The Trials of Max Q, page 19
“As I testified previously, it was the combination of things. No staff, the 911 call, and the open door.”
“When you entered the house, you stated that you still found nothing out of the ordinary, yet you continued up the stairs?”
“It was a judgment call, I made it, and I stand by it,” Beneke makes a brief comeback.
Kerri hits him with a smug grin and I know his momentum will be brief.
“Isn’t it true, Officer Beneke, that you had more reason to know there was a dead body in that room than my client? You have no alibi, you reacted angrily to her rejection of your advances, and since you took her there the night before, you knew that she was present. Nobody can substantiate your whereabouts at the time of her death, and you failed to show up at the crime scene for eighty minutes. Then you arrest my client without reasonable cause. Was this the knee-jerk reaction of an inexperienced policeman, or a well thought out plan?”
“Objection! Objection!” I shout and stomp my foot as if it might help.
But Judge Schanz is already reprimanding my sister. Kerri looks amazed that implying a police officer might be a murder suspect without any basis of fact would be frowned upon. She claims she was just making a point that others had just as much motive and opportunity to commit the crime as her client, including Officer Beneke. She apologizes to the court and assures the judge that it won’t happen again. But I see a foreshadowing of the defense’s strategy.
“When you interviewed my client after finding the body, was he aware that he was your top suspect in the case? Did you inform him of his right to seek counsel?”
“We had no suspect at the time. Mr. Anderson could have easily been a victim who survived the attack. I had made no judgments at that point.”
“Did you inform him of his right to counsel?”
“No.”
“Officer Beneke, you taped this interview with my client. Did he know he was being taped?”
“If you have nothing to hide then no reason to worry about being taped.” Beneke is starting to lose his cool.
“Answer the question,” Judge Schanz states with authority.
“No, he didn’t.”
“Do you always tape interviews with suspects?”
“If possible, yes. I had a bad experience with someone making false allegations against me. It protects me from such acts.”
“Would you be talking about a sexual harassment complaint brought against you by a female co-worker in the Sheriff’s Office three years ago?”
“The case was dropped, it was baseless,” Beneke responds angrily.
Shep and I want to pound our heads against the table. The worst thing your witness can do is surprise you. Since the complaint was dropped and sealed, we had no knowledge of it. But obviously Kerri’s investigators found it. We object, but the damage is done.
“Please get some help for your anger toward women, Officer Beneke,” Kerri gets in a final lick.
“Objection.”
“Sustained.”
“Withdrawn.”
Smirk from Kerri to me.
Chapter 48
The preliminary hearing has turned messier than expected. They’re normally about an hour or two long without any questioning from the defense. The old joke is a grand jury will indict a ham sandwich, but at this point, even getting to a grand jury is not a slam-dunk for us.
I call Sheriff Roddy Opp to the stand, hoping he performs better than Beneke. How could he not?
Opp looks professional, wearing a suit, and I think he even groomed his mustache. Unlike Beneke, he appears confident. In fact, he looks like he is reveling in the spotlight. Opp initially put us in a bad spot in this case with the premature arrest, and he hasn’t helped with his off-the-cuff press conferences, attempting to force our hand into prosecuting Anderson. I’m the first to admit that I don’t like the guy, but I need him to come through for us.
Opp handles my questions like a seasoned pro, and makes no apologies for the arrest. I then hold my breath as I hand him off to Kerri.
As she begins hammering him for being in charge of a department that she is now calling the “Keystone Cops,” I should probably take some solace in the police getting some deserved payback, but all I can see are Drew Anderson’s hands wrapped around Laney’s neck. And his henchman (via Lansdale) with that knife to Shep’s neck. Then I picture him walking away a free man. If he does, I hope Marissa puts her hands around his neck, but so far she doesn’t appear to be wavering in her support.
Kerri turns up the heat—using the jogging witness affidavits to prove an alibi, and also delving into the Tony Rivotti forging incident in an attempt to show that Opp and his department had a vendetta against her client.
Judge Schanz declares the Rivotti line of questioning to be not relevant in regards to this hearing, but it gets me wondering about Kerri’s strategy. Why is she pulling out all the stops at the preliminary hearing?
The obvious answer is that when it comes to this case, the PR battle is just as important as what occurs in the courtroom. Kerri could be putting on a mini trial for public consumption, and perhaps she’s angling to force us to use important evidence like the video at this time, to dull its effects for when the trial begins. She knows a worldwide audience is watching this hearing, and she’s controlling the conversation. And since it usually takes about a year for a capital case to go to trial, the discussion between now and the first juror being seated will be of incompetent police and possible other suspects.
During a particularly heated exchange about the security system that Opp installed at Anderson Estate, Shep whispers to me, “Wow, she’s really going for the jugular.”
For the first time, I realize that Kerri might be going beyond controlling the conversation. As crazy as it sounds, she actually thinks she can win this thing at the preliminary hearing stage. And why not take advantage of having the best ally at her disposal—the great advocate for defendant’s rights, Judge Patricia Schanz? Why not end it right here before any more damage occurs to Anderson’s image?
As I conceptualize the potential public humiliation awaiting us—I can already hear the jeering from the “experts” if we can’t even meet the minuscule standard of “probable cause”—my attention is captured by rumblings that are coming from the defense table. Anderson and his lawyers are huddled.
I can’t make out their muffled words, but there seems to be a serious disagreement. I use the commotion as an excuse to glance at Marissa, who also looks concerned.
Mac and Ashley look to me to explain the confusion. I shrug my shoulders—I have no clue what is going on.
Kerri is now shaking her head in disbelief and won’t even look at Anderson. “Your Honor, may I approach?” she asks.
Shep and I follow to the bench, not sure what to think.
“Your Honor, my client would like to stop this preliminary hearing at this time,” Kerri states.
Shep and I swap puzzled looks. We both know they had us on the ropes, and had a legitimate shot at pulling an upset.
“He also wants to waive his indictment by grand jury and consent that the court information submitted by the DA’s Office is to replace indictment,” Kerri adds.
Now Judge Schanz is confused. “Please explain, Ms. Lawson, why you were willing to come into this hearing guns blazing, but now want to pull the plug?”
“My client is adamant that if he doesn’t prove his innocence in a court of law, he will be branded unfairly for the rest of his life.”
I’m always skeptical of Kerri, so I search my mind for an ulterior motive.
“I take it you don’t have a problem with this, Mr. Lawson,” Judge Schanz addresses me.
“No … um … no,” I stutter.
We return to our tables and Judge Schanz asks for the court to rise.
“Mr. Anderson, are you aware of the request to drop the remainder of this hearing and waive right to a grand jury indictment? In doing so, you will move to having your fate decided by a jury trial?”
“Yes I do, Your Honor. I believe it is the only way to regain my reputation. Living without that isn’t much different than being in prison.”
“You have been in prison for ten days, you might feel a lot differently after ten years.”
“I plan to win my trial. I have a great life and career. But above all, I have a wife that I love with all my soul, and we plan to start a family as soon as I’m acquitted. I have great confidence that the truth will prevail and that I will be vindicated.”
Judge Schanz doesn’t look overly impressed by the self-serving speech. But the general population will be. I can’t believe we just gave Anderson a soapbox to declare his innocence. Now we’re the heartless bastards who are preventing him from starting a family.
The judge reluctantly agrees to the waiver. To make it official, Anderson signs a written waiver in open court with his attorney present. When the paperwork is complete, the case is bound for the part of Judge Antonio Figliomini. The courtroom is deathly silent, except for the banging of the gavel that adjourns the proceedings.
Drew Anderson is taken away. As he’s removed from the courtroom, he shares a glance with Marissa that angers me once more. The man had everything any of us could dream of wanting, but he had to have more.
Shep and I leave the courtroom in the same whirlwind we entered. A police officer clears our way past the waiting press. “No comment, no comment,” we reply to their questions, still dazed from what just happened.
“They’re up to something,” I whisper to Shep.
“What they’re up to is kicking our ass,” she replies.
“Look at the bright side. We’re going to trial without even having to go before the grand jury. We’re going to court and we’re going to win.”
“Jack, can you please stop with the happy-happy nonsense,” Shep grumbles, but keeps her smile for the cameras. We’ve learned the hard way to become more media friendly.
“Hey, OJ Simpson was once a Heisman Trophy winner with a pristine public image, facing murder charges,” I say, trying to lift her spirits.
“One minor detail, Jack.”
“Which is?”
“OJ got off.”
Chapter 49
The Honorable Judge Antonio Figliomini reads the complaint to a resolute Drew Anderson. It is Monday, August 7, and we are in Judge Figliomini’s courtroom for the latest arraignment of Drew Anderson.
When Figliomini finishes reading in his deep voice, he raises his head and stares at me. “Do the people accept the just read indictment as being factual, as you know it?”
I feel like the defendant. The so-called experts have been knocking each other over to get in line to bash me. We achieved our objective of getting to a trial, but nobody on our side would even hint that it was a victory. Gifford Brown referred to it as, “The operation was a success, but the patient died.”
If the media had raised an eyebrow at my decisions so far, then what I’m about to say next will pluck the eyebrows completely off their faces. Still standing, and facing Figliomini, I utter, “Yes, Your Honor—and the people are seeking the death penalty.”
The murmuring of the crowd turns to a buzz. Figliomini bangs his gavel and shouts, “Order!”
It’s first-year-law-student-101 not to go after the death penalty in this case. Drew Anderson has more mitigating factors than we have evidence. Also, it can sometimes make the defendant look like the victim, while the prosecutors come off as cold and bloodthirsty. But I want to make a statement of how serious we feel about his guilt. We’ve learned that public perception is more important to the trial of Max Q than traditional items like evidence and motive.
Shep fought against my choice, but since she watched that video with Anderson’s hands around Laney Bang’s neck, she has acquired an open mind toward my out-of-the-box tactics.
Anderson enters his plea with the still-stunned gallery hanging on his every word. “I am innocent of all charges against me—I plead not guilty.” His voice is confident.
Following Figliomini’s order, everybody is seated. The whole courtroom is fixated on Anderson.
I make eye contact with Marissa, who is sitting behind her man. She looks striking, but the scathing look she greets me with is not so beautiful. I turn away—this isn’t about the law anymore and my confidence wanes.
Figliomini begins to go over the other topics that will be covered at the arraignment. This isn’t news to us, as we hashed it out this past Saturday in a lawyers-only meeting with the judge.
I awoke that morning to “Saturday (Night) is Alright for Fighting” by Elton John, blaring from my alarm clock, which was apropos. I dressed in khaki casual, but Shep came dressed to the nines, including a hat that was worthy of a royal wedding. She informed me that she had a date for later that day, and she and her new beau were going to Saratoga to watch the races. I had no right to be jealous, but man isn’t always the most rational of creatures.
Figliomini was dressed for a trip to the Canadian border for a weekend of salmon fishing. Different from his courtroom persona, but still an intimidating presence. His thick jet-black hair is normally gelled back, but was pushed forward, covering his prominent widow’s peak. He likes to think of himself as the “everyday man” who owns a farm and runs around town in his pickup truck. From an ideological standpoint, he is the polar opposite of Judge Schanz, which in theory should benefit us. But a jury of his peers would be made up of the Andersons and Lansdales of the world, and there has been talk if Max Q ever made it to the White House that Figliomini might be a potential choice for the US Supreme Court. Where he stands could play a big role in the outcome.
With the plea still hanging over the courtroom, Figliomini instructs the bailiff to deliver copies of a gag order to Shep and me, along with the defense. To summarize, neither side will discuss the case outside the courtroom. He also reprimands the media for their performance so far, and warns against using his courtroom as a source of sensationalism. He then denies all motions made by the aforementioned media for cameras in the courtroom, along with the ones requesting to unseal documents of upcoming motion hearings.
Next up is to pick a trial date. Figliomini begins, “I’ve reviewed the defense’s motion to fast-track this trial …
Kerri interrupts. She stands and makes a passionate plea for a speedy trial. She’s grandstanding. She knows that a capital case usually goes to trial in minimum a year, and eight months is a minor miracle. She should know, it’s usually because of all the endless paperwork and motions filed by high-powered defense attorneys like herself, and so far this case is no different.
Figliomini’s face turns sour. “Sit down, Ms. Lawson—I have reviewed your reasoning and most of it I find to be self-serving rubbish …”
I can’t hold back my smile.
Kerri persists. “My client is in danger in prison—someone has set him up for this crime and he is not safe. His trial must be …”
Figliomini again cuts her off, “Sit down, Ms. Lawson!”
I have never seen my sister so desperate. I’m not sure what to make of it. He’s in danger? I think Laney Bang was the one who was in danger … from her client.
The judge puts his reading glasses back on and starts again, “Having reviewed the facts, taking into account the special circumstances and nature of this case, the trial date is set for Tuesday, September 5. Jury selection will begin that day.”
If I were standing I would have fallen over. Shep looks at me in fright. It will take us months to interview possible witnesses and gather further evidence. The murder weapon would be a good start. One month?
I begin to argue, but Figliomini cuts me off.
“Mr. Lawson, for years prosecutors have screamed about defense attorneys using stall tactics. I will not pass up such a miraculous opportunity—a defense attorney eagerly requesting to go to trial. I have reviewed the facts of the case, and I see no undue harm being caused to either side by my decision.”
I’ve been one of the chief complainers about the delay tactics of defense attorneys, especially the ones with unlimited budgets like LB&G.
“September 5—we’ll be here,” I proclaim, as if I have a choice.
Figliomini swiftly changes gears, moving to the bail hearing. The judge states that he has read the transcripts from the initial appearance and asks if either side has anything new to add.
Shep stands and restates our position, citing Roman Polanski and other high-profile celebrities who have fled the country instead of facing charges.
Not to be outdone, Kerri goes on a tangent that basically describes Anderson as the most perfect being to grace the earth, with the exception of those who have a religion created in their honor.
Figliomini takes a minute to absorb each side’s argument, then barks, “Bail granted—it will be set at five million dollars.”
Shep looks annoyed, but I think this might turn out to be a positive development for us.
In closing, Figliomini states, “I expect all motions from both sides by this Friday, the eleventh, and our next pretrial court date will be Wednesday, August 15.” He bangs his gavel to conclude the proceedings.
Anderson triumphantly steps out onto the front steps of the courthouse like a conquering hero, a radiant Marissa by his side. The press is there to meet him.
He smiles confidently, politely dodges all questions by citing the judge’s gag order, but does add that he has a deep belief in the court system and fully expects to be exonerated.
Shep and I watch the scene from a distance.
“We’re screwed,” she says dejectedly.
“We’ll be fine—a short trial date favors us. They have the unlimited funds to drown us in motions and paperwork, and wear us down over the long haul. The defense just willingly gave up their most lethal weapon.”
I can tell that Shep isn’t buying. I really didn’t even convince myself. We continue watching the jubilation surrounding Max Q. He descends the court steps, hand-in-hand with Marissa, while Kerri and Hal Metzer tag along.
