Witness for the Defense (15 page)

“But you have to pay something for that kind of protection, don’t you?”

Bobby’s eyes darted back and forth between Patterson, Sarah, and myself. “Pay?” he finally said, as if he didn’t understand. But it was obvious to all he was stalling.

“I’m referring to money, food, shoes, drugs, cigarettes, or articles of personal clothing.”

“Except for the food, which they can have, I really don’t have anything to give them.”

Sarah clasped her hands at her waist, her expression pained. “What about sexual favors?”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Bobby gazed at the ceiling. Tears began to well in his eyes.

“Bobby,” Sarah said in a gentler tone, “were you sexually assaulted?”

He lowered his eyes. They were red and puffy. I could see tears glistening as they ran down his cheeks. “At first I was.”

“And that was because if you didn’t let them have their way, you knew they’d really hurt or maybe even kill you?”

Bobby nodded.

“Is that a yes, Mr. Miles?” the judge asked.

“Yes, sir,” Bobby said, and Brown motioned at Sarah to continue.

Sarah paused again as she walked to the podium. “You said at first you were sexually assaulted?”

Barely audible. “That’s correct.”

Sarah hesitated for a moment like she didn’t get it. “When did these sexual assaults stop?”

“After the second or third day.”

“Why?”

Bobby shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know for sure.”

“Correct me if I am wrong,” Sarah said as she stepped in front of the witness box, “you don’t appear to have any physical signs of having been beaten.”

“I haven’t been lately,” he conceded.

“Can you explain why?”

“Not really.”

“You can’t explain how all of a sudden you stopped having any problems?”

Bobby gave Sarah a perfunctory smile. “Just lucky, I guess.”

“Luck?” Sarah scoffed. “Or is it because someone is protecting you?”

His face went blank, and he glanced at the group of Hispanics seated behind Patterson.

Sarah grabbed the railing that surrounded the witness box and leaned into Bobby. “Isn’t it a fact that you are no longer being beaten or sexually assaulted because Salvador Martinez promised you he would make sure no further harm came to you as long as you agreed to falsely testify for him?”

“No way.”

“And because Mr. Dobbs told you he wouldn’t use your false testimony,” Sarah said, raising her voice, “Salvador Martinez forced you to make these false accusations against him?”

“I keep telling you, I don’t know who Salvador Martinez is.”

“So you say,” Sarah remarked and paused to underscore the point.

Patterson slowly stood. “Your Honor, I fail to see the relevance of this line of questioning.”

“I imagine,” Brown said, “Ms. Harris is trying to establish that maybe Mr. Martinez, rather than Mr. Dobbs, planted a seed in your witness’s head.”

“Then, Your Honor, may I be heard?” Patterson asked, as if he was being inconvenienced.

“I’ve not stopped you so far.” The judge leaned back in his chair, only the top of his head visible.

“I believe we are getting into discovery here, which as the court is aware is not allowed at a preliminary hearing under Proposition 115.”

“I’m aware of Prop 115, Counsel,” Brown rasped. “And I feel all of this is relevant. I’m overruling your objection.”

“But I have information,” Patterson said, rising while waving a several-page computer printout, “that at no time since Mr. Miles’s arrest has he been housed with Mr. Martinez, or, for that matter, been within a hundred feet of him. There is no way Mr. Martinez could have promised him anything.”

“Sounds like Mr. Patterson should call himself as a witness,” Sarah remarked. “But unless he does, he should not be allowed to state what did or didn’t happen.”

“And I will produce this and a lot of other information at trial,” Patterson said, ignoring Sarah.

“That’s it!” Brown slammed his gavel on the bench.

Sarah was taken aback by the power and strength of the frail judge’s voice. She looked over at Patterson, who had been on the wrong side of Brown’s fury before.

“Even if Mr. Miles didn’t come in contact with Mr. Martinez himself,” the judge said, eyeing the four in the front row, “it is within the realm of possibility that one of Mr. Martinez’s acquaintances could have.”

The D. A. turned to see what the judge was looking at and slowly sat back down.

“You may proceed, Ms. Harris,” Brown said.

“Bobby,” she said gently and walked closer to the young man, “did any of Salvador Martinez’s friends approach you in lockup and ask you to He for Mr. Martinez?”

Bobby hesitated, and his eyes shifted again to the four young men whose stares were fixed on him. He looked at me, and his shoulders began to heave. “I can’t answer any more questions.”

Sarah reached to the side of the bench and pulled several tissues from a box that was there for just this sort of occasion. She handed them to Bobby.

“I don’t feel good,” he said.

“Would you like a break?” Brown asked.

“I don’t feel good,” Bobby repeated, like a child trying to get out of going to school on the day of a big exam.

“All right, let’s take a break,” the judge said, standing to exit the bench. “Court is adjourned until after lunch. In the meantime, I want to see both counsel in chambers, along with Mr. Dobbs.”

“Mr. Patterson, I hope you have additional witnesses.” The D.A. was sitting in one of two brown Naugahyde chairs across from the judge’s desk. Sarah and I were in the matching sofa to his left.

“Subornation of perjury normally doesn’t have many witnesses. We have to rely on the testimony of the person to whom the request for false testimony was made.”

“In other words, you don’t have anything to corroborate that young man’s testimony?”

Patterson took a moment to search for the right words. “I didn’t say that,” he said. Both Sarah and I sat forward, not knowing what additional evidence he could be referring to.

“Well,” Brown said with the palm of his hand out, waiting for the D.A. to elaborate.

Patterson leaned back in his chair, relaxed. “I anticipate calling Judge Kellogg as a prosecution witness.”

“What?” I screamed.

Brown pounded his fist on the desk. “Mr. Dobbs,” he growled, “I’m allowing you in my chambers as a courtesy. Now sit still and keep your mouth shut.”

Knowing my propensity for flying off the handle, Sarah pulled on my sleeve before I could say anything further.

“Your Honor,” she began, “we were not informed there would be any other witnesses, let alone a member of the judiciary. All the discovery we’ve been given is based solely on the statements of the young Bobby Miles.”

“Let me see if I can clear this up for everyone,” Patterson said, as if we were all idiots. “I issued a subpoena
duces tecum
on the municipal court for a copy of the transcript of the arraignment of a Miss Janice Cappell. Part of which, I might add, was argued in Judge Kellogg’s chambers.”

“Come on, Mr. Patterson,” Brown said in an annoyed tone. “Who is this Janice Cappell, and what does she have to do with this case?”

Patterson looked at me and snickered. I had a good idea what he was up to. “You see, Judge,” he continued, turning back to Brown, “Mr. Dobbs was the attorney of record for Miss Cappell who, on the day in question, was being arraigned on a statutory rape charge.”

“A female charged with statutory rape. How unusual,” the judge remarked.

“And,” Patterson said, “an accurate reading of the transcript should convince anyone that Mr. Dobbs coerced Judge Kellogg into lowering her bail.”

“That’s a lie,” I said and stopped. I made a point of not looking at Brown, who I was sure was within an eyelash of booting me out.

“What’s even more interesting,” Patterson continued, “after Judge Kellogg agreed to lower Miss Cappell’s bail, Mr. Dobbs then tried also to coerce the judge into lowering the bail on Bobby Miles. Who, as the court is aware, wasn’t even his client.”

Sarah gave me a “what the hell did you do that for?” look. That was a minor detail I’d failed to mention.

Brown turned to Sarah for a response.

“Your Honor, I seem to be in the same position you are. I don’t know what any of this is about.”

“All right,” Brown said and glanced at the clock on the wall behind me. “Mr. Patterson, I want you to make a copy of that transcript and give it to Ms. Harris to review over the lunch hour. I expect all of you to be ready to proceed at one-thirty.”

“I’ll be ready,” the D. A. said, smiling.

“And,” Brown said, “I want you to bring the Bobby Miles file with you when we resume.”

“May I inquire as to why?” Patterson asked.

“You may and you have,” the judge said. “I’ll see the three of you at one-thirty.”

Chapter 16

The Greenhouse is a crowded Italian cafe located two blocks from the courthouse. Sitting across from Sarah, I watched the lunch crowd scurry for an open booth while she carefully read the transcript Patterson had given her. She had barely said a word since we left Brown’s chambers. I knew exactly what she was feeling. Betrayed by a client who had withheld incriminating information. She had been blindsided and I was to blame.

“I make a pretty lousy client.”

She didn’t flinch.

I scooted my chair forward. “Talk to me.”

Sarah slowly lifted her head and peered over the top of her reading glasses. “What could you have been thinking when you asked Kellogg to lower bail on someone else’s client?”

“I felt sorry for the kid.”

She deliberately removed her glasses and placed them in her purse, making a point of snapping it shut. “I hope you don’t think for a moment Brown will buy that.”

“Brown is one hell of a judge, but this is just a preliminary hearing. You know as well as I do that hell rubber stamp me up to superior court for trial, no matter how weak Patterson’s case is.”

Sarah angled her head. “Brown was on our side. He wasn’t buying Miles’s story. But with this,” she said, pushing the transcript at me, “you’ll be lucky if he doesn’t increase bail.”

“And if that should happen,” I replied, trying to make light of the moment, “my guardian angel will have to rescue me again.”

Her face darkened. “Don’t count on it. The way I feel about you right now, I’d let you rot.”

Her severe remark hung there for a moment. She wasn’t joking. I felt she was beginning to doubt me, too.

“Look,” I said, “I know I screwed up.”

Sarah’s face turned the same shade of red as the rose in the center of the table. “It’s more than that, Hunter. It’s your attitude. You act like there’s nothing to worry about. Not only is your freedom at stake, your career is hanging by a thread. What’s in this transcript may be all that not only Judge Brown but eventually a jury may need.”

I found myself smiling. Not about my lack of concern, she was wrong about that. She had no idea how worried I really was. It was the fire in her eyes when she wanted to prove a point that amused me.

Sarah threw her hands in the air. “You think this is one big joke.”

“Oh, I do?” I said, picking up the volume. “You don’t know me well enough to know how or what I feel.”

She lowered her eyes and ran her finger around the rim of her water glass. Two old ladies, who’d been conducting business over lunch at the table next to us, frowned at me for raising my voice.

I slumped in my chair. “Miles won’t hold up.”

“Well, he’s doing a pretty good job of it so far.”

“That’s only because he’s still under the control of Martinez and his goons.”

“What makes you think that’s going to change?”

“He won’t be in that lockup forever,” I said, and noticed the waitress hovering within a few feet of our table, waiting for our order. “The kid was involved in a penny-ante drug deal. If he had been in a court other than Kellogg’s, he would have been released on his own recognizance by now.”

The thought seemed to intrigue Sarah. “You think when he’s arraigned in superior court, the judge may cut him loose?”

“I’m counting on it.”

She took a deep breath. “I’m not so sure.” Sarah then turned to the waitress and ordered a Caesar salad. I did the same.

I then excused myself to go to the restroom, but not because I really had to. Sarah’s doubts had me concerned and I needed some time alone. It had all seemed so simple, but I obviously didn’t have the right perspective. This time I was inside the fish-bowl looking out. I was likely being too subjective, and that was why it was so important that I listen to her. I might not agree, but I understood her objectivity was what I needed most.

Standing at the urinal, I heard the door open behind me, followed by several footsteps walking in my direction. With an empty urinal next to me, I thought nothing of it until I felt someone’s warm breath on my neck. Before I could react, I was grabbed by the back of my head and my face was slammed into the wall. My flattened nose felt like a steel spike had been driven into it.

“What do you want?” I screamed.

“Shut your mouth, SA,” a voice said.

Before I had a chance to put myself back in my pants, someone pushed his knee into the small of my back. The hand I was holding myself with was jammed into the cold, wet porcelain. I couldn’t move.

“What are you doing?” I tried to yell. But it came out garbled, unintelligible.

“Man, you better keep it down,” a second voice from farther behind me said.

I was having difficulty breathing. For all I knew, one of the two was about to put a knife to my throat and slice me from ear to ear. Yet all I could think about was how my hand and dick were crammed up against the side of the germ-infested urinal—the part the water doesn’t touch.

“Let me go,” I said.

The hands on the back of my head pushed harder. “Listen, SA,” the second voice said. “You tell that bitch of yours to lay off our homeboy.”

“Who are you?”

“None of your business,” the first voice said. His mouth was touching my ear. He then gripped my hair tighter, pulled my head back, and pushed it forward again into the wall. Dazed, I could barely make out the splatter of blood in front of me.