“Yes.”
“That means that you have an obligation to tell the truth in the proceeding or you could subject yourself to a possible prosecution for perjury. Do you understand that?”
“Yes.”
“Finally, you are advised that under the Fifth Amendment of the Constitution of the United States, and also under Article I of the California Constitution, that you have a privilege against self-incrimination. That is to say, you do not have to answer any questions which may tend to incriminate you, or subject you to punishment for any crime, and that you can refuse to answer any such question, stating that the answer may tend to incriminate you. Do you understand?”
Sanchez uncrossed and recrossed his legs. “Yes, I understand.”
“If you have retained counsel, the Grand Jury will permit you a reasonable opportunity to step outside the room to consult with counsel if you do so desire. State your name, please.”
“Alejandro Sanchez.”
“What is your business or occupation?”
“I’m an emergency room physician at Española Community Hospital.” Sanchez’ voice was barely audible.
“I realize this is difficult, Doctor, but please speak loudly enough for the reporter to record your answers.” Mackay softened her voice. “You were married to Jemima Tucker?”
“Yes.”
“Would you characterize your marriage as happy or unhappy?”
“I don’t know how to answer that.”
“Were you aware that your wife had consulted with a divorce lawyer?”
“My attorney told me not to answer questions about my relationship with my wife.”
“As I previously stated, the Grand Jury is investigating the murder of your deceased wife. Are you refusing to answer questions about your relationship on the grounds that truthful answers would tend to incriminate you?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Well, Doctor, that is the only grounds for refusing to answer my questions without being held in contempt of court.”
“I’d like to consult with my attorney.”
Mackay and the jurors waited for several minutes. When Sanchez returned, Mackay repeated the question.
“On advice of counsel, I refuse to answer,” Sanchez stated.
“Very well. You told us that you work in the emergency room at Española Community Hospital. What hours do you normally work?”
“It varies. ER doctors rotate monthly. We generally work twenty-four-hour shifts starting at noon one day and ending at noon the next.”
“Were you working last January eleventh?”
“Yes, I went to work at noon.”
“And worked straight through until noon the next day—Saturday, the twelfth?”
“That’s correct.”
“During your twenty-four-hour shifts, do you normally eat your meals on the hospital premises?”
“I . . . Yes, normally.”
“On the evening of January eleventh, did you eat dinner at the hospital?”
Sanchez uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “On advice of counsel, I refuse to answer.”
“All right. Do you recall meeting with Sheriff Granz and me on the Sunday immediately following your wife’s death?”
“Yes.”
“During that interview, did you tell us that you left the hospital for a little over an hour at about six o’clock, during which you were engaged in sexual intercourse with Bonnie Keefe?”
“On advice of counsel, I refuse to answer.”
“Are you aware, Doctor, that Ms. Keefe has denied being with you that evening?”
“No! I . . . On advice of counsel, I refuse to answer.”
“Is there any question I could ask you having to do with your wife, Jemima Tucker, or January eleventh that you would not refuse to answer, Doctor?”
“Probably not.”
“Thank you, Doctor, you are dismissed. However, under penalty of contempt, you must appear before this Grand Jury at some later time, if requested to do so. Inspector Escalante is standing by outside to escort you to the jail nurse, who will take a sample of your blood.”
When Sanchez left, Giacomini asked, “Ms. Mackay, how should we interpret his refusal to answer your questions?”
Mackay partially turned to face the jury box. “Good question. The Fifth Amendment privilege not only extends to answers that would in themselves support a conviction under California law, but likewise embraces those that would furnish a link in the chain of evidence needed to prosecute the murderer of Judge Tucker. I apologize for being so formal, but that is the proper legal terminology. In everyday vernacular, it means that a truthful answer might furnish, or lead to, evidence that could be used against him.”
“It doesn’t necessarily mean he killed her, though, right?”
“That would be up to a trial jury to decide, if he were charged with murder and prosecuted. Are there any other questions?”
The jurors all shook their heads. “The People call Judge Reginald Keefe.”
Keefe was neither cooperative nor intimidated. As soon as he was sworn, he sat in the witness chair and glared a challenge at Mackay, who advised him of his rights exactly as she had Sanchez. He stated that he understood.
“State your name, please,” she directed.
“Reginald Keefe. Judge Reginald Keefe.”
“You are a Santa Rita County Superior Court Judge?”
“You know the answer to that question.”
“Please answer for the record.”
“I’m a Superior Court Judge.”
“Were you acquainted with Judge Jemima Tucker?”
“Of course.”
“How long had you known Judge Tucker before her death?”
“Ten years, maybe longer. I was already a judge when she was appointed to the bench, I believe it was ten or eleven years ago.”
“Eleven. How well did you know Jemima Tucker?”
Keefe started to speak, then stopped. “As well as one can know a colleague with whom he works and consults closely over many years. She was a gifted lawyer and jurist.”
“Did you meet with Judge Tucker privately, in her chambers or yours?”
“Where else would we meet?”
“Is that a ‘yes’?”
“Yes.”
“Did you meet with Judge Tucker in her chambers or yours before court convened in the morning, during lunch breaks, or after normal working hours, when court staff had gone home?”
For the first time, Keefe’s gaze wavered. He glanced down and picked an imaginary fleck of lint off his trousers, then looked up. “Sometimes.”
“Frequently?”
“Is this going someplace, Ms. Mackay? I was forced to cancel my afternoon calendar to appear before the Grand Jury. I am pleased to cooperate, but this isn’t the only matter that requires judicial attention.”
Mackay ignored the sarcasm, but before repeating the question, said, “For the record, yesterday you sought an ex parte stay of this Grand Jury investigation, which was rejected by the presiding judge, citing confidentiality of these proceedings. I suggest you cooperate more fully, Judge, or you’ll find yourself in front of that same judge facing a contempt hearing.”
The witness hesitated briefly, then answered, “I suppose one might say we met frequently.”
“Daily?”
“Sometimes.”
“More than once a day?”
“Sometimes.”
“Is it common for judges to meet privately in chambers every day?”
“You’d have to ask the other judges.”
“I shall. So, you knew Judge Tucker well, at least as a colleague. Did you know her well in any capacity other than as a colleague?”
Keefe stared at Mackay. “Be specific.”
“Did you socialize?”
“There are only a dozen judges in the county. For reasons I’m sure are apparent to you, judges rarely socialize outside their own small circle. My wife and I socialized with Judge Tucke
r and Doctor Sanchez on many occasions, as we did with all the judges and their spouses.”
Mackay nodded and placed her hand on her chin, as if thinking of the next question. “Did you and Judge Tucker socialize in private, just the two of you, either on or off the court-building premises?”
Keefe stared for several seconds, straightened his tie, interlaced his fingers and clenched them in his lap, then cleared his throat. “I refuse to answer that question on the grounds that my answer might tend to incriminate me, as I shall refuse to answer any more questions pertaining to my professional or personal relationship with Jemima—Judge Tucker.”
“You are aware that Fifth Amendment rights can only be asserted as to testimony on a question-byquestion basis, and not as a blanket refusal to answer questions before they have been asked?”
“I am aware of that, Ms. Mackay, but it would save a lot of time.”
“The grand jurors and I prefer to hear each of your responses. Perhaps I will stumble across a question about your relationship with Jemima Tucker to which you don’t think a truthful answer would incriminate you.”
Keefe leaned back in the witness chair and foldedhis arms over his chest in defiance. “Then, go ahead. Ask your questions and waste our time.”
“Thank you.” Mackay looked at the court reporter. “Please read back my last question.”
She unfolded several sheets of tape. “‘Did you and Judge Tucker socialize in private, just the two of you, either on or off the court-building premises?’”
“I refuse to answer on the grounds that my answer might tend to incriminate me.”
“On Thursday, January tenth, the day before she was killed, did you and Jemima Tucker walk to lunch together across the footbridge from the park to the theater? And, during that walk, did you and Jemima Tucker kiss twice?”
Keefe blanched visibly, then he rose from his chair. His face turned red, and spittle accumulated in the corners of his mouth. “Dammit, that’s enough! Don’t you have any respect, any common decency? Jemima’s dead, for God’s sake!”
Mackay saw tears form in Keefe’s eyes, so she took three steps to her left, intentionally directing his face away from the jury box, and said softly, “Please sit down, Judge, so it isn’t necessary to call Inspector Escalante.”
He slowly settled into the chair, pulled a tissue from the box on the railing around the witness chair, held it over his nose, and pretended to sneeze.
“Take your time,” Mackay said, not unkindly.
He wadded up the tissue and leaned forward so his elbows rested on the railing. “I refuse to answer on the grounds that my answer might tend to incriminate me.”
“One last question, Judge Keefe. Did you engage in sexual intercourse with Jemima Tucker within seventy-two hours of her murder?”
Keefe’s lips moved, but nothing came out.
“I didn’t hear your answer, Judge.”
“I refuse to answer on the grounds that my answer might tend to incriminate me.”
The room was silent. Mackay glanced around and noted that all the jurors avoided eye contact, as if they felt and were somehow responsible for Reginald Keefe’s pain and embarrassment.
“Thank you, Judge, you are dismissed. But remember that under penalty of contempt, you might be required to appear before this Grand Jury at a later time. Please contact Inspector Escalante when you leave, so the jail nurse can take your blood sample.”
Keefe started to object, changed his mind, then walked slowly from the room.
“Does anyone want to take a short break?” Mackay asked. Seeing that no one did, she announced, “The People call Bonnie Lee Keefe.”
Bonnie Keefe’s presence was palpable. She wore a tightly tailored beige suit with a skirt that ended above her knees, and a chocolate-brown silk blouse one size too small. She crossed the room, raised her hand, and swore to tell the truth. Then, before sitting in the witness chair, she unbuttoned her suit coat, slipped it off, and folded it over the railing, emphasizing what male jurors undoubtedly considered her best features.
“Before we begin,” Mackay said, “I would like to advise you that you are now appearing before a dulyconstituted Grand Jury which is investigating a violation of state criminal law. You have been placed under oath and your testimony here today has the same force and effect as if you were in a court of law. That means that you have an obligation to tell the truth in the proceeding or you could subject yourself to a possible prosecution for perjury. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“I also want to advise you that based on information we now possess, there is no expectation or intention, at this time, of seeking any charges against you personally as a result of that investigation. Do you understand that?”
“I understand.”
“State your name, please.”
“Bonnie Lee Keefe.”
“What is your business or occupation?”
“I’m a civil litigator.”
“You’re married to Judge Reginald Keefe?”
“I am.”
“Were you acquainted with Judge Jemima Tucker?”
“Yes.”
“And her husband, Doctor Alejandro Sanchez?”
She hesitated almost imperceptibly. “Yes.”
“How well did you know them?”
“We were friends.”
“How did you learn of Judge Tucker’s death?”
“You and Sheriff Granz came to our home . . .” she glanced upward as she tried to remember, “around midnight, as I recall, on January eleventh, to ask my husband—Judge Keefe—to sign a search warrant. Itwas for the Tucker home. That was the first I heard about it.”
“What was your and Judge Keefe’s reaction on hearing that your friend had been murdered?”
“We were both shocked.”
“Do you recall on the following Monday, January fourteenth, being interviewed by Sheriff’s Chief of Detectives Miller and DA Inspector Escalante with respect to Judge Tucker’s death?”
“Yes, they came to my office that morning.”
“And at that time, as you have just stated, you were already aware that Jemima Tucker had been killed?”
“Yes.”
Mackay opened a file folder and placed her hands on the podium. “I have Detective Miller’s report here, Mrs. Keefe. Please tell us, to the best of your recollection, the substance of that interview.”
“They asked if I was acquainted with Judge Tucker and her husband. I said I knew them both. Then they asked whether or not I had been with Doctor Sanchez on the evening of January eleventh.”
“What did you say?”
“I said ‘no.’ ”
“Did they tell you Doctor Sanchez claimed to have been engaged in sexual intercourse with you at your office, from sometime after six P.M. until sometime before seven-thirty P.M. on Friday, January eleventh—approximately the time Judge Tucker was killed?”
“Yes.”
“Did they ask if that was true?”
“Yes.”
“What did you tell them?”
“That I was not with Doctor Sanchez at that time.”
Mackay stepped around the podium and moved very slowly toward the witness. “Thank you. Now, Mrs. Keefe, can you please confirm under oath that you were not with Doctor Sanchez on the evening of January eleventh?”
“No.” Bonnie Lee sat up straight and looked directly at Mackay. “I am, however, willing to modify the statements I originally made to Detective Miller and Inspector Escalante, providing I am not subject to prosecution or other sanction for giving a false statement.”
Mackay stopped and considered the bomb that had just dropped. “I am granting you use immunity; therefore, your testimony here today cannot be used to prove you made false statements to investigators. However, you must testify truthfully before this Grand Jury.”
“I understand.” She drew a deep breath and expelled it slowly. “The investigators took me by complete surprise. For me to admit being involved
in a sexual relationship outside of marriage would have devastated Judge Keefe. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“Well, if you are thinking clearly now, Mrs. Keefe, tell us where you were from approximately six P.M. until seven-thirty P.M. on the evening of Friday, January eleventh.”
“I was at my law office.”
“Engaged in sexual intercourse with Doctor Alejandro Sanchez?”
“Yes.”
CHAPTER
* * *
24
“MORNING, MS. MACKAY. Your usual?” The young woman at the Starbucks cart in the court-building atrium held a paper cup under the Sumatra spigot.
“Yeah, thanks. I thought you didn’t work Fridays.” She dropped the change from her two dollars into the tip jar.
“I don’t usually, but we’re on winter break. One more semester and I’ll be finished.”
Mackay sipped her coffee through the hole in the plastic lid. “What are your plans after Portola Community College?”
“I’ve been accepted to Cal Poly’s agricultural engineering program. The only woman this year.”
“Congratulations, Marcie. I’ll miss you.”
“Dad says he plans to rent out my bedroom.”
“I’m sure he’s joking.”
“Hope so.”
“I dread the day when Emma . . .”
She was interrupted by the chirp of her cell phone. She waved to Marcie, walked to a vacant concrete bench, set the coffee down, and dug her phone from her handbag.
“Mackay.”
“Dan Burford here.”
Mackay recognized the County Counsel’s high, almost feminine voice. “Hi, Dan.”
“We need to meet,” he said abruptly.
“Sure. How about tomorrow morning, nine o’clock?”
Asilence on the other end of the line was followed by the sound of Burford covering the mouthpiece with his hand, then muffled voices.
“This can’t wait. My conference room—five minutes?” It was more an order than a request.
Mackay frowned. “Okay.”
A long, skinny, rectangular ex-storage space whose metal door barely fit one of the two smaller walls, the County Counsel conference room was also a law library and employee lounge. Furnished with only a beat-up oak table and a dozen mismatched chairs, and lacking natural light or ventilation, its stale air smelled of sweaty bodies, musty old paper, and overripe coffee.
Until the Final Verdict Page 7