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Authors: Don Lasseter

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C
HAPTER
29
L
ABORING AT
L
AW
David Mahler once again mulled over the possibility of defending himself in the upcoming murder trial. The bottom-line results of Andrew Reed Flier's defense efforts in the preliminary hearing had left Mahler infuriated. Not long afterward, he and the attorney separated company.
Still believing he could probably handle it in pro per, Mahler wrestled with the obvious risks. He hated being locked up and set his goals high: to be exonerated and released back to full freedom. Mahler understood that the main impediments would be testimony from Donnie Van Develde and Karl Norvik. Convinced that his skills at cross-examination would easily make them out to be liars, Mahler thought long and hard about tactical problems. He wanted to take the gamble; but at the end of the day, he went shopping again. Hoping for an expert defender at a moderate price, he screened a long list of candidates for replacement. At last, Mahler settled on a middle-aged defense attorney headquartered in Downey, ten miles southeast of downtown Los Angeles.
Lawrence “Larry” Young had earned his law degree at the University of Southern California (USC), which was also the alma mater of Ron Bowers. As the head of his private law firm, Young took on a large variety of cases, from capital murder to domestic violence.
Affable, courteous, and obviously intelligent, Young avoided the garish image of some defense attorneys who dress in expensive, tailored, monogrammed shirts, Italian silk ties, off-the-rack Bottega Veneta suits, and Manolo Blahnik shoes. Many of them pull their long hair into ponytails. Young preferred the comfortable look of slacks, a blazer, and sometimes a pair of brown boots. He kept his thinning, sandy hair closely trimmed.
Young had achieved numerous successes in court. In 2003, he had won a verdict of not guilty for a young man accused of second-degree murder and vehicular manslaughter in a street-racing incident. Young said, “I was pleased at the jury's decision because the Norwalk courthouse has a national reputation for having some of the toughest prosecutors and the toughest juries.”
Other victories included:
• Exoneration of a Long Beach defendant accused of kidnapping and forcible rape. He broke down in tears when the jury found him not guilty.
• A verdict of not guilty for a man charged with the attempted killing of two LAPD officers
• After two trials with hung juries in a capital punishment case, convincing a prosecutor to accept a manslaughter plea
• A verdict of not guilty for an ex-felon accused of attempted murder
Journalist Jeanne Gallagher wrote an article praising Young for
representing one of America's Ten Most Wanted, numerous shooting and murder cases, and a controversial patricide case.
“Sometimes it is easy for the general public to wonder how defense attorneys can fight for someone accused of a savage crime. The majority of accused killers are found guilty. So, are these defense attorneys heartless professionals interested only in the money?
A notable public defender once explained it. She said, “We truly believe that everyone accused of a crime is innocent, unless proven guilty by the evidence. And some of them truly are innocent. We can't make that distinction in advance. One of the cornerstones of our democracy is the assumption of innocence and the right to a trial by jury. If attorneys failed to step forward and defend people accused of crimes, there would be nothing but kangaroo courts in our nation. If you were facing a trial for something you did not do, despite public opinion and some faulty evidence, wouldn't you want a good defense attorney?”
 
 
While Larry Young felt justly proud of his accomplishments in the courtroom, he took much greater delight in speaking about his personal efforts in aiding homeless and hungry people. He was instrumental in founding an organization called the Adams Harbor Food Kitchen for the purpose of feeding and clothing needy, disenfranchised street wanderers. Young's generosity, along with a band of other Good Samaritans, set up a kitchen and dining room at St. John's Episcopal Cathedral in Los Angeles.
Young reportedly kept the kitchen alive, even when funding diminished, by providing nearly 90 percent of the costs over a period of fifteen years. Young proudly said, “This has been the most enriching and one of the major challenging experiences in my life... . It is my fervent wish that it continues to receive the support it so desperately needs.”
As a person deeply concerned about social problems, Young actively worked to end gang warfare. He spoke about the death of a young man who had been killed near the Adams food bank and pantry. “I have heard it all... . I have seen it all ... more bodies in the last five years than in my entire lifetime. What has happened to our young people causing them to run in packs like wolves and cowardly kill from a speeding car, justifying the act with inane reasons? They rationalize, ‘He was in our territory. He disrespected us. He belonged to a rival gang.' The urban violence hit close to home when Miguel was cut down. Another young life lost to senseless violence... .”
Compassionate and driven by a deep morality, Larry Young accepted the challenge of defending David Mahler. From what he could see by the evidence available, it certainly appeared that Mahler had been influenced by drugs, alcohol, and a severe mental disorder.
 
 
 
Working feverishly as the trial approached, on schedule for August 2009, Larry Young began the process of building a powerful strategy.
One option would be to let David Mahler tell the jury that a man named Edmund had been roughing up the victim and Donnie Mahler had left the premises. But the jury might give more weight to the eyewitness statements from Donnie Van Develde and Karl Norvik. And most defense attorneys are absolutely against letting their clients take the witness stand, since it opens a volatile Pandora's box of problems in cross-examination.
Another possibility could center on Mahler's original assertions that Kristin Baldwin had attacked him with a knife; thus he had acted in self-defense. However, her diminutive stature and the absence of any history of violence on her part could sink this defense right into a vortex of quicksand.
The issue of Mahler's hinting, in the long interview with detectives, that he might know where the body had been dumped created more problems. The “hearsay” protection he had tried to create would probably be no stronger than wet newspaper.
Even though Mahler would doubtlessly resist a defense of admitting the shooting, and rationalizing that it happened while he was under the influence of drugs and liquor—this looked like the most feasible strategy. Young could even bring in a psychiatrist to testify that Mahler suffered bipolar disorder and could not control his angry impulses. This could eradicate the element of malice, which is required for a murder conviction. The act of playing Russian roulette with no real intent to kill might very well convince a jury to deliver a verdict of involuntary manslaughter, which would allow Mahler to serve a relatively short prison sentence. Young knew that his client passionately wanted immediate release and freedom, so it might be a hard sell to obtain his agreement to this plan.
Larry Young met frequently with Mahler to work out a mutually agreeable solution.
David Mahler's trial would be held on the ninth floor of the Clara Shortridge Foltz Criminal Justice Center in downtown Los Angeles. On that same floor, a long list of notorious defendants had faced judges and juries. This included Phil Spector, O.J. Simpson, “Nightstalker” Richard Ramirez, the slayers of Dr. Haing Ngor, in the infamous
Killing Fields
case, and many others.
 
 
Department 102, at one end of the ninth-floor hall, was the domain of Superior Court Judge David S. Wesley. Highly respected as one of the most energetic, hardworking people ever to wear the black robes, Wesley had presided over Bobby Grace's prosecution of the elderly Golay and Rutterschmidt, plus several other trials.
Expressing his esteem for the judge, Grace said, “He's very collegial with the attorneys who come in the courtroom. He often shares stories of when he was in practice, and can be very funny. But when he's in trial, he's all business and very much in charge.”
In contrast with the severe facial countenance worn by some judges, Wesley's expression appeared relaxed. Even during stressful moments in a trial, he could break into a grin. With light brown hair parted neatly on the left and angling down over the right side of his forehead, and blue eyes highlighting an unlined face, he looked much younger than his sixty-one years. His six-foot stature gave the appearance of an athlete who regularly worked out.
A Los Angeles native, Wesley labored as a youngster at his father's butcher shop in the western side of the city on Fairfax Avenue. Asked about the salary, Wesley smiled and replied, “I was working for my dad. I didn't expect to be paid.” Graduation from Alexander Hamilton High School in 1964 put him on an alumni list with other legal eagles, including Robert Shapiro, one of O.J. Simpson's defenders in the notorious murder trial, and William Ginsburg, who represented Monica Lewinsky during the investigation of her relationship with President Bill Clinton. Sportscaster Al Michaels took his diploma there in 1961.
Wesley attended California State University, Northridge (CSUN), for one year and decided to join the U.S Marine Corps Reserve with a few of his childhood pals. Following that stint, he worked for a while in the finance industry before returning to CSUN to earn a degree in political science. His Juris Doctor came in 1972 from Southwestern Law School, about three miles west of his future office in the downtown courthouse.
After easily passing the bar exam, Wesley interviewed with the district attorney's office and with the public defender. Greater freedom in decision making, he explained, guided his choice to do defense work. After nine years of representing accused killers—many of them in death penalty cases—Wesley and three buddies formed their own private law firm. With higher income, he treated himself to a brand-new 1982 Porsche 928, and he still owns it today.
In addition to courtroom defense work, Wesley volunteered with the Los Angeles County Superior Court as a juvenile referee. In this role, he counseled young people in trouble. “I loved it,” said Wesley. He wanted to steer youthful offenders in the right direction “before they got entrenched in crime.”
Following several more years of defense work with his firm, and a period of time as an independent lawyer, he changed directions in 1993 and became a state bar court hearing judge. In 1995, the superior court made an offer he couldn't refuse, to become a court commissioner. Two years later, Governor Pete Wilson appointed him as a full-fledged judge.
It didn't take long for Wesley's colleagues to perceive his amazing skills. In addition to a reputation for an encyclopedic understanding of the law, Wesley earned praise as an effective manager. Litigators in his court understood the necessity of avoiding unnecessary delays. One defense attorney said, “He puts in enormous hours. And when you go into his court, be prepared, because I guarantee he is.”
Bobby Grace agreed. “You want to be on top of your game when you are in front of him.”
Fairness became a major hallmark in Judge Wesley's style. Another colleague complimented him for his consideration of not only lawyers, but defendants as well. “He treats everyone with dignity.”
Apparently blessed with infinite energy, Wesley also could find time for another important activity. At least twice each month, he showed up at Dorsey High School in West L.A. to preside over a teen court program. Instead of being turned over to the juvenile justice system, students charged with minor offenses face a jury of their peers after school. Wesley's remarkable guidance caused the program to expand to nineteen schools.
Judge David Wesley, prosecutor Bobby Grace, defense attorney Larry Young, and dozens of staff supporters worked long hours in preparation for a trial scheduled to begin in the last week of August 2009. It promised to be a colorful drama, with an amazing cast—and no predictable outcome.
C
HAPTER
30
“W
E
G
OT
TO
G
ET
T
HIS
B
ITCH
O
UT
OF
H
ERE
”
The opening act in a trial is selection of the jury. Each side, the prosecution and the defense, forms certain goals about what types of people they would ideally like to retain. By questioning (voir dire) each candidate, from a pool (the venire) often exceeding a hundred mostly unhappy people, the attorneys and oftentimes the judge gradually whittle the crowd down. Each side is allotted a certain number of peremptory challenges in which no explanation is necessary for excusing the individual. Other candidates are eliminated through “for cause” reasons.
In a death penalty case, the voir dire is far more complex in order to unveil biases or religious and moral viewpoints held by the candidates. In the case of
The People
v
. David Mahler,
this did not apply since the DA had chosen not to seek capital punishment.
It can be a long, tedious, boring process, but sometimes quite entertaining to hear the various excuses people come up with, trying to get out of serving.
On the morning of Wednesday, August 26, 2009, the final day of jury selection for the Mahler case, the pool had grown dangerously small, threatening the possibility of Judge Wesley ordering another herd to be brought up from the crowded jury assembly point on the fifth floor. Defendant Mahler, wearing a light tan suit, white shirt with no tie, white socks, and jail-issued slippers, watched with acute interest at the selection of people who would hold his future in their hands.
One woman being questioned said, “I can't judge anyone due to my Catholic religion.” Wesley responded by pointing out that the Catholic religion does not preclude jury service. Still, he allowed her to be excused. Another woman told of someone firing a gun at her and how it had made her permanently terrified of firearms. A venireman could be seen playing with a handheld computer game during the voir dire
.
When his turn came, he announced that he might not follow the law, which the judge would explain, and added, “I think the defense attorney seems shady from the objections he has been making.”
Larry Young, justifiably distressed, asked for specifics, but the candidate could not name any. Observers concluded the man just wanted out of there.
Young's questioning had certainly been fair and reasonable, while also giving hints of the strategy he planned to employ. Many of his queries centered on understanding and experience with bipolar disorder.
Among the crowded gallery, seated on thin blue pads that did nothing to make three rows of hard-back benches any more comfortable, Jennifer Gootsan observed in fascination. Her friend Robin Henson waited out in the hall with other scheduled witnesses. At one point, David Mahler, seated at the defense table, turned around and appeared to glare at her, even though the two had never met.
Finally, at 2:20
P.M.
, seven men and five women, along with three alternate jurors, were sworn in. Only three candidates remained in the selection pool.
Judge Wesley turned to the prosecution table and asked, “Mr. Grace, are you ready with your opening statements?”
“I am, Your Honor,” Bobby Grace replied. Impeccably dressed in a navy blue suit with a red patterned tie, he rose and approached an invisible mark on the floor about one yard from the jury box. He had long ago learned not to invade the so-called comfort zone of those twelve people. Studies have shown that jurors dislike attorneys standing too close to them, especially during delivery of passionate argument. Grace also avoided using the lectern as a protective shield, preferring to give the listeners an impression of openness with nothing to hide. Instead, he moved adroitly around, often with at least one hand in his pocket, sometimes both. Using no notes, but referring periodically to PowerPoint images on a large screen across the room, Grace spoke in a soft voice, sometimes inaudible to the gallery's back row. Jurors, though, had no trouble hearing him.
During the next half hour, he outlined what he expected the evidence to show. He spoke of the events in David Mahler's bedroom in the early-morning hours of Sunday, May 27, 2007. Witnesses, Bobby said, would testify about Mahler's behavior, his loading a single bullet into a revolver, aiming it at the heads of Kristin Baldwin and Donnie Van Develde, and finally pulling the trigger and ending Kristin's life. The defendant, Grace said, had been interviewed by detectives, who would testify about his statements.
Vickie Bynum sat at the prosecution table, as she would for the entire trial. She wore a white blouse with blue pinstripes covered by a rust-colored suede jacket and black pants. Few observers could guess that this lovely woman, with her collar-length blond hair, glasses, and a pleasant, sweet look on her face, was a veteran homicide detective.
Mahler seemed transfixed on the screen images, which included several photos of Kristin, some as a child, the Cole Crest house, his Jaguars, and a mug shot of himself. With glasses shoved up to rest on his forehead, he glowered and kept a fist lodged against his mouth.
Jurors and several people in the gallery gasped when horrific photos of Kristin's body, lying under the edge of a bridge in the desert, appeared on the big screen. Jennifer put her hands to her face and lowered her head, trembling and trying not to cry aloud.
At four ten in the afternoon, Grace concluded his gripping presentation and sat down.
Larry Young stated he would reserve opening statements until ready to present the defense's case.
Judge Wesley nodded, and gave Bobby Grace the signal to call his first witness.
 
 
Robin Henson walked into the room. She wore a long-sleeved white blouse, with large hoop earrings showing under her shoulder-length, left-parted dark hair. To Bobby Grace's questions, she told the jury of her sister's blue dolphin tattoo, gold watch, ear piercings, and an anklet. Several of these items appeared on the screen, informing jurors that they had been found on the body. Robin, obviously struggling to hold back the tears while dabbing at her eyes with a tissue, identified the watch found on Kristin's wrist. Everyone in the room had seen the contrast of glinting gold against the dark leathery arm that protruded from under the desert bridge.
As Robin stepped down from the stand after only five minutes, Jennifer rose from the gallery bench and joined her to leave the courtroom. Mahler twisted around in his chair to watch them walk out together.
Witness number two, Monique Wood, an assistant officer manager from the Island Hotel in Newport Beach, answered Grace's questions and verified documents showing Mahler's stay there, with a female guest, on May 24, 2007, under the name “Goldberg.” He had checked in at 12:30
A.M.
and had checked out twenty-four hours later. The witness's testimony lasted only sixteen minutes.
A long day in court came to a close, and Judge Wesley instructed everyone to return the following morning.
 
 
Jonathon Thompson, security officer for the same hotel, seated his substantial frame in the witness chair at nine forty, Thursday morning. Holding his mouth in a tight grimace as if unhappy to be testifying, Thompson said that he had provided a compact disc of security camera images to detectives. Bobby Grace had the CD projected for jurors to see. Even though a bit grainy, the sequence depicted Mahler and Kristin at the check-in counter, along with a heavyset, balding man wearing a Hawaiian aloha shirt. No sound accompanied the action.
Grace asked, “Is the woman that appears in the right part of the screen known to you?” Thompson said yes, that it was Monique Wood, the previous witness. This established that Wood had, indeed, seen Mahler and Kristin checking in.
“On that date,” Grace inquired, “did you have contact with the other woman depicted on the video footage?” He referred to Kristin.
Thompson said he had seen her in the lobby at around eleven thirty that night. “When I first saw her, she was charging her cell phone. Her luggage was outside in our valet parking area. I would say around twelve thirty in the morning she left in a taxicab.”
Defender Larry Young had no cross-examination questions for any of the first three witnesses.
George Goldberg came next on the stand, wearing a gray T-shirt and black short pants. He didn't appear very thrilled with being subpoenaed.
Bobby Grace opened with, “Mr. Goldberg, do you know the defendant in this case, Mr. David Mahler?”
“Yes.” He pointed toward the defense table and said, “He's at the end of the bench right there in a tan suit, with glasses above his eyebrows.”
Projecting a photo on the screen of Mahler and Kristin checking in at the Island Hotel, with Goldberg standing next to them, Grace asked the witness if he recognized it. He replied, “It is David and a girl—Kristi, I think her name was.” He spoke of having talked to Mahler frequently by phone, including a conversation prior to the hotel meeting. They had met at another hotel in Newport a few hours before driving over to the Island Hotel. The entire session had been to discuss a business investment. “I was his broker. He opened a trading account with me. He also did some, you know—wrote some legal work for me.”
“When you got to the Island Hotel with them, was it your plan to stay there overnight?”
“No. I live there locally in town. I had a certificate for a free night that I told David I would give to him. I checked in under my name, but he used the room.”
“Approximately how long did you remain at the hotel with David Mahler and Kristi?”
“I would say maybe a half hour. Checked in, went up to the room and then sat and talked for fifteen or twenty minutes. Then I left.” Goldberg said he had not consumed any alcohol, nor had he seen David or Kristi drink any.
Grace wanted to know if Mahler had been temperamental, aggressive, or belligerent. Goldberg replied, “He wasn't argumentative. He tried to get an upgrade on the room, you know, nothing unusual—like anyone else might have asked for. He was just trying to get the clerk to give him a better room, but he kept on going, going, going. I don't think he was argumentative or contentious, as you say, but you know, he was working her pretty hard to get an upgraded room.”
“Did you have any contact with Mahler after you left there?”
“He called me—I think two or three times the next day, which was not unusual for him to do, because he was checking the market and business things.”
“At some point in time, did you have a conversation with him over the phone about Kristi?”
“Yeah, he said he liked her a lot.” Pushing the point, Grace wanted to know about any additional comments from Mahler about the victim. Hesitating as if reluctant to say anything negative about his friend and business colleague, Goldberg muttered, “He asked me if I knew anybody who could give her a ride back to Calabasas. I told him I would find out and call him back.”
Urged to elaborate, Goldberg said, “He wanted to not ... She wanted—I guess, to go home. And he didn't want to pay for a limo or ... it was too expensive. I'm not sure. But he asked me if I, you know, if I knew anybody who could give her a ride.”
BOOK: Date With the Devil
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