Майкл Коннелли - The Law of Innocence

But we had received the extended versions of both his body-cam and the car-cam video from the prosecution the day before and had studied them during our three o’clock at Twin Towers. Jennifer had the body-cam tape cued up on her laptop and ready to go now if needed.

As I walked to the lectern, I took the rubber band off a rolled printout of an aerial shot of the downtown civic center. I asked permission of the judge to approach the witness, then unrolled the photo in front of him.

“Officer Milton, I see you have a pen in your pocket,” I said.

“Would you mark this photograph with the position you had taken on the night in question?”

Milton did as I requested, and I asked him to add his initials. I then took the photo back, rolled and banded it, and asked the judge to enter it as defense exhibit A. Milton, Berg, and the judge all looked a bit bewildered by what I had just done, but that was okay. I wanted Berg to be puzzled about what the defense was up to.

I returned to the lectern and asked the court’s permission to play both videos turned over to me in discovery. The judge gave her approval and I used Milton to authenticate and introduce the videos. I played them back-to-back without stopping to ask any questions. When they were finished, I asked only two.

“Officer Milton, do you believe those videos were an accurate accounting of your actions during the traffic stop?” I asked.

“Yes, it’s all there on tape,” Milton said.

“You see no indication that the tapes have been altered or edited in any way?”

“No, it’s all there.”

I asked the judge to accept the videos as defense exhibits B and C and Warfield complied.

I moved on, once again leaving the prosecutor and judge puzzled by the record I was building.

“Officer Milton, at what point did you decide to initiate a traffic stop on my car?”

“When you made the turn, I noticed there was no license plate on the vehicle. It’s a common capering move, so I followed and initiated the traffic stop when we were in the Second Street tunnel.”

“ ‘Capering,’ Officer Milton?”

“Sometimes when people are engaged in committing crimes, they take the plates off their car so witnesses can’t get the plate number.”

“I see. But it appeared from the video we just watched that the car in question still had a front plate, did it not?”

“It did.”

“Doesn’t that contradict your capering theory?”

“Not really. Getaway cars are usually seen driving away. It’s the rear plate that would be important to remove.”

“Okay. Did you see me walk down the street from the Redwood and turn right onto Broadway?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Was I doing anything suspicious?”

“Not that I recall.”

“Did you think I was drunk?”

“No.”

“And you saw me walk into the parking lot?”

“I did.”

“Was that suspicious to you?”

“Not really. You were dressed in a suit and I thought you probably had parked a car in the lot.”

“Were you aware that the Redwood is a bar frequented by defense lawyers?”

“I was not.”

“Who was it who told you to pull me over after I drove out of the lot?”

“Uh, no one. I saw the missing plate when you made the turn from Broadway onto Second, and I left my position and initiated the stop.”

“By that, you mean you followed me into the tunnel and then turned your lights on, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Did you have advance knowledge that I would be leaving that lot without a rear plate on my car?”

“No.”

“You weren’t there in that spot specifically to pull me over?”

“No, I was not.”

Berg stood and objected, saying I was badgering Milton by asking him the same question in different ways. The judge agreed and told me to move on.

I looked down at the lectern at the notes I had written in red ink.

“No further questions, Your Honor,” I said.

The judge looked slightly confused by my examination and its abrupt end.

“Are you sure, Mr. Haller?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Very well. Does the state have recross?”

Berg also seemed confused by my questioning of Milton. Thinking I had done no damage, she told the judge she had no further questions. The judge shifted her focus back to me.

“Do you have another witness, Mr. Haller?”

“No, Your Honor.”

“Very well. Arguments?”

“Judge, my argument is submitted.”

“Nothing further? You don’t want to at least connect the dots for us after your examination of the witness?”

“Submitted, Your Honor.”

“Does the state wish to argue?”

Berg stood at her table and raised her hands as if to ask what there was to argue, then said she would go with her written response to my motion.

“Then the court is prepared to rule,” Warfield said. “The motion is denied and this court is in recess.”

The judge had spoken matter-of-factly. And I could hear whispers and sense the letdown of those in the courtroom. It was as though there was a collective What? from those in the gallery.

But I was pleased. I didn’t want to win the motion. I wanted to cut down the prosecution’s tree at trial and win the case. And I had just made the first swing of the ax.

We came into the three o’clock meeting with good spirits, despite the surroundings. Not only had we accomplished what we wanted to get done and on the record in the court hearing that morning, but both Jennifer and Cisco said they had good news to share. I told Jennifer to go first.

“Okay, you remember Andre La Cosse?” she asked.

“Of course I do,” I said. “My finest hour.”

It was true. The State of California versus Andre La Cosse might as well be etched on my tombstone at the end of my days. It was the case I was proudest of. An innocent man with the entire weight of the justice system against him charged with murder, and I walked him. And it wasn’t just an NG. It was the rarest of all birds in the justice system. It was the Big I. My work in trial had proved him innocent. So much so that the state paid damages for their malfeasance in charging him in the first place.

“What about him?” I asked.

“Well, he saw something about your case online and he wants to help,” Jennifer said.

“Help how?”

“Mickey, don’t you get it? You got him a seven-figure settlement for wrongful prosecution. He wants to return the favor. He called up Lorna and said he could go up to two hundred on bail.”

I was a bit stunned. Andre had barely survived the case while being held in this same place — Twin Towers — while we were in trial, and I had negotiated a settlement for him in compensation. I had taken a third, but that was seven years ago and it was long gone. He had apparently done better with his money and was now willing to chip off some of what he had in order to spring me.

“He knows he doesn’t get it back, right?” I said. “Two hundred out the window. That’s a big chunk of the money I got him.”

“He knows,” Jennifer said. “And he hasn’t just been sitting on that money. He invested it. Lorna said he’s into the whole crypto-currency thing and he says the settlement was only seed money. It has grown. A lot. He’s offering the two hundred, no strings attached. I want to go in and set up a bail hearing. We get Warfield to knock it down to two and a half or three million — where it should be — and you walk out of here.”

I nodded. Andre’s money could go for a 10 percent bond against the set bail. But there was a problem.

“That’s very generous of Andre, but I don’t think that’ll get it done,” I said. “Berg’s not going to roll over and play dead on a sixty percent reduction on bail. I don’t think Warfield will either. If Andre really wants to kick in, maybe we talk about using his money for expert witnesses, exhibits, and everybody on staff getting paid for the overtime they’re putting in.”