Grant of Immunity, page 13
Louise stood. “You can’t do that, Your Honor. Judge Hart found Sergeant Babbage guilty of contempt and sentenced him to five days. He’s a sentenced prisoner.”
Judge Finch’s face turned red. “Sit down, Louise. I won’t have a clerk interrupt court proceedings. I’ll be the one who decides what I can do and what I cannot do. If you don’t understand that, I’ll get another clerk who does.”
Louise sat at her desk and looked down. Judge Finch turned to the bailiff. “I’m ordering Sergeant Babbage released OR, forthwith. Please release him and bring him here.”
The bailiff got up, and went into the lockup. Within minutes, Sergeant Babbage was brought out. The lawyer who had been standing next to Doris walked over to him. The two conversed in hushed tones.
“Are you ready to proceed with the probation violation now, Ms. Reynolds?” Judge Finch asked.
“We are, Judge,” Doris replied.
“Just a moment.” It was the lawyer Sean didn’t know. “Anthony Giovanni representing the witness, Sergeant Jake Babbage. Your Honor, my client cannot testify today in light of what happened this morning. I need time to talk to him and to decide if there are any constitutional rights involved.”
Judge Finch’s face had a pained expression. “Can’t you take a moment to find out now?”
“I’m sorry, Your Honor,” Giovanni said. “But I cannot allow my client to testify today. If the court will continue this matter briefly, I’m sure there’ll be no problem.”
“Very well,” Finch said, petulantly. “The matter is continued to next month, November twenty-two. That should be sufficient time to work out all the problems. This matter is in recess until then.”
Finch called the next case. Babbage shook Giovanni’s hand, and the two of them left the courtroom immediately.
Sean, Beth, and Erin were still standing there as the lawyers for the next case came forward. They turned and walked out, meeting Fitz in the aisle. “What just happened?” Erin asked.
Erin looked at Beth. “What’s an OR release?”
“OR stands for Own Recognizance,” Beth replied. “It means that Babbage is released until his hearing without having to put up bail. Instead, he just has to sign a written promise to appear on the hearing date. Of course, if he doesn’t show up, he violates that promise and the judge would issue a warrant for his arrest, setting a very high bail amount. The warrant is called a bench warrant.”
"But why was he arrested in the first place, and why would the judge release him OR? What the hell is going on?”
“I wish I knew,” Fitz said.
28
Hart
Driving to the law offices of Amanda Jordan, Daniel Hart was in a state of near panic. It was all he could do to drive through traffic. At one intersection, he turned right instead of left and went the wrong direction on a one-way street, nearly colliding with oncoming traffic before awkwardly making a U-turn.
If Snake carried out his threat, he would lose his job and, very likely, his freedom. An expert in criminal law, he knew exactly what would happen if a jury found him to be Snake’s accomplice. Snake had forced Sarah Collins to perform oral sex on Hart. Hart was forced, too, but he could still be found guilty of forcible oral copulation in concert, which alone carried a sentence of five, seven, or nine years in prison. Snake’s murder of Sarah to cover up the forced oral sex would be felony murder with special circumstances, making Hart eligible for life in prison without possibility of parole. Hart was aware of the defenses he could raise. Most important of these was that at the time he was, after all, only a boy. But objectively, he knew it was unlikely any juror would buy this or any of the other possible defenses. The law was clear.
At Jordan’s Century City office building, Hart took the elevator to the twenty-fifth floor and entered Jordan’s carpeted suite. The reception room was spacious. Background classical music played quietly. Oil paintings hung on walnut-paneled walls. An attractive dark-haired receptionist sat in a corner alcove adjacent to a closed door, answering the phones.
He waited patiently for her to acknowledge him, but she continued to speak into the phone for several minutes before turning to him. He gave her his name and told her he was going to wait until Ms. Jordan came in. Yes, he understood that Ms. Jordan might not be back for another hour. Hart sat in a chair and picked up a magazine.
He wasn’t able to read. Other people were waiting as well. An elegantly dressed woman sat next to a pimply teenaged boy, probably her son. Across from Hart, a heavy-set man with combed-back, dark greasy hair and open-necked shirt leafed through a Sports Illustrated magazine. People who, like him, had some sort of problem involving the criminal justice system. Accused criminals, he thought. Accused criminals who have sufficient funds to employ an expensive defense attorney to help get them acquitted. And they look at me and think the same thing.
Hart had a detached, hollow feeling inside that he couldn’t completely recognize. Part of it was nervousness. Part of it was fear. Part of it was just being sick to his stomach. But there was something more.
Then he realized. He was grieving. That was it. He was grieving for what he had lost today, this very morning. His career as a judge was over. And maybe his life, too.
Jordan walked in at 11 a.m., with her eyes widening in surprise at seeing him. “Judge Hart, how nice to see you.”
“Do you have a few moments to talk?” Hart asked.
“Of course.” Jordan looked over to the receptionist. “Angela, please give my apologies to my 11 a.m. appointment,” and then, “Judge Hart, come with me.”
She escorted him back to a spacious corner office with large picture windows overlooking the expansive Los Angeles Country Club. The floor was polished dark wood with a square Tabriz Persian carpet covering the center area. Jordan sat behind her oversize dark mahogany desk; he sat in one of the plush fabric chairs. “Would you like some coffee, Judge?” Jordan asked.
A grandfather clock stood in the corner behind Hart and he listened to the steady tick-tock.
Hart shook his head. “No, thank you. But please don’t call me ‘judge,’ Ms. Jordan. Especially not here and not under these circumstances.”
Jordan’s eyebrows raised and she frowned. “What brings you here?”
Being in this office, talking to Jordan, was almost more than Hart could manage. His mouth was dry. There didn’t seem to be enough oxygen in the room. He could hear his own rapid, pounding heartbeat, and he could feel the sweat under his arms and on his chest.
“I think I’m going to need a good lawyer,” Hart said. He recounted everything that occurred on that July 4th weekend nineteen years ago. Jordan listened patiently, occasionally interrupting to ask a question for clarification. Just the process of telling everything to another human being gave him some small relief. Jordan’s eyes were understanding, and if she was shocked by any of the details, she didn’t show it. As for Hart, he felt detached from reality. As if he were viewing the conversation from outside of himself, marveling at how professional Jordan was and worrying about what she really was thinking inside. Would she share the same contempt he had for himself. He finished by describing what occurred this morning, including remanding Babbage for contempt. He sat back, waiting to hear her reaction, but thinking to himself … had today really happened?
Jordan got up from her desk, came around, and sat in the chair next to him. She took his hands in hers. He felt their warmth, their softness. “It wasn’t your fault,” she said. “You were a fifteen-year-old kid, confronted, threatened, and manipulated by a twenty-year-old adult. I can’t imagine any teenaged boy that would have handled the situation better.”
He couldn’t help it. Tears came to his eyes. He said nothing, afraid he might break down completely.
They sat there, neither saying anything. The grandfather clock chimed three times.
“Besides,” Jordan said, “the reality is that Babbage isn’t going to say anything about your complicity in the murder, because in doing so, he’ll implicate himself.”
“It really doesn’t matter whether or not he says anything. The fact is, I must tell the authorities something. I’ve kept silent too long. And it’s the only way to keep Babbage locked up once his five-day contempt sentence is completed.”
Jordan pondered. “My advice is that you say nothing about the murder. At least, not until I get a chance to review this matter in more detail.”
He looked out the window at two tiny figures walking on the green turf of the golf course, twenty-five floors below. It seemed so tranquil.
“All right,” Hart finally said. “I’ll postpone my meeting with the District Attorney’s Office for two days. Babbage will still be in custody, so he won’t pose a threat to anyone. I don’t know what you could possibly come up with, but I’ll give you until then.”
“Two days it is,” Jordan said. “Until then, say nothing about this to anyone. In the meantime, if you get put in a position where you feel you have to explain something, call me first.”
Jordan rose and held out her hand. The interview was over. Hart stood and shook Jordan’s hand. It was warm and comforting. The two walked to the door leading back to the reception area, and Jordan held it open. “I’ll call you within two days to discuss our options.”
Hart walked through, and the door closed behind him. He stood for a moment in the reception area, trying to orient himself. He noticed that he couldn’t stop trembling.
29
Captain Greg Becker
Monday, October 30, 2:15 p.m.
Captain Becker watched as Babbage, dressed in full uniform, crisp with freshly pressed creases, his shoes spit-shined, stood in front of the court reporter taking the oath. Becker didn’t know what to make of the man. Babbage was a sergeant, highly regarded by his lieutenant, and supposedly looked up to by the cops he supervised. But he’d been accused of sexual misconduct with an arrestee and was ultimately responsible for Fitz’s suspension. That worried Becker. Whatever the result of today’s hearing, this matter had to be carefully evaluated.
They were in the library of the District Attorney’s Office in Van Nuys. Head Deputy DA Chuck Allen was in charge of the Van Nuys’ Branch and authorized the meeting. He was mid-fifties, tall and slender with thick salt-and-pepper hair. He sat on one side of the conference table, with Deputy DA Doris Reynolds at his right. Becker sat to Allen’s left. Babbage sat on the other side of the table. To his right was the court reporter; to his left, his lawyer, Anthony Giovanni. A tape recorder with a conference-style microphone was on the table between everyone.
Allen pressed the record button on the tape recorder. “Sergeant Babbage,” Allen began, “before I start asking you questions, I want to put on the record some key details of today’s meeting. If anything I say contradicts your understanding about this meeting, please tell me. If you say nothing, I will assume that you agree with my characterization.” Allen looked at his watch. “It is now two-fifteen p.m. on October thirtieth. In addition to this statement being transcribed by a notary and a certified shorthand reporter, it also is being recorded. Do you understand and agree to that?”
Babbage looked at Giovanni, who nodded. “Yes, sir,” Babbage said.
“You are here today giving a statement, under informal conditional immunity. You requested formal immunity, through your attorney, last Friday afternoon, October twenty-seventh, indicating that you had information that identified the perpetrator of the heretofore-unsolved nineteen-year-old murder of Sarah Collins. Further, you indicated that you would, under penalty of perjury, disclose that information and testify in court, provided you received a formal grant of immunity. What that means, sir, is that so long as you tell the truth today, nothing you say in this recorded statement can be used to prosecute you criminally, either directly or indirectly. After the district attorney reviews your statement, the decision will be made whether or not to extend to you a formal grant of immunity. If you receive this formal grant, you can never be prosecuted for the rape, murder, or any other crime based upon the acts committed against Sarah Collins on July 4, 1976.”
Allen glanced at Captain Becker who nodded.
Allen continued. “You are advised that if you lie, or intentionally misrepresent any fact during today’s statement, you will lose your immunity and be subjected to criminal prosecution. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, I do.”
Today’s statement had been arranged in haste, and Becker could see that Allen was uncomfortable. The events of Friday and the weekend had been absolutely unexpected. What would normally have been routine had become a matter of the utmost importance. The jailing of Babbage by Judge Daniel Hart was simply extraordinary.
But the late Friday afternoon call to Allen by Anthony Giovanni had taken everyone completely by surprise. Giovanni said that Babbage was a witness to a nineteen-year-old unsolved murder. Further, Giovanni said, Babbage now wanted to give a statement identifying the murderer, but would do so only under a grant of immunity.
Normally that procedure would take some time, which was appropriate in light of all that had to be done. But when Giovanni told Allen who the murderer was, all hell broke loose. Any false allegation had to be disposed of immediately, so they all had worked the entire weekend.
Allen said, “Sergeant Babbage, what is your date of birth?”
“July 30, 1955.”
Allen continued. “Your lawyer has told us that you have some knowledge about a murder that occurred nineteen years ago. Is that correct?”
Babbage took a deep breath. “Yes. It happened on the fourth of July. Hart was also there.”
“You mean Daniel Hart?”
“Yes, sir. Daniel Hart. At approximately twenty-three-hundred hours, Hart approached me and asked if I wanted to party with him. At first I said no, but ultimately I went with him.”
“Did he say what he wanted you to do?” Allen inquired.
“He did.”
“And what was that?”
Babbage shifted in his seat, sitting up a little straighter. “He suggested we go to Lake Hollywood and get drunk together.”
“What were his exact words?”
“I don’t recall the exact words,” Babbage said. “Something to the effect of did I want to hang out with him and get loaded.”
“What did you say in response?”
“I said that I’d promised to take out Sarah Collins. Hart was her children’s baby sitter. He knew I was having a relationship with Ms. Collins at that time.”
“Go on,” Allen said.
“As I said, I asked Hart about Sarah. He indicated that it would be okay to bring her, and that we could all, as he said, ‘get loaded’ together.”
“What did you say?”
Babbage didn’t answer immediately. He looked at Giovanni who nodded.
Still hesitating, Babbage said, “I … I agreed, sir.”
Allen’s expression gave no indication what he may have been thinking.
“Then what happened?”
“At zero-one-hundred hours we went in my vehicle to pick her up. We drove to the Hollywood Reservoir, forced open the access road gate, drove to the water’s edge, and parked. The three of us exited and walked outward on a short pier. There was a small observation building at the end of the pier. We climbed it and sat on the roof, overlooking the water.”
“Then what?”
“Sarah Collins and I started kissing, but she told me she felt awkward around Hart, so we excused ourselves and told Hart that we would return later. Hart got angry, but we left him anyway and went to an area concealed by vegetation.”
Babbage paused. He glanced around the conference table. Allen had been taking notes on a yellow legal-size pad of paper. The room had grown silent, except for the sound of Allen’s felt-tip pen. Allen stopped, looking up. Becker saw Allen’s eyes lock on Babbage’s, and for an instant the two stared at each other, unblinking.
“Go on,” Allen said.
“This is a little awkward, sir,” Babbage said. He looked at the court reporter, then toward Deputy DA Reynolds. She had a half-smile on her face.
Babbage again looked at Allen. “Sarah Collins orally copulated me. The next thing I knew, I was struck with a blunt object, probably a rock, on the back of my head. When I awoke, I was sitting against a tree, bound with duct tape. I struggled, but I could barely move my hands and feet. I was still in the brush area. I had a clear, moonlit view of Hart and Sarah Collins.”
“What did you see?”
“Sarah was on her knees. Hart was behind her, holding her by the hair with one hand. He had my knife in his other hand. He put the knife against her neck. He told her that if she didn’t do what he said, he would ‘cut her.’ At first she resisted, but Hart pressed the knife to Sarah’s neck. She screamed. It appeared that he drew some blood, but I can’t be sure. He told her to shut up, and then he forced her to turn around and orally copulate him.
“Sarah gagged and spit, and Hart slapped her across the face. I attempted to get free from the duct tape, but I was still too weak, and I passed out again. When I awoke, I saw Sarah lying on the ground. Her clothes had been removed. She had multiple stab wounds, and she was clearly deceased. Hart was gone, and so was my vehicle. I finally managed to get loose. I made my way out toward the highway, eventually arriving home. My vehicle was parked in front of my house. Inside were Sarah’s clothes.”
“Did you call the police?”
“No, sir. I used very poor judgment, but I was afraid. I knew that Hart had used my knife, and that Sarah had been in my vehicle. I was also worried that no one would believe me.”
“What did you do with her clothes?”
“I burned them.”
“Didn’t you realize you were destroying evidence?” Allen asked.
