Marcia Clark: Guilt By Degrees

Bailey smiled. “Some things were meant to be, weren’t they?” she whispered back. “What’s the name again?”

I told her.

Bailey moved up to the counter and smoothly whipped out her badge. “Charlie Fern? We need to take a few moments of your time. If you don’t mind.”

Not that we cared if he did mind. It just sounded more genteel to say it like that.

“Oh!” he said, his eyes widening at the sight of the shield. “Uh, okay. Uh, sure. I’ve got a break coming up in about five minutes. That okay?”

“That’ll be just fine,” Bailey replied. “We’ll be right over there.” She pointed to a table against the wall.

Charlie nodded. We ordered our sandwiches from the young Latina standing next to him-a pastrami six-inch for Bailey, and a vegetarian six-inch, no mayo, for me. I vowed that after a couple of weeks at the gym, I’d be back to answer the siren song of the meatball and cheese.

I was about two surprisingly tasty bites into my sandwich when I saw Charlie lean in and say something to the woman at the register. She nodded, and he waved to Bailey and me and signaled that he’d be right out. He began to untie his apron as he turned and moved toward the kitchen.

I set down my sandwich and saw Bailey do the same. There was no need for discussion. Bailey and I jumped out of our seats and ran. Seconds later, we screeched to a halt at the side of the building-just as Charlie Fern burst through the back door. Bailey reached out, swiftly snatched a fistful of his T-shirt collar, and gave it a firm backward yank.

She held on to his shirt and shook her head. “Dumb, really dumb.” She looked at him with annoyance. “You made me leave my sandwich.”

I contributed a tsk-tsk of disapproval. “You know, Charlie, it really hurts our feelings when witnesses dodge us like that.”

Charlie’s eyes darted between me and Bailey so rapidly I thought he was going to give himself a seizure. His voice came out in a squeak. “Look, man, I told the cops I din’t see who stabbed the dude!”

“That’s not how the cop remembered it,” I said. “So let’s hear the whole truth and nothing but. Did Yamaguchi do the stabbing or not?”

Charlie was breathing hard, and I could see he was facing a personal conundrum. Though I had a pretty good idea what it was, I decided to wait and see if he’d pop it out himself. We all stood there in silence for a few moments as Charlie weighed his options.

Finally he gave up, and his whole body drooped. Unfortunately, since Bailey still had a firm grip on his collar, this meant that the neck of his shirt dug into his throat, slightly strangling him.

Alarmed, he squeaked, “Okay! Let go and I’ll explain.”

Bailey looked at him impassively and didn’t move.

“Please,” he said beseechingly. “I promise I won’t run.”

Bailey gave him a stern look as she moved her hand from his collar to his forearm.

“Ever had a broken arm?” she asked.

“N-no.” Charlie looked at her warily.

“Hurts like a son of a bitch.”

He nodded and cleared his throat. “I’m on probation for receiving stolen property,” Charlie said. “But I wasn’t guilty. I tol’ my public defender, man. That stereo receiver was mine. That ass…uh…guy, stiffed me, so I just went and took it back. My dump truck of a PD said to just take the deal. I was scared of going to jail, so I did. I never shoulda listened.” Charlie still looked aggrieved.

I wasn’t buying the dump-truck story. My experience with public defenders, which was considerable, was that they’d happily fight a case that had any shot at all of winning. I’d bet good money our little Charlie was a thief. But I did buy the part about him being on probation.

“You’re dealing out of here, and you got nervous about the cops watching your action, so you told them what you thought they wanted to hear,” I said flatly.

Charlie gave me a wounded look. “No!”

Which meant yes.

“And you’re in trouble with your PO,” I said, sounding as bored as I felt.

I hate the predictable. Which, I guess, is one of the reasons I love my job.

Charlie sniffed. “It was a bullshit deal. I got caught with a little weed. But my PO said if I screwed up again, he’d violate me.”

“So you figured you’d earn brownie points with the cops. That way, they’d leave you alone and maybe even help you out with your PO if you just happened to get unlucky enough to get busted again,” I said.

Charlie nodded glumly. “I’m totally screwed now, aren’t I? You’re gonna bust me for lyin’.”

Bailey sighed. “Just give us the truth, Charlie. No more bullshit. What’d you really see?”

“I really did see that dude-whasisname? Yamashiro or something-”

“That’s a restaurant, Charlie,” I corrected with a sigh. “I take it you mean the defendant who was in court?”

“Yeah, him. He was there just before the homeless dude went down.”

“You mean the victim?” I couldn’t stand hearing one more person call him the homeless guy.

“Yuh, uh, yeah, the victim,” Charlie said nervously.

“How close was Yamaguchi to the victim when you saw him?”

“Real close, like from me to her,” he said, gesturing to Bailey, who was about seven inches away and still holding his arm.

He looked from his limb to Bailey, who ignored his silent entreaty and held fast.

“Was he still that close when the victim went down?” I asked.

“That’s the part I don’t know,” Charlie replied, shaking his head.

Of course he didn’t. That was the part that mattered most. “Try to picture how it happened,” I said.

Charlie stared at a spot on the pavement and played out the images in his memory. “I seen the victim reach for that lady, then I saw the Yamashiro dude there-”

I didn’t want to, but I had to stop him and ask, “And at that point, what was the lady doing?”

“I think she was moving away-”

“Are you sure?” Bailey asked.

“Yeah, pretty sure,” Charlie replied, forehead wrinkled with the effort of replaying the incident.

“So the victim wasn’t holding on to her anymore,” I said.

“No, couldn’ta been,” he answered, nodding to himself. “’Cuz she was moving, and the homeless-uh, I mean the victim was still standing there. That, I’m sure about.”

“And did you notice where the Yamashiro guy was at that point?” I asked. Having scored a major victory with victim instead of homeless guy, I decided to give up on the defendant’s name.

“No. He mighta still been there, but I just din’t see. Next time I saw him was after the cops came. He was standing with all the looky-loos, watching ’em do their thing.”

“Can you describe the lady?” I asked.

“About so high.” Charlie put his hand at chin level.

I estimated that would mean she was about five feet seven without factoring in what kind of heels she’d been wearing. So I guessed maybe five feet five or less.

“All I could see was long black hair, big sunglasses.” Charlie paused and frowned, then shrugged. “It happened really fast, you know?”

Unfortunately, we really did. Bailey took his contact information and we thanked him for his time and generous cooperation. The sarcasm was wasted on our little doper buddy, who rubbed his arm, cast a wary glance at Bailey, and said, “You’re welcome, man.”

We’d turned and gone just five steps when Charlie called out to us. “Hey, wait! If that dude Yamashiro gets out, can I get some protection or something?”

“What for?” Bailey asked. “He’s going to know you’re the one who told us you never saw him do it. He’ll probably send you roses. Besides, he’s no gangbanger, Charlie. If he skates, the only one he’s liable to go after is the city of Los Angeles. Make himself some money,” Bailey said flatly.