Grant of Immunity (20 page)

T
rue to his word
, Sean returned to the PD’s Office by eleven. For the last half an hour, he had been researching the law of accomplice liability, using Westlaw’s online automated case search system terminal. It used to be that in order to find controlling appellate cases, lawyers had to search volume by volume through the books of published cases. Now, everything was in the West Publishing Company’s computerized database, and any subject could be researched in a fraction of the time, without having to open a book. Many older lawyers couldn’t adapt to the system, however, giving newer, computer-literate lawyers like Sean a distinct advantage. His intercom line buzzed.

Judy, the receptionist, announced, “Doris Reynolds is in the lobby. She’d like to see you.”

“I’ll be right out.”
Here it comes,
he thought.

He put down the phone, logged out of Westlaw, and walked across the hall to the reception area. Reynolds was standing in the center of the room, hands on hips. She was dressed as if she’d just come from court, maroon skirt with beige blazer. She held a document in her right hand. Fitz was with her. His face was flushed and he appeared ill at ease.
Poor Fitz—caught in the middle—I hope he’ll forgive me.

Fitz spoke first, “Sean, sorry to drop in on you without warning, but—”

Doris Reynolds cut him off. “I’ll do the talking.” Her expression was dead serious. She handed Sean the document. “This is for you,” she said. “It’s a subpoena. But perhaps it won’t be necessary for you to actually testify, if you tell me what we need to know now. She looked toward the door facing the inner offices. “Is there a place where we can talk? If what you say doesn’t add to the case, we’ll tear up the subpoena and you can go on your way. Otherwise—”

Sean interrupted. “Follow me, please.”

He led them into the central conference room. This was where Sean had interviewed so many clients and witnesses—his turf. It had huge windows, and as usual at this time of day, the afternoon sun bore into the room, making it hot and stuffy. Sean took a seat with his back to the window, forcing Reynolds to look into the sun when she looked at him. As he expected, she took the seat across from him on the other side of the large oak conference table. Fitz sat at the head.

Reynolds took a pen and spiral notebook out of her purse. She looked at Sean, squinting. “I understand you met with Daniel Hart last week. Is that correct?”

Sean nodded.

Reynolds smiled without humor. “What did he tell you?”

“I’m sorry,” Sean said, “but I’m not at liberty to discuss that.”

Reynolds frowned, looked at Fitz. “Tell him,” she said.

Fitz looked uncomfortable. “You’d better answer her, Sean. It’s either here or in court.”

Reynolds held up her hand to shield her eyes from the bright light. “Let’s not play games, Mr. Collins. I know you met with Hart, and I know he described the events of the murder. As a lawyer, you must know that if you don’t tell me everything you know now, I’ll be able to point out to the jury that you weren’t cooperative. Although I can’t imagine why you would want to shield the man who murdered your mother.”

“I told you,” Sean said, smiling. “I’m not going to discuss anything Judge Hart said.”

Reynolds reddened. “You’ll either tell me now or tell me in court. It’s up to you.”

“I don’t think you understand,” Sean said.

“I understand, all right. For some idiotic reason, you want to protect a murderer.”

“He’s not a murderer,” Sean said.

“Is that what he told you?”

“Ms. Reynolds, please understand me. I’m not going to tell you what Judge Hart said to me. Not here and not in court. And there’s no way you can compel me to do so.”

“Oh?” she snapped. “And just what legal basis are you relying on to avoid being held in contempt?”

“Because,” Sean said, “this morning I met with Amanda Jordan.”

“And?” Reynolds sneered. “What could she possibly have said that makes you think you can avoid my subpoena?”

Sean smiled, looking first at Reynolds, then at Fitz. “I’ve just agreed to join Judge Hart’s defense team. Anything he may have told me is protected by attorney-client privilege.”

J
udge Jack Fields
felt uncomfortable sitting in another judge’s chambers. The whole room reflected another person and another person’s habits, and it made Fields feel out of sorts. Nevertheless, this was going to be his home-away-from-home for the next six to nine weeks while he presided over the People versus Daniel Hart trial. He would have preferred to stay in Orange County and handle that court’s business, but he’d been asked by the Chief Justice of the California Supreme Court to handle this case. A Los Angeles County judge had been accused of murder, and the law presumed that any L.A. County judge would be biased toward the defendant.

Two buzzes from the clerk interrupted his thoughts. Fields got up and went to the coat rack to put on his robe. His regular robe was back in his Orange County chambers. He’d brought a spare, but it had a zipper rather than snaps and took longer to put on. That done, he opened the chamber door and went across the back hallway to the courtroom.

The bailiff, Deputy Sheriff Rick Powell, stood up as Fields entered the courtroom. “All rise and face the flag of our country, recognizing the principles for which it stands,” he announced. “Court’s now in session. The Honorable Jack Fields, Judge, presiding.”

Fields did not usually require his bailiffs to recite the formal entry speech when he sat in his home court, but this was different. A superior court judge was being tried for murder, and Judge Fields had to do everything he could to preserve the dignity of the justice system that he loved.

A judge accused of murder was something extraordinary, a matter of great shame. Fields hoped the facts would show that this accused judge was not guilty, that it had all been some colossal mistake. Regardless of the result, this was clearly a disgraceful new low point in the system of law and order that he himself represented. For all these reasons, he’d required his bailiff to use the formal speech each morning when he entered the courtroom. He did this to have people show respect not for him, but for the office he occupied: Judge of the Superior Court of California.

Fields walked up the two steps leading to the bench and sat down.

“Be seated and put all reading materials away,” the bailiff said after Fields had taken his place. Everyone sat down, except for the people at the prosecution and defense counsel tables.

As was his habit, Fields studied the courtroom before speaking. Bright fluorescent lights illuminated the room, and the judge’s bench gave him a unique view of everything and everyone. It also gave every person an unobstructed view of him, and he felt the weight of all eyes in the room watching, waiting for him to announce that the proceedings were to begin.

It never failed to elate him when he sat down in
his
courtroom. Even when he was having a bad day, he still experienced a sense of euphoria. He felt this way because he was being trusted with the incredible responsibility of deciding other people’s lives. Pretty good for an ordinary guy like him.

His gaze took in the podium and the counsel tables on either side of it, the prosecution to the left, the defense to the right. By tradition, the prosecutor sat closest to the jury, because the prosecutor had the burden of proving the case. Since the bailiff was responsible for the security of the courtroom, the defendant, Daniel Hart, occupied the chair closest to the bailiff, to Fields’s right. The bailiff sat at a small desk to the right of the defense table and in front of the court’s lockup door. Judge Fields looked at Daniel Hart, sitting at the counsel table, directly in front of him. Hart was writing on a yellow legal pad, then must have sensed that Fields was looking at him, because he looked up and for an instant their eyes met. Hart’s eyes were deadly serious and profoundly sad. Here was a man that last year would have been a colleague, someone he could have joked with and talked with about the challenges of being a judge. Fields couldn’t help wondering whether he was looking into the eyes of a murderer.

“The court calls the People versus Daniel Hart case,” Fields said. He made a point of always referring to a defendant by name rather than the label “defendant.” Fields felt that trials were, as a rule, dehumanizing, and it was his obligation to remind everyone that they were dealing with human beings. “May I have each of your appearances for the record, Counsel?”

“Mr. Hart is present with Counsel, Amanda Jordan.” She motioned to a young man, standing to her left. “Sean Collins will be assisting me throughout the trial, but will do no examination of witnesses, Your Honor.”

“Deputy DA Doris Reynolds for the People of the State of California.” She’d been looking at Jordan as she spoke, and frowned when the lawyer referred to Sean Collins.

“Are both sides ready for trial?” Judge Fields asked.

“The defense is ready, but we have a request, Your Honor,” Jordan said. “We need to know the results of the DNA comparison that Ms. Reynolds has been coordinating.”

Reynolds buttoned the jacket on her forest-green pants suit and glared at Jordan. “The DNA profiles of the defendant and of Witness Jake Babbage have been submitted to Biotech Markers, but we do not have the results as yet. We will inform the court as soon as they are available. It’s not too late to delay the trial, if the defendant needs the results before proceeding.”

Jordan said, “We will not waive time. Will the court order Ms. Reynolds to produce the results the instant she gets the information?”

“No court order is necessary,” Reynolds snapped, before Fields could respond.

Reynolds’s rudeness surprised Fields, but he said nothing. He needed to get a better feel for this woman, before taking corrective action. His patience was always rewarded one way or another.

“However, a more important issue must be decided before we begin, Judge.” She paused, and then looked at Jordan. “The People intend to call Sean Collins as a witness in this case. But, as you can see, Mr. Collins is here in the courtroom at the defense table.” She motioned toward the young man Jordan had introduced, who was standing between Jordan and defendant Hart.

“I object,” Jordan said sharply. “Sean Collins is co-counsel. The prosecution cannot violate my client’s attorney-client privilege. Besides—”

Reynolds interrupted. “There’s no privilege involved! Sean Collins is the son of the murder victim in this case. Ms. Jordan can’t hide a material witness in the case by making him co-counsel.”

Fields thought for a moment. In all his years on the bench, he occasionally had seen members of the victim’s family rally around the person accused of the murder. But a victim’s son on the defense team? Truly extraordinary. There had to be more to this.

Fields looked at Reynolds. “What’s your offer of proof? Exactly what will Sean Collins testify to?”

“Two areas, Judge,” Reynolds said, crisply. “First, Mr. Collins was interviewed by Detective William Fitzgerald shortly after the murder took place nineteen years ago. Mr. Collins will describe persons who were friends of his mother and will identify the defendant as being one of the friends.”

“That does appear to be appropriate testimony,” Fields said. “Ms. Jordan, shouldn’t the People be allowed to present that testimony to the jury?”

Jordan shook her head. “No, Your Honor. Ms. Reynolds has not been accurate in her offer of proof. For one thing, Sean Collins was five years old at the time of the murder. He did not identify Judge Hart. In fact, he was unable to describe anyone.”

Reynolds’s reddened and pointed at Jordan. “Judge, whether s
he
likes it or not, the People have a right to call Sean Collins as a witness. It’s—”

“For what purpose?” Jordan interrupted. “Even the victim’s son believes my client is innocent. Why else would he agree to serve as a member of the defense team?” She pointed back at Reynolds. “It’s
she
who’s trying to confuse the jury. If Mr. Collins remembers nothing, what possible purpose can
she
have to put him on the witness stand—other than to intimidate and embarrass Mr. Collins?”

Reynolds glared at Jordan. “I resent that. I’m seeking the truth. It’s the defense that’s trying to conceal and hide evidence. Judge, you’ve got to see through this. It’s for the jury to decide whether or not what Collins has to say is significant. Sarah Collins, the victim in this case, was stabbed fifty times and sexually assaulted.”

“Objection!” Jordan shouted.

“Sustained. Ms. Reynolds, stick to the law. Both of you, sit down.”

Judge Fields considered. The situation presented a real problem. At stake were issues involving fundamental rights. It was well settled that an attorney should not be both a witness and an advocate. But it did appear that the People had a right to call Sean Collins, if he were actually a witness to important events that occurred long ago. The fact that he now represented the defendant couldn’t change that. Fields looked at Reynolds. “What was the other reason you wanted to call Mr. Collins as a witness?”

Reynolds stood. “Mr. Collins recently had a conversation with Daniel Hart. I’m certain that the defendant confessed the murder to him.”

Jordan jumped up. “Objection! Outrageous. Totally false!”

“That’s why he must testify, Judge!” Reynolds shouted. “In the interests of justice. To find out the truth.”

Jordan flushed. “Mr. Collins’s conversation with Judge Hart occurred a month ago, at the approximate time that Mr. Collins became co-counsel. Any conversation would be protected by the attorney-client privilege.”

“That’s nonsense, Judge, and Ms. Jordan knows it. Notice that she said the conversation occurred at the
approximate
time that Mr. Collins became co-counsel. I suggest that it happened
before
he became co-counsel. I’m prepared to prove that the statement is not privileged, and I ask the court to order Mr. Collins to testify, and to disqualify himself from being an attorney on this case.”

Fields took a breath and considered. Perhaps Ms. Reynolds was correct. She was clearly an articulate and intelligent lawyer. On the other hand, this issue involved fundamental and constitutional rights—there was no room for error—his ruling had to be correct. “In order to rule on these two important issues,” he said slowly, “I’ll need to make an under-oath inquiry of Mr. Collins.”

“Your Honor,” Jordan said. “I object. I don’t believe it’s appropriate to question Mr. Collins.”

“Your objection is overruled. These issues must be determined before a jury is impaneled. If you believe any question violates the attorney-client privilege, you may object and argue your point.” Fields looked to his clerk. “Swear the witness.”

Reynolds smiled.

Collins stood and raised his right hand. He had a look of cold determination. The clerk also stood, “Mr. Collins, in the cause now pending, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

“I do.”

Collins walked to the witness box and sat down. “Ms. Reynolds,” Fields said, “I’d you like to ask first about events nineteen years ago. Once the court has ruled on that evidence, we can go to the attorney-client privilege issues.”

Reynolds remained standing and looked at the witness. “Mr. Collins, how well do you remember your mother’s murder?”

“I’ll never forget that night.”

“Do you remember a subsequent interview with Detective Fitzgerald?” Reynolds indicated Fitzgerald, who was sitting next to her at the counsel table. The detective was looking intently at Collins.

“I remember the day he came to interview me,” Collins said.

“You told Detective Fitzgerald about two people you knew, correct?”

“Actually, I have no memory of what I told Detective Fitzgerald.”

Reynolds held up a document. “Would it refresh your memory if you saw the police report?”

“I’ve read it. It doesn’t help. I don’t remember what I said. It was a long time ago.”

Reynolds pointed to Hart. “Do you recall ever seeing Daniel Hart prior to your assignment in the Van Nuys Courthouse?”

“No.”

“Think back,” Reynolds said. “Back to when you were a child. Surely you remember seeing Mr. Hart?”

Collins shook his head. “I’ve gone over this again and again in my memory. I just don’t remember ever seeing Judge Hart before.”

“What about Sergeant Babbage?” Judge Fields inquired. “Do you recall ever seeing him prior to your assignment here as a PD?”

Again Collins shook his head. “I’m sorry, Your Honor. I don’t recall ever having seen either of them before. I wish I did.”

“Can you honestly say that you
haven’t
seen them before?” Fields asked.

“Your Honor,” Collins said. “I was too young. I can’t remember one way or the other.”

Fields looked at Reynolds. “Ms. Reynolds, it doesn’t appear that there is anything that Mr. Collins can testify about.”

She shook her head. “I don’t agree, Judge. I’ll need him in order to establish the past recollection recorded exception to the hearsay rule, so that the police report can be read to the jury. Plus, I’ll need him to establish the time of the murder.”

Jordan stood. “Your Honor, as I said before, we would be willing to stipulate and agree that the police report can be read to the jury. We also would be willing to stipulate and agree to anything that Mr. Collins could testify to regarding that evening.”

Reynolds frowned. “The People will
not
stipulate, will not agree, Judge. Under the law, you can’t force us.”

“We’ll discuss that in a moment, Ms. Reynolds,” Fields said, then looked at Jordan. “Do you need to cross-examine Mr. Collins on anything said so far, or can we go to the issue of attorney-client privilege?”

“I have no questions, Your Honor. We can go to the next issue.”

“Very well,” Fields said. “Ms. Reynolds, move on to the attorney-client issue.”

“Judge,” Reynolds said, “I haven’t finished on the first issue yet. I have another argument I want to present.”

“I’ll hear your argument later. Move on.”

Reynolds looked down for a moment, and then looked up again. “Mr. Collins, I would like you to remember back to last month, on November seventeenth, when you attempted to interview Sergeant Babbage at his residence. Do you recall that?”