The Brass Verdict (34 page)

When the prosecutor was finished, the judge adjourned for the afternoon break. As soon as the jury had cleared the courtroom, I heard a whispered voice call my name. I turned around and saw Lorna, who pointed her finger toward the back of the courtroom. I turned further to look back, and there were my daughter and her mother, squeezed into the back row of the gallery. My daughter surreptitiously waved to me and I smiled back.

Thirty-nine

I
met them in the hallway outside the courtroom, away from the clot of reporters who surrounded the other principals of the trial as they exited. Hayley hugged me and I was overwhelmed that she had come. I saw an empty wooden bench and we sat down.

“How long were you guys in there?” I asked. “I didn’t see you.”

“Unfortunately, not that long,” Maggie said. “Her last period today was PE, so I decided to take the afternoon off, pull her out early and come on down. We saw most of your cross with the deputy.”

I looked from Maggie to our daughter, who was sitting between us. She had her mother’s looks; dark hair and eyes, skin that held a tan long into the winter.

“What did you think, Hay?”

“Um, I thought it was really interesting. You asked him a lot of questions. He looked like he was getting mad.”

“Don’t worry, he’ll get over it.”

I looked over her head and winked at my ex-wife.

“Mickey?”

I turned around and saw it was McEvoy from the
Times
. He had come over, his pad and pen ready.

“Not now,” I said.

“I just had a quick—”

“And I just said, not now. Leave me alone.”

McEvoy turned and walked back to one of the groups circling Golantz.

“Who was that?” Hayley asked.

“A newspaper reporter. I’ll talk to him later.”

“Mom said there was a big story about you today.”

“It wasn’t really about me. It was about the case. That’s why I was hoping you could come see some of it.”

I looked at my ex-wife again and nodded my thanks. She had put aside any anger she had toward me and placed our daughter first. No matter what else, I could always count on her for that.

“Do you go back in there?” Hayley asked.

“Yes, this is just a little break so people can get something to drink or use the bathroom. We have one more session and then we’ll go home and start it all over tomorrow.”

She nodded and looked down the hall toward the courtroom door. I followed her eyes and saw that people were starting to go back in.

“Um, Daddy? Did that man in there kill somebody?”

I looked at Maggie and she shrugged as if to say,
I didn’t tell her to ask the question
.

“Well, honey, we don’t know. He is accused of that, yes. And a lot of people think he did. But nothing has been proven yet and we’re going to use this trial to decide that. That’s what the trial is for. Remember how I explained that to you?”

“I remember.”

“Mick, is this your family?”

I looked over my shoulder and froze when I looked into the eyes of Walter Elliot. He was smiling warmly, expecting an introduction. Little did he know who Maggie McFierce was.

“Uh, hi, Walter. This is my daughter, Hayley, and this is her mom, Maggie McPherson.”

“Hi,” Hayley said shyly.

Maggie nodded and looked uncomfortable.

Walter made the mistake of thrusting his hand out to Maggie. If she could have acted more stiffly, I couldn’t imagine it. She shook his hand once and then quickly pulled away from his grasp. When his hand moved toward Hayley, Maggie literally jumped up, put her arms on our daughter’s shoulders and pulled her from the bench.

“Hayley, let’s go into the restroom real quick before court starts again.”

She hustled Hayley off toward the restroom. Walter watched them go and then looked at me, his hand still held out and empty. I stood up.

“Sorry, Walter, my ex-wife’s a prosecutor. She works for the DA.”

His eyebrows climbed his forehead.

“Then, I guess I understand why she’s an ex-wife.”

I nodded just to make him feel better. I told him to go on back into the courtroom and that I would be along shortly.

I walked toward the restrooms and met Maggie and Hayley as they were coming out.

“I think we’re going to head home,” Maggie said.

“Really?”

“She’s got a lot of homework and I think she’s seen enough for today.”

I could’ve argued that last point but I let it go.

“Okay,” I said. “Hayley, thanks for coming. It means a lot to me.”

“Okay.”

I bent down and kissed her on the top of her head, then pulled her in close for a hug. It was only at times like this with my daughter that the distance I had opened in my life came closed. I felt connected to something that mattered. I looked up at Maggie.

“Thanks for bringing her.”

She nodded.

“For what it’s worth, you’re doing good in there.”

“It’s worth a lot. Thank you.”

She shrugged and let a small smile slip out. And that was nice, too.

I watched them walk toward the elevator alcove, knowing they weren’t going home to my house and wondering how it was that I had messed up my life so badly.

“Hayley!” I called after them.

My daughter looked back at me.

“See you Wednesday. Pancakes!”

She was smiling as they joined the crowd waiting for an elevator. I noticed that my former wife was smiling, too. I pointed at her as I walked back toward the courtroom.

“And you can come, too.”

She nodded.

“We’ll see,” she said.

An elevator opened and they moved toward it. “We’ll see.” Those two words seemed to cover it all for me.

Forty

I
n any murder trial, the main witness for the prosecution is always the lead investigator. Because there are no living victims to tell the jury what happened to them, it falls upon the lead to tell the tale of the investigation as well as to speak for the dead. The lead investigator brings the hammer. He puts everything together for the jury, makes it clear and makes it sympathetic. The lead’s job is to sell the case to the jury and, like any exchange or transaction, it is often just as much about the salesman as it is about the goods being sold. The best homicide men are the best salesmen. I’ve seen men as hard as Harry Bosch on the stand shed a tear when they’ve described the last moments a murder victim spent on earth.

Golantz called the case’s lead investigator to the stand after the afternoon break. It was a stroke of genius and master planning. John Kinder would hold center stage until court was adjourned for the day, and the jurors would go home with his words to consider over dinner and then into the night. And there was nothing I could do about it but watch.

Kinder was a large, affable black man who spoke with a fatherly baritone. He wore reading glasses slipped down to the end of his nose when referring to the thick binder he’d carried with him to the stand. Between questions he would look over the rims at Golantz or the jury. His eyes seemed comfortable, kind, alert and wise. He was the one witness I didn’t have a comeback for.

With Golantz’s precise questioning and a series of blow-ups of crime scene photos — which I had been unsuccessful in keeping out on the grounds they were prejudicial — Kinder led the jury on a tour of the murder scene and what the evidence told the investigative team. It was purely clinical and methodical but it was supremely interesting. With his deep, authoritative voice, Kinder came off as something akin to a professor, teaching Homicide 101 to every person in the courtroom.

I objected here and there when I could in an effort to break the Golantz/Kinder rhythm, but there was little I could do but nut it out and wait. At one point I got a text on my phone from the gallery and it didn’t help ease my concerns.

Favreau: They love this guy! Isn’t there anything you can do?

Without turning to glance back at Favreau I simply shook my head while looking down at the phone’s screen under the defense table.

I then glanced at my client and it appeared that he was barely paying attention to Kinder’s testimony. He was writing notes on a legal pad but they weren’t about the trial or the case. I saw a lot of numbers and the heading
FOREIGN DISTRIBUTION
underlined on the page. I leaned over and whispered to him.

“This guy’s killing us up there,” I said. “Just in case you’re wondering.”

A humorless smile bent his lips and Elliot whispered back.

“I think we’re doing fine. You’ve had a good day.”

I shook my head and turned back to watch the testimony. I had a client who wasn’t concerned by the reality of his situation. He was well aware of my trial strategy and that I had the magic bullet in my gun. But nothing is a sure thing when you go to trial. That’s why ninety percent of all cases are settled by disposition before trial. Nobody wants to roll the dice. The stakes are too high. And a murder trial is the biggest gamble of them all.

But from day one, Walter Elliot didn’t seem to get this. He just went about the business of making movies and working out foreign distribution and seemingly believed that there was no question that he would walk at the end of the trial. I felt my case was bulletproof but not even I had that kind of confidence.

After the basics of the crime scene investigation were thoroughly covered with Kinder, Golantz moved the testimony toward Elliot and the investigator’s interaction with him.

“Now, you have testified that the defendant remained in Deputy Murray’s patrol car while you initially surveyed the crime scene and sort of got the lay of the land, correct?”

“Yes, that is correct.”

“When did you first speak with Walter Elliot?”

Kinder referred to a document in the binder open on the shelf at the front of the witness stand.

“At approximately two thirty, I came out of the house after completing my initial survey of the crime scene and I asked the deputies to take Mr. Elliot out of the car.”

“And then what did you do?”

“I told one of deputies to take the handcuffs off him because I didn’t think that was necessary any longer. There were several deputies and investigators on the scene by this point and the premises were very secure.”

“Well, was Mr. Elliot under arrest at that point?”

“No, he wasn’t and I explained that to him. I told him that the guys — the deputies — had been taking every precaution until they knew what they had. Mr. Elliot said he understood this. I asked if he wanted to continue to cooperate and show the members of my team around inside and he said, yes, he would do it.”

“So you took him back inside the house?”

“Yes. We had him put on booties first so as not to contaminate anything and then we went back inside. I had Mr. Elliot retrace the exact steps he said he had taken when he came in and found the bodies.”

I made a note about the booties being a bit late, since Elliot had already shown the first deputies around inside. I’d potshot Kinder with that on cross.

“Was there anything unusual about the steps he said he had taken or anything inconsistent in what he told you?”

I objected to the question, saying that it was too vague. The judge agreed. Score one inconsequential point for the defense. Golantz simply rephrased and got more specific.

“Where did Mr. Elliot lead you in the house, Detective Kinder?”

“He walked us in and we went straight up the stairs to the bedroom. He told us this was what he had done when he entered. He said he then found the bodies and called nine-one-one from the phone next to the bed. He said the dispatcher told him to leave the house and go out front to wait and that’s what he did. I asked him specifically if he had been anywhere else in the house and he said no.”

“Did that seem unusual or inconsistent to you?”

“Well, first of all, I thought it was odd if true that he’d gone inside and directly up to the bedroom without initially looking around the first level of the house. It also didn’t jibe with what he told us when we got back outside the house. He pointed at his wife’s car, which was parked in the circle out front, and said that was how he knew she had somebody with her in the house. I asked him what he meant and he said that she parked out front so that Johan Rilz, the other victim, could use the one space available in the garage. They had stored a bunch of furniture and stuff in there and that left only one space. He said the German had hidden his Porsche in there and his wife had to park outside.”

“And what was the significance of that to you?”

“Well, to me it showed deception. He’d told us that he hadn’t been anywhere in the house but the bedroom upstairs. But it was pretty clear to me he had looked in the garage and seen the second victim’s Porsche.”

Golantz nodded emphatically from the lectern, driving home the point about Elliot being deceptive. I knew I would be able to handle this point on cross but I wouldn’t get the chance until the next day, after it had percolated in the brains of the jury for almost twenty-four hours.

“What happened after that?” Golantz asked.

“Well, there was still a lot of work to do inside the house. So I had a couple members of my team take Mr. Elliot to the Malibu substation so he could wait there and be comfortable.”

“Was he arrested at this time?”

“No, once again I explained to him that we needed to talk to him and if he was still willing to be cooperative, we were going to take him to an interview room at the station, and I said that I would get there as soon as possible. Once again he agreed.”

“Who transported him?”

“Investigators Joshua and Toles took him in their car.”

“Why didn’t they go ahead and interview him once they got to the Malibu station?”

“Because I wanted to know more about him and the crime scene before we talked to him. Sometimes you get only one chance, even with a cooperating witness.”

“You used the word ‘witness.’ Wasn’t Mr. Elliot a suspect at this time?”

It was a cat-and-mouse game with the truth. It didn’t matter how Kinder answered, everybody in the courtroom knew that they had drawn a bead on Elliot.