Sins of the Fathers (20 page)

2.

“It’s George Mahoney.”

Mona opened the door.

“Is this a good time?” he said. “Brad said it might be.”

“What’s this about?” Mona couldn’t decide how to respond, knowing George Mahoney from church, in a passing way, and knowing he had once been a policeman. He was now active in the community in some fashion.

“If I could just have a few minutes.”

“I’m sorry,” Mona said. “It’s just that I—”

“Sure. I know.” His voice was soft and understanding. She could imagine him making all kinds of people feel comfortable.

“Come in, please.”

He accepted her offer of coffee and she brewed a fresh pot, cleaning the filter twice before brewing, measuring the coffee carefully.

He was looking at the family photo on the piano in the living room when she came in with the coffee.

“He was a fine-looking boy,” he said.

“You take anything in your coffee?”

“Black.”

They sat. A simmering discomfort bubbled just below the surface of Mona’s chest.

George Mahoney was a few years older than she. His reddish-brown hair was thick and perfect.

“I talked to Brad on the phone this morning,” George said.

“He called you?”

“I called him. I wanted to see how you all were doing.”

“That was nice.”

“I mean, this thing has hit the whole church.”

“I don’t want that.”

“No, that’s the way it’s supposed to be.” George leaned forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees, his face earnest. “We’re all part of the same body, it says in Corinthians.”

Mona nodded.

“I heard about the incident,” George said. “You know, with the lawyer.”

“I guess everybody’s heard. There was even a thing about it in the
Daily News.
”

“I didn’t see that.”

“Yeah.” Mona sighed. “It was buried inside a story about the trial.”

“That had to be a shock, seeing her.”

“Something came over me. I just couldn’t handle her being there. It seemed like . . .”

“A violation?”

“Yes.”

George took a sip of coffee, the way he must have done countless times when interviewing witnesses. “What I did see was her little press conference on TV the other day, the one where she ranted against the justice system.”

“That was awful.”

“It sure was. It was obvious what she was doing, trying to poison the jury pool. I don’t think it’s going to work, but I hated to see it nonetheless.”

“Couldn’t someone put a gag order on her or something?”

“Maybe. But that’s up to a judge.” He paused and Mona realized she was feeling something she hadn’t in a long time—
safe.
She was in the presence of a police detective, an honest one, a Christian. She could trust him.

“Let me tell you why I’m here,” George said. “I haven’t come to see you before this because I thought you needed some time for healing, and I know you still do. But maybe I can help a little.”

“Thank you.”

“After being on the streets for a long time, and seeing what happens to real people when the justice system is perverted, I saw a need to form a little support group. We don’t have a name or anything. We’re just a little group of people who have been victims of crime, or whose loved ones have been victimized. And we get together and figure out ways to support each other.”

“That sounds nice.”

“It really is. And we’re active. You know how much good MADD has done.”

“Sure.”

“They show up in court to support the prosecution of drunk drivers, and they have made a real difference. We want to do the same in other parts of the criminal justice system. We’d like to offer you our support.”

“Support?”

“Coming to court with you. Speaking out when this crazy lawyer speaks out. Showing the judge there are real people out here with real justice issues. No need to make any decisions now. But I’ll give you my card.” He removed one from his wallet. “And if you’d like to come to a meeting, just to see what we’re about, that’d be great.”

She took his card with its official LAPD design. It felt good in her hand. Like a lifeline of sorts.

3.

“Your Honor,” Everett Woodard said, “my client would like to make a statement.”

Oh, this was going to be fun. Lindy stood in front of Judge Varner Foster, Leon Colby, the media, and all those family members, imagining the TV images being broadcast around the world. There were probably a billion Chinese watching her eat crow.

“Go ahead, Ms. Field,” Judge Foster said.

“I would like to apologize to the court,” Lindy said. “And to Mr. Colby, and to the witness, Dr. O’Connor. I was out of line. I lost it, and I shouldn’t have. I extend to the court my assurance that it won’t happen again.”

The judge took his time responding.
This is what it must be like to
turn on a spit.

Finally, he said, “Ms. Field, we all understand this is an unusual case . . .”

We? Everyone in the world but her? One billion Chinese people?

“ . . . and it will continue to be so. That makes the imperative of professional ethics and conduct even more critical than usual. When I was a young lawyer—”

Oh no . . .

“—I was known as something of a hothead myself—”

Great! I
’
m an official hothead now.

“—but I learned through many a trial that the best way to make an impression on judge or jury is to operate with restraint, and poise, and decorum—”

All the things I don
’
t have, right?

“—and that lesson was perhaps the most valuable I ever learned. I would like to pass that lesson on to you, Ms. Field.”

Thank you, Judge. And now let
’
s—

“And like my father, I believe the best lessons are those that hurt a little. So I’ll impose a fine of eight hundred dollars, and we will consider the matter closed.”

Eight hundred? Did he say eight hundred?

“Eminently fair,Your Honor,” Everett Woodard said. “Thank you.”

Lindy echoed, “Thank you.”
Yes, and thanks to all the people of the
world watching on television. I am also for world peace . . .

“Then we are ready to proceed,” Judge Foster said.“Dr. O’Connor, will you please retake the stand?”

With a jaundiced eye directed toward Lindy, the doctor came forward and sat in the witness chair.

“Continue your cross,Ms. Field.”

Softly, softly.

“Just a few more questions,” she said. “Doctor, if a boy the age of Darren DiCinni truly believed that God told him to do something, ordered him to do it, would it be reasonable to conclude that the boy might think it the right thing to do?”

“In this case,” the doctor said quickly, “I don’t think so.”

“How about in
any
case?”

He waved his hand.“Oh, I’m sure anyone can concoct a set of facts that would fit your desired conclusion, but that’s not what I see here.”

“Your answer then is
yes
?”

“That’s not what I said, Ms. Field.”

“Your answer is
no
?”

“Please, not what I said either.”

“Is it
maybe
? What is it, Doctor?”

“It is what I said, that’s all.”

Lindy sat down.

“Do you have any more witnesses,Mr. Colby?”

The prosecutor said, “No, Your Honor.”

“Ms. Field?”

“I would like to call Professor Everett Woodard to the stand.”

“Object as to relevance,” Leon Colby said.

“Your Honor,” Lindy said, “Professor Woodard is one of the most eminent legal minds in Los Angeles, and his specialty is criminal law. His testimony is relevant on the issue of the legal meaning of
mental
competence
for standing trial.”

“And while I’m sure Your Honor appreciates the offer,” Colby said, “it is quite clear that the judge is the sole interpreter of the law, and if you desire each side to submit briefs, that is your prerogative. But as Professor Woodard’s testimony is not of a fact-finding nature, it is therefore irrelevant to this proceeding.”

“Yes,” Judge Foster said. “I quite agree. While I respect the professor’s legal mind, his testimony is not required. Will there be anything else?”

“I would like to ask the court’s indulgence,” Lindy said. “I want to ask one more mental-health professional to interview my client. It will be done this week, I assure you.”

“Denied,” Foster said. “Anything else?”

“I will submit the matter to Your Honor,” Leon Colby said.

Lindy sighed. “I would argue that the prosecutor has not carried his burden of proof.”

“And I would remind the defense,” said the judge, “that the burden in a 1368 is on you. And I find that you have not met the burden. I hold the defendant competent to stand trial.”

4.

“We are not going to let you go through this alone,” George Mahoney told Mona. “You are part of us.”

The group called itself Victims of Injustice and Crime, or VOICe, and tonight twenty members gathered in the home of the founder, Benni Roberts. She had welcomed Mona with a hug and words of welcome and support.

The woman had energy and good looks. Around forty, she emanated success, dressed as she was in a St. John suit that looked impervious to wrinkles. She had a pin in her left lapel, all gold and diamonds.

Benni’s home, a spacious colonial in the hills of Encino, looked down on the San Fernando Valley. Members filled the living room, most of them wearing large, round VOICe buttons. Each button had a different photograph in the center. It didn’t take long for Mona to figure out that these were the pictures of loved ones who had died due to some criminal act.

“Each one of us is concerned with justice, because we’ve all been touched by crime, and sometimes, by the way the system is set up against victims,” Benni explained. “In my own case, three years ago, my son was killed by gang members in a random drive-by. They just pulled up to him on the street, right down here at the corner, and asked him where he was from. Josh didn’t know that was a gang challenge. So he said he wasn’t from anywhere. One of the gang members pulled out a gun and shot Josh in the face.”

Mona listened with a sense of dread and instantly shared grief. This strong woman had been through exactly what Mona was going through. And she had come out on the other side, done something with her grief.

“Josh was only sixteen. The police managed to find two suspects, twin brothers it turned out, who a witness could identify. The police got a search warrant for the mother’s house, where the twins lived. They went in and found a gun that matched the description of the gun the witness saw in the hand of the shooter. Ballistics matched the bullet that killed Josh to the gun.”

Benni paused, and Mona realized everyone in the room was hanging on her words, as if hearing them for the first time.

“But it turns out the police didn’t follow the exact rule for serving the warrant,” Benni continued.

George Mahoney added, “It’s called the knock-notice rule. It requires police to knock on a door, announce their presence, and wait for a response. Well, they knocked, announced, waited twenty seconds, and went in. A judge ruled that twenty seconds wasn’t a long enough wait. Result: the gun could not be used as evidence.”

One of the other women in the room said, “Can you believe it?”

Benni said, “I nearly lost my mind. And that’s when George, who was one of the police officers, came to me and said we need to do something about this judge. That’s all I needed to hear. I started VOICe, and the first thing I did was talk to the press and name that judge. I called him a disgrace. Meantime, his ruling was being appealed. People started making contributions to VOICe, and I was able to hire a great appellate lawyer. That’s where the power comes from.”

“We got the decision reversed,” George said. “Last year we went to trial again.”

Mona sighed. “So justice was finally served.”

Benni’s face hardened. “Oh no. The new judge let the defense lawyer run all over the witness. You see, the witness was also a gang member. A rival gang. The defense lawyer tied him up in knots and the judge let him get away with it.”

“What happened?” Mona asked.

“The jury came back with a not-guilty verdict.”

“And that’s that,” George said. “The two scum who did this are walking the streets right now, because they can’t be tried again for the crime. Double jeopardy. And all because of two judges who perverted justice.”

“But they won’t be able to do it for long,” Benni said.“We have so many people ready to target them in the next election, they won’t be on the bench. That’s the power of VOICe.”