?" Skipper asks.

  "Yes." The avuncular Art has joined us today. His tone is sincere, meant to charm. "I saw him in the hall around twelve-thirty in the morning. He was walking into Bob's office."

  "Could you describe his demeanor?"

  "He was very upset." He describes his brief conversation with Joel. He looks toward the jury and scowls. "That's when he started shouting at Bob."

  "Do you know what he was shouting about?"

  "I believe he was expressing his unhappiness about the fact that Bob hadn't told him that the vote for his election to the partnership had been deferred." He pauses. "And I believe they were arguing about Ms. Kennedy. I heard her name mentioned several times."

  "Mr. Patton, were you at the firm retreat at the Silverado Country Club last October?"

  "Yes."

  "And did you have an opportunity to see Mr. Friedman at about three o'clock in the morning on Saturday, October twenty-fifth?"

  "Yes. He was in his condominium."

  "Why did you have occasion to see him in the middle of the night?"

  "There was a loud noise coming from his room. I wanted to make sure he was all right."

  Skipper hides a smirk. "Was he alone?"

  "No. There was somebody else in his room."

  "And who was in his room at three o'clock in the morning?"

  "Diana Kennedy."

  "No further questions."

  "Mr. Patton," I begin a few minutes later, "what time did you go home on the morning of December thirty-first?"

  "Objection. Relevance."

  "Overruled."

  "Around one-thirty in the morning," he replies.

  "And you heard a discussion between Mr. Holmes and Mr. Friedman?"

  "It was an argument. It lasted a few minutes. I heard most of it."

  "Was the door to Mr. Holmes's office open or closed?"

  He looks up toward the American flag. "Closed."

  "You stood outside the closed door and eavesdropped on their conversation?"

  He takes a drink of water and chews on the ice. "I wanted to help my partner. Mr. Friedman was quite upset."

  Sure. "Of course, for all you know, they could have been arguing about work."

  "I don't think so," he says with disdain.

  "But you aren't sure."

  He looks right at me. "I'm sure," he says with authority.

  "Let's talk about the incident at Silverado."

  His eyes brighten. Skipper looks eager.

  "Mr. Patton," I say, "there was a party earlier that evening in your room, wasn't there?"

  Skipper's no longer happy. "Yes," Art says curtly.

  "And Ms. Kennedy was at that party, wasn't she?"

  "Yes." His eyes dart. He looks over my left shoulder.

  "Isn't it true, Mr. Patton, that you accosted Ms. Kennedy at the party?"

  He tries to look indignant. "Absolutely not."

  "Isn't it true that you followed her to her room and attacked her?"

  He sits up taller in his chair. "I did not."

  He sounds just like my daughter. "Isn't it true she went to Mr. Friedman for protection?"

  He squints through his tiny spectacles. He points a menacing finger at me. "That's a lie."

  "We'll see about that, Mr. Patton. No further questions."

  A few minutes later, Skipper calls another old friend. Brent Hutchinson slithers to the front of the courtroom, a smarmy grin plastered on his pretty face. His golden hair glows. Whenever I see him, I want to punch his lights out.

  "Mr. Hutchinson," Skipper says, "we've known each other for some time, haven't we?"

  "We were partners at Simpson and Gates. I still work there." He looks like a cocker spaniel who wants to be petted.

  "Mr. Hutchinson, you have a nickname around the firm, don't you?"

  "Most people call me Hutch."

  He sounds like Forrest Gump. Makes me sick.

  "Would you mind if I call you Hutch today?"

  "Sure." His grin widens. All this male bonding turns my stomach.

  "Now, Hutch, you attended the firm retreat at Silverado in October of last year, didn't you?"

  His eyes light up. "Yes. We have our retreat there every year. It's a great time."

  "I know. Could you tell us a little bit about what happens at these retreats?"

  "Objection. Relevance." This love-fest has to stop. Hutch is actually very likable on the stand—if you're into handsome airheads.

  "Overruled."

  "We have attorney meetings and social events. We play some golf and tennis."

  "Did you attend a social gathering in the cocktail lounge at the main house at Silverado at approximately nine o'clock in the evening of Friday, October twenty-fourth?"

  "Yes."

  "And were Diana Kennedy and the defendant also there?"

  "Yes."

  "Would you mind describing what happened as Ms. Kennedy was leaving the party?"

  He turns toward the jury and shows them his most sincere expression. "Joel was sitting at a table near the door. Diana was at the bar. She walked toward the door. As she passed Joel, she stopped, leaned over and kissed him." He smiles. Good Hutch.

  I look at Naomi. She stares at the floor. Joel doesn't move.

  "Did she kiss the defendant on the mouth?"

  "Yes."

  "Did she kiss him hard?"

  "Objection. The witness has no personal knowledge of the intensity of the kiss."

  "Overruled."

  "It looked pretty hard to me," Hutch says.

  A few snickers from the gallery. Judge Chen pounds her gavel.

  "Hutch," Skipper says, "did the kiss appear to you to be a romantic one?"

  "Objection, Your Honor. Speculative."

  "Sustained."

  Skipper gives the jury a conspiratorial wink. "Did it appear to you that the d
efendant was enjoying himself when she kissed him?"

  "Objection. State of mind."

  "Your Honor," Skipper says, "I'm not asking Mr. Hutchinson to make a determination as to whether he thought Mr. Friedman actually enjoyed the kiss. I'm simply asking him to describe it."

  "Nice try, Mr. Gates," she snaps. "The objection is sustained. Move on."

  "Hutch, did you also see the defendant and Ms. Kennedy in a hot tub the next day?"

  "Yes."

  "And would you mind telling us what they were doing?"

  "They were kissing."

  Skipper turns toward the jury, his eyes wide. "They were kissing again? Could you describe how Ms. Kennedy was dressed?"

  "She was wearing a bikini, but the top was unfastened."

  Murmurs in the back of the courtroom. Judge Chen slams her gavel.

  "Hutch," Skipper says, "was it a hard kiss?"

  "Yes."

  "And did it appear to you that the defendant was, for lack of a better term, kissing her back?"

  "Absolutely."

  "And how long did this go on?"

  "About a minute. Then I thought it would be best if I moved on."

  How sensitive.

  "I see." He looks at the jury, then back at Hutch. "Did you see Ms. Kennedy and the defendant together at any other time during the retreat?"

  "Later that evening, I saw them sitting in the same hot tub. I'm pretty sure they were both naked. However, it was dark and I was on my way back to my room. This time, I didn't stop."

  "No further questions."

  "Mr. Hutchinson," I begin, "we've known each other for a long time, too, haven't we?"

  "Yes." His teeth gleam when he smiles. "We used to be partners, too."

  "And you have another nickname around the firm, don't you?"

  The smile disappears. "I'm not sure what you're talking about, Mr. Daley."

  "Well, most people call you Hutch. But some people call you something else, don't they?"

  He looks around the courtroom. "Yes."

  "And what's your other nickname, Mr. Hutchinson?"

  "The Party Guy," he says quietly.

  I make my voice go up a half octave. "The Party Guy?" I grin. "Could you please tell us why they call you the Party Guy?"

  He smiles sheepishly. "I guess it's because I like to party, Mr. Daley."

  "Were you partying the night you saw Ms. Kennedy kiss Mr. Friedman at the bar?"

  "I guess you could say that."

  "And did you have a glass of wine or two that night?"

  "Probably."

  "How many glasses of wine?"

  "Several."

  "More than two?"

  "Probably."

  "More than three?"

  "Maybe."

  "Enough so that you wouldn't have gotten behind the wheel of a car that night?"

  "Yeah."

  "So, when you saw Ms. Kennedy kiss Mr. Friedman, you may have been intoxicated."

  "I don't think so."

  "You had at least four glasses of wine. Your memory of that night may be a little cloudy."

  "Maybe."

  "Now, let's talk about the incident on Saturday afternoon where you saw Ms. Kennedy and Mr. Friedman in the hot tub. Could you tell us where the hot tub was located?"

  "Near one of the pools at Silverado."

  "And you just happened to be walking by the pool?"

  "Yes."

  "And you walked right by the hot tub and you saw Ms. Kennedy kissing Mr. Friedman?"

  "Not exactly. I was walking down a path that leads to the golf course."

  "How far was the path from the pool?"

  "I'm not sure."

  "Ballpark figure, Mr. Hutchinson. Fifty feet? A hundred feet? The length of a football field?"

  He darts a glance at Skipper. "Maybe the length of a football field."

  "Really? From a hundred yards, you were able to see Mr. Friedman and Ms. Kennedy kissing?"

  "Yes."

  "And you're sure the top of Ms. Kennedy's bikini had been unfastened?"

  "Yes. I'm sure."

  "You must have really good eyes, Mr. Hutchinson."

  "Objection. Move to strike."

  "The jury will ignore Mr. Daley's remark."

  I leave it at that. "I don't suppose you were standing in the same place when you saw them in the hot tub later that night."

  "As a matter of fact, I was standing in almost the same place."

  "I see. So, late at night, from a hundred yards away, you were able to identify Mr. Friedman and Ms. Kennedy in the hot tub. You were also able to determine that they were kissing. And you were able to determine that they were naked. Is that about it?"

  "Yes."

  "Did they get out of the hot tub?"

  "No."

  "Were the jets on?"

  "I think so."

  "Weren't there bubbles in the hot tub?"

  He's starting to look a little older now. I can see the lines on his forehead. "Probably."

  I look at the jury. "If it was night and they didn't get out and the jets were on and there were bubbles in the hot tub, how in the world were you able to determine that they were both naked?"

  He takes a deep breath. "I saw them. I could tell."

  It's his story, and he's sticking to it. "Mr. Hutchinson," I say, "you realize that what you've just told us is utterly preposterous, don't you?"

  "Objection."

  "Sustained."

  I look directly at Hutch. "No further questions. Next he'll say he saw them in a hot tub while he was flying over Silverado in a hot-air balloon." I get a few chuckles.

  Judge Chen pounds her gavel. "Enough. The jury will disregard Mr. Daley's last remark."

  At eight o'clock the same night, I'm at my mom's house meeting with Pete. Mom's having one of her not-so-good nights. We sit at the dining-room table. She clears Pete's plate and says to me, "You didn't finish all your carrots, Tommy. No dessert until you do."

  "I will, Mama. Right away."

  She walks into the kitchen. Pete shrugs. "She'll be back in a few minutes. Sometimes she spends a little while in the fifties. Then she comes back."

  "It's getting worse, isn't it?"

  "Yeah."

  "Look, Pete, if we need to get you some help…"

  "Not yet." He coughs. "Not yet." He takes a drink of water. "How did things go at court today?"

  "Not great."

  He cuts himself a piece of French bread. "So I gather."

  I finish my carrots. "Have you found anything else on Russo?"

  "The trail goes cold at the international terminal at SFO. One person said she thought he might have gone to Hong Kong, but nobody on the flight crew recognized his picture. If he's flying on a fake passport, it's going to be tough to find him."

  "Shit."

  "We may not be the only people looking for him. He had some coinvestors from Saudi on a few deals. They aren't real happy that he disappeared. They're looking for him, too. We haven't found anything else, though."

  "What about the banker in the Bahamas?"

  "Still in Kuwait. Longer than expected—he won't be back for another couple of weeks. Wendy and I are going to pay him a visit as soon as he is."

  "Good." I pause. "Has Wendy been helpful?"

  "Yeah. She's great." He looks at the picture of my dead brother Tommy in his Cal football uniform, frozen in time at the age of twenty. Pete and Tommy look almost identical, except Tommy was taller and Pete has a mustache. "Mike, is she, well, seeing anybody?"

  Unlike Rosie, who is all too familiar with my crush on Wendy, Pete doesn't have a clue. Let's just say it never came up in conversation. I'd like to tell him he's out of luck and that I have dibs. Instead, I say, "I don't think so."

  "Do you think she'd have any interest?"

  "I'm not sure. She's been divorced a couple of times."

  His eyes dart.

  SPECIAL CIRCUMSTANCES 349

  "Then again," I say, "you'll never know if you don't ask.
" I decide to change the subject. "Did you get anything from Nick Hanson on the mystery woman at the Fairmont?"

  "He hasn't been able to ID her. The people at the Fairmont couldn't, either."

  We keep coming up empty. "Did Nick think it was Diana?"

  "He was pretty sure it wasn't. The woman had longer hair. Nick's real good on details like that. He thought it might have been a hooker."

  "Does he have any ideas?"

  "Just one. But he said it was just a wag."

  "A wag?"

  "Yeah. W-A-G. Wild-ass guess. Guess who was making an appearance at the Fairmont that night?"

  "The mayor?"

  "Get serious. Somebody more famous."

  "Come on, Pete, I'm tired."

  "Dr. Kathy Chandler."

  I sit back in my chair. "You don't really think? No. It couldn't."

  He smiles. "We shouldn't jump to any conclusions. I did some checking on Dr. Kathy. She's very single. She's had a little trouble with long-term relationships. She fits the description."

  "But is there any real evidence she was with Bob that night?"

  "Nope. Like I said. It's just Nick's wild-ass guess."

  At the moment, Nick the Dick's wild-ass guess is the only lead we have.

  37

  "AND WAS YOUR MARRIAGE A HAPPY ONE?"

  "In what promises to be an emotional moment, the widow of Robert Holmes will take the stand today."

  —NEWSCENTER 4 LEGAL ANALYST MORGAN HENDERSON. THURSDAY, MARCH 26.

  The next morning is a Thursday. Skipper calls Beth Holmes to the stand. In lieu of her customary gray business suit, she's wearing a light blue dress with a tiny gold chain and a small brooch. Today, she'll be playing the role of grieving widow instead of legal barracuda. "My name is Elizabeth Barnes Holmes," she says after she's sworn in. "Robert Holmes was my husband."

  Skipper has set up the pictures of Bob and Diana in front of the jury. It's contrived, but he's going to play to their heartstrings today.

  "How long were you and Bob married?" Using his first name is a nice touch.

  "Five and a half years." Skipper has her describe how she and Bob met, the children, the vacations to the Italian Riviera and the mansion in Presidio Terrace. The idyllic power marriage between power partners at power law firms. She doesn't mention her divorce from Art Patton.

  Skipper turns serious. "And was your marriage a happy one, Mrs. Holmes?"

  She gets a faraway look in her eyes. "Yes. At least until recently."