Майкл Коннелли - The Law of Innocence

“It wasn’t urgent?”

“Not really. The coroner’s investigator shot me an email with the property list. I noted that there was no wallet, and the other property didn’t appear to be germane to the investigation.”

“You got that email when?”

Drucker looked up innocently at the judge.

“Can I refer to my records?” he asked.

“You may,” Warfield said.

Drucker flipped through pages in the murder book and then stopped to read.

“I have the email here,” he said. “Got it at four twenty the afternoon after the callout.”

“So, doing the math,” Berg said. “The first you knew that there was no wallet was about seventeen hours after you were called to the murder scene to begin the investigation.

Correct?”

“Correct.”

“And during that time, you did not have custody of the victim’s clothing or personal belongings, correct?”

“Correct. Anything could have happened to the wallet in that time.”

“It could have been stolen or misplaced?”

“Correct.”

“Did you take the wallet, Detective Drucker?”

“No, I never even saw it.”

“Did you intentionally hold it back from the discovery package I asked you to put together for the defense?”

“I did not.”

“No further questions, Your Honor.”

I had to give Berg credit. She had skillfully pulled Drucker from the credibility scrap heap and would live to fight another day with him at trial. He was dismissed from the witness stand and I told the judge I had no other witnesses and was ready to argue. Berg also said she was ready to go.

My opening salvo was short and to the point.

“Your Honor, we have a situation here where the state has mishandled a key piece of evidence, hidden their malfeasance from the defense, and now it is the defense that is left damaged by their failure. Whether or not their actions were intentional, my right to a fair trial has been more than infringed on — it’s been trampled. I knew the victim. I knew his history and I knew his MO. He changed aliases the way some people change their shoes. The loss of this wallet, which contained the current identification of Sam Scales at the time of his death, has prevented my team from adequately being able to investigate the victim’s activities and therefore learn of potential threats and killers.

“That is my argument if you buy their explanation of the wallet being innocently misplaced or stolen by someone skulking around the halls of the coroner’s office. Personally, I don’t believe any of it. This was an intentional effort to subvert a fair trial. This was the prosecution and police getting together and—”

Berg jumped up and objected to my casting aspersions on the actions and motives of the prosecution.

“This is argument,” I said. “I can say whatever I want.”

“To a degree,” Warfield said. “I’m not going to let you stray from what is on the record. I think you have made your argument. Do you wish to add anything else?”

Berg had effectively knocked me off the rails and the judge wasn’t going to let me get back on.

“No, Your Honor,” I said. “Submitted.”

“Ms. Berg,” the judge said. “I hope you will be as succinct.”

Berg went to the lectern and began.

“Your Honor, the histrionics of defense counsel aside, there is no evidence that exists or was submitted here that indicates some great conspiracy to prevent a fair trial in the case and, most important of all, no evidence or indication of a plan to hold back or subvert the discovery process. Yes, the victim’s wallet went missing, but it was defense counsel himself who brought this to light only this morning. To come here and cry foul play and conspiracy, counsel is simply grandstanding for the media, and the state asks the court to dismiss the motion.”

I stood to respond but the judge did not allow it.

“I think I have heard enough, Mr. Haller. I know what you will say and then I know what Ms. Berg will say in return. So, let’s save the time, shall we?”

I got the message and sat down.

“The court finds the information revealed today to be very troubling,” Warfield continued. “The state concedes that there was a wallet in the victim’s pocket but it now cannot produce that wallet for examination by the defense. Whether the wallet disappeared through negligence or something more sinister, the situation still leaves the defense in a reduced position. As Mr. Haller has suggested, the wallet could have contained an alternate ID used by the victim. That in turn could lead to evidence supporting Mr. Haller’s position.”

Warfield paused there and appeared to be studying her notes for a moment before continuing.

“At this time, the court doesn’t know what the remedy is but is going to take forty-eight hours to consider it. And it will give the state those same forty-eight hours to either find the wallet or determine exactly what happened to it. I am continuing this hearing until Wednesday at one o’clock, and my suggestion to the prosecution is to not come back empty-handed. We are adjourned.”

Warfield then turned in her chair and stood up. She moved down the three steps from the bench quickly and gracefully, her robe flowing behind her as she reached the door leading to her chambers and disappeared.

“Good work,” Jennifer whispered in my ear.

“Maybe,” I whispered back. “We’ll see in a couple days. Did you get that subpoena printed?”

“Got it.”

“Let me go see if I can get her while she’s feeling it for the defense.”

While Jennifer opened her briefcase to get the document, Berg stopped by the defense table on her exit.

“You really think I had something to do with that? That I even knew about it?”

I looked up at her for a moment, then answered.

“I don’t know, Dana. All I do know is that from day one you’ve been trying to tilt the board so all the pieces roll to your side. So, give me a reason not to believe it. Go find the wallet.”

She frowned and walked away without a response.

“Here,” Jennifer said.

I took the subpoena and got up.

“I’m going to go,” she said. “Let me know if there’s a problem.”

“Will do. Let’s talk tomorrow morning. And thanks for jumping on this today.”

“No problem. You’ll get it to Cisco?”

“Yeah, but I think I’m going to go with him, see if I can rattle the cage a little bit.”

“Good luck with that. The FBI doesn’t usually rattle.”

I walked over to Warfield’s clerk and asked him to call the judge before she settled in to chambers and see if I could come back to get a subpoena signed. He reluctantly made the call and I could see the slight surprise on his face when the judge apparently told him to send me in.

The clerk opened a half door in his corral and buzzed me through the door to chambers. It led me into a hallway that was an extension of the clerk’s domain, with file cabinets on one side and a large printer and worktable on the other. I passed through to another hallway, this one lined with doors to individual judge’s chambers.

Warfield’s was one down to the left and her door was open. She was behind her desk and had hung her black robe on a coatrack.

“You have a subpoena for me?” she said.

“Yes, Judge,” I said. “A subpoena for records.”

I handed the document Jennifer had prepared across the desk. I remained standing while the judge studied it.

“This is federal,” she said.

“It’s for the FBI but it’s a state subpoena,” I explained.

“I can see that, but you know you’re spinning your wheels. The FBI won’t respond to a state subpoena. You have to go through the U.S. Attorney’s Office, Mr. Haller.”