Legal Thriller: HOA Wire, a Courtroom Drama (Brent Marks Legal Thrillers Book 3), page 6
“Dr. Perez, were you able to form an opinion, within a degree of reasonable medical certainty of the victim’s cause of death?”
“Yes, I was.”
“What was the cause of death that you determined?”
“The victim was poisoned.”
“Were you able to determine the type of poison?”
“It was ricin poisoning.”
“Objection and move to strike!” interjected Brent. “Non-responsive.”
“Sustained. It is non-responsive. The answer will be stricken,” declared Judge Clark.
“In your opinion, what type of poison was responsible for the victim’s death?”
“Objection, lack of foundation,” Brent barked out.
“Sustained. Mr. Chernow, for the doctor to have an opinion, it has to be based on evidence, and that evidence must be shown as foundation. You may proceed.”
Chernow was getting a little flustered by now. He was no match for Brent in the moot court battles at law school, but had gone on to quite an experienced career as a prosecutor. The old competition had crept back into Brent’s skin and he wouldn’t back down. Nancy was openly pleased. She smiled at Brent and whispered, “You’re doing great!” Brent put his hand on her arm and whispered back, “Thanks, but remember, I told you not to expect much from this.”
Chernow continued, “Dr. Perez, as a result of your examination, did you come to the conclusion that Ms. Densmore had been poisoned?”
“Objection, asked and answered!” said Brent, just to get Chernow flustered.
“It has been asked and answered, Mr. Chernow,” said the judge.
Chernow’s cheeks were flushed. Nancy was so happy she was wiggling in her chair.
“It’s foundational, Your Honor.”
“Very well, overruled. You may continue.”
“Dr. Perez, as a result of your examination, you came to the conclusion that Ms. Densmore had been poisoned, is that correct?”
Brent could not resist. “Leading, Your Honor,” he barked out. Chernow glared at him.
“It is leading, but I’ll allow it. Mr. Chernow, please try to keep this tighter. I have a large calendar today.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“I concluded from my examination, yes, that Ms. Densmore had been poisoned.”
“On what did you base that opinion?”
“On the symptoms I had observed from the autopsy. She had lesions on her esophagus, compete respiratory failure, and she was foaming at the mouth shortly before death.”
“Were you able to determine the poison from the examination?”
“No, I was not.”
“Did you perform toxicology tests to determine the poison?”
“Yes.”
“And what did the tests show?”
“They all came back negative.”
“And what did that lead you to conclude, if anything?”
“It led me to conclude that it was a poison that would not show up on a blood test. That, and the symptoms she exhibited were why I suspected it was ricin.”
“Move to strike the last sentence, Your Honor, lack of foundation.”
“It will be stricken.”
Chernow gave Brent another dirty look. Why take it so personally? Brent thought. I’m the one with the client facing the death penalty, not him. The bottom line was that Brent had uncovered the weakness of this witness; something he had already known from the discovery he had received from the D.A.’s office. Dr. Perez knew that Densmore had been poisoned and he knew it was ricin, but, without further physical evidence, he couldn’t prove it.
“Dr. Perez, in cases where you cannot determine the type of poison, is there a forensic protocol, and, if so, what is it?” asked Chernow.
“Yes, the protocol is to examine the death scene to determine the presence of any poisons.”
“Thank you, Dr. Perez.”
“Anything further of this witness, Mr. Chernow?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“Cross examination, Mr. Marks?”
“Yes, thank you, Your Honor. Dr. Perez, isn’t it true that you could not determine from the toxicology report that the poison that killed Ms. Densmore was ricin?”
“Yes, that is true.”
“And isn’t it also true that the only way to confirm your opinion that the poison that caused Ms. Densmore’s death is to determine if ricin was found at the death scene?”
“We also sent a urine sample to CDC for testing, but we’re still waiting for the results.”
“So, without that report, in order to confirm your hunch that Ms. Densmore died from ricin poisoning, you would have to find traces of ricin at the scene of her death, isn’t that correct?”
“It’s not a hunch,” said the Doctor, wrinkling his forehead in frustration.
“Move to strike as non-responsive, Your Honor,” said Brent.
“Doctor, please answer the question,” said the Judge.
“But I can’t answer it yes or no.”
“Then please just answer it.”
“The answer to your question, Mr. Marks, is that to confirm my diagnosis of ricin poisoning, it is true that we would have to find traces of ricin in the environment.”
“Thank you Doctor. Your Honor, I have no further questions of this witness.”
“Mr. Chernow?”
“No further questions, Your Honor.”
“Well then, Dr. Perez you may be excused. Please call your next witness, Mr. Chernow.”
Dr. Perez stepped down from the stand, gave a smile to Brent as he passed by, and Chernow called his next witness.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“I call Detective Roland Tomassi.”
Detective Tomassi approached the witness stand, faced the clerk, took the oath, and sat down.
“Mr. Chernow, you may inquire.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. Detective Tomassi, will you please state your full name?”
“My name is Roland Tomassi.”
“And you are a California Peace Officer?”
“Yes, I am.”
“What is your current assignment?”
“I am a detective in the Homicide Division of the Santa Barbara County Sheriff’s Department.”
“And how long have you been serving as detective in the Homicide Division?”
“About 20 years, give or take a few months,” said Tomassi, dryly.
“And you are also the officer who was first on the scene at Barbara Densmore’s house after her death, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
Tomassi described the scene, his interview with Nancy, the search of her house and the arrest, in detail, as well as the positive test for ricin on the cellophane wrapping and flower food package.
“Cross examination, Mr. Marks?”
“Thank you, Your Honor. Detective Tomassi, isn’t it true that the forensic team you described made a thorough search of Barbara Densmore’s residence for evidence?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you specifically instructed them that you were looking for some type of poison, isn’t that correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And isn’t it also correct that, all the interviews of witnesses that you have conducted indicated that Barbara Densmore was at home all day before being taken to the hospital in the ambulance?”
“That is correct, sir.”
“So there is no doubt in your mind that she would have ingested the poison at her residence, isn’t that correct?”
“Objection, calls for speculation,” Chernow interjected.
“He can answer if he has an opinion,” said the Judge. “Detective Tomassi, answer the question if you can.”
“No, sir, there is no doubt in my mind that it occurred at her residence.”
“Is it also true that, at her residence, your forensic team found no traces of ricin?”
“Yes, that is true.”
“And they also found no traces of any poison of any kind, isn’t that correct?”
“Yes, that is correct.”
“You testified, Detective Tomassi that, as a result of a search of Mrs. Haskin’s house that you did find cellophane wrapping in her garbage can with traces of ricin on it, is that correct?”
“Yes, that is correct.”
“And this cellophane wrapping had no fingerprints besides the victim’s, isn’t that correct?”
“That is correct.”
“This means that, if anyone had wiped the cellophane clean, they would have done so only before Barbara Densmore handled it, isn’t that correct?”
“Objection, calls for speculation,” Chernow called out.
“It does call for speculation, but the inference is there,” said the Judge. “And this is just a preliminary hearing. You can answer.”
“It seems that, if fingerprints were wiped, they were done before Ms. Densmore handled it, yes.”
“And, by the same token, they could not have been wiped clean after because that would have also wiped Ms. Densmore’s prints off, isn’t that correct?”
“It seems so, yes. But the suspect could have used gloves to handle the cellophane to avoid leaving prints.”
“One more question, Detective Tomassi. Did you find any flowers at Ms. Haskin’s residence?”
“No.”
After the short cross examination, Chernow tried to introduce Barbara Densmore’s sister to identify a picture of her body, but Brent stipulated and agreed that it was, indeed, a photograph of Barbara Densmore. He didn’t see the need of putting the sister through that.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Jack set upon the boring task of following the leads on the neighbors, no matter how cold he thought they were. He had done a background check on each one of them. Gary Goldstein had a minor criminal record back in New York. Seems he had an anger management problem and not only had slapped his wife around a couple of times, he had gotten into it with one of his neighbors in the Queens neighborhood they lived in.
Jack had set up surveillance on Goldstein. It was pretty uneventful during the daytime. He went to his nine to five office job in a Santa Barbara accountancy firm, and had lunch every day with a female co-worker. Maybe he was having an affair with her.
He had a few hours today before Goldstein would come home, so he decided to interview Jean Goldstein. Jean was a housewife. One kid was deceased, the other grown, and since then, she never had transitioned from being a mother/housewife to anything else.
“I told everything to the police, Detective Ruder,” she said to Jack.
“I’m a private detective, ma’am. I work for Brent Marks, the defense counsel for Nancy Haskins.”
“Oh, I heard about that. Isn’t it awful? To think that there’s a murderer living in our own development?”
“Exactly, ma’am. We’re just trying to uncover the truth.”
“Well isn’t it pretty clear? I read that she was charged with murder and the judge found her guilty.”
“No ma’am, that was just a preliminary hearing. There’s going to be a murder trial.”
Jean offered Jack a cup of coffee, something that he found impossible to refuse, since he had been living on it night and day during his stakeouts. He learned the story of the death of their son as well as the battle with the Homeowners Association over his memorial. He learned that Jean’s husband, Gary had had a few scrapes with Densmore, and that he had actually threatened her a couple of times. Suddenly, everything started to make sense to Jack. He gingerly pressed her for what she may know about the Densmore case.
Jean didn’t seem to know much of anything about the Densmore murder. Either she was completely innocent, or a pathological liar. In Jack’s business, you could never be sure. Human nature being what it was, the only time you could really be sure you weren’t being lied to was when you were talking to yourself.
As Jack pulled out to head back to Goldstein’s office to pick up the surveillance trail, he noticed Gary Goldstein pulling up. At least he knew where Goldstein would be for at least the next few hours. To avoid being made, he circled around the block, and parked about half a block away and stopped. He sat in his car and killed the time going over the surveillance files he had compiled on all the neighbors. He was already stoked up by the coffee that Jean had served him during their talk. It would be a long night.
* * *
It didn’t take long for Goldstein to be on the move again. He had developed some late night habits, apparently waiting for his wife to go to sleep so he could pursue his affair. All this late night surveillance had also developed some poor late night habits in Jack as well.
Jack followed Goldstein to an apartment complex in Santa Barbara and was munching on a Wendy’s chicken burger when he noticed Goldstein leaving. Jack set the burger down on the passenger seat and took off after Goldstein. Halfway down Garden Street, Goldstein stopped in the middle of the street.
Shit, he made me! Thought Jack to himself. Sure enough, Goldstein slammed his Ford F-250 into reverse, wheels burning against the asphalt, and screeched to a halt inches away from Jack’s bumper. Leaving the car running, he ran to Jack’s car and pounded against the driver’s side window. His wild, chestnut eyes looked empty and his mouth was open so wide, Jack could have sworn Goldstein’s intention was to take a bite out of him, or his car.
“Come on! Come on!” he screamed, saliva spraying from the side of his mouth. Jack jammed his car in reverse and Goldstein ran after it for a couple of seconds, then got back in his car and took chase. After weaving through a couple of streets, Jack either lost the tail or Goldstein gave up.
When Jack got home, he called Brent right away and left a message on his voice mail.
“Hey Brent, it’s Jack. I know you’re probably asleep already but I think I’ve developed a good lead on Gary Goldstein. Maybe we can get together tomorrow night? Give me a call.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Brent had sequestered himself in his office to make the last minute preparations. He had organized the entire trial into notebook binders – binders containing all the exhibits, binders with the briefs and jury instructions, and binders with Brent’s direct and cross examination outlines, opening statements and closing arguments. A criminal trial had a higher standard of proof than a civil trial. The state had to prove every element of its case beyond a reasonable doubt, or Nancy would be acquitted. And the verdict of the jury had to be unanimous. All twelve jurors had to vote for a conviction, or Nancy would be acquitted. The jury system was somewhat of an anomaly, like everything else in the law. A defendant put his or her fate in the hands of twelve strangers, who had no legal training, but who were expected to carefully listen to the evidence from two points of view, get a one hour education on what highly complex principles of law to apply to the evidence, and then make a unanimous decision. The lawyers always had a chance to talk to the jury members after a trial was over. After doing it many times, Brent usually opted out because most of the time, nothing they said made any sense. It was ridiculous for Brent to think that twelve people could “turn off’ all their biases and prejudices and make a logical decision based on the evidence they were allowed to hear in the trial. But, however strange it seemed, Brent knew that sometimes you had a better shot with a jury, that body of ones “peers” who make decisions with their emotional brains; especially if your client was guilty.
Nancy was not obligated to say anything; she had the Fifth Amendment privilege against self-incrimination. But Brent knew that the jury would need to hear her side of the story, even though the judge would instruct them that the burden was entirely on the prosecution to prove 100% of its case. It was human nature. He took extra time to prepare Nancy. It almost didn’t matter what she said. She could say anything at all; the jury just had to get a feel for her as a real person; they had to care about her.
Trials for lawyers are like bills. It seems that you finish paying one, and have that feeling of relief, then it’s time to pay it again. It had been a while since Brent’s last criminal trial, but he was confident. It was like swimming – you never really forget how to do it no matter how long it’s been. No clear cut alternative suspects could be presented to the jury, nor he did have any evidence of a frame to present, the D.A.’s case was all based on circumstantial evidence. Brent’s job was to poke as many holes in their case that he could.
* * *
Brent left the office on foot for his meeting with Jack at Sonny’s on downtown State Street. It wasn’t too long a distance and a walk was better than anything to clear the mind for new thoughts.
Sonny’s was always packed. Being at the end of State Street, the cops had parked several squad cars in the neighborhood, perhaps as a deterrent for drunk drivers, or to give them something to do around closing time.
As Brent rolled into Sonny’s, he felt a nostalgic, melancholic feeling. This was the favorite bar of his good friend, Rick Penn, who had been gone for a couple of years now. Rick was also a private detective and ex-FBI man, and they had spent many a night here going over cases, among other things. So, as sad as it may have been, perhaps it was also a good place to work. A lot of ideas had been thrown back and forth between Brent and Rick through the years, and it happened right there at Sonny’s.
Brent found Jack at the bar, looking pretty worn out. Jack smiled as Brent approached and took a seat next to him.
“Hey Brent,” Jack greeted him.
“What’s up Jack, have you solved my case yet?”
“Unfortunately, no. I’ve been running surveillance on Gary Goldstein. I told you he had a minor criminal record in New York.”
Brent waved to the bartender and ordered a margarita, and Jack recounted the incident with Goldstein.
“So, anything promising on Mr. Road Rage?” asked Brent.
“Not yet. We’ve got some pretty vivid descriptions of him threatening Densmore, but that’s about it so far.”
“Yeah, well he is from New York.”
“Right. His idea of saying hello is ‘fuck you.’”
The comment made Brent burst out in laughter, and the funniest part was that Jack said it so straight-faced. Brent couldn’t stop laughing and Jack caught the laugh and belly laughed until tears came to his eyes.
“Yes, I was.”
“What was the cause of death that you determined?”
“The victim was poisoned.”
“Were you able to determine the type of poison?”
“It was ricin poisoning.”
“Objection and move to strike!” interjected Brent. “Non-responsive.”
“Sustained. It is non-responsive. The answer will be stricken,” declared Judge Clark.
“In your opinion, what type of poison was responsible for the victim’s death?”
“Objection, lack of foundation,” Brent barked out.
“Sustained. Mr. Chernow, for the doctor to have an opinion, it has to be based on evidence, and that evidence must be shown as foundation. You may proceed.”
Chernow was getting a little flustered by now. He was no match for Brent in the moot court battles at law school, but had gone on to quite an experienced career as a prosecutor. The old competition had crept back into Brent’s skin and he wouldn’t back down. Nancy was openly pleased. She smiled at Brent and whispered, “You’re doing great!” Brent put his hand on her arm and whispered back, “Thanks, but remember, I told you not to expect much from this.”
Chernow continued, “Dr. Perez, as a result of your examination, did you come to the conclusion that Ms. Densmore had been poisoned?”
“Objection, asked and answered!” said Brent, just to get Chernow flustered.
“It has been asked and answered, Mr. Chernow,” said the judge.
Chernow’s cheeks were flushed. Nancy was so happy she was wiggling in her chair.
“It’s foundational, Your Honor.”
“Very well, overruled. You may continue.”
“Dr. Perez, as a result of your examination, you came to the conclusion that Ms. Densmore had been poisoned, is that correct?”
Brent could not resist. “Leading, Your Honor,” he barked out. Chernow glared at him.
“It is leading, but I’ll allow it. Mr. Chernow, please try to keep this tighter. I have a large calendar today.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“I concluded from my examination, yes, that Ms. Densmore had been poisoned.”
“On what did you base that opinion?”
“On the symptoms I had observed from the autopsy. She had lesions on her esophagus, compete respiratory failure, and she was foaming at the mouth shortly before death.”
“Were you able to determine the poison from the examination?”
“No, I was not.”
“Did you perform toxicology tests to determine the poison?”
“Yes.”
“And what did the tests show?”
“They all came back negative.”
“And what did that lead you to conclude, if anything?”
“It led me to conclude that it was a poison that would not show up on a blood test. That, and the symptoms she exhibited were why I suspected it was ricin.”
“Move to strike the last sentence, Your Honor, lack of foundation.”
“It will be stricken.”
Chernow gave Brent another dirty look. Why take it so personally? Brent thought. I’m the one with the client facing the death penalty, not him. The bottom line was that Brent had uncovered the weakness of this witness; something he had already known from the discovery he had received from the D.A.’s office. Dr. Perez knew that Densmore had been poisoned and he knew it was ricin, but, without further physical evidence, he couldn’t prove it.
“Dr. Perez, in cases where you cannot determine the type of poison, is there a forensic protocol, and, if so, what is it?” asked Chernow.
“Yes, the protocol is to examine the death scene to determine the presence of any poisons.”
“Thank you, Dr. Perez.”
“Anything further of this witness, Mr. Chernow?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“Cross examination, Mr. Marks?”
“Yes, thank you, Your Honor. Dr. Perez, isn’t it true that you could not determine from the toxicology report that the poison that killed Ms. Densmore was ricin?”
“Yes, that is true.”
“And isn’t it also true that the only way to confirm your opinion that the poison that caused Ms. Densmore’s death is to determine if ricin was found at the death scene?”
“We also sent a urine sample to CDC for testing, but we’re still waiting for the results.”
“So, without that report, in order to confirm your hunch that Ms. Densmore died from ricin poisoning, you would have to find traces of ricin at the scene of her death, isn’t that correct?”
“It’s not a hunch,” said the Doctor, wrinkling his forehead in frustration.
“Move to strike as non-responsive, Your Honor,” said Brent.
“Doctor, please answer the question,” said the Judge.
“But I can’t answer it yes or no.”
“Then please just answer it.”
“The answer to your question, Mr. Marks, is that to confirm my diagnosis of ricin poisoning, it is true that we would have to find traces of ricin in the environment.”
“Thank you Doctor. Your Honor, I have no further questions of this witness.”
“Mr. Chernow?”
“No further questions, Your Honor.”
“Well then, Dr. Perez you may be excused. Please call your next witness, Mr. Chernow.”
Dr. Perez stepped down from the stand, gave a smile to Brent as he passed by, and Chernow called his next witness.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“I call Detective Roland Tomassi.”
Detective Tomassi approached the witness stand, faced the clerk, took the oath, and sat down.
“Mr. Chernow, you may inquire.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. Detective Tomassi, will you please state your full name?”
“My name is Roland Tomassi.”
“And you are a California Peace Officer?”
“Yes, I am.”
“What is your current assignment?”
“I am a detective in the Homicide Division of the Santa Barbara County Sheriff’s Department.”
“And how long have you been serving as detective in the Homicide Division?”
“About 20 years, give or take a few months,” said Tomassi, dryly.
“And you are also the officer who was first on the scene at Barbara Densmore’s house after her death, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
Tomassi described the scene, his interview with Nancy, the search of her house and the arrest, in detail, as well as the positive test for ricin on the cellophane wrapping and flower food package.
“Cross examination, Mr. Marks?”
“Thank you, Your Honor. Detective Tomassi, isn’t it true that the forensic team you described made a thorough search of Barbara Densmore’s residence for evidence?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you specifically instructed them that you were looking for some type of poison, isn’t that correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And isn’t it also correct that, all the interviews of witnesses that you have conducted indicated that Barbara Densmore was at home all day before being taken to the hospital in the ambulance?”
“That is correct, sir.”
“So there is no doubt in your mind that she would have ingested the poison at her residence, isn’t that correct?”
“Objection, calls for speculation,” Chernow interjected.
“He can answer if he has an opinion,” said the Judge. “Detective Tomassi, answer the question if you can.”
“No, sir, there is no doubt in my mind that it occurred at her residence.”
“Is it also true that, at her residence, your forensic team found no traces of ricin?”
“Yes, that is true.”
“And they also found no traces of any poison of any kind, isn’t that correct?”
“Yes, that is correct.”
“You testified, Detective Tomassi that, as a result of a search of Mrs. Haskin’s house that you did find cellophane wrapping in her garbage can with traces of ricin on it, is that correct?”
“Yes, that is correct.”
“And this cellophane wrapping had no fingerprints besides the victim’s, isn’t that correct?”
“That is correct.”
“This means that, if anyone had wiped the cellophane clean, they would have done so only before Barbara Densmore handled it, isn’t that correct?”
“Objection, calls for speculation,” Chernow called out.
“It does call for speculation, but the inference is there,” said the Judge. “And this is just a preliminary hearing. You can answer.”
“It seems that, if fingerprints were wiped, they were done before Ms. Densmore handled it, yes.”
“And, by the same token, they could not have been wiped clean after because that would have also wiped Ms. Densmore’s prints off, isn’t that correct?”
“It seems so, yes. But the suspect could have used gloves to handle the cellophane to avoid leaving prints.”
“One more question, Detective Tomassi. Did you find any flowers at Ms. Haskin’s residence?”
“No.”
After the short cross examination, Chernow tried to introduce Barbara Densmore’s sister to identify a picture of her body, but Brent stipulated and agreed that it was, indeed, a photograph of Barbara Densmore. He didn’t see the need of putting the sister through that.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Jack set upon the boring task of following the leads on the neighbors, no matter how cold he thought they were. He had done a background check on each one of them. Gary Goldstein had a minor criminal record back in New York. Seems he had an anger management problem and not only had slapped his wife around a couple of times, he had gotten into it with one of his neighbors in the Queens neighborhood they lived in.
Jack had set up surveillance on Goldstein. It was pretty uneventful during the daytime. He went to his nine to five office job in a Santa Barbara accountancy firm, and had lunch every day with a female co-worker. Maybe he was having an affair with her.
He had a few hours today before Goldstein would come home, so he decided to interview Jean Goldstein. Jean was a housewife. One kid was deceased, the other grown, and since then, she never had transitioned from being a mother/housewife to anything else.
“I told everything to the police, Detective Ruder,” she said to Jack.
“I’m a private detective, ma’am. I work for Brent Marks, the defense counsel for Nancy Haskins.”
“Oh, I heard about that. Isn’t it awful? To think that there’s a murderer living in our own development?”
“Exactly, ma’am. We’re just trying to uncover the truth.”
“Well isn’t it pretty clear? I read that she was charged with murder and the judge found her guilty.”
“No ma’am, that was just a preliminary hearing. There’s going to be a murder trial.”
Jean offered Jack a cup of coffee, something that he found impossible to refuse, since he had been living on it night and day during his stakeouts. He learned the story of the death of their son as well as the battle with the Homeowners Association over his memorial. He learned that Jean’s husband, Gary had had a few scrapes with Densmore, and that he had actually threatened her a couple of times. Suddenly, everything started to make sense to Jack. He gingerly pressed her for what she may know about the Densmore case.
Jean didn’t seem to know much of anything about the Densmore murder. Either she was completely innocent, or a pathological liar. In Jack’s business, you could never be sure. Human nature being what it was, the only time you could really be sure you weren’t being lied to was when you were talking to yourself.
As Jack pulled out to head back to Goldstein’s office to pick up the surveillance trail, he noticed Gary Goldstein pulling up. At least he knew where Goldstein would be for at least the next few hours. To avoid being made, he circled around the block, and parked about half a block away and stopped. He sat in his car and killed the time going over the surveillance files he had compiled on all the neighbors. He was already stoked up by the coffee that Jean had served him during their talk. It would be a long night.
* * *
It didn’t take long for Goldstein to be on the move again. He had developed some late night habits, apparently waiting for his wife to go to sleep so he could pursue his affair. All this late night surveillance had also developed some poor late night habits in Jack as well.
Jack followed Goldstein to an apartment complex in Santa Barbara and was munching on a Wendy’s chicken burger when he noticed Goldstein leaving. Jack set the burger down on the passenger seat and took off after Goldstein. Halfway down Garden Street, Goldstein stopped in the middle of the street.
Shit, he made me! Thought Jack to himself. Sure enough, Goldstein slammed his Ford F-250 into reverse, wheels burning against the asphalt, and screeched to a halt inches away from Jack’s bumper. Leaving the car running, he ran to Jack’s car and pounded against the driver’s side window. His wild, chestnut eyes looked empty and his mouth was open so wide, Jack could have sworn Goldstein’s intention was to take a bite out of him, or his car.
“Come on! Come on!” he screamed, saliva spraying from the side of his mouth. Jack jammed his car in reverse and Goldstein ran after it for a couple of seconds, then got back in his car and took chase. After weaving through a couple of streets, Jack either lost the tail or Goldstein gave up.
When Jack got home, he called Brent right away and left a message on his voice mail.
“Hey Brent, it’s Jack. I know you’re probably asleep already but I think I’ve developed a good lead on Gary Goldstein. Maybe we can get together tomorrow night? Give me a call.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Brent had sequestered himself in his office to make the last minute preparations. He had organized the entire trial into notebook binders – binders containing all the exhibits, binders with the briefs and jury instructions, and binders with Brent’s direct and cross examination outlines, opening statements and closing arguments. A criminal trial had a higher standard of proof than a civil trial. The state had to prove every element of its case beyond a reasonable doubt, or Nancy would be acquitted. And the verdict of the jury had to be unanimous. All twelve jurors had to vote for a conviction, or Nancy would be acquitted. The jury system was somewhat of an anomaly, like everything else in the law. A defendant put his or her fate in the hands of twelve strangers, who had no legal training, but who were expected to carefully listen to the evidence from two points of view, get a one hour education on what highly complex principles of law to apply to the evidence, and then make a unanimous decision. The lawyers always had a chance to talk to the jury members after a trial was over. After doing it many times, Brent usually opted out because most of the time, nothing they said made any sense. It was ridiculous for Brent to think that twelve people could “turn off’ all their biases and prejudices and make a logical decision based on the evidence they were allowed to hear in the trial. But, however strange it seemed, Brent knew that sometimes you had a better shot with a jury, that body of ones “peers” who make decisions with their emotional brains; especially if your client was guilty.
Nancy was not obligated to say anything; she had the Fifth Amendment privilege against self-incrimination. But Brent knew that the jury would need to hear her side of the story, even though the judge would instruct them that the burden was entirely on the prosecution to prove 100% of its case. It was human nature. He took extra time to prepare Nancy. It almost didn’t matter what she said. She could say anything at all; the jury just had to get a feel for her as a real person; they had to care about her.
Trials for lawyers are like bills. It seems that you finish paying one, and have that feeling of relief, then it’s time to pay it again. It had been a while since Brent’s last criminal trial, but he was confident. It was like swimming – you never really forget how to do it no matter how long it’s been. No clear cut alternative suspects could be presented to the jury, nor he did have any evidence of a frame to present, the D.A.’s case was all based on circumstantial evidence. Brent’s job was to poke as many holes in their case that he could.
* * *
Brent left the office on foot for his meeting with Jack at Sonny’s on downtown State Street. It wasn’t too long a distance and a walk was better than anything to clear the mind for new thoughts.
Sonny’s was always packed. Being at the end of State Street, the cops had parked several squad cars in the neighborhood, perhaps as a deterrent for drunk drivers, or to give them something to do around closing time.
As Brent rolled into Sonny’s, he felt a nostalgic, melancholic feeling. This was the favorite bar of his good friend, Rick Penn, who had been gone for a couple of years now. Rick was also a private detective and ex-FBI man, and they had spent many a night here going over cases, among other things. So, as sad as it may have been, perhaps it was also a good place to work. A lot of ideas had been thrown back and forth between Brent and Rick through the years, and it happened right there at Sonny’s.
Brent found Jack at the bar, looking pretty worn out. Jack smiled as Brent approached and took a seat next to him.
“Hey Brent,” Jack greeted him.
“What’s up Jack, have you solved my case yet?”
“Unfortunately, no. I’ve been running surveillance on Gary Goldstein. I told you he had a minor criminal record in New York.”
Brent waved to the bartender and ordered a margarita, and Jack recounted the incident with Goldstein.
“So, anything promising on Mr. Road Rage?” asked Brent.
“Not yet. We’ve got some pretty vivid descriptions of him threatening Densmore, but that’s about it so far.”
“Yeah, well he is from New York.”
“Right. His idea of saying hello is ‘fuck you.’”
The comment made Brent burst out in laughter, and the funniest part was that Jack said it so straight-faced. Brent couldn’t stop laughing and Jack caught the laugh and belly laughed until tears came to his eyes.
