Special Circumstances (20 page)

“In local news, District Attorney Prentice Gates says he’s uncoverednew and compelling evidence in the upcoming doublemurder trial ofaccused killer Joel Mark Friedman.”
—KCBS NEWS RADIO. thursday, january 22.
It’s ten-fifteen the next morning, a Thursday. After making me cool myheels in his newly redecorated reception area for fifteen minutes,Skipper grants me an audience. He’s brought his faithful companion.Bill McNulty. To even the odds, I’ve brought Mort, who will play the“bad cop.” To his credit, he left his cigars in the car.
“What the hell were you doing there, Skipper?” My methods lack acertain degree of finesse.
Skipper fondles his seven-hundred-dollar Mont Blanc pen. He looksgreat today.
He has a press conference at eleven. Turn on the lights.
McNasty has left his jacket in his office. He’s wearing a light blueshirt with a blue polka-dot tie. Two Bic pens sit in his shirt pocket.It’s easy to see how Skipper creamed him in the election.
Skipper smiles broadly. His blue eyes sparkle. He tilts his head backand laughs loudly.
“I take it you’ve seen the videotapes we asked Sandra to send over?”
“I trust you wouldn’t mind telling us what you were doing in the officethat night?”
“It’s not a big deal. I had to get some papers for a meeting the nextmorning.”
“That’s it?” Mort growls melodramatically.
“That’s it,” he replies.
Mort snaps, “That’s the best you can do? That’s a piss-poor story,Skipper.”
Skipper ignores him.
I take a deep breath.
“I don’t suppose you considered the possibility that you should havereported your presence at the firm at one in the morning to thepolice?”
“I did.”
“How come it didn’t find its way into any of the police reports?”
“Beats me. Ask them. Picking up my briefcase certainly isn’t an eventthat should make the eleven o’clock news.”
He’s full of shit.
“You charged a man with double murder. You decide who getsprosecuted.”
“What do you want?” McNulty asks.
“He gave his statement to the police. He didn’t see anything. He wentto his office on forty-six, picked up his briefcase and left.”
Mort leaps in.
“Bill,” he says in a condescending tone, “the security tapes show thathe was there for almost an entire hour. What the hell was he doing?And do you plan to testify on Skipper’s behalf at the trial?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” McNulty replies.
“He was preparing for his meeting the next morning.”
Mort glares. In the right setting, he can still be effective. Hepoints a stubby finger at Skipper.
“You’d better be ready to testify because you’re number one on ourwitness list. You were there and you’re going to have to tell yourstory. In open court. In front of the jury. For the whole world tohear.”
He practically spits out the last words.
Skipper and McNulty glance at each other.
“Mort,” Skipper says deliberately, “go ahead and put me on your witnesslist. Judge Chen will never let me testify. If she does, I’ll sayexactly what I just told you. I picked up my briefcase. I didn’t seeanything. Period. End of story.”
“I’m glad you’ve rehearsed your lines,” I say, “because you’re going tohave to explain to Judge Chen why you shouldn’t be called.” I turn toMcNulty.
“I’m surprised at you. Bill,” I say in my best kindergarten-teachertone.
“I really thought you knew better.”
McNulty rubs his eyes. He really does know better. He’s just playingalong with his boss.
Skipper is amiable.
“I don’t think we’ll be able to resolve this today.”
I glance at Mort. Smoke is coming out of his ears. For ten or fifteenminutes a week, he can still trot out some pretty impressive theatricswhen he’s in the mood.
“So,” Skipper says, “did you like the video from the retreat?” Hegrins.
“Pretty cute scene there when Diana gave Joel that big kiss.”
“It was nothing,” I reply.
“She was drunk and she was showing off.”
“Whatever you say.”
“Where did you get that video, anyway?”
“One of your former partners came forward. He shot it.”
I stop to think.
“Who?” I ask.
“Hutch was taping that night.”
Shit. My former partner Brent “Hutch” Hutchinson is a remarkablepackage of blond hair, gleaming white teeth and a spectacular line ofbullshit. His emotional development came to a screeching halt at afrat party during his sophomore year at USE. After nine years as ArtPatton’s personal lapdog, he finally sucked his way into thepartnership last year. He’s not much of a lawyer, but he’d make aterrific TV game-show host. We’re hopeful advances in medical sciencewill someday permit his doctors to surgically remove his lips fromtheir permanent position affixed to Art’s bottom. Among his otherattributes, Hutch thinks he’s Cecil B. DeMille. He’s always stickinghis goddamned video camera in everybody’s face.
“They should have confiscated his camera,” I say.
Skipper is pleased.
“I thought the over dubbing of the theme from L.A. Law was a nicetouch.”
Mort growls, “Judge Chen will never let that tape in, Skipper. It’sbeen edited a million times. It doesn’t prove anything. It’s a pieceof shit.”
McNulty’s jaw tightens as he looks at Mort.
“We’ll get it in,” he says.
Mort blusters, “The hell you will.”
McNulty turns to me.
“By the way,” he says, “we got more video footage last night. Wehaven’t had time to get it copied. If we can get Skipper’s VCR towork, we’ll show it to you.”
Skipper pushes a button behind his desk and the opposite wall opens,revealing a twenty-seven-inch Mitsubishi TV. I bet Skipper is the onlyDA in California with his own movable wall.
“Impressive,” I say.
“What’s playing today? Twelve Angry Men?”
“More film from the firm retreat,” Skipper replies.
“This one’s even better.”
Swell. More highlights from Brent Hutchinson’s coveted videolibrary.
Skipper dims the lights. I bet there aren’t many DAs with a dimmerswitch, either.
The annoying music from L.A. Law starts. The tape opens with a shot ofa swimming pool near the tennis courts at Silverado. Nobody’sswimming. The chairs are empty.
The camera pans to the hot tub next to the pool. There are two peoplein the hot tub—a man and a woman. The theme from L.A. Law continuesto play. The video is shot from a distance. The camera zooms in onthe hot tub. From the rear, I recognize Diana’s stylish haircut. She’swearing a string bikini. As the camera focuses in on her, I see thetop other bikini is unfastened.
“I didn’t realize Hutch was a Peeping Tom,” I say to nobody inparticular.
Skipper holds up his hand. He doesn’t take his eyes off the screen.McNulty turns my way. I think he’s trying to smile at me—an unnaturalact for him.
The cameraman moves to his left, staying focused on Diana. As hecircles, the camera catches the side of her face. Then he pans backand I realize she’s not only in the hot tub with a man—she’s embracinghim. The photographer moves farther to his left. He focuses on Diana.Then he focuses on the man she’s kissing.
It’s Joel.
McNulty stops the tape. Skipper turns up the lights. He’striumphant.
“You still convinced there was no hanky-panky between Diana and Joel?”he asks.
I don’t answer.
“There’s one other thing, Mike,” he says.
“We’ve decided to ask for special circumstances. We’re going to makethis a death-penalty case.”
Mort’s in an expansive mood as we drive toward downtown. He’s alsohappy to get his cigars back.
“In every case,” he says, “there comes a time when you know whetherit’s a winner or a loser. Today, I think we came to an importantpoint.”
I’m really not in the mood for this right now.
“And what point is that, Mort?”
“The point where I’m pretty sure we’re completely and totallyfucked.”
There you have it.
“He has a videotape of you and Diana kissing in the hot tub atSilverado.” I’m talking to Joel at Rabbi Friedman’s house the sameafternoon. It’s time to explain the facts of life. Thankfully, hisfather is officiating at a funeral and his mother is at the grocerystore. I add, as calmly as I can, that they’ve decided to ask for thedeath penalty.
“Shit,” he whispers.
“Did I mention the fact that she’d unfastened her bikini top?”
“No,” he says quietly, “you didn’t.”
“It’s put-up time, Joel,” I say.
“We can’t have any more surprises. They’re going to blow a holethrough our defense if you don’t start telling me the truth.”
He’s not giving.
“It was nothing. She got playful in the hot tub. We got a littlecarried away.”
It rings hollow.
“If you want to get something off your chest, now’s the time.
It won’t get easier. They’re going to use the tape at trial. Tell methe truth.
I need to know what was going on.”
He looks right at me.
“What do you want me to say?” he shouts.
“We got carried away. That’s it. I admit it. Okay? Diana and I werekissing in the hot tub. Are you happy now?”
“Does Naomi know about this?”
“No.”
I pause.
“You’d better tell her. It’s going to come out. And it’s better ifshe hears it from you.”
“I know.”
Something’s going on.
“What is it, Joel?” I ask.
“Naomi said she wants to take the kids down to her mother’s in L.A.until the trial is over.”
This is not good news.
“We need her. It can’t look like she’s abandoning you.” I know how itfeels to have a marriage shatter. When Rosie and I split up, the painin the bottom of my stomach was unbearable for months. I couldn’t eat.I couldn’t sleep. I blamed myself. She blamed herself. We were botha mess. And we didn’t help each other through it. And I wasn’t ontrial for murder when it happened to me.
“Can you talk to her?”
“I’ll try,” he whispers.
“Good. Now tell me what was really going on between you and Diana.”
“Nothing,” he says.
“Honest to God. Nothing.”
He’s on the verge of tears. He’s begging me to believe him. My guttells me he’s telling the truth. My brain tells me he may be onehelluva liar.
CHAPTER 22
I NEED YOUR HELP, DORIS
“We’re delighted with the way the case has progressed so far. We’revery confident.”
—skipper gates. news center 4. monday, february 16.
“Jesus, Mikey, you haven’t spent a lot of time fixing this place up,have you?”
Doris smiles. Three weeks later, on Monday, February 16, at ten in themorning, Doris is getting another look at my office. Nothing much haschanged since the last time, except for the boxes of files and evidencefor Joel’s case.
“I always water your plant.”
“Good thing.” She gives me a hug. She’s tan and more relaxed thanI’ve seen her in a long time. She scrunches her face.
“The daily special next door must be kung pao chicken.”
She’s probably right.
“How was your trip?” I ask.
“Great. I love the Bahamas. I’ve met a lot of people down there overthe years.
Bob had business with a couple of the bankers. They showed me a goodtime.”
“How’s Jenny?”
“Okay.” She shrugs.
“Last semester. A lot of stress.” We exchange small talk.
She shows me photos from her trip. After a few minutes, she turnsserious.
“Mikey, why did you ask me to come down here today?”
I look right at her.
“We’re getting ready for Joel’s trial. Things aren’t going so well.” Itake a deep breath.
“I need your help, Doris.”
“I figured. It’s going to cost you, though.”
“How much?”
“At least one, and maybe two, cups of coffee. Maybe even lunch.”
“I’ll talk to our executive committee. I’ll see what I can do.”
“If you want to understand Bob,” Doris says as she takes a drink ofcoffee, “you have to go back to his early years at the firm. Thingswere different. The firm was smaller.” She winks.
“The legal profession was a lot less complicated.” She gets a farawaylook in her eyes. Ah, the good old days.
“Anyway,” she continues, “they hired Bob right out of Harvard to workwith Leiand Simpson, as in Simpson and Gates. I was Leiand’ssecretary.”
“What was he like?”
“A gentleman, although some people thought he was a greedy old son of ayou-know-what.”
I never met Leiand. According to my sources, he was an elegant manfrom one of the wealthiest families in the city. Depending on who’stelling the story, he may also have been racist, sexist andanti-Semitic.
She continues.
“Leiand tried to take Bob under his wing, but he wasn’t real receptive.He thought he knew everything. He told me on his first day he wasgoing to be running the place within five years. Leiand had himpegged. He said we’d have to take him down a rung or two.”
“Was Bob married?”
“Yes. His first, to his high-school sweetheart, Sue, who was pregnantwith his first son, Robert III. The marriage lasted only a year ortwo. By the time the baby was born, they were already separated. Sheleft him and went back to Wilkes-Barre. There was a rumor that sheended up in an institution.”
If working with Bob was hard, I can only imagine what it must have beenlike living with him.
“Did the divorce have any effect on him?” I ask.
“Not really. He used to say he was going to sleep with every unmarriedwoman in the Bay Area. There was no such thing as AIDS back then.”
It seems he was developing a pattern of behavior he continued for therest of his life.
“Things weren’t going so well for him at the firm,” she continues.
“To be honest, he was lazy. His career limped along for a few years.At one point, they were going to ask him to leave. Then he marriedElizabeth Sutro, whose father was the presiding judge of the SanFrancisco Superior Court. He started getting introductions into someof the city’s tonier circles. Leiand decided it might be a good ideato keep him around.”
“I guess you don’t want to piss off the presiding judge.”
“Something like that, Mike.”
I find it difficult to picture Bob Holmes in black tie at socialfunctions in Pacific Heights.
She looks at my plant.
“Then Bob got involved with Leiand’s biggest client, Vincent Russo Sr.He was a doctor from Hillsborough who made a lot of money and investedit in real estate. Eventually, he gave up his medical practicealtogether to manage his investments fulltime. According to Leiand,Vince senior predicted every trend in the real-estate business fortwenty years. He practically invented the real-estate syndicationbusiness. He made a fortune.”
“Which his son pissed away,” I reply. She knows more about Russo’sbusiness than I thought.
“Something like that,” she replies.
“So how did Bob get involved with Vince senior?”
She chuckles.
“Right place at the right time. Vince senior had two inhouse lawyers.Ron Dawson was a decent attorney, but not the brightest star in thegalaxy. Joan Russell was really smart and an absolute workhorse. Whenshe got pregnant, she took six months off. Dawson was overwhelmed, soVince senior asked Leiand if he could borrow an attorney until she gotback.”
“So Leiand lent him Bob?”
“That’s right. Leiand was happy to get Bob out of his hair. Insteadof staying for six months, he stayed for three years. He spent histime sucking up to Russo and Dawson. They loved him.”