“Hey, Mags. You forget the key?”
She got up, and just from her stiff posture and the way she dusted off the backside of her jeans all businesslike I knew something wasn’t right. When I got to the top step I moved in for a kiss—just on the cheek. But she immediately made an evasive maneuver and my suspicion was confirmed.
“That’s where Hayley gets it,” I said. “The old duck and roll when I give her a kiss.”
“Well, I’m not here for that, Haller. I didn’t use my key because I thought you might consider it some sort of conflict of interest if you found a prosecutor in your house.”
Now I got it.
“Yoga today? You saw Andrea Freeman?”
“That’s right.”
Suddenly, I didn’t feel the strength to rally anymore. I unlocked the door like a prisoner punished with the indignity of letting himself into the room where they give you the needle.
“Come on in. I guess we’ll get this over with.”
She came in quickly, my last comment throwing another log on her fire.
“What you did was despicable. Using our daughter in such an underhanded way.”
I wheeled around on her.
“Using our daughter? I did no such thing. Our daughter was put in the middle of this thing and I learned of it only by accident.”
“It doesn’t matter. You’re disgusting.”
“No, I’m a defense lawyer. And your good pal Andy was discussing me and my case with my ex-wife in front of my daughter. And then she outright lied to me.”
“What are you talking about? She doesn’t lie.”
“I’m not talking about Hayley. I’m talking about Andy. I asked her on the first day she was on the case if she knew you and she said she knew you only in passing. I think we can agree that that is not the case. And I don’t know for sure but I would guess that if we described this situation to ten different judges that maybe ten would consider it a conflict.”
“Look, we weren’t discussing you or the case. It came up when we were having lunch. Hayley happened to be there. What am I supposed to do, disavow my friends because of you? It doesn’t work that way.”
“If it was no big deal, why did she lie to me?”
“It wasn’t a direct lie. It’s not like we’re best friends or anything. Besides, she probably didn’t want you to get into it like you have anyway.”
“So now we’re qualifying lies on a sliding scale. Some are indirect and no big deal. Don’t worry about those lies.”
“Haller, don’t be an asshole.”
“Look, you want something to drink?”
“I don’t want anything. I came to tell you that you not only embarrassed me and your daughter, but yourself. It was low, Haller. You used something innocent from your own daughter to get an edge. It was really low.”
I was still holding my briefcase. I put it down on the table in the dining alcove. I put my hands on the top of one of the chairs and leaned down on it as I thought out my comeback.
“Come on,” Maggie said, baiting me. “You always have a quick answer for everything. The great defender. Let’s hear it this time.”
I laughed and shook my head. She was so damn beautiful when she was mad. It was disarming. And the bad part was I think she knew it.
“Oh, so this is funny. You threaten to ruin someone’s career and then can laugh about it.”
“I didn’t threaten to ruin her career. I threatened to kick her off the case. And no, it’s not funny. It’s just that…”
“What, Haller? It’s just that what? I’ve been sitting out there for two hours wondering if you were going to show up because I want to know how you could do this.”
I stepped away from the table and went on the offensive, moving toward her as I spoke. Making her step back and then crowding her into a corner, ending my words with my finger pointing inches from her chest.
“I did it because I’m a defense attorney and as a defense attorney I have taken an oath to defend my clients to the best of my ability. So, yes, I saw an advantage here. Your good pal Andy—and you—clearly crossed a line. Sure, no harm was done—as far as I know. But that doesn’t mean the line wasn’t crossed. If you jump a fence with a sign on it that says NO TRESPASSING then you are still trespassing even if you jump right back across. So I became aware of this trespass and I used it to my advantage to get something I need to defend my client. Something I should’ve been given as a matter of course but which your friend was holding back simply because she could.
“Was she within the rules? Yes. Was it fair? No. And one reason you are all hot and bothered about it is that you know it wasn’t fair and that I made the right move. It was something you would have done yourself.”
“Never in a million years. I would never stoop so low.”
“Bullshit.”
I turned away from her. She stayed in the corner.
“What are you doing here, Maggie?”
“What do you mean? I just told you why I’m here.”
“Yeah, but you could’ve picked up a phone or sent me an e-mail. Why did you come here?”
“I wanted to see your face when you gave an explanation.”
I turned back to her. This whole thing was a sideshow. I moved in on her and put my hand on the wall right next to her head.
“It was bullshit arguments like this that wrecked our marriage,” I said.
“I know.”
“You know it’s been eight years? We’ve been divorced as long as we were married.”
Eight years and I still couldn’t shake her.
“Eight years and here we are.”
“Yes, here we are.”
“You know, you’re the trespasser, Haller. You jump over everybody’s fences. Come in and out of our lives whenever you want. And we just let you.”
I slowly leaned in closer until we were breathing the same air. I kissed her lightly and then harder when she tried to say something. I didn’t want to hear any more words. I was finished with words.
PART TWO
The Hypothesis of Innocence
Eleven
The office was closed and locked for the evening but I was still in place at my desk, prepping for the preliminary hearing. It was a Tuesday in early March and I wished I could have opened a window to let in the cool evening breeze. But the office was hermetically sealed with vertical windows that did not open. Lorna hadn’t noticed that when she’d inspected the place and signed the lease. It made me miss working out of the backseat of the Lincoln, where I could slide a window down and catch the breeze whenever I wanted.
The preliminary hearing was a week away. By prepping, I mean I was trying to anticipate what my opponent Andrea Freeman would be willing to part with when she put her case before the judge.
A preliminary hearing is a routine step on the way to a trial. It is one hundred percent the prosecution’s show. The state is charged with presenting its case to the court and the judge then rules on whether there is sufficient evidence to take it forward to a jury trial. This isn’t the reasonable doubt threshold. Not even close. The judge only has to decide if a preponderance of the evidence supports the charges. If so, then the next stop is a full-blown trial.
The trick for Freeman would be to parcel out just enough evidence to cross that preponderance line and get the judge’s nod of approval without giving away the whole store. Because she knew that I would be going to school on whatever she presented.
There is no doubt that the prosecution’s burden is no burden at all. Though the idea of a preliminary hearing is to provide a check on the system and to make sure the government does not run roughshod over the individual, it is still a fixed game. The California state assembly saw to that.
Frustrated by the seemingly interminable duration of criminal cases as they slowly wound through the justice system, the politicians in Sacramento took action. The prevailing view was that justice delayed was justice denied, never mind that this sentiment conflicted with a basic component
of the adversarial system—a strong and vigorous defense. The assembly sidestepped that minor inconvenience and voted for change, installing measures that streamlined the process. The preliminary hearing went from a full airing of the prosecution’s evidence to what is essentially a game of hide-and-seek. Few witnesses had to be called besides the lead investigator, hearsay was approved rather than discouraged and the prosecution need not offer even half of its evidence. Just enough to get by.
The result was that it was beyond rare that a case did not measure up to the level of preponderance and the preliminary hearing became a routine rubber-stamping of the charges on the way to trial.
Still, there was a value for the defense in the proceedings. I still got a peek at what was to come and an opportunity to raise questions about what witnesses and evidence were presented. And therein was the prep work. I needed to anticipate which cards Freeman would show and decide how I would play against them.
We were way past any notion of a plea agreement. Freeman still wasn’t giving on that end and my client still wasn’t taking. We were on a direct course toward a trial in April or May and I can’t say I was unhappy about it. We had a legitimate shot and if Lisa Trammel wanted to go for it I was going to be ready.
In recent weeks we had gotten some good news as well as bad on the evidence front. As expected, Judge Morales ruled against our motions to suppress the police interview and the search of Lisa’s home. This cleared the way for the prosecution to build its case around the pillars of motivation, opportunity and the single eyewitness account. They had the foreclosure action. They had Lisa’s history of protest against the bank. They had her incriminating admissions during her interview. And most of all, they had the eyewitness, Margo Schafer, who claimed to have seen Lisa just a block from the bank and only minutes after the killing.
But we were building a defense case that attacked these pillars and contained much evidence that was indeed exculpatory.
No murder weapon had been identified or found yet, and the state’s zeal to prove that a tiny blemish of blood found on a pipe wrench taken from the tool bench in Lisa’s garage had backfired when testing concluded it was not Mitchell Bondurant’s blood. Of course, the prosecution would not bring this up at the preliminary hearing or the trial, but I could and would. It is the defense’s job to take the miscues and mistakes of the investigation and ram them down the state’s throat. I would not hold back.
Additionally, my investigator had gathered information that would put into question the observations of the state’s key witness, even though we would not get that shot until trial. And we also had the hypothesis of innocence. The alternate theory was building nicely. We had served subpoenas on Louis Opparizio and his company ALOFT, the foreclosure mill at the center of the defense strategy.
I anticipated that no defense tactics or evidence would come up during the preliminary hearing. Freeman would put Detective Kurlen on the stand and he would walk the judge through the entire case, making sure to sidestep any weaknesses in the evidence. She would also put on the medical examiner and possibly a forensic analyst.
Schafer, the witness, was the only question. My first thought was that Freeman would hold her back. She could rely on Kurlen to present information from his interview with her, thereby bringing out what Schafer would eventually testify to at trial. No more was needed for a prelim. On the other hand, Freeman might put Schafer on the stand in a bid to see what I had. If I revealed during cross-examination how I planned to handle the witness, it would help Freeman prepare for what was ahead at trial.
It was all strategy and games at this point and I had to admit it was the best part of a trial. The moves made outside the courtroom were always more significant than those made inside. The inside moves were all prepped and choreographed. I preferred the improvisation done away from the courtroom.
I was underlining the name Schafer on my legal pad when I heard the phone ring in the reception area. I could have taken it on my set but didn’t bother. It was well after hours and I knew the number on the phone-book ad had been forwarded to the new office number. Anybody calling this late was probably looking for foreclosure advice. They could leave a message.
I pulled the blood analysis file to front and center on the desk. It contained the DNA comparison report that had been run on blood extracted from a crevice in the handle of the pipe wrench from Lisa’s tool bench. It had been a rush job, the prosecution popping for an expensive analysis from an outside firm rather than wait for the regional lab to do it. I imagined the disappointment Freeman must have felt when the report came in negative. Not Mitchell Bondurant’s blood. Not only was it a setback for the prosecution—a match would have killed any chance Lisa had at an acquittal and forced her into a plea agreement. But now Freeman knew I could wave the report in front of the jury and say, “See, their case is full of wrong turns and wrong evidence.”
We also scored when footage from video cameras in the bank building and garage entrance failed to show Lisa Trammel during the time before and after the killing. The cameras did not cover the entire facility but that was beside the point. It was exculpatory evidence.
Now my cell phone started to vibrate. I pulled it out of my pocket and looked at the ID. It was my agent, Joel Gotler, calling. I hesitated but then took the call.
“You’re working late,” I said by way of answering.
“Yeah, don’t you read your e-mails?” Gotler said. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“Sorry, my computer’s right here but I’ve been busy. What’s going on?”
“We’ve got a big problem. Do you read Deadline Hollywood?”
“No, what’s that?”
“It’s a blog. Look it up on your computer.”
“Now?”
“Yeah, now. Do it.”
I closed the blood file and slid it aside. I pulled my laptop over and opened it. I went online and navigated to the Deadline Hollywood site. I started scrolling. It looked like a list of short reports on Hollywood deals, box office estimates and studio comings and goings. Who bought and sold what, who left what agency, who was going down and who was going up, that sort of thing.
“Okay, what am I looking for here?”
“Scroll down to three forty-five this afternoon.”
The posts on the blog were time-stamped. I did as instructed and came to the late afternoon post Gotler wanted me to see. The headline alone kicked me in the nuts.
Archway Grabs Real-Life Murder Mystery
Dahl/McReynolds to produce
Sources tell me that Archway Pictures has anted up six figures against a seven-figure backend to acquire rights to the foreclosure-revenge case currently twisting its way through the justice system here in LaLaLand. The accused, Lisa Trammel, was represented by Herb Dahl in the deal and he will produce alongside Archway’s Clegg McReynolds. The multitiered deal includes TV and documentary rights. The ending of the story, however, has yet to be written as Trammel still faces trial in the murder of the banker who was trying to foreclose on her house. In a press release McReynolds said Trammel’s story will be used to put a magnifying glass on the foreclosure epidemic that has swept across the country in recent years. She is expected to go to trial in two months.
“That motherfucker,” I said.
“Yeah, that’s about right,” Gotler said. “What the hell is going on? I’m out there trying to sell this thing and was very close to a deal with Lakeshore and then I read this! Are you kidding me, Haller? You stab me in the back like this?”
“Look, I don’t know exactly what is going on here but I have a contract with Lisa Trammel and—”
“Do you know this guy Dahl? I do and he’s a complete sleaze.”
“I know, I know. He tried to make a move and I shut his ass down. He got Lisa to sign something but—”
“Ah, jeez, she signed with this guy?”
“No. I mean yes, but after she signed with me. I have a contract. I have first po—”
I stopped ri
ght there. The contracts. I remembered making copies and giving them to Dahl. I then put the originals back in the file in the trunk of the Lincoln. Dahl saw the whole thing.
“Son of a bitch!”
“What is it?”
I looked at the stack of files on the corner of my desk. They had all been generated by the Lisa Trammel case. But I had not brought in the files from the trunk of the Lincoln because I had been lazy. I figured they were all old contracts and old cases and maybe I wasn’t sure how I would ultimately like working out of a bricks-and-mortar office. The contracts file was still in the trunk.
“Joel, I’ll call you right back.”
“Hey, what is—”
I closed the phone and headed to the door. The Victory Building had its own two-level garage but it was not attached. I had to leave the building and walk to the garage next door. I trotted up the ramp and on the second level headed to my car, popping the trunk with the remote as I approached. My Lincoln was the only vehicle left on the upper level. I pulled the contracts file and leaned under the light from the trunk lid to look for the agreement Lisa Trammel had signed.
It wasn’t there.
To say I was angry was an understatement. I shoved the file back into its slot and slammed the lid. I pulled my phone and called Lisa as I headed back to the ramp. The call went to message.
“Lisa, this is your attorney. I thought we agreed that when I called you, you would answer. No matter what time, no matter what you were doing. But here I am calling and you’re not answering. Call… me… back. I want to talk to you about your little friend Herb and the deal he just made. I am sure you are aware of it. But what you may not be aware of is that I am going to be suing his ass for this stunt. I’m going to put him under the earth, Lisa. So call me back! Now!”
The Fifth Witness: A Novel Page 10