I hand her the gun, which is still wrapped in clear plastic. "Dr. Hudson," I say, "would you mind showing us exactly how you believe Mr. Friedman gripped this weapon in order to generate the fingerprints that you've described?"
"Objection. Speculative."
"Overruled."
Hudson holds the handle with her thumb, middle, ring and pinky, carefully avoiding contact with her index finger. She holds it up for the jury to see. "There," she says. "That's as close as I can get."
"What about your index finger?"
She carefully places her right index finger on the cylinder of the gun and holds it up again. "The index finger was on the cylinder."
"Could you explain why Mr. Friedman's index finger may have been on the cylinder?"
"Objection. Speculative."
"Sustained."
"I'll rephrase. Dr. Hudson, how do you open this revolver to unload it?"
"You press against the cylinder with your finger."
"And Mr. Friedman's right index fingerprint was found on the cylinder, was it not?"
"Yes."
"And if he was unloading the weapon, it would have been very likely that he would have gotten his fingerprint on the cylinder, right?"
"Objection. He's leading the witness."
"Overruled."
"Yes, Mr. Daley. Mr. Friedman's fingerprint was in a place that is consistent with the act of loading or unloading this weapon."
Good. "One final question, Dr. Hudson. Were any identifiable fingerprints found on the trigger of the gun?"
"No. There were unidentifiable smudged fingerprints on the trigger."
"So, in your opinion, is there any conclusive evidence that Mr. Friedman fired this weapon?"
"No."
"No further questions."
Skipper tries in vain for the next hour to trip her up. He's in a tough spot. He can't simply ask her if she thinks it's possible that Joel fired the gun. For one thing, she'll say there's no evidence that he did. For another, she can say anything's possible. Neither will help him. He tries to get her to admit that Joel could have left smudged fingerprints on the trigger when he shot the gun. She says there's no evidence to prove it. She holds her ground. Finally, he takes the same approach he took with Dr. Goldstein and asks her how much she's being paid for her testimony. This time, the bill is only fifteen thousand. Skipper sits down in frustration.
46
"YOU'RE THE HEAD COMPUTER GUY, RIGHT?"
"Daley's presentation has been a little wooden so far."
—NEWSCENTER 4 LEGAL ANALYST MORTON GOLDBERG. TUESDAY, APRIL 7. NOON.
"How many more witnesses, Mr. Daley?" Judge Chen asks when we return from lunch.
Jesus, we've just started. "Two for sure, maybe three or four."
Skipper perks up.
"The defense calls Eric Ross," I say.
Whispering in the gallery. "Who's he?" Skipper looks at McNulty. They pore over our witness list. Ross has been head of information systems at S&G for five years. He's the head computer dweeb. Skipper never spoke to him. He probably never figured out how to turn on his computer.
Ross is sworn in. He's early thirties and uncommunicative. His eyes dart through thick wire-rimmed glasses. He's wearing his only suit for the first time in years. Somebody should inform him that wide lapels are out. His mustache twitches. He doesn't make eye contact.
"Mr. Ross, we've known each other for a while, right?"
"Objection. Relevance." Skipper is buying time.
"Overruled."
"We knew each other when you were at our firm," Ross says.
"Right. And could you please tell everyone what your job is at the firm?"
"Yes. I'm the head of information systems." His delivery is stiff.
"Right. The head of information systems. In layman's terms, what does that mean?"
"I'm in charge of firm-wide information and technology systems."
I nod melodramatically. "Firm-wide information and technology systems." I stroke my chin. "For those of us who are technologically challenged, that means you're the head computer guy, right?"
He's annoyed. How dare I not respect his two years of computer classes at Diablo Valley Junior College. I'm treating him like he's a TV repairman. "Yeah, I guess you could say that," he replies.
"As the head computer guy, are you in charge of keeping track of all the firm's computer stuff?"
He looks at the judge. "Computer stuff?"
"Yeah, you know—the hardware, the software—the computer stuff."
"Yeah." His irritation is showing. Just the reaction I want.
"Actually, I'm most concerned about the hardware. You know—the machines."
He hasn't the foggiest idea where I'm going. "Mr. Ross," I continue, "as the head computer guy, you're in charge of keeping track of all the equipment, right?"
"Yeah. That's right."
"And Simpson and Gates is a big firm, so you've got a big job, right?"
Skipper rises slowly. "Your Honor," he says sarcastically, "we're happy to stipulate that S and G is a large firm and Mr. Ross has a lot of computers to keep track of. What's the point?"
The judge says, "Overruled. I presume this is leading somewhere, Mr. Daley?"
"Yes, Your Honor. Mr. Ross, how many computers do you keep track of at S and G?"
"Firm-wide?"
"Yes. Firm-wide."
"You want an exact number?" he asks incredulously.
"Ballpark's fine."
He sits up a little taller. "I'd say about eighteen hundred."
"Eighteen hundred. Wow. That's a lot of computers, isn't it?"
Skipper stands. "Your Honor, please?"
She glares at me. "Mr. Daley."
"Yes, Your Honor." I just want to play with him for another question or two. "Now, of the eighteen hundred computers, how many of them have keyboards?"
"Keyboards?" He looks at me like I'm out of my mind.
"Yes, Mr. Ross. Those nifty detachable keyboards."
"All of them, of course." He may as well have added the words "you moron." "You can't use them without keyboards," he adds.
"That's what I figured. You're in charge of keeping track of the keyboards?"
I get the "you moron" look again. "Of course," he says.
"Okay. Now, do you keep a list of all the keyboards?"
"Basically, they're all the same. Some are a little newer than others."
"I understand. But do you make a list of all the people who have keyboards?"
He looks indignant. "As a matter of fact, I do. When a new person comes to the firm, they're issued a computer and a keyboard."
"And do you keep a list of those computers and keyboards?"
"Yes." Then he pauses. "But…" He stops.
"Yes, Mr. Ross? Did you want to add something?"
He winces and takes a deep breath. "Well, sometimes people switch keyboards without telling me. Some of our keyboards are pretty old. The action is better on the new keyboards. They're faster."
Imagine. People taking each other's keyboards. What's the world coming to? "Is it a problem when people switch keyboards?" It's probably a felony in some jurisdictions.
"Not really. It just makes it more difficult to keep track of everything."
"I see. How often do you update the list?"
"Whenever a new keyboard is issued."
"And do you take an inventory of all the keyboards from time to time?"
"Once a year. We don't always get around to it. Sometimes we're too busy."
Too busy to count keyboards? Hard to believe. "When did you take the last inventory?"
"We just finished right before the end of the last year."
"That's great, Mr. Ross." I signal to Rosie, who hands me a thirty-page computer printout. I give copies to Skipper and Judge Chen. "Your Honor, the defense would like to have this keyboard inventory entered into evidence. This list was provided to Mr. Gates before the beginning of the trial." Along with eighteen boxes of Simpso
n and Gates records that we subpoenaed, but never had any intention of using.
Skipper and McNulty look at it. It's nothing more than a list of names and serial numbers.
Judge Chen turns to Skipper. "Any objection?"
Skipper looks at McNulty and shrugs. "I don't think so."
"Good," I say, as I hand the list to Ross. "Can you please tell us what this printout is?"
He tenses. "It's the inventory we took in December. How did you get a copy?"
Laughter in the courtroom. Judge Chen admonishes him not to ask questions.
"We have our ways," I say. It's nice to know all the time Wendy spent poring over mountains of S&G records was not in vain. "Can you tell us what's described in this list?"
"The first column has the serial number for each of our keyboards. The second column shows the first initial and last name of the employee to whom each keyboard is issued." It's in alphabetical order.
"Including attorneys?"
"Including attorneys."
"Can you please look at the serial number of the keyboard opposite the name JFRIEDMAN?"
"Sure."
"And would you please confirm that JFRIEDMAN refers to the defendant, Joel Friedman?"
"Yes. He's the only Friedman in the firm."
I'm sure he is. "Would you please read the serial number opposite his name?"
He studies it. "It's 7-1-4-5-8-1-1-2-6–3."
I walk over to a large flip chart that I've set up just for this little exercise. "Would you mind reading that number again?"
"Sure." He repeats it, and I write it in big block numbers on the flip chart.
I pause for a moment. I walk over to the evidence cart and pick up the keyboard found in Bob's office. It's wrapped in clear plastic. I walk back to Ross and hand it to him. "Mr. Ross," I say, "can you see through the plastic?"
"Yes."
"Good." I walk back to my flip chart. "Can you read the serial number on the back?"
"7–1.4-5-8-1-1-2-6–3."
I write each of the numbers on the flip chart directly below the identical numbers that are already there. The grandstand play seems to be working. I pause to look at the two rows of identical numbers on the flip chart. "Mr. Ross," I say, "are you aware that the keyboard you are holding was taken from the office of Robert Holmes on December thirty-first?"
Skipper's up. "Objection. The witness has no basis to answer that question."
"Mr. Daley," Judge Chen says, "perhaps you could rephrase?"
"Sure." I turn back to Ross. "Mr. Ross," I say, "would it surprise you to find out that the keyboard you're holding was found in the office of Mr. Holmes on December thirty-first?"
He looks helplessly at Skipper. "Uh, no, I didn't know that. I mean, yes, it would surprise me."
"Yet the keyboard you're holding is inventoried as the one belonging to Joel Friedman."
"Uh. Yes it is." His mustache twitches furiously.
"Well, how can you account for the fact that Mr. Friedman's keyboard was sitting in Mr. Holmes's office on the morning of December thirty-first?"
"Objection. Speculative."
"Sustained."
"I'll rephrase. Do you have any idea how Mr. Friedman's keyboard got into Mr. Holmes's office, Mr. Ross?" I realize I'm smiling.
"No, I don't."
"You didn't move it, did you?"
"No, sir. I didn't."
"Well it probably didn't get up and walk next door, now did it, Mr. Ross?" "Objection." "Sustained." "No further questions."
Skipper confers with McNulty and approaches Ross. He hands Ross the inventory. "Mr. Ross," he says, "what is the date in the upper right-hand corner of the printout?"
"December first of last year."
"I see. Does that mean the inventory was conducted on December first of last year?"
"Not exactly. It means the inventory was completed on December first. It usually takes us a few days to check the serial numbers. And we have people in our other offices who do it there."
"I see. And was this inventory updated after December first?"
"No, sir. We have too many other important things to keep us busy."
I'll bet you do.
I see where Skipper's going. "So, Mr. Ross, this inventory means that on December first, the keyboard in your hands was sitting on Mr. Friedman's desk, right?"
"Right."
"And it could have been moved from Mr. Friedman's desk to Mr. Holmes's desk at any time after December first, right?"
I decide to slow down the train a little. "Objection. Speculative."
"Sustained."
"I'll rephrase. Do you have any way to account for the whereabouts of this keyboard after December first?"
"No, sir."
"No further questions."
I ask for a brief recess.
Joel, Rosie and I caucus in the consultation room. I look at Joel. "We may have a problem. There's a thirty-day window when the keyboard could have been moved from your office to Bob's."
Rosie says, "I say we go with what we've got, Mike. The jury probably already figures there's been some monkey business because Joel's keyboard ended up in Bob's office."
She's right. "I say we leave it where it is. The jury knows it was moved."
Joel looks troubled.
"I think we stop now," I say.
We return to the courtroom. I tell Judge Chen we will have no more questions for Ross.
"I'm inclined to adjourn for the day," she says. "How many more witnesses do you have?"
"Two or three. We should have the case in the hands of the jury by the end of the week."
I look over to Skipper. I'm hoping he'll spend all night preparing to cross-examine Joel.
Pete calls from the Bahamas that night. "They're expecting a storm in the morning," he says.
"Great. You and Wendy have any luck tracking down Trevor Smith?"
"He's back the day after tomorrow. See if you can stall until then."
Swell. "Time's getting short."
"I know."
47
NICK THE DICK
"A good dick can't be afraid to wear out a little shoe leather."
—Private investigator Nicholas Hanson. SAN FRANCISCO CHRONICLE. Wednesday, April 8.
The next morning, at precisely nine-fifteen, I stand up and say in a clear voice, "Your Honor, the defense calls Nicholas Hanson."
The doors in the back of the courtroom open. Nick the Dick—all four feet ten of him—comes strutting down the center aisle. He's wearing a dark gray double-breasted Wilkes Bashford pinstripe with a burgundy tie. A matching kerchief sits in his breast pocket. A small red rose adorns his lapel. His three-thousand-dollar toupee has been carefully groomed. He nods to the press. He looks like the president walking down the center aisle in the House of Representatives just before the State of the Union speech.
The secret weapon just arrived.
The courtroom breaks out in a combination of laughter and chaos. Judge Chen bangs her gavel. I hear McNulty mutter, "For the love of God."
Joel leans over and whispers, "Is this for real?"
"The fun's about to start," I tell him. "I wish we were on Court TV."
Nick stops in front of the bench and acknowledges Judge Chen, like they're old friends. "Hello there, Your Honor," he says. "It's been a long time."
A very long time, indeed. They've never met.
She can't help herself and she smiles. "Hello, Mr. Hanson. I believe you're familiar with our procedures."
"Indeed I am, Your Honor." When Harriet Hill asks him if he swears to tell the truth, he replies, "Indeed I do." He climbs into the witness box and casually adjusts the microphone. He pours himself a glass of water and beams at the jury.
I've been waiting for this moment for weeks. I stand at the lectern. I let him bask in the spotlight. "Good morning, Mr. Hanson."
"Good morning, Mr. Daley," he replies cheerfully. He told me he'll be eighty-three on his next birthday. I should look so good.
&nb
sp; "Would you please state your occupation for the record?"
"Yeah. I'm a private eye."
"How long have you been a private investigator, Mr. Hanson?"
He closes one eye and looks up, as if he's running an imaginary calculator in his head. "I've been doing this since I was seventeen." He nods. "I guess that means I've been doing this for almost sixty-six years."
"And you've been working in San Francisco the entire time?"
"Born and raised in the heart of North Beach. I played a little ball with the DiMaggio boys when we were kids." The accountant looks impressed. If Joe DiMaggio was the Yankee Clipper, maybe Nick was the San Francisco Dinghy.
"Mr. Hanson, did Elizabeth Holmes retain your services in the fall of last year?"
"Yeah." He talks out of the corner of his mouth, like Sean Connery.
"For what reason?"
"She wanted me to put a tail on her husband. She thought he was sleeping around."
Just the tone I was hoping for. Polished. Professional. Dignified.
"Were you able to determine whether Mr. Holmes was in fact having an extramarital affair?"
He turns to the jury. "Oh yeah." He nods for emphasis. "He was."
"And how were you able to make this determination?"
"How do you think? I followed him all over town."
The jurors are eating this up. "And you found him with another woman?"
"Indeed I did."
"Where was that?"
"In the woman's apartment at the Golden Gateway Commons."
"I see. And when was that?"
"On December first of last year."
Skipper stands up. He's seen enough. "Your Honor, I must object to this entire line of questioning. What possible relevance does this have to this case?"
"Your Honor," I say, "Mr. Hanson was retained to investigate the possibility that Mr. Holmes was having an affair. He has critical information concerning his social life in December of last year. The prosecution has suggested that Mr. Friedman acted in a jealous rage because Mr. Holmes had rekindled his relationship with Ms. Kennedy. As we're about to show you, Mr. Holmes had terminated his relationship with Ms. Kennedy in early December. By the end of December, there was nothing for Mr. Friedman to be jealous about."
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