Death on a High Floor (46 page)

“With all due respect, Your Honor . . .”

“Oh, respect me later, Mr. Benitez. You can get this information in some other way if it’s really critical to this probable cause hearing. Call someone from DHL as a witness if you must. And why don’t you wait until the end of the hearing to move the admission of this exhibit into evidence, when I have more context for it.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” he said. “No further questions.”

Of course, as soon as the next break came, the cops would tell the Blob where the DHL records said the package went. To a Mr. Chen in care of a tea shop in Shanghai. Where the coin would be copied and used as a model for counterfeits. Jenna had protected the formal record in court, but not, no fault of hers, the public record that really mattered in terms of biasing the jury pool. Despite some of Jenna’s small victories, I could feel the noose tightening. My ridiculously ill-placed euphoria of the morning was fading, and I was beginning to contemplate my upcoming trial.

While I was lost in these thoughts, Jenna had said she had no re-cross, the judge had said she needed a very quick break, and most people began heading for the doors. After wallowing for a while in more self-pitying thoughts, I realized that Maria Hernandez was standing silently beside me, waiting. I looked up.

“Hi, Robert,” she said. “Hey, I’m sorry I had to come here today. They subpoenaed me.”

“It’s okay, Maria. You were just doing your civic duty.”

“Well, it still feels awful.”

“Tell me about it.” Then I had a thought. “Hey, do you guys still do travel arrangements for Harry Marfan? I recall you used to do all that stuff for him.”

“Well, we
did
,” she said, correcting my verb. “As a courtesy for a former senior partner.”

“Do you remember if he went anywhere outside the country last month?”

She looked around briefly to see if anyone was watching us. No one was. “Not out of the country, but he went to Hawaii.”

“Do you remember where?”

“He was taking a vacation on the Big Island and asked to fly directly into Hilo.”

“Okay, thanks. Um, if I asked you where he stayed, could you get it for me?”

She paused for a second. “Well, since he’s dead, I don’t suppose it invades his privacy. So sure. And Robert?”

“Yes?”

“I know you didn’t do it. I wish I knew who did. Take care of yourself.”

She turned and left. Sometimes it’s nice to have people you treated well return the favor, even if it’s only a small one.

Jenna and Oscar had gone out into the hall. I got up and went to look for them.

The long, marble hallway was, as in most courthouses, crowded with knots of people. Clients sitting on wooden benches, waiting for their lawyers. Witnesses looking at their watches, waiting to be called to testify. People on cell phones, some trying to shield what they were saying, others not. Lawyers from courtrooms down the hall, huddled with their clients, not quite whispering. Jenna and Oscar were halfway down the hall, locked into an intense, not-quite-whispered conversation.

“Hello,” I said, walking up to them. “They’re really going after the coin stuff. It’s my fault, I know. Going to Chicago, leaving the coins in my pocket, all that.”

Jenna looked at me with a half-smile. “Robert, you look like a sad little kid with his lip stuck out. Buck up. Those were unimportant witnesses. They didn’t say anything we didn’t already know.”

“Maybe. But they’re zeroing in on this crazy theory that I killed him to keep from revealing I was counterfeiting the
Ides
. It’s not true, but it’s gonna sound like a real motive.”

“Be positive, Robert,” Jenna said. “Help us figure out what to do with Spritz. He’s the one who knows something.”

“I don’t have any ideas,” I said.

“Your ideas are always pretty good,” Oscar said. “Think with us.”

“You’re being kind, Oscar. Usually my ideas on this case suck. And you know it. Don’t coddle me.”

“I’m not coddling you.”

Over his shoulder, I noticed the sign above one of the wooden benches. I had never noticed it before. It said
DO NOT PUT FEET ON WALL
.

I pointed at it. “Is that sign a joke?”

Oscar and Jenna both turned to look where I was pointing.

“No,” Oscar said. “People do that here. The judges tend not to like it. They’re fussy.”

“My God,” I said. “We’re in a criminal courthouse. With criminals.”

“I think you’d better go back to the courtroom,” Jenna said. “You’re kind of losing it.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll see you back there.” I turned to go, then turned back around. “Jenna, ask Spritz about the drug stuff!”

“Okay, Robert,” Jenna responded. “We’ll put it on the list.”

I went back to my seat in the courtroom. The courtroom was still empty. I sat there, waiting for everyone to return, thinking dark thoughts.

After a while, everyone else filtered back into the courtroom and took their seats. I noticed Stewart come in and sit yet again in the back row. It seemed to have become his favorite place. Finally, Judge Gilmore appeared on the bench and posed the now familiar question to Benitez.

“Well, Counsel, is the famous Detective Spritz with us again as yet?”

A voice from the back of the courtroom responded. “I’m here, Your Honor.” It was Spritz, who had apparently just walked through the courtroom doors. He strode to the front of the spectator section and stood expectantly just behind the bar, waiting.

“Welcome back, Detective,” Judge Gilmore said. “I hope you had a pleasant afternoon yesterday.”

“More productive than pleasant, Your Honor,” Spritz said.

“In either case, Detective, why don’t you take the stand again so we can resume your cross-examination?”

“You got it, Your Honor,” he said. And then he walked—ambled, really—over to the witness stand and took a seat, looking quite chipper. For my part, I was astonished that he was able to look so repaired after his encounter of the night before with six scotch and sodas.

The Judge reminded Spritz that he was still under oath, and then Jenna stood up.

“Your Honor,” she said, “before I continue the cross-examination, I request that Mr. Stewart Broder, who is sitting in the back of the courtroom, be excluded from these proceedings until after he has testified. Mr. Benitez said yesterday that he will be a witness.”

“Any objection, Mr. Benitez?” Judge Gilmore said. Not that there was any real objection that he could have made, since you can almost always get a potential witness who is not a party excluded from the courtroom.

Benitez looked momentarily pensive. If he wanted Stewart to stay, his only viable option was to decide on the spot not to call him as a witness.

“I have no objection,” he said.

I turned and looked as Stewart, seeming a bit taken aback at being pointed out, rose and exited. A couple of the more junior members of the Blob followed him out the door.

As Jenna moved toward the podium, legal pad in hand, Judge Gilmore herself aimed a question at Spritz. “Detective, between our lunch break yesterday, and right now, have you discussed your testimony or this case with Mr. Benitez or anyone else associated with the District Attorney’s office?”

Spritz paused, clearly thinking. “Not
this
case, Your Honor.”

“Which case, then?” she asked.

“I don’t know if you want me to mention it,” Spritz said.

“I think I do,” she said.

“Okay, then. As you may know from news reports, a Mr. Harry Marfan was murdered last night in Manhattan Beach. I am cooperating with the Manhattan Beach police in the investigation of his murder. That was what I discussed last night with Mr. Benitez.”

“Was Mr. Marfan somehow connected to this case?” Judge Gilmore asked.

“He was on the witness list.”

Judge Gilmore smiled. “Looking at that list, Detective, it appears the entire County of Los Angeles is on it.” She looked over at Benitez. “Mr. Benitez, was Mr. Marfan someone you had actually planned to call?”

“Maybe, Your Honor. But I really think his murder is . . .” He paused. I could see him searching for words that would be not quite a lie, but not the full truth either.

Then he got it together and tried again. “Mr. Marfan’s murder is only, um, tangentially related to this case. And we don’t, we don’t plan to raise those issues at this preliminary hearing. And, uh, I don’t think my conversation with Detective Spritz about the Marfan murder would shed any immediate light on this case.”

Judge Gilmore sat with her chin on her left hand and just stared at him for a few seconds. “Okay, Mr. Benitez, I’m not sure whether ‘shedding immediate light’ is the legal standard to be applied in deciding the question. But I suppose this hearing will be long enough without my intruding some other murder into it by pressing Detective Spritz about it . . . at least for now. Ms. James, you can resume your cross of this witness.”

Jenna apparently decided that Spritz didn’t deserve the usual polite “good morning” and went straight at it.

“Detective Spritz,” she said, “what did you discuss with Mr. Benitez about the Marfan murder?”

It was cheeky, of course, since the judge had basically just suggested that the subject of the Marfan murder was, if not technically irrelevant, likely a waste of time. But Judge Gilmore smiled as Jenna posed the question, which I took to mean that she admired the cheek.

“Objection, Your Honor. Irrelevant,” Benitez said.

“What
is
the relevance, Ms. James?” Judge Gilmore asked.

“This witness mysteriously disappeared yesterday afternoon. Since then he has, by his own admission, spoken to Mr. Benitez about something at least tangential to this case. I’m entitled to find out if their discussions really were tangential.”

“You have a point,” Judge Gilmore said. “But on the other hand, this evidence seems likely to be more time-wasting than probative. I’ll permit you to ask the witness if he discussed either Mr. Tarza or the murder of Mr. Rafer with anyone since he left us yesterday. If he says yes, go for it. If he says no, please go on to other things.”

“Detective,” Jenna said, “Between the time you left here yesterday and right now, have you discussed either Mr. Tarza or the murder of Mr. Rafer with anyone, including Mr. Benitez?”

Spritz smirked. “No.”

That was a lie, of course. Spritz had discussed the murder at least with me. But I didn’t suppose Jenna wanted to impeach him with
that
conversation.

“Fine,” Jenna said. “Let’s move on. Detective, the morning of the murder, you had breakfast at the
DownUnder
, correct?”

“Which murder, Counsel?”

A lot of lawyers would have taken the bait. Jenna ignored the sarcasm and moved right on.

“The one we’re here about today, Detective Spritz, the murder of Simon Rafer.”

“Oh, that one,” Spritz said. “Yes, I was there that morning.”

“And I believe you testified earlier that you didn’t have breakfast with anyone.”

“Correct.”

“Did you meet anyone there, even if they didn’t dine with you?” she asked.

“No.”

“Were any other people there besides you and the people who work at the
DownUnder
?”

“Yes,” he said. “There were. Maybe four, five other people, huh?”

“Did you know any of them?”

“No.”

“Have you subsequently made the acquaintance of anyone who was there that morning?” Jenna asked.

“Not to my knowledge,” Spritz said.

“Do you know Stewart Broder?”

“Yes, but I didn’t know him before the murder.”

“Well, now that you know him, can you say if he was at the
DownUnder
that morning?”

Spritz cocked his head and seemed to think a moment. “I can’t say. Might have been, but since I didn’t know him at the time I wouldn’t have noticed him being there. And right now, I don’t have an image in my head of him being there.”

Jenna looked down at her legal pad. She was clearly searching for a note she had made during Spritz’s earlier testimony. She circled something with her pen and looked up.

“Detective didn’t you tell me yesterday that Stewart Broder was one of only three people you let go by the yellow tape on the eighty-fifth floor?”

“Yes,” he said, “I did testify to that.”

“And you also testified, didn’t you, that Mr. Broder’s excuse was that he was supposedly the deputy managing partner and needed to notify the firm’s other offices why the telephones were down so that they wouldn’t, and I quote, ‘flip out’”?

“Yeah, I testified to that, too.”

“Well, didn’t you then say to yourself, ‘Hey! This important guy is someone I just saw an hour ago at the
DownUnder
!’”

Judge Gilmore interrupted. “Ms. James, can you represent to this court that you have credible evidence that Mr. Broder was in fact at the
DownUnder
that morning? Because if you don’t, this is rather a waste of time.”

It was a pointed interruption. Usually, judges waited for the lawyers to make the objections. Especially if there is a sharp question like that one pending. It meant Judge Gilmore was growing impatient. On the other hand, one of the problems of trial work is that you usually can’t tell the whole story through one witness. Each witness provides a small piece that you have to weave together with the other pieces later, in closing argument. So you have to beg the judge’s patience as you go along.

“I do have such evidence,” Jenna said. “I promise this is going somewhere.”

“Okay, continue, then.” The patience had been temporarily extended. “Please answer the question, Detective. If you recall it.”

Spritz had not forgotten it. “Well, Counsel, if Mr. Broder
was
there, maybe I should have said that to myself, huh? But I didn’t. I was kind of busy at the time with other tasks.”

“I thought detectives were trained to be observant, Detective Spritz.”

“Objection,” Benitez said. “Argumentative.”

“Sustained.”

“I’ll do it a different way, then,” Jenna said. “Detective, do you believe you are more or less observant than the average detective on the LAPD?”

“Objection,” Benitez said again. “There is no foundation that the witness knows, one way or the other, how observant other detectives on the LAPD are. So he has no basis of comparison.”

“Overruled,” Judge Gilmore said. “He’s an experienced witness. If he doesn’t have the basis to answer it, he’ll say so, I’m sure.”

Jenna had put Spritz in a box. Without knowing where it was all leading—and I didn’t really know myself—he couldn’t easily figure out if he’d be better off answering that he was more observant or less observant.

Spritz pondered a second. Perhaps he was considering taking the judge’s lead and simply saying he didn’t know. But then his ego apparently got the better of him and he said, “More observant, probably.”

“Thank you, Detective,” Jenna said. “Did you observe anything out of the ordinary about Mr. Broder that morning you let him past the tape?”

“Not in particular. Did you have something in mind?” Spritz asked.

“Was he,” Jenna said, “wearing makeup?”

“Come to think of it,” Spritz said, “he was. And I remember thinking it was weird, a guy wearing that much obvious makeup. But then, we live in Los Angeles.”

That brought a laugh from the Blob, a glare from the judge, and puzzlement to me. Stewart had indeed been wearing makeup for a year or more, and had seemed to be wearing even more of it than usual on the day he drove me back home. I had mentioned that to Jenna in passing, weeks before, but I had no clue why she was asking about it now. Nor was I to be enlightened right then, because Jenna dropped the subject and moved on to something else.

“Detective, you met with Mr. Tarza the morning of the murder, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“In fact, you questioned him, right?”

“Yes.”

“Questioned him less than an hour after you arrived at the murder scene, right?”

“Right.”

“Did he seem nervous to you?”

“Not really, no.”

“Did you notice any bruises on him?”

“No, although I didn’t look closely.”

“You saw his face and hands, right?”

“Yes.”

“Any bruises there?”

“Not that I noticed.”

“And you asked him to take off his dress shirt, so you saw his arms, right?”

“Yes, I did.”

“No bruises there, either, right?”

“Not that I noticed.”

“Detective, did you already suspect Mr. Tarza at that time?”

“‘Suspect’ is a word out of detective novels, Counsel. What I’d say is that I felt he was a person of interest. Someone we should investigate further.”