Steve Martini - Prime Witness

“All information pertaining to any witness or witnesses to those crimes shall be withheld from discovery, treated as confidential and not disclosed to the public until such time as any and all witnesses are in police custody. At that time fair disclosure shall be made to the defense concerning any and all evidence provided by such witness.” He looks up. “Is that clear?” he says.

Chambers stands stone silent, staring up at the bench, his jaw slack, seemingly struck by this revelation. Several seconds pass, then a single question, nearly inaudible.

“There was a witness?” he says. Puzzlement like a mask on his face.

Iganovich has just heard the translation. He’s trying to talk to his lawyer. Chambers isn’t paying attention. Finally sees him, holds out a hand and tells him to sit down and be quiet. Chambers’s frustration is now matched by his client’s.

Fisher says that the court will not comment further on the matter, and admonishes the parties to exercise similar restraint. We are given copies of the order by the clerk. Chambers looks at his, reads it again carefully. He takes several seconds to mentally regroup, recover, like a prizefighter staggered by a punch.

“Your honor,” he says. “May we approach? A sidebar?”

Fisher waves us on.

Chambers, Goya and I huddle at the bench. Adrian’s doing all the talking.

“This is the first I’ve heard, your honor, about a witness. Clearly the state must have known about this for some time?”

He gets nothing but stone faces from the rest of us huddled there. He can see he’s getting nowhere like this.

“Well, of course, it’s a major coup,” he says. “Congratulations,” he tells me. He takes another tack, like maybe with this witness we are now finally on the track of the true Putah Creek killer. This is all very cordial, though Adrian’s face has the pallor of a sick man. Clearly we have caught him flat-footed on this.

Still, there is no question, he sees this as an opportunity for his case. The classic SODDI defense (Some Other Dude Did It) is always more persuasive with a jury when you can put a face to the deed. This is part of the reason why I have delayed in turning over information on the prime witness as long as I have.

When Chambers finds out what this witness knows he will no doubt move as quickly as possible to construct it neatly into his case. He will sand off the rough edges of discrepancy regarding this witness, his testimony, and the Russian’s version of defense. Knowing Adrian, he will apply a little lawyer’s license, indulge the facts until the two stories slide together like a well-oiled drawer. The longer I can keep him from this information, the better.

“You can understand this comes as a major surprise, this witness,” Chambers says to Fisher.

One of the chief purposes of discovery, that exercise in the exchange of information between opposing sides before trial, is the avoidance of surprise. Chambers reminds us all of this, still beaming with cordiality and smiles.

“This information, your witness, will be critical to my case,” he says.

Then he looks me square on, a broad smile, the expression of some intimate. “Of course I understand,” he says. “A disclosure of this kind, the identity of the witness, it would raise hell in the press.”

Chambers thinks we know who the witness is, just not where to find him. I leave him with illusions.

“You were wise,” he tells Fisher, “to provide a protective order.”

The judge is all smiles, delighted by Chambers’s demonstration of tolerance and understanding.

“Still,” he says, “it would be appropriate to share what the state knows. I’m an officer of the court, with an obligation to protect the interests of my client.” He reminds us that we’re all under a gag order.

Fisher doesn’t bite. “You’ll get all the information as soon as we have the witness,” he says.

“It is a critical witness,” says Chambers. “Until you can find him. .” He stops in mid sentence, calms down and looks at me. “I am assuming,” he says, “that the witness is a male?” He stands there, a big-eyed question mark.

I offer him the social intercourse of a chimney brick. “Never mind, not important,” he says. His inquiry dies.

“Mr. Chambers, is there a point to this?” sighs Fisher.

Chambers shields one side of his mouth with a legal pad to keep his voice from carrying. He’s giving sideways squints at the fourth estate in the front row.

“I wonder, your honor, if we could at least have some estimation as to how long before there will be some disclosure concerning this witness? How close are you,” he says, “to finding this witness?” This last is stated in high confidence to me.

“It’s a fair question,” says Fisher. “Any idea, Mr. Madriani?”

“We’re looking, your honor. It has top priority in our investigation,” I say.

“But no estimate of time?” he says.

“No. Not yet.”

“There you have it, Mr. Chambers.” Fisher looks at him. “Maybe your client would like to reconsider the time frame for trial? The court would be willing to accommodate,” he says, “if Mr. Iganovich wishes to change his mind, to waive time. In light of this information.”

Chambers makes a face, almost an idle gesture, like maybe he already knows the answer.

“Would you let me confer?” he says.

“Certainly. Take your time.” Fisher is more than willing. Anything to get Iganovich to waive time for trial, to push it back a few months, to give Ingel the tawny rose-colored hues of a tropical tan and the disposition to match.

Adrian’s off to the table, hunkered down with his client and the interpreter. A lot of talking and animation from the Russian, shrugging shoulders and perplexed expressions.

In less than a minute Chambers returns. “Can’t get him to budge,” he says. “He’s adamant. He wants a speedy trial.”

“Maybe I should try?” says Fisher.

“No. No. That would be a mistake,” says Chambers. “Let me work on him. I think if I push a little, he’ll come around.”

This is all very interesting, our little cabal, the judge, prosecutor and Iganovich’s own lawyer conspiring, a lovefest of reasonable lawyers, working to a common purpose, to get the Russian to waive time.

“If I can get him to see the importance of this witness,” says Chambers, “it will make a difference.”

We leave it at that, return to our respective positions at the counsel tables.

“Your honor, for the record,” says Chambers, “I must record my objection, perfect it for possible appeal. You do understand?” He’s talking about the failure to disclose all the information about our witness. It is one thing to understand the practical wisdom surrounding a court’s ruling, another to pass on possible grounds for a later appeal.

Fisher nods.

Adrian outlines what he believes is an erroneous ruling by the court, the failure to turn over what could be exculpatory evidence. A major hindrance to the defendant’s investigation of his own case, he calls it.

This is all very polite, not the Adrian Chambers of old. Just for the record, he says, ever solicitous of the court’s sensibilities. Then he finishes.

“Objection noted,” says Fisher, “and overruled. For the time being my order will stand.”

The judge is collecting his papers from the bench as if he’s about to adjourn.

“Is there any other business before the court?” he says. Fisher sits like an auctioneer, gavel raised ready to pound.

“Oh, there is one more thing,” says Chambers.

“What’s that?”

Adrian is shuffling through his briefcase looking for something.

“I was going to hold off on this,” he says, “but in light of this news, information on a witness.” He finds what he’s looking for, a single sheet of letter-sized paper, typewritten on one side.