The Lincoln Lawyer Collection

by Connelly, Michael

  Regina Campo’s courtroom version of what happened that night did not differ from the accounts offered by all previous witnesses in the trial. But where it was dramatically different was in the delivery. Campo, with her face framed by dark, curly hair, seemed like a little girl lost. She appeared scared and tearful during the latter half of her testimony. Her lower lip and finger shook with fear as she pointed to the man she identified as her attacker. Roulet stared right back, a blank expression on his face.

  “It was him,” she said in a strong voice. “He’s an animal who should be put away!”

  I let that go without objection. I would get my chance with her soon enough. Minton continued the questioning, taking Campo through her escape, and then asked why she had not told the responding officers the truth about knowing who the man who attacked her was and why he was there.

  “I was scared,” she said. “I wasn’t sure they would believe me if I told them why he was there. I wanted to make sure they arrested him because I was very afraid of him.”

  “Do you regret that decision now?”

  “Yes, I do because I know it might help him get free to do this again to somebody.”

  I did object to that answer as prejudicial and the judge sustained it. Minton threw a few more questions at his witness but seemed to know he was past the apex of the testimony and that he should stop before he obscured the trembling finger of identification.

  Campo had testified on direct examination for slightly less than an hour. It was almost 11:30 but the judge did not break for lunch as I had expected. She told the jurors she wanted to get as much testimony in as possible during the day and that they would go to a late, abbreviated lunch. This made me wonder if she knew something I didn’t. Had the Glendale detectives called her during the mid-morning break to warn of my impending arrest?

  “Mr. Haller, your witness,” she said to prompt me and keep things going.

  I went to the lectern with my legal pad and looked at my notes. If I was engaged in a defense of a thousand razors, I had to use at least half of them on this witness. I was ready.

  “Ms. Campo, have you engaged the services of an attorney to sue Mr. Roulet over the alleged events of March sixth?”

  She looked as though she had expected the question, but not as the first one out of the chute.

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Have you talked to an attorney about this case?”

  “I haven’t hired anybody to sue him. Right now, all I am interested in is seeing that justice is — ”

  “Ms. Campo,” I interrupted. “I didn’t ask whether you hired an attorney or what your interests are. I asked if you had talked to an attorney — any attorney — about this case and a possible lawsuit against Mr. Roulet.”

  She was looking closely at me, trying to read me. I had said it with the authority of someone who knew something, who had the goods to back up the charge. Minton had probably schooled her on the most important aspect of testifying: don’t get trapped in a lie.

  “Talked to an attorney, yes. But it was nothing more than talk. I didn’t hire him.”

  “Is that because the prosecutor told you not to hire anybody until the criminal case was over?”

  “No, he didn’t say anything about that.”

  “Why did you talk to an attorney about this case?”

  She had dropped into a routine of hesitating before every answer. This was fine with me. The perception of most people is that it takes time to tell a lie. Honest responses come easily.

  “I talked to him because I wanted to know my rights and to make sure I was protected.”

  “Did you ask him if you could sue Mr. Roulet for damages?”

  “I thought what you say to your attorney is private.”

  “If you wish, you can tell the jurors what you spoke to the attorney about.”

  There was the first deep slash with the razor. She was in an untenable position. No matter how she answered she would not look good.

  “I think I want to keep it private,” she finally said.

  “Okay, let’s go back to March sixth, but I want to go a little further back than Mr. Minton did. Let’s go back to the bar at Morgan’s when you first spoke to the defendant, Mr. Roulet.”

  “Okay.”

  “What were you doing at Morgan’s that night?”

  “I was meeting someone.”

  “Charles Talbot?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now, you were meeting him there to sort of size up whether you wanted to lead him back to your place to engage in sex for hire, correct?”

  She hesitated but then nodded.

  “Please answer verbally,” the judge told her.

  “Yes.”

  “Would you say that practice is a safety precaution?”

  “Yes.”

  “A form of safe sex, right?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Because in your profession you deal intimately with strangers, so you must protect yourself, correct?”

  “Yes, correct.”

  “People in your profession call this the ‘freak test,’ don’t they?”

  “I’ve never called it that.”

  “But it is true that you meet your prospective clients in a public place like Morgan’s to test them out and make sure they aren’t freaks or dangerous before you take them to your apartment. Isn’t that right?”

  “You could say that. But the truth is, you can never be sure about somebody.”

  “That is true. So when you were at Morgan’s you noticed Mr. Roulet sitting at the same bar as you and Mr. Talbot?”

  “Yes, he was there.”

  “And had you ever seen him before?”

  “Yes, I had seen him there and a few other places before.”

  “Had you ever spoken to him?”

  “No, we never talked.”

  “Had you ever noticed that he wore a Rolex watch?”

  “No.”

  “Had you ever seen him drive up or away from one of these places in a Porsche or a Range Rover?”

  “No, I never saw him driving.”

  “But you had seen him before in Morgan’s and other places like it.”

  “Yes.”

  “But never spoke to him.”

  “Correct.”

  “Then, what made you approach him?”

  “I knew he was in the life, that’s all.”

  “What do you mean by ‘in the life’?”

  “I mean that the other times I had seen him I could tell he was a player. I’d seen him leave with girls that do what I do.”

  “You saw him leave with other prostitutes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Leave to where?”

  “I don’t know, leave the premises. Go to a hotel or the girl’s apartment. I don’t know that part.”

  “Well, how do you know they even left the premises? Maybe they went outside for a smoke.”

  “I saw them get into his car and drive away.”

  “Ms. Campo, you testified a minute ago that you never saw Mr. Roulet’s cars. Now you are saying that you saw him get into his car with a woman who is a prostitute like yourself. Which is it?”

  She realized her misstep and froze for a moment until an answer came to her.

  “I saw him get into a car but I didn’t know what kind it was.”

  “You don’t notice things like that, do you?”

  “Not usually.”

  “Do you know the difference between a Porsche and a Range Rover?”

  “One’s big and one’s small, I guess.”

  “What kind of car did you see Mr. Roulet get into?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  I paused a moment and decided I had milked her contradiction for all it was worth. I looked down at my list of questions and moved on.

  “These women that you saw leave with Mr. Roulet, were they ever seen again?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Did they disappear? Did you ever see them again?�
��

  “No, I saw them again.”

  “Had they been beaten or injured?”

  “Not that I know of but I didn’t ask.”

  “But all of this added up to you believing that you were safe as far as approaching and soliciting him, correct?”

  “I don’t know about safe. I just knew he was probably there looking for a girl and the man I was with already told me he would be finished by ten because he had to go to his business.”

  “Well, can you tell the jury why it was that you did not have to sit with Mr. Roulet like you did with Mr. Talbot and subject him to a freak test?”

  Her eyes drifted over to Minton. She was hoping for a rescue but none was coming.

  “I just thought he was a known quantity, that’s all.”

  “You thought he was safe.”

  “I guess so. I don’t know. I needed the money and I made a mistake with him.”

  “Did you think he was rich and could solve your need for money?”

  “No, nothing like that. I saw him as a potential customer who wasn’t new to the game. Somebody who knew what he was doing.”

  “You testified that on prior occasions you had seen Mr. Roulet with other women who practice the same profession as yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  “They’re prostitutes.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know them?”

  “We’re acquaintances.”

  “And do you extend professional courtesy to these women in terms of alerting them to customers who might be dangerous or unwilling to pay?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “And they extend the same professional courtesy to you, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many of them warned you about Louis Roulet?”

  “Well, nobody did, or I wouldn’t have gone with him.”

  I nodded and looked at my notes for a long moment before continuing. I then led her in more detail through the events at Morgan’s and then introduced the video surveillance tape from the bar’s overhead camera. Minton objected to it being shown to the jury without proper foundation but he was overruled. A television on an industrial stand was wheeled in front of the jury and the video was played. I could tell by the rapt attention they paid to it that they were enamored with the idea of watching a prostitute at work as well as the aspect of seeing the two main players in the case in unguarded moments.

  “What did the note say that you passed him?” I asked after the television was pushed to the side of the courtroom.

  “I think it just said my name and address.”

  “You didn’t quote him a price for the services you would perform?”

  “I may have. I don’t remember.”

  “What is the going rate that you charge?”

  “Usually I get four hundred dollars.”

  “Usually? What would make you differentiate from that?”

  “Depends on what the client wants.”

  I looked over at the jury box and saw that the Bible man’s face was getting tight with discomfort.

  “Do you ever engage in bondage and domination with your clients?”

  “Sometimes. It’s only role playing, though. Nobody ever gets hurt. It’s just playacting.”

  “Are you saying that before the night of March sixth, you have never been hurt by a client?”

  “Yes, that’s what I am saying. That man hurt me and tried to kill — ”

  “Please just answer the question I ask, Ms. Campo. Thank you. Now, let’s go back to Morgan’s. Yes or no, at the moment you gave Mr. Roulet the napkin with your address and price on it, you were confident that he would not be a danger to you and that he was carrying sufficient cash funds to pay the four hundred dollars you demand for your services?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, why didn’t Mr. Roulet have any cash on him when the police searched him?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t take it.”

  “Do you know who did?”

  “No.”

  I hesitated for a long moment, preferring to punctuate my shifts in questioning streams with an underscore of silence.

  “Now, uh, you are still working as a prostitute, correct?” I asked.

  Campo hesitated before saying yes.

  “And are you happy working as a prostitute?” I asked.

  Minton stood.

  “Your Honor, what does this have to do with — ”

  “Sustained,” the judge said.

  “Okay,” I said. “Then, isn’t it true, Ms. Campo, that you have told several of your clients that your hope is to leave the business?”

  “Yes, that’s true,” she answered without hesitation for the first time in many questions.

  “Isn’t it also true that you see the potential financial aspects of this case as a means of getting out of the business?”

  “No, that’s not true,” she said forcefully and without hesitation. “That man attacked me. He was going to kill me! That’s what this is about!”

  I underlined something on my pad, another punctuation of silence.

  “Was Charles Talbot a repeat customer?” I asked.

  “No, I met him for the first time that night at Morgan’s.”

  “And he passed your safety test.”

  “Yes.”

  “Was Charles Talbot the man who punched you in the face on March sixth?”

  “No, he was not,” she answered quickly.

  “Did you offer to split the profits you would receive from a lawsuit against Mr. Roulet with Mr. Talbot?”

  “No, I did not. That’s a lie!”

  I looked up at the judge.

  “Your Honor, can I ask my client to stand up at this time?”

  “Be my guest, Mr. Haller.”

  I signaled Roulet to stand at the defense table and he obliged. I looked back at Regina Campo.

  “Now, Ms. Campo, are you sure that this is the man who struck you on the night of March sixth?”

  “Yes, it’s him.”

  “How much do you weigh, Ms. Campo?”

  She leaned back from the microphone as if put out by what was an invasive question, even coming after so many questions pertaining to her sex life. I noticed Roulet start to sit back down and I signaled him to remain standing.

  “I’m not sure,” Campo said.

  “On your ad on the website you list your weight at one hundred and five pounds,” I said. “Is that correct?”

  “I think so.”

  “So if the jury is to believe your story about March sixth, then they must believe that you were able to overpower and break free of Mr. Roulet.”

  I pointed to Roulet, who was easily six feet and outweighed her by at least seventy-five pounds.

  “Well, that’s what I did.”

  “And this was while he supposedly was holding a knife to your throat.”

  “I wanted to live. You can do some amazing things when your life is in danger.”

  She used her last defense. She started crying, as if my question had reawakened the horror of coming so close to death.

  “You can sit down, Mr. Roulet. I have nothing else for Ms. Campo at this time, Your Honor.”

  I took my seat next to Roulet. I felt the cross had gone well. My razor work had opened up a lot of wounds. The state’s case was bleeding. Roulet leaned over and whispered one word to me. “Brilliant!”

  Minton went back in for a redirect but he was just a gnat flitting around an open wound. There was no going back on some of the answers his star witness had given, and there was no way to change some of the images I had planted in the jurors’ minds.

  In ten minutes he was through and I waived off a recross, feeling that Minton had accomplished little during his second effort and I could leave well enough alone. The judge asked the prosecutor if he had any further witnesses and Minton said he would like to think about it through lunch before deciding whether to rest the state’s case.

  Normally, I would have objected to this because I w
ould want to know if I had to put a witness on the stand directly after lunch. But I let it go. I believed that Minton was feeling the pressure and was wavering. I wanted to push him toward a decision and thought maybe giving him the lunch hour would help.

  The judge excused the jury to lunch, giving them only an hour instead of the usual ninety minutes. She was going to keep things moving. She said court would recess until 1:30 and then abruptly left the bench. She probably needed a cigarette, I guessed.

  I asked Roulet if his mother could join us for lunch so that we could talk about her testimony, which I thought would come in the afternoon if not directly after lunch. He said he would arrange it and suggested we meet at a French restaurant on Ventura Boulevard. I told him we had less than an hour and that his mother should meet us at Four Green Fields. I didn’t like the idea of bringing them into my sanctuary but I knew we could eat there quickly and be back to court on time. The food probably wasn’t up to the standards of the French bistro on Ventura but I wasn’t worried about that.

  When I got up and turned from the defense table, I saw the rows of the gallery were empty. Everybody had hustled out to lunch. Only Minton was waiting by the rail for me.

  “Can I talk to you for a minute?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  We waited until Roulet had gone through the gate and left the courtroom before either one of us spoke. I knew what was coming. It was customary for the prosecutor to throw out a low-ball disposition at the first sign of trouble. Minton knew he had trouble. The main-event witness was a draw at best.

  “What’s up?” I said.

  “I was thinking about what you said about the thousand razors.”

  “And?”

  “And, well, I want to make you an offer.”

  “You’re new at this, kid. Don’t you need somebody in charge to approve a plea agreement?”

  “I have some authority.”

  “Okay, then give me what you are authorized to offer.”

  “I’ll drop it all down to an aggravated assault with GBI.”

  “And?”

  “I’ll go down to four.”

  The offer was a substantial reduction but Roulet, if he took it, would still be sentenced to four years in prison. The main concession was that it knocked the case out of sex crime status. Roulet would not have to register with local authorities as a sex offender after he got out of prison.