MD06 - Judgment Day

by Sheldon Siegel

  “Overruled.”

  “Ms. Norman,” I continue, “did your ex-husband’s drug-related activities adversely impact your marriage?”

  Her long brown hair bounces as she nods vigorously. “Yes. It was very difficult being married to a heroin dealer. It was even worse being married to a serial adulterer.”

  We may not get a stay, but we’re going to settle some scores. “Why did you decide to come forward now?”

  “I thought it was time that somebody told the truth.”

  Few people have an opportunity to slaughter their ex-spouse in front of a live audience. She’s clearly going to enjoy it. “Was your husband ever arrested for selling drugs?”

  “He was arrested, but never convicted. The police were never able to gather enough evidence.” She turns and glares at Nate. “He hired a smart lawyer named Nathan Fineman, who was prepared to do anything to keep my ex-husband out of jail.”

  I don’t want to give her a chance to take any more shots at Nate. “Did your ex-husband ever mention the names of some of the other prominent Bay Area drug dealers?”

  “Yes. They all know each other.”

  How cozy. “Did those names include Terrell Robinson and Alan Chin?”

  “Yes.”

  She’s fearless. My only regret is that she won’t have a chance to stare down her ex-husband in court. He has to wait outside until it’s his turn to testify. “Did your ex-husband ever express an interest in expanding his operations into San Francisco?”

  She smiles broadly. “Many times. He made several inquiries to Mr. Robinson and Mr. Chin to see if they were interested in combining their organizations. They weren’t.”

  “When was that?”

  “Shortly before he had them killed at the Golden Dragon.”

  “Move to strike!” Grim shouts. “There isn’t a shred of evidence for these wild accusations.”

  “Sustained.”

  The courtroom is intensely quiet as I soldier on. “Ms. Norman,” I continue, “do you know why Mr. Robinson and Mr. Chin didn’t want to join forces with your ex-husband?”

  She responds with a wicked grin. “They thought Alex was a small-time thug.”

  Sounds about right. “How did he feel after they rebuffed his advances?”

  Grim is up. “Objection,” he says. “Speculative. Mr. Daley is asking Ms. Norman to read her ex-husband’s mind.”

  No, I’m not. “Your Honor,” I say, “I’m simply asking Ms. Norman to describe his reaction.”

  “Overruled.”

  “He was upset,” Norman says.

  That would be an understatement. “How did he react when he was upset?”

  “Badly.”

  “Did he get angry?”

  “Yes. He also got even.”

  “Was he ever violent?”

  “Yes.”

  “Toward you?”

  “No.” Her eyes gleam. “He knew better.”

  I like it. I shoot a glance toward Aronis’s two lawyers, in the back row, who are writing furiously on their legal pads. It’s their job to brief their client about Patty’s testimony. “Did he ever talk about putting together a plan to move into the San Francisco market?”

  “On several occasions. At one point, he asked me for assistance, but he was looking for something that I couldn’t give him.”

  The same could be said of their marriage. “Which was?”

  “The name of a professional killer.”

  Grim has been on his feet throughout Norman’s testimony. “Move to strike,” he says. “This testimony lacks foundation.”

  Judge Stumpf is listening intently. “Overruled.”

  “Ms. Norman,” I say, “did he mention why he wanted to procure the services of a hit man?”

  “He wanted to take out Terrell Robinson and Alan Chin.”

  I wonder what Dr. Phil would have to say about this. I still have a little more business. “Ms. Norman,” I continue, “did your ex-husband ever mention a man named Marshawn Bryant?”

  “Oh, yes. He was a flunky for Robinson.”

  “Did they know each other?”

  “For years. They met when Robinson’s firm handled the build-out of my ex-husband’s offices. Bryant took over Robinson’s construction business after he was killed.”

  “Was Mr. Bryant also involved in the drug business?”

  Grim is up again. “Objection,” he says. “While Ms. Norman may be familiar with her husband’s business, we have no reason to believe that she has any familiarity with Mr. Bryant’s operations.”

  Judge Stumpf stares him down. “Overruled.”

  “Yes,” Norman says. “Bryant also took over Robinson’s heroin-distribution business after Robinson was killed.”

  “Do you know if your ex-husband and Mr. Bryant had any involvement in the deaths of Terrell Robinson and Alan Chin?”

  Norman responds with a grimace. “I don’t know for sure.”

  I go for broke. “Did he hire Mr. Bryant to kill Mr. Robinson and Mr. Chin?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I was hoping for a little more. “Is it possible that your husband and Mr. Bryant pooled their resources to kill Mr. Robinson and Mr. Chin?”

  “Objection,” Grim says. “Speculation.”

  “Sustained.”

  I shoot a glance at Rosie, who closes her eyes—the signal to wrap up. If I push Patty, she might turn on Nate. “No further questions, Your Honor.”

  “Cross-exam, Mr. Grim?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” He barrels through the well of the courtroom toward the witness box. “Ms. Norman,” he says, “you and your ex-husband had a very acrimonious separation, didn’t you?”

  She leans forward to meet him head-on. “Yes.”

  “In fact, he had you committed to a mental institution, didn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he got full custody of your children, didn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  Rosie and I exchange a helpless glance. We can’t stop the onslaught.

  “You contacted the newspapers recently and made some very serious accusations about your ex-husband, didn’t you?”

  “They weren’t accusations, Mr. Grim. They’re the truth.”

  “So you say.”

  “Objection,” I say. “Argumentative.”

  “Sustained.”

  Grim is parked right in front of her. “You’re still angry at your ex-husband for taking away your children, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “In fact, you would do or say anything to get back at him, wouldn’t you?”

  “Objection,” I say. “Argumentative.”

  “Sustained.”

  Grim has made his point. “Ms. Norman,” he says, “do you know for certain that your ex-husband hired someone to kill Terrell Robinson and Alan Chin?”

  “No.”

  “Isn’t it true that your ex-husband told you that he was going to hire Nathan Fineman to kill Terrell Robinson and Alan Chin at the Golden Dragon Restaurant?”

  “Yes.”

  “No further questions.”

  The judge scowls. “Redirect, Mr. Daley?”

  I have to try to undo the damage. “Just one question, Your Honor.” I address Norman from my chair. “Do you have any evidence that your ex-husband did in fact contact Mr. Fineman about killing Mr. Robinson and Mr. Chin?”

  “No.”

  “No further questions.”

  “Please call your next witness, Mr. Daley.”

  Patty’s ex-husband is entitled to equal time. “We call Alexander Aronis, Your Honor.”

  54/ DENY, DENY, DENY

  Saturday, July 18. 11:27 a.m.

  12 hours and 34 minutes until execution.

  A supremely self-assured Alex Aronis takes the stand and immediately tries to portray himself as a titan of industry. “I am the chief executive officer and majority shareholder of one of the largest waste-management companies in the country,” he says.

  I didn’t thin
k he’d say that he inherited a trash-collection operation from his father. I also don’t expect to hear the words pal or buddy during his testimony. Dressed in a tailored Armani suit, a monogrammed white shirt, and a pink tie, he takes his fashion cues from Donald Trump. His blue eyes are locked intently on mine. A well-rehearsed sneer crosses his wide face. Aronis may be an overgrown frat boy, but he’s a smart one.

  I’m working against the clock and an individual who has no reason to help me. Washington testified that Aronis was in the drug business with Bryant, but he will be perceived as a jailhouse snitch who would say anything to shorten his prison term. Norman said that Aronis knew Bryant and was trying to hire somebody to take out Robinson and Chin, but her credibility is tainted by her disdain for her ex. All of which isn’t likely to get us to freestanding innocence unless I can somehow find a way to connect the dots from Aronis to Bryant to the Golden Dragon.

  Unlike with some of the earlier witnesses, where I started with a few easy ones, there will be no grace period for the garbage czar of Lake Merritt. “Mr. Aronis,” I say, “do you know a man named Floyd Washington?”

  “Yes.”

  Experienced witnesses never volunteer anything. “Where did you meet him?”

  His tone is patronizing. “He drove a truck for our company. We fired him for selling drugs. We have a zero-tolerance policy for employees who engage in criminal activities.”

  I look away from him and mutter, “Except for you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing.” I turn back and look squarely into his condescending eyes. “You testified at his trial, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You cut a deal to testify against him in exchange for immunity, didn’t you?”

  Aronis darts a glance over toward Grim, who could object on the grounds that it’s a leading question, but doesn’t move. Grim is in an awkward position—it’s his job to defend a man who he undoubtedly believes is a drug dealer. He also probably figures Aronis can take care of himself. There’s a hesitation before Aronis finally says, “No.”

  “Did you hear my question?”

  “Yes.” The vestiges of the gregarious man who leads cheers behind the Cal bench at home football games are gone. “We cooperated fully with the police and the district attorney. No charges were filed against us.”

  I hate it when people use the “royal we.” I want to see if I can get a rise out of him. “But they originally planned to file charges against you, too, didn’t they?”

  “We had discussions about certain ancillary claims in connection with the Washington case. Those charges were dropped.”

  Nice try. “That’s because you agreed to roll over on Mr. Washington, right?”

  His jowls wiggle as he shakes his head. “No, Mr. Daley. It was because they didn’t have any evidence.”

  He parses better than most politicians. “Just because they didn’t bring charges against you doesn’t mean there wasn’t any criminal behavior on your part,” I say.

  He smirks. “I can’t prove a negative, Mr. Daley. I’m not going to play semantic games with you.”

  It’s a good answer. He’s more polished in court than he was at the garage. “Where did Mr. Washington obtain the heroin that he was selling from his truck?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Sure you do. “Are you aware that Mr. Washington testified at this hearing?”

  “I was told that he was on your witness list.”

  And his two flunkies in the gallery undoubtedly gave him a blow-by-blow of Washington’s testimony while his ex-wife was on the stand. I point an accusatory finger at him. “He said you supplied the heroin that he sold from his garbage truck.”

  He dismisses me with an upraised hand. “Mr. Washington is a convicted felon. He would say anything to cut a deal to get out of jail sooner.”

  “Perhaps the same could be said about you.”

  Grim stands up. “Objection, Your Honor. There wasn’t a question there.”

  No, there wasn’t. “Withdrawn.”

  Grim is still on his feet. “Your Honor,” he whines, “we’re spending an inordinate amount of time discussing unsubstantiated accusations about Mr. Aronis. This is completely irrelevant to the subject matter at hand.”

  “Your Honor,” I say, “we’ve already shown a direct connection between Mr. Aronis and Mr. Bryant, who has now been placed at the Golden Dragon on the night of the shootings.”

  “Allegedly placed there,” says Grim.

  “You had a chance to question Ms. Luk,” I say. “Her testimony speaks for itself.”

  “She wasn’t credible,” Grim says.

  Judge Stumpf cuts in. “I’ll be the judge of that, Mr. Grim.” He points to his watch. “We’re wasting time, Mr. Daley.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” I turn back to Aronis. “Do you know a man named Marshawn Bryant?”

  He nods with confidence. “Yes. I’ve known him for years.”

  “How did you meet him?”

  “He used to work for a man named Terrell Robinson, whose construction firm handled the build-out of our offices. Mr. Bryant took over Mr. Robinson’s operations after Mr. Robinson was killed. He’s handled several other projects for us. He’s an excellent contractor.”

  “Is he also an excellent drug dealer?”

  “Objection,” Grim says. “Argumentative.”

  “Sustained.”

  “Mr. Aronis,” I say, “Mr. Washington testified that Mr. Bryant was supplying heroin to you, which you provided to your drivers for resale.”

  “That’s absolutely false.”

  “Mr. Washington also testified that you were anxious to expand your operations into San Francisco.”

  His voice fills with contempt. “That’s also absolutely false.”

  “You’re under oath, Mr. Aronis.”

  “I’m well aware of that, Mr. Daley. It’s still false.”

  He isn’t going to budge, so I move on to some postmarital counseling. “You were once married to a woman named Patty Norman, weren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “She recently made some serious public accusations about your participation in the events at the Golden Dragon, didn’t she?”

  He places an elbow on the edge of the witness box and uses his hand to punctuate his response. “My ex-wife is an angry, bitter woman,” he says slowly. “There isn’t a shred of truth in what she said.”

  “She also testified that you were involved in the distribution of heroin in the East Bay.”

  He flashes anger. “How many times do I have to say this? That’s false.”

  “And she said you were interested in moving into the San Francisco heroin market.”

  This time he jabs his finger toward me. “That’s false, too.”

  Deny, deny, deny. “Your ex-wife also testified that you asked for her assistance in finding someone to kill Terrell Robinson and Alan Chin.”

  He makes no attempt to mask his disdain for me. “That’s ludicrous.”

  “A lot of people seem to be telling lies about you, Mr. Aronis.”

  He responds with a smirk. “I can’t control what other people say about me.”

  “In fact, she suggested that you and Mr. Bryant may have pooled your resources to take out Mr. Robinson and Mr. Chin.”

  “False.”

  I bore in and fire away. “You paid Mr. Bryant to take out Mr. Robinson and Mr. Chin, didn’t you?”

  “No.”

  “You wanted to take over their operations, didn’t you?”

  “No.”

  “You’re saying it was just happenstance Mr. Bryant was in the alley behind the Golden Dragon immediately after three people were shot to death?”

  He takes a deep breath as he sits up straight. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Daley. I am not involved in the drug business in any way, shape, or form. Neither is Mr. Bryant. I can assure you that Mr. Robinson and Mr. Chin were not my competitors. I know absolutely nothing about what ha
ppened at the Golden Dragon ten years ago.”

  I fire away for five more minutes, but he doesn’t budge. Grim correctly surmises that there is nothing to be gained by engaging in cross.

  “Please call your next witness,” the judge says.

  Our last chance is to tee it up against Bryant. “We call Marshawn Bryant,” I say.

  55/ DO YOU WISH TO RECONSIDER YOUR PRIOR TESTIMONY?

  Saturday, July 18. 11:47 a.m.

  12 hours and 14 minutes until execution.

  Bryant exudes an understated self-confidence as he sits with his arms folded in the witness box. Sporting a gray suit and a dignified rep tie, he could pass for a partner at a downtown law firm. His two equally well-dressed lawyers are sitting in the gallery and preparing to take copious notes. For the next few minutes, we’ll be going toe-to-toe. In the best-case scenario, I will get him to confess to murder—an unlikely prospect, except on Perry Mason reruns. At a minimum, I need to paint him as a lying drug dealer who will say anything to save his ass—no small task, either.

  When I ask him to state his name for the record, he invokes a forceful tone. “My name is Marshawn Bryant. I want to make it absolutely clear that I wasn’t at the Golden Dragon Restaurant on the night that your client murdered Terrell Robinson, Alan Chin, and Lester Fong.”

  I expect him to head straight for the door. I address the judge. “Your Honor,” I say, “would you please instruct the witness to answer my questions without embellishment?”

  “Please limit your responses to the questions asked.”

  Bryant feigns contrition. “Yes, Your Honor.”

  I move in closer. “Mr. Bryant,” I say, “a short time ago, we heard testimony from a witness who said you were in the alley behind the Golden Dragon immediately after three people were shot and killed at the restaurant.”

  His eyes are locked on mine. His demeanor is ice-cold. “That’s false.”

  “You’re saying that witness was lying?”

  He carefully enunciates each word. “They were mistaken.”

  “Have you ever heard of a man named Eugene Tsai?”

  He closes his eyes and reopens them as he shakes his head slowly. “No.”

  He’s lying. “He saw you in the alley behind the Golden Dragon.”