He drew in his breath. “She was present. But she did not fire the gun.”
“So she says.”
“And there is no dispute about the fact that the gun was not found at the scene of the crime.”
The judge peered at the brief in her hand. “The gun was found in some shrubbery in your client’s backyard?”
“That is correct, your honor. At least, that’s what the police officers are saying.”
“It was found two days after the shooting?”
“True. The police searched her home immediately after the shooting. But the gun was found two days later, and only then because they claim they received an anonymous phone call telling them where it was.”
“And the tip was correct. They found the gun.”
“But the fact that they didn’t find it the first time they searched strongly suggests that it wasn’t there at that time. And the fact that an anonymous caller told them exactly where it was two days later suggests that the caller planted the gun.”
“All of which I’m sure you will bring out in excruciating detail at the trial.”
“Your honor,” he continued, “I know that I can discuss all this at trial. But introducing a gun found in my client’s backyard is unduly prejudicial. It proves nothing—except perhaps that someone is trying to frame her.”
“Or,” Jazlyn murmured, “that she’s the killer.”
“But they didn’t find the gun the first time they searched.”
“Apparently they weren’t looking in the right place. Yet.”
“You’re telling me your police officers failed to search Gabriella’s backyard? If that’s true, you’ve got the worst plainclothes officers on the face of the earth.”
“Move to strike defense counsel’s negative reflections on our police officers.”
The judge nodded and waved toward the court reporter.
“Your honor,” he continued, “the test at a hearing such as this is whether the proposed evidence is more prejudicial than probative. If the jury is slammed with evidence suggesting that my client’s gun is the murder weapon, found in her backyard, it will create a false impression difficult to overcome, even though in fact it is no indication of her guilt and may well be indicative of a frame. This kind of deliberate misdirection is all too common, particularly in gangland operations.”
“Are you suggesting some kind of conspiracy to frame your client? I warn you, I’m not even letting you say the word ‘conspiracy’ without an offer of proof.”
“At this very moment, the prosecutors are working in concert with a career criminal, Emilio Lòpez, trying to get him to turn state’s evidence. He may well be the person who organized the frame. If he becomes the prosecutor’s best friend, they will be able to support any wild claim they want. In the name of fairness, I ask the court to exclude this evidence. The prosecution will still have all the evidence they had at the time of the arrest, and perhaps some they’ve discovered since. But this gun is tainted evidence. Don’t let them railroad my client.”
The judge nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Pike. Anything from the prosecution?”
Jazlyn’s manner was unemotional and matter-of-fact. “I agree with Mr. Pike about one thing. The evidence of the gun is prejudicial, but that’s because it is so keenly relevant and such a clear indicator of his client’s guilt. It was her gun. Her prints were on the gun.”
He rose. “I dispute—”
Jazlyn waved him back down. “We all know you dispute. It’s what you do. But the fact is, the prints were found on her gun which was found in her backyard. She was at the scene of the crime, and contrary to what Mr. Pike just indicated, we have strong evidence that she fired the gun while there. She had a powerful motive for taking out Sanchez. Don’t cripple our case, your honor. We need to get dangerous criminals off the street. We need to stop the constant gangland warfare that threatens the city. We need to take a strong—”
The judge waved her hand, cutting Jazlyn off. “Yes, yes. I know how important your work is. And I’m sympathetic, but it’s not relevant to this motion. As Mr. Pike said, this is a simple question of whether the potential prejudice outweighs the probative value. And I find that it does not. The motion is denied.”
He rose to his feet. “Your honor, I’ll ask you to reconsider based on—”
“Denied. You’re welcome to take an appeal, if you think that will do you any good.”
He lowered his chin. The judge knew as well as he did that an interlocutory appeal, even if possible, would not be heard before their scheduled trial date.
Judge Le continued. “I understand there are some questionable circumstances surrounding the discovery of the gun. But I know that you’ll read the jury chapter and verse about that during the trial. You will likely cross-examine each and every police officer involved, suggesting that they did something wrong, or that the gun was planted, or that it came from a parallel universe, or whatever. Given that the defendant is so ably assisted by counsel, I can’t see that the evidence prejudices your client. Is there anything else the court should take up at this time?”
He had already started packing his backpack when, to his surprise, Jazlyn rose to her feet. “Yes, your honor. We would like to raise a counter-motion in limine.”
He frowned. “Can she do that?”
“Call it a motion in limine then. Whatever works.”
The judge stared at her. “I don’t see a motion for that.”
“No, your honor. I apologize. We have not had time to brief it yet.”
He cut in. “Then it should not be heard at this time.”
The judge raised a hand. “Normally I would agree. But given the short fuse we are on, with an imminent trial date, which was your idea, Mr. Pike, let’s at least hear what she has to say. If we can dispose of something at this time, it’s to everyone’s advantage.”
Jazlyn cleared her throat. “Your honor, I would move to restrict all mention of the young girl that the defendant filed a motion to adopt. Esperanza Coto.”
He shot to his feet. “On what grounds?”
“On exactly the grounds you just expressed. It is not probative. It is not relevant to the murder, but it could be keenly prejudicial. I’ve seen indications that defense counsel intends to use this little girl strategically to create sympathy for the defendant.”
“That’s not true.”
“Of course you would say that. Some people have even suggested that the whole point of filing the adoption petition, which seems so unlikely to succeed, was to make the defendant seem like a nicer person than she is.”
He was outraged. “The adoption was filed before the charges were brought against my client. Before we even knew this was going to happen.”
Jazlyn continued. “The adoption petition was filed before charges were brought against the defendant, true, but after the Trademark incident occurred. Given that there is such strong evidence indicating the defendant is the shooter, it would be easy to foresee that she would soon be charged. This whole adoption business creates a false impression.”
“That is not true.”
“We all know defense counsel has a history of using trickery in the courtroom, emotional appeals intended to prevent jurors from thinking logically.”
“I object!”
“This is just argument,” the judge said. “It’s not testimony.”
“What I’m saying,” Jazlyn continued, “is that defense counsel is planning to manipulate the emotions of the future jurors. And that is in fact more prejudicial than probative. I will ask the court to restrict all mention of this irrelevant young girl and especially the pending adoption hearing.”
“And I completely object to that,” he said.
The judge pondered a moment. “Can you explain why this business about the girl is relevant to the murder charge?”
He took a moment. Offhand, he couldn’t think of a reason. But there probably was one, and he didn’t want to make important decisions off the cuff. “If nothing else, it goes to the motiva
tion that the prosecutor just mentioned. And it’s an indication of character. I would like an opportunity to brief this.”
“Well, I don’t feel this motion is frivolous. I don’t want manipulative pathos to replace evidence and logic at this trial.”
“I would never do that,” he said. “Let me brief the motion.”
The judge nodded. “The defendant should be allowed a fair chance to respond before I rule. Briefs in two days?”
As if he didn’t already have enough on his plate. “I’ll get it done, your honor.”
“Thank you. Anything else?”
No one spoke.
“Good.” She banged her gavel and left the courtroom.
He went straight to Jazlyn. “What was that about?”
“Prosecuting a criminal?”
“I’m talking about the ambush. Raising a motion without notifying me in advance.”
“Truth to tell, I just thought of it while we were arguing your motion.”
“I don’t believe you.”
She seemed genuinely hurt. “Believe what you want. You’ve got time to brief it, so nothing unfair is happening. I’m sure you’ll think of some brilliant response.” She packed her briefcase and left the courtroom, followed by her minions.
HE PULLED OUT HIS CELL and dialed Maria. “Guess what? More work to do. Can you ask Jimmy to start on a brief? We’ll need Garrett to do some emergency research. I’ll text the details.”
“Sure. But they’ll want to talk to you. Where will you be?”
“I’ve got a date at the park.”
Chapter 25
Dan had not visited The Meeting Place in many moons, and he was startled by how much, and how well, it had grown. He had a hard time finding a parking spot, and how often was that true when you visited a public park?
Once inside, he lost his way repeatedly, not because he was geographically challenged, but because the park was immense. Even though it swarmed with children, it did not seem crowded, and no one had to wait long for their turn on the tower, or the slides, or the teeter-totters, or the footbridge. He could see that the builders had done everything possible to make it safe. He supposed you could never eliminate the possibility of children falling and hurting themselves, but these padded foam bases had to help. He could also see that it was decked out in bright colors—perhaps the mayor’s touch. This was one of the best parks in this part of the world, which people compared favorably to Central Park in New York City.
And he was about to meet the architect behind the operation. Winding his way past the museum—yes, an actual museum inside the park—he found a small camouflaged office space. Necessary, he supposed, but it had been disguised so as not to detract from the landscape.
He cracked the door open and peered inside. A thin man with a lean face looked up at him. Long hair, balding in front. Stud earring in left ear. St. Pete hoodie. Birkenstock sandals.
“Dan Pike?”
He nodded. “You must be Dr. Albert Kazan?”
“I am.” He looked as if he had never been happier in his entire life than he was now to see Dan Pike walk into his office. “Did you have any trouble finding me?”
“Only a little. And I enjoyed every minute of it.”
Kazan beamed. “That’s what I like to hear. This park is supposed to be as pleasing to grown-ups as it is for children.”
“You succeeded on that score. I need to come here more often. It’s hard not to feel your spirit rise when you’re surrounded by so many people having fun.”
“That is, literally, the best compliment a park designer can get. Do you have children?”
“No. Maybe one day.”
“Don’t rush. Do it when the time is right.” He closed his notebook. “Mind if we go outside? I’ve been in this office too long.”
“Not at all.”
Kazan opened an exit door. “Let’s enjoy the sunshine and the children and the green. Even if we don’t have the most pleasant topic to discuss, we can make the best of it.”
He followed Kazan outside. The office had a rear exposure facing the skating area. Rolling hills of concrete, perfect for enthusiasts. And there were many taking advantage of it, on skateboards, rollerblades, even scooters. “So you made this park?”
“I designed it. We have a construction crew that handled all the hammer-and-nail stuff.”
“But you oversaw that.”
“I see my reputation precedes me. I do have a hands-on approach to the fulfillment of my plans. But that’s how you make sure the job gets done properly.”
“It’s much the same in the law. Delegation is always tempting, but that’s not how you get the best results.”
“I can’t take all the credit for this, though. I may have drawn the plans, but I didn’t finance it. That was a concerted effort. We spent three years hitting up everyone in Florida with an active bank account.”
“Yes, the mayor mentioned that you were involved with that. What did it cost?”
“What with all the eminent domain actions, demolition, bulldozing, planting, and construction, it ultimately cost almost a billion bucks.”
He whistled. “I read that you did your best to help people who lost their homes find new places to live.”
“True. And despite some of the caterwauling you may have read in the papers, it was always to their benefit. Let’s face it—this was all low income, dated, in most cases not even safe, housing. We took people out of the slums and gave them an upgrade. That’s a win-win. Particularly for some of these predominantly Hispanic Southside neighborhoods. We tried to help those who need it most. We may have been financed by the 1%, but they’re not the ones who benefited most. We gave a lot of people jobs. And created a safe place for people of all ages, a place that doesn’t require drug dealing or popping cops. Like I said. Win-win.”
“You should feel proud.”
“I was raised Catholic, and technically, pride is one of the seven deadly sins.” Kazan gave him a side glance as they strolled toward the skybridge. “But yeah, I feel pretty good about it. Now how can I help you? You didn’t come out just for the guided tour.”
“I assume you’ve read about what the papers are calling the Tragedy of the Trademark.”
Kazan nodded. “So pointless. Gang warfare has become too common in the poorer neighborhoods. It takes a big death toll before the papers seem to notice.”
“I left this information with your receptionist, but just to be clear, I’m representing Gabriella Valdéz.”
“Another woman caught up in the gang lifestyle that seems so difficult for those people to escape.”
Did he detect a note of sympathy? Or was there something else, something about the way he said “those people.” “She’s being framed by powerful and resourceful people determined to make sure she disappears for a long time. Perhaps permanently.”
“I don’t see how I can help you. I’m an architect.”
“The mayor said it was your idea to get gang money to finance the project.”
Kazan sighed. He reached down and pointed at a wildflower. “Indian paintbrush. Isn’t it beautiful? Hard to grow in this part of the world, but I found some that would survive and had them shipped in. At my own expense.” He sighed again. “I suppose this is about Luis González?”
“He was a donor?”
“Indeed. Contributed a significant amount to the park fund. And got another of his associates to do the same. His name is on a plaque somewhere around here. That may have to be taken down now.”
“Why would he want to contribute to a park?”
“If you want me to peer inside someone’s heart and reveal their personal motives, you’re asking the wrong person. That’s not my strong suit. Whatever went on in that man’s head and heart, he kept it locked inside.”
“Were you ever in his office?”
“Yes. He expressed interest in contributing but hadn’t done it yet. The feeling was that he needed someone to give him a personal push, and a visit from the archi
tect, the man with all the dreams bubbling in his head, might do the trick. I spent about an hour with him. Got to tour that gigantic arboretum. And the next day he wrote a huge check. That didn’t bounce,” he added, winking.
“But why would he do that?”
“He told me he grew up on the Southside, still lived there, and was doing his best to help people. I know you think he engages in illegal activities, and maybe he does. But that’s not what he told me. The office I visited was completely legit.”
“Certainly looks legit.”
“He told me about his import and export activities. Even showed me ledgers and profit-and-loss statements. Honestly, I had no reason to think I was getting into business with a shady character.”
“So he did this because he wanted to help people?”
“He said it was part of his ongoing work to improve his neighborhood. I believe he even called it ‘the hood.’ He saw how many jobs we could create. I recall him saying something like, every time you give one young man from the hood a decent job, you decrease gang membership by ten. And I suspect he’s right.”
Time to shift gears, a tactic he had learned from many years of taking depositions. Most attorneys followed a linear, chronological dateline when quizzing people. Much smarter to jump around, back and forth, future to present, one topic to the next. Throw the witness off. Give them less chance to prepare. “You’ve also built a lot of hotels, haven’t you?”
“Of course. We do live in St. Petersburg, after all. Tourism is our stock in trade. The more tourism, the more everyone benefits.”
“Some people have called you the Trump of the Tropics.”
Kazan laughed. “Yes, newspapers and blogs have a fondness for alliteration, don’t they? Regardless of how inaccurate it might be. Because we’re not really in the tropics. And I am nothing like Donald Trump.”
“It didn’t bother you? Dealing with people like Luis? I assume you met Emilio López too?”
“May I tell you the truth, Dan? I’ve worked with worse. You don’t always get to pick and choose your financiers. You have to go with the money, you know what I’m saying? If you want to engage in billion-dollar projects, like it or not, you’re gonna make some strange bedfellows. I’m sure you can understand that. You’re a criminal lawyer. You have to represent whatever walks through the door, assuming they can pay your fee. Am I right?”
The Last Chance Lawyer Page 14