Grant of Immunity (17 page)

R
eynolds was finishing
up for the day and preparing to go home when her phone rang.
Who the hell is calling me now?
she thought. She was in a hurry, and the last thing she needed was a call that would delay her from getting home and relaxing with her cats. For an instant, she considered not answering, then picked up the phone. The secretary told her it was a Robbery-Homicide Lieutenant. Someone named Hardy. “Put him through,” Reynolds said.

“Deputy DA Reynolds?” the voice asked.

“What do you need?” she snapped.

“I’m a team leader in Robbery-Homicide. I work for Captain Becker.”

“Lieutenant, I’m in a hurry. Get to the point.”

“Yes. Right.” Hardy paused and Reynolds heard paper shuffling. “I’ve got DNA results here. I think they might be related to your case. Fitzgerald ordered them. Do you want them, or should I give them to Fitzgerald?”

Reynolds felt a flash of rage that Fitzgerald had defied her, and then realized the profiles had to have been ordered some time ago. “When were the comparisons made?” she asked.

“A while back. Before June, at least.”

Reynolds considered. These DNA profiles must have been analyzed before Hart was charged with murder. It probably didn’t make any difference to her case, but she didn’t want to risk it. There was no telling what Fitzgerald was capable of, and she would take no chances. “Don’t give them to Fitzgerald,” she said. “Send them straight to me.”

J
ordan was impressed
with the way Fitzgerald was handling the case. Detectives were usually passive-aggressive toward defense attorneys—and sexist—and made it as difficult as possible for her to do her job. They forced her to get a court order before turning over any reports or information about her case and made it clear how annoyed they were whenever she called to ask for anything. But Fitzgerald was different—easy to talk to and respectful—not in any way dismissive. It wasn’t necessary for her to do anything more than ask in order to get a complete copy of the murder book. Why couldn’t all cops be like him?

Jordan carefully studied the murder book she’d received from Fitzgerald, with its crime reports, photographs, and autopsy results. It was not easy to go through. In her career, she’d seen photos of brutally murdered victims again and again, but Sarah’s photos were particularly gruesome, perhaps, even the worst.

There was no denying that things looked bad for Daniel. There were two people there on the night of the murder—and everything in the murder book pointed to those two being Jake Babbage and Daniel Hart.

But something was very wrong. And she was going to have to dig deeper to find it.

The Judge Daniel Hart that Jordan knew was kind, compassionate, and fair. She smiled to herself thinking about the cases she worked on with Daniel when he was a prosecutor. He’d gladly lose a case than take the chance an innocent person might be convicted. As a judge, she appeared in front of him many, many times, and she could always count on him to do the right thing. She looked up to him, and yes, she had to admit, she loved being in his courtroom.

The person who murdered Sarah Collins was a vicious, sadistic sociopath. Jordan had defended such people. They were cold, calculating, shallow, and totally devoid of empathy or human feelings. The very opposite of Judge Daniel Hart. But precisely the characteristics Jake Babbage displayed.

Jordan had started her career as a public defender. It was difficult to get that first job working for the Los Angeles Public Defender’s Office, but it had been worth it. In the six years she worked as a deputy PD, she tried over a hundred cases, ranging from drunk driving to death penalty murders. She left the PD’s Office to go out on her own in the late 1980s. That, too, had been difficult at first, and she had survived by being a court-appointed lawyer in cases where the Public Defender’s Office declared a conflict. Judges, prosecutors, and other defense attorneys had commented on her dedication to her clients, the thoroughness with which she researched her cases, her willingness to go anywhere, anytime to investigate the minutest factual point or legal issue. She worked hard to do all this with style, respect, and good humor. Judges and juries responded by going her way, giving her a win-loss record (almost always a win) that she could be proud of.

But Jordan remained an unknown until she got an acquittal in the famous Huntington murder case. Patricia Huntington had been charged with the poisoning-murder of her husband, Senator Arthur Huntington. Jordan proved to the jury that her client was an abused spouse who lived in constant fear of her life, and killing Senator Huntington was justified as self-defense. The publicity from that case launched her career. After that win, she never had to worry about finding clients or earning a respectable living.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the receptionist on the intercom line. “Amanda, Judge Hart is here to see you. Shall I bring him in?”

“No, I’ll come get him.”

Jordan walked to the reception area. Hart was seated in one of the straight-back chairs next to a corner end table. Poor guy, she thought, and her heart went out to him. She had never seen him like this before. He looked like he hadn’t slept. He was wearing blue wool slacks with a beige camel hair sport coat. His tie was loose and his shirt wrinkled, but his blue eyes were alert—and sad.

She hugged him. He felt stiff and unresponsive. “Daniel, good to see you,” she said.

The two walked down the hall into Jordan’s corner office. Once seated at her desk, Jordan asked, “You have a new assignment?”

Hart sighed. “I got reassigned after my arrest, handling traffic infraction matters out of the downtown traffic court on Hill Street.”

“I’m glad you weren’t suspended,” Jordan said.

“They can’t. As an elected and sitting judge, I can’t be immediately suspended or removed from the bench, even though I’m accused of murder. To remove me requires action by the California Commission on Judicial Performance, and it can’t do so without a lengthy investigation and hearing. It’s easier for the superior court to put me in a traffic assignment until the trial concludes. If I’m convicted, removal is automatic. If I’m acquitted, the Commission can independently decide if there was misconduct and whether further action is necessary.”

Jordan shook her head sympathetically. She walked around her desk, sat in a chair next to Hart, and took both of his hands in hers. Daniel’s hands were cold and damp. “I know this is a difficult time for you. But you mustn’t be discouraged.”

Hart shrugged. “I’m not sure anything really matters. There are times when I’ve considered pleading guilty. All that stops me is the fact that I can’t bear to see that bastard Babbage getting away with it.”

“You can be certain he
will
get away with it if you plead guilty,” Jordan said. “But we need to take things one step at a time. If we can prove he’s a liar, he’ll lose his immunity and be prosecuted as the real murderer. It’s going to be all over for him.”

Hart nodded, but it was clear he was not convinced. She took a deep breath. “I asked you to come in so we could take a bit more time to discuss strategy before tomorrow’s arraignment in Van Nuys. The grand jury has delivered its indictment. You and I agreed you wouldn’t waive your right to a speedy trial, because the case against you is weak, and we don’t want to give the prosecution time to strengthen it. We’ve also found out the name of the Orange County judge who’s hearing the case. Jack Fields.”

Because Hart was a superior court judge in Los Angeles County, Jordan knew that all judges within the county were automatically disqualified from hearing his case, according to Judicial Council rules. Hence, Orange County and Judge Jack Fields.

“I know who Fields is, but I haven’t actually met him,” Hart said. “His reputation’s pretty good. He’s been teaching felony sentencing to new judges at the Judicial College at Berkeley for years.”

Jordan knew about the Judicial College, and the fact that Judge Fields taught there indicated that he must be competent. But it said nothing about Fields’s judicial temperament, or whether he would have the guts to dismiss this case if that was warranted.

“The prosecution still has no corroboration of Babbage’s testimony,” Jordan said.

“I’m not surprised. Babbage is a liar.”

She nodded and looked directly into Hart’s eyes. “There are two items that worry me. The semen and the knife. So far, no knife has been found, and I believe it’s unlikely it will show up—but we need to be prepared for any surprises in that area. With respect to the semen, Babbage said he got a blowjob from the victim before he was knocked out. He claims he doesn’t remember whether or not he ejaculated. If he did, the semen found in the victim’s mouth should match his DNA. If it does, it does corroborate his story.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Hart replied. “It just means he ejaculated in Sarah Collins’s mouth, and that he was with Sarah that night—all consistent with his being the murderer.”

She considered. “According to Babbage’s statement, you forced Sarah Collins to have oral sex with you, too.”

Hart took a breath. “I want you to arrange a comparison of my DNA to the sample from Sarah Collins’s mouth. You’ll find—”

Jordan held up her hand. “I’ll get your side later. Let me continue.”

Hart scowled. “You don’t seem to understand. I
am
responsible for the death of Sarah Collins. If it weren’t for me, she’d still be alive. I’ll never be able to live that down.”

Jordan raised an eyebrow, although she was too professional to show any other reaction. Her job was to provide the best defense for her client. She’d learned long ago not to be too curious or surprised at anything a client mentioned or didn’t mention.

But she still wondered why the prosecution hadn’t asked for a blood sample or DNA swab from Hart to compare. Perhaps the physical evidence from the murder scene hadn’t been properly preserved and no DNA profile could be obtained from the semen sample. Such facts would be useful to know, but Jordan could not ask without tipping her hand. Besides, she feared if there was a DNA profile, the sample would compare positive for Hart and provide the corroboration the prosecution so far had lacked. She put her hands on his and looked directly into his eyes. “I think it’s best for us not to make the comparison. The risk is too great.”

“You still don’t understand,” Hart said, removing his hands from hers, staring back. “I’m not asking your advice on this issue. I’m directing you, as my lawyer, to arrange for the comparison. Period.”

“Of course, whatever you want,” Jordan said, without missing a beat, as if it was the most logical thing in the world for Hart to want. “But you must realize that a positive DNA result would destroy you in court? As of now, they have no way other than Babbage’s word to prove that you were even at the crime scene.”

“I was there. I remember every detail as if it happened yesterday. The semen in her mouth was
not
mine.”

“But why not wait for the prosecution to move first? And why should we take such an all-or-nothing risk?”

Hart’s eyes softened and became sad, enormously sad. “For the truth,” Judge Daniel Hart said. “For Sarah Collins. For Sean and Erin Collins. For my conscience.”

“Of course,” she said, and thought to herself,
my God, of all the people I’ve ever defended, this man is extraordinary.
Then to Hart: “So be it, then. Tomorrow at the arraignment, I’ll make the request.”

They walked back to the reception area without talking.

“Good-bye, Daniel. Be strong,” she said.

“Thank you,” Hart said.

Jordan watched him leave. Was it her imagination, or did he look more determined—more in charge of himself?

T
he next day
Jordan met Hart in the hallway in front of Department R in Van Nuys. The courtroom was still locked, so they sat quietly on a bench outside. She said nothing, but thought it must be humiliating for Hart, a judge, to wait in the public hallway in a courthouse where only a short time ago he presided.

Jordan heard footsteps and turned. It was Doris Reynolds. She had a scowl on her face, and did not meet Jordan’s eyes as she walked casually up to the entrance, found it was locked, and then stood waiting. She looked at Hart and shook her head.

She wears too much makeup
, Jordan thought.

Presently, the bailiff opened the courtroom door. They went inside and sat in the spectator section, and waited.

The bailiff announced Judge Fields, who entered from a door marked “private” behind the bench. Fields sat at the bench. He looked fit, fiftyish, with thick, graying brown hair. He wore narrow reading glasses, which he used to look down at an open file on his bench. He called the case.

Jordan whispered into Hart’s ear, “Let’s go.” She and Hart walked up to the counsel table. To the judge, she said, “Amanda Jordan, for my client, Daniel Hart, who is present, Your Honor.”

Reynolds stood. “Doris Reynolds for the People, Judge. May I take the plea?” Reynolds spoke in a haughty tone that always irritated Jordan when she opposed her.

“You may,” the judge said.

“Daniel Hart, you are charged in count one of the indictment with murder in violation of Penal Code Section one-eighty-seven. It is further alleged that said murder was committed in the commission of forcible oral copulation, in violation of Penal Code Section two-eighty-eight-a, subsection c, a special circumstance, making you eligible for a sentence of life without the possibility of parole. It is further alleged that said murder was intentional and involved the infliction of torture, in violation of Penal Code Section one-ninety-point-two-a, subsection nineteen, also making you eligible for a sentence of life without the possibility of parole. Does Counsel waive further reading of the indictment and statement of rights?”

“So waived,” Jordan said.

Reynolds smiled. “How do you plead, guilty or not guilty?”

Hart flushed. “Not guilty.”

“Do you admit or deny the special circumstance?”

“Deny,” Hart said.

“Mr. Hart,” Judge Fields said, “your not guilty plea is entered as is your denial of the special circumstance.” He looked at Jordan. “When can your client be ready for trial?”

“Your Honor,” Jordan responded, “my client does not wish to waive his speedy trial rights and asks to have a trial date set as soon as possible.”

Reynolds raised her eyebrows, and then shook her head. “The People need more time, Judge. I realize we cannot force the defense to waive time, but Ms. Jordan should know that if she forces us to an early trial, the People will oppose any continuance in the future.”

“This will be fine with us,” Jordan replied.

Judge Fields glanced at a wall calendar. “Trial will be December thirteen of this year. Anything further?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Jordan took a breath, steeled herself for Reynolds expected response and continued. “I ask that the prosecution be ordered to split the semen sample in their possession, so my client can have it analyzed and compared to himself and to an existing DNA profile of the People’s primary witness, Mr. Jake Babbage.”

Fields looked to Reynolds and asked, “The People’s position on this?”

“There’s not enough left for a split, but the People do have a sperm fraction that could be compared to that of a suspect. If the defendant voluntarily submits a blood sample, we would arrange to have it typed and compared, but we don’t know if the comparison can be made by trial.” Reynolds looked at Jordan, a self-satisfied smile on her face. “Perhaps the defendant wants to waive his speedy trial rights and wait for the comparison.”

Jordan shook her head and frowned. “We will not waive time, Your Honor, but we will submit a blood sample for my client. May we have an order for a rush comparison? And what about Witness Babbage—can we get his DNA profile for comparison also?”

“I will ask him if he will submit,” Reynolds said.

“All right,” Fields said. “An expedited comparison is ordered. If Witness Babbage provides a sample, that will be included. If not, the defense will have to make a motion. Court’s in recess.”