“You mean fixed a jury?”
“Yes, that’s what he said.”
I thought maybe the FBI had gotten wind of the earlier fixes and that was why they had come to Vincent.
“Were they Jerry’s trials that were fixed before?” I asked.
“He didn’t say and I didn’t ask.”
“Did he ever say anything about the FBI sniffing around your case?”
Elliot leaned back, as if I had just said something repulsive.
“No. Is that what’s going on?”
He looked very concerned.
“I don’t know, Walter. I’m just asking questions here. But Jerry told you he was going to delay the trial, right?”
Elliot nodded.
“Yes. That Monday. He said we didn’t need the fix. He had the magic bullet and he was going to win the trial without the sleeper on the jury.”
“And that got him killed.”
“It had to be. I don’t think these kinds of people just let you change your mind and pull out of something like this.”
“What kind of people? The organization?”
“I don’t know. Just these kinds of people. Whoever does this sort of thing.”
“Did you tell anyone that Jerry was going to delay the case?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.”
“Then, who did Jerry tell?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Well, who did Jerry make the deal with? Who did he bribe?”
“I don’t know that either. He wouldn’t tell me. Said it would be better if I didn’t know names. Same thing I’m telling you.”
It was a little late for that. I had to end this and get away by myself to think. I glanced at my untouched plate of fish and wondered if I should take it to go for Patrick or if someone back in the kitchen would eat it.
“You know,” Elliot said, “not to put any more pressure on you, but if I get convicted, I’m dead.”
I looked at him.
“The organization?”
He nodded.
“A guy gets busted and he becomes a liability. Normally, they wipe him out before he even gets to court. They don’t take the chance that he’ll try to cut a deal. But I still have control of their money, you see. They wipe me out and they lose it all. Archway, the real estate, everything. So they’re hanging back and watching. If I get off, then we go back to normal and everything’s good. If I get convicted, I’m too much of a liability and I won’t last two nights in prison. They’ll get to me in there.”
It’s always good to know exactly what the stakes are but I probably could have gone without the reminder.
“We’re dealing with a higher authority here,” Elliot continued. “It goes way beyond things like attorney-client confidentiality. That’s small change, Mick. The things I’ve told you tonight can go no further than this table. Not into court or anywhere else. What I’ve told you here could get you killed in a heartbeat. Just like Jerry. Remember that.”
Elliot had spoken matter-of-factly and concluded the statement by calmly draining the wine from his glass. But the threat was implicit in every word he had said. I would have no trouble remembering it.
Elliot waved down a waiter and asked for the check.
Forty-two
I was thankful that my client liked his martinis before dinner and his Chardonnay with it. I wasn’t sure I would have gotten what I got from Elliot without the alcohol smoothing the way and loosening his tongue. But afterward I didn’t want him running the risk of getting pulled over on a DUI in the middle of a murder trial. I insisted that he not drive home. But Elliot insisted he wasn’t going to leave his $400,000 Maybach overnight in a downtown garage. So I had Patrick take us to the car and then I drove Elliot home while Patrick followed.
“This car cost four hundred grand?” I asked him. “I’m scared to drive it.”
“A little less, actually.”
“Yeah, well, do you have anything else to drive? When I told you not to take the limo, I didn’t expect you’d be tooling up to your murder trial in one of these. Think about the impressions you are putting out there, Walter. This doesn’t look good. Remember what you told me the first day we met? About having to win outside of the courtroom too? A car like this doesn’t help you with that.”
“My other car is a Carrera GT.”
“Great. What’s that worth?”
“More than this one.”
“Tell you what, why don’t you borrow one of my Lincolns. I even have one that has a plate that says not guilty. You can drive that.”
“That’s okay. I have access to a nice modest Mercedes. Is that all right?”
“Perfect. Walter, despite everything you told me tonight, I’m going to do my best for you. I think we have a good shot at this.”
“Then, you believe I’m innocent.”
I hesitated.
“I believe you didn’t shoot your wife and Rilz. I’m not sure that makes you innocent, but put it this way: I don’t think you’re guilty of the charges you’re facing. And that’s all I need.”
He nodded.
“Maybe that’s the best I can ask for. Thank you, Mickey.”
After that we didn’t talk much as I concentrated on not wrecking the car, which was worth more than most people’s houses.
Elliot lived in Beverly Hills in a gated estate in the flats south of Sunset. He pushed a button on the car’s ceiling that opened the steel entry gate and we slipped through, Patrick coming in right behind me in the Lincoln. We got out and I gave Elliot his keys. He asked if I wanted to come in for another drink and I reminded him that I didn’t drink. He stuck out his hand and I shook it and it felt awkward, as if we were sealing some sort of deal on what had been revealed earlier. I said good night and got into the back of my Lincoln.
The internal gears were working all the way back to my house. Patrick had been a quick study of my nuances and seemed to know that it was not the time to interrupt with small talk. He let me work.
I sat leaning against the door, my eyes gazing out the window but not seeing the neon world go by. I was thinking about Jerry Vincent and the deal he had made with a party unknown. It wasn’t hard to figure out how it was done. The question of who did it was another matter.
I knew that the jury system relied on random selection on multiple levels. This helped ensure the integrity and cross-social composition of juries. The initial pool of hundreds of citizens summoned to jury duty each week was drawn randomly from voter registrations as well as property and public utility records. Jurors culled from this larger group for the jury selection process in a specific trial were again chosen randomly—this time by a courthouse computer. The list of those prospective jurors was given to the judge presiding over the trial, and the first twelve names or code numbers on the list were called to take the seats in the box for the initial round of voir dire. Again, the order of names or numbers on the list was determined by computer-generated random selection.
Elliot told me that after a trial date had been set in his case, Jerry Vincent was approached by an unknown party and told that a sleeper could be placed on the jury. The catch was that there could be no delays. If the trial moved, the sleeper couldn’t move with it. All of this told me that this unknown party had full access to all levels of the random processes of the jury system: the initial summons to show for jury duty at a specific courthouse on a specific week; the random selection of the venire for the trial; and the random selection of the first twelve jurors to go into the box.
Once the sleeper was in the box, it was up to him to stay there. The defense would know not to oust him with a peremptory strike, and by appearing to be pro-prosecution he would avoid being challenged by the prosecution. It was simple enough, as long as the trial’s date didn’t change.
Stepping it out this way gave me a better understanding of the manipulation involved and who might have engineered it. It also gave me a better understandi
ng of the ethical predicament I was in. Elliot had admitted several crimes to me over dinner. But I was his lawyer and these admissions would remain confidential under the bonds of the attorney-client relationship. The exception to this rule was if I were endangered by my knowledge or had knowledge of a crime that was planned but had not yet occurred. I knew that someone had been bribed by Vincent. That crime had already occurred. But the crime of jury tampering had not yet occurred. That crime wouldn’t take place until deliberations began, so I was duty-bound to report it. Elliot apparently didn’t know of this exception to the rules of client confidentiality or was convinced that the threat of my meeting the same end as Jerry Vincent would keep me in check.
I thought about all of this and realized there was one more exception to consider. I would not have to report the intended jury tampering if I were to stop the crime from happening.
I straightened up and looked around. We were on Sunset coming into West Hollywood. I looked ahead and saw a familiar sign.
“Patrick, pull over up here in front of Book Soup. I want to run in for a minute.”
Patrick pulled the Lincoln to the curb in front of the bookstore. I told him to wait in front and I jumped out. I went in the store’s front door and back into the stacks. Although I loved the store, I wasn’t there to shop. I needed to make a phone call and I didn’t want Patrick to hear it.
The mystery aisle was too crowded with customers. I went further back and found an empty alcove where big coffee-table books were stacked heavily on the shelves and tables. I pulled my phone and called my investigator.
“Cisco, it’s me. Where are you?”
“At home. What’s up?”
“Lorna there?”
“No, she went to a movie with her sister. She should be back in—”
“That’s all right. I wanted to talk to you. I want you to do something and you may not want to do it. If you don’t, I understand. Either way, I don’t want you to talk about it with anybody. Including Lorna.”
There was a hesitation before he answered.
“Who do I kill?”
We both started to laugh and it relieved some of the tension that had been building through the night.
“We can talk about that later but this might be just as dicey. I want you to shadow somebody for me and find out everything you can about him. The catch is, if you get caught, we’ll both probably get our tickets pulled.”
“Who is it?”
“Juror number seven.”
Forty-three
As soon as I got back in the Lincoln, I started to regret what I was doing. I was walking a fine gray line that could lead me into big trouble. On the one hand, it is perfectly reasonable for an attorney to investigate a report of jury misconduct and tampering. But on the other hand, that investigation could be viewed as tampering in itself. Judge Stanton had taken steps to ensure the anonymity of the jury. I had just asked my investigator to subvert that. If it blew up in our faces, Stanton would be more than upset and would do more than give me the squint. This wasn’t a Make-A-Wish infraction. Stanton would complain to the bar, the chief judge, and all the way up the line to the Supreme Court if he could get them to listen. He would see to it that the Elliot trial was my last.
Patrick drove up Fareholm and pulled the car into the garage below my house. We walked out and then up the stairs to the front deck. It was almost ten o’clock and I was beat after a fourteen-hour day. But my adrenaline kicked in when I saw a man sitting in one of the deck chairs, his face in silhouette with the lights of the city behind him. I put my arm out to stop Patrick from advancing, the way a parent would stop a child from stepping blindly into the street.
“Hello, Counselor.”
Bosch. I recognized the voice and the greeting. I relaxed and let Patrick continue. We stepped up onto the porch and I unlocked the door to let Patrick go in. I then closed the door and turned to Bosch.
“Nice view,” he said. “Defending scumbags got you this place?”
I was too tired to do the dance with him.
“What are you doing here, Detective?”
“I figured you might be heading home after the bookstore,” he said. “So I just went on ahead and waited for you up here.”
“Well, I’m done for the night. You can give your team the word, if there really is a team.”
“What makes you think there’s not?”
“I don’t know. I just haven’t seen anybody. I hope you weren’t bullshitting me, Bosch. I’ve got my ass way out in the wind on this.”
“After court you had dinner with your client at Water Grill. You both had the fillet of sole and both of you raised your voices at times. Your client drank liberally, which resulted in you driving him home in his car. On your way back from there you stopped into Book Soup and made a phone call you obviously didn’t want your driver to hear.”
I was impressed.
“Okay, then, never mind that. I get it. They’re out there. What do you want, Bosch? What’s going on?”
Bosch stood up and approached me.
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” he said. “What was Walter Elliot so hot and bothered about tonight at dinner? And who’d you call in the back of the bookstore?”
“First of all, Elliot’s my client and I’m not telling you what we talked about. I’m not crossing that line with you. And as far as the call in the bookstore goes, I was ordering pizza because, as you and your colleagues might have noticed, I didn’t eat my dinner tonight. Stick around if you want a slice.”
Bosch looked at me with that half smile of his, the knowing look with his flat dead eyes.
“So that’s how you want to play it, Counselor?”
“For now.”
We didn’t speak for a long moment. We just sort of stood there, waiting for the next clever line. It didn’t come and I decided I really was tired and hungry.
“Good night, Detective Bosch.”
I went in and closed the door, leaving Bosch out there on the deck.
Forty-four
My turn at Detective Kinder did not come until late on Tuesday, after the prosecutor had spent several more hours drawing the details of the investigation out on direct examination. This worked in my favor. I thought the jury—and Julie Favreau confirmed this by text message—was getting bored by the minutiae of the testimony and would welcome a new line of questions.
The direct testimony primarily regarded the investigative efforts that took place after Walter Elliot’s arrest. Kinder described at length his delving into the defendant’s marriage, the discovery of a recently vested prenuptial agreement, and the efforts Elliot made in the weeks before the murders to determine how much money and control of Archway Studios he would lose in a divorce. With a time chart he was also able to establish through Elliot’s statements and documented movements that the defendant had no credible alibi for the estimated time of the murders.
Golantz also took the time to question Kinder about all the dead ends and offshoots of the investigation that proved to be ancillary. Kinder described the many unfounded leads that were called in and dutifully checked out, the investigation of Johan Rilz in an effort to determine if he had been the main target of the killer, and the comparison of the double murder to other cases that were similar and unsolved.
In all, Golantz and Kinder appeared to have done a thorough job of nailing my client to the murders in Malibu, and by midafternoon the young prosecutor was satisfied enough to say, “No more questions, Your Honor.”
It was now finally my turn and I had decided to go after Kinder in a cross-examination that would stay tightly focused on just three areas of his direct testimony, and then surprise him with an unexpected punch to the gut. I moved to the lectern to conduct the questioning.
“Detective Kinder, I know we will be hearing from the medical examiner later in the trial, but you testified that you were informed after the autopsy that the time of death of Mrs. Elliot and Mr. Rilz was estimated to be between eleven a.m. and
noon on the day of the murders.”
“That is correct.”
“Was it closer to eleven or closer to noon?”
“It’s impossible to tell for sure. That is just the time frame in which it happened.”
“Okay, and once you had that frame, you then proceeded to make sure that the man you had already arrested had no alibi, correct?”
“I would not put it that way, no.”
“Then, how would you put it?”
“I would say that it was my obligation to continue to investigate the case and prepare it for trial. Part of that due diligence would be to keep an open mind to the possibility that the suspect had an alibi for the murders. In carrying out that obligation, I determined according to multiple interviews as well as records kept at the gate at Archway Studios that Mr. Elliot left the studio, driving by himself, at ten forty that morning. This gave him plenty of time to—”
“Thank you, Detective. You’ve answered the question.”
“I haven’t finished my answer.”
Golantz stood and asked the judge if the witness could finish his answer, and Stanton allowed it. Kinder continued in his Homicide 101 tone.
“As I was saying, this gave Mr. Elliot plenty of time to get to the Malibu house within the parameters of the estimated time of death.”
“Did you say plenty of time to get there?”
“Enough time.”
“Earlier you described making the drive yourself several times. When was that?”
“The first time was exactly one week after the murders. I left the gatehouse at Archway at ten forty in the morning and drove to the Malibu house. I arrived at eleven forty-two, well within the murder window.”
“How did you know that you were taking the same route that Mr. Elliot would have taken?”
“I didn’t. So I just took what I considered the most obvious and quickest route that somebody would take. Most people don’t take the long cut. They take the short cut—the shortest amount of time to their destination. From Archway I took Melrose to La Brea and then La Brea down to the ten. At that point I headed west to the Pacific Coast Highway.”
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