Chapter 41
THE DEFENSE DID not proceed with a cross-examination of Michael Spindler but reserved the right to call him back to the witness stand during the defense phase of the trial.
This surprised me, because I thought that Spindler’s direct testimony had been damaging enough to warrant an immediate response.
But maybe they needed more time to figure out how to come at him and knock down his credibility.
Either way, the court session ended early when I told Judge Ruhlin that I had been surprised by the defense’s move and that my next witness, Nathan Whittaker, was not in the courthouse.
“Mr. Haller, I expect in the future that you will have your next witness ready no matter what decisions opposing counsel make,” she said. “Am I clear?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” I said.
“Very well, then, court is recessed until nine o’clock tomorrow morning. Please have your witness ready to go.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
I didn’t mind being chastised by the judge in front of the jury. I had a feeling they were happy to be released early. It had been a day of complex testimony, and a head start on the freeways out of downtown would be welcome.
It had been a good day. I felt the momentum of the case was building and would come to a big finish for the jury with the testimony from Whittaker.
But after the jury withdrew, the judge called the attorneys to chambers, and I was reminded that my good day also included my being held in contempt of court.
In chambers, the judge told us not to bother taking our usual seats.
“This will be quick,” she said. “But I did not feel the need to discuss it in open court. Mr. Haller, I will hold the order of contempt in abeyance until the end of trial. I hope this will help you comport yourself and your witnesses in accordance with court protocol and respect.”
This meant that she would hold my punishment over my head till the verdict came in, with me knowing that she would multiply the penalty if I stepped out of line along the way.
“Your Honor, I would rather face the music now,” I said, “instead of having it hanging over me.”
“Well, that’s not how I’ve chosen to handle it. Any other questions?”
“Uh, no.”
“All right. You gentlemen are dismissed until nine o’clock tomorrow. Have a good evening.”
An hour later I got home to an empty house and immediately went to the back office to sketch out my examination of Whittaker, which I hoped would clinch the case.
I was aware as I wrote questions on a fresh legal pad that the Mason brothers were probably meeting with the Tidalwaiv coder at the same time and prepping him for some of the very same questions.
But I hoped that they ultimately didn’t know what I knew, thanks to the digging of Jack McEvoy.
Maggie got home late, but to my surprise it was not because she had gone out to Altadena on her way home.
Instead, she had had after-work drinks at the Redbird with a few of her most trusted prosecutors and then stopped by Koi on her way home to pick up sushi and miso-glazed black cod for us to share.
It was a quiet evening, no TV and no interruptions, until my phone dinged with an email from Judge Ruhlin’s clerk ordering all attorneys in the Tidalwaiv case to a meeting in chambers at eight o’clock the following morning.
There was no explanation for the summons, but I didn’t expect that it would be anything good.
After a restless night, I was in the courtroom at the appointed time with the Mason brothers, who professed to know nothing about the reason for the meeting. Finally, at ten minutes after the hour, Ruhlin’s clerk told us the judge was ready to see us.
The judge was seated behind her desk and we took our usual chairs. Her black robe was on a hanger hooked to a coatrack in the corner behind her desk.
“Gentlemen, we have an issue,” she said. “Last night, the court was contacted by a juror and told that she tested positive for COVID.”
That made me move to the edge of my seat and lean in toward the judge.
“It was a store-bought test she’d taken at home,” Ruhlin continued.
“I told her to go to the nearest urgent-care clinic to get another to confirm. She did and it was confirmed. They put her on Paxlovid and sent her home. It appears to be a mild case—so far, at least—and she should be fine, but we have the trial to consider.”
“I think that, based on this information and the motion already before the court, we have a mistrial,” Marcus Mason said.
“That’s crazy,” I said quickly. “We can dismiss a juror. We don’t need twelve to finish, and this issue has nothing to do with yesterday’s bullshit motion for a mistrial.”
“Excuse me,” Ruhlin said. “And watch your language before the court, Mr. Haller. But you are both missing the point. She was in the jury box all day yesterday and tested positive last night. She very likely exposed the whole jury. We could have several sick jurors by the end of the week.”
I knew if that happened, we would be heading toward a mistrial.
That would be a disaster. The Masons had seen my entire case except for my final witness.
A mistrial would allow them to prep and be ready for exactly what was coming.
For them, it would be like taking a final exam with the list of answers in hand.
I knew I had to head this off.
“Which of the jurors is sick?” I asked.
“Juror eleven,” the judge said.
The set builder I had fought to keep on the jury. One of my top picks. Losing her would be a blow, but a mistrial would be more devastating and most likely lead to a quiet settlement of the case.
“Suggestions?” Ruhlin said.
“There is no choice here but a mistrial,” Marcus said.
“Your Honor, he keeps calling for a mistrial because he knows he’s losing this one,” I said.
“Then what do you suggest, Mr. Haller?” Ruhlin said.
“I believe the incubation period from exposure to symptoms is on average five days,” I said. “Why don’t we recess until Monday and see if any other jurors have gotten sick before the court makes a decision.”
“It could be longer than five days,” Marcus said.
“It could be, but we won’t know till Monday,” I said quickly. “Have the other jurors been told about juror eleven?”
“They were told only that, because of a juror’s illness, we are adjourned today,” Ruhlin said. “I will obviously follow up and tell them where things stand and that they should get tested themselves. Anything else, gentlemen?”
“If the juror just started exhibiting symptoms last night, she could have been exposed before the trial began,” I said. “Or while she was in the jury pool last week. It doesn’t mean the rest of our jury was exposed.”
“Yes, it does,” Marcus said.
“Well, it doesn’t matter,” Ruhlin said. “We’ll have a better idea by Monday.
I am going to follow Mr. Haller’s suggestion and not decide anything until then.
We will be adjourned till Monday and my clerk will keep all parties apprised of any developments.
Thank you, gentlemen, for coming in so early. ”
We went single file out the door as usual, but once we were in the hallway heading back to the courtroom, Marcus Mason slowed his walk and turned to look at me.
“You know how we can avoid all of this,” he said.
“So do you,” I said. “On the front steps of the building, all media invited. Accountability, action, and apology. In front of the cameras.”
“Not going to happen.”
“I know. That’s why we’ll be back here Monday.”
“You hope.”
“Yeah, I hope.”
After leaving the courthouse, I drove to the warehouse, where I convened with my team in the cage. I explained that we were in a holding pattern until we knew if there was a trial to go back to.
“So, we all going to Cabo till Monday?” Cisco asked.
“I want Jack to stay on Whittaker,” I said. “Right now we have only a lot of smoke, but where there is smoke, there is fire. Find the fire. We need it.”
“I’ll keep at it,” McEvoy said.
“Everybody, keep at it,” I said. “Cisco, maybe you should head north to run down what you can on Whittaker. Who he hangs out with, where he goes, what he eats. I need to know everything I can about him before he takes the stand.”
“On it,” Cisco said.
“What about me?” Lorna asked.
“Today, I’m going to work on the Snow petition,” I said. “Lorna, see if you can get me an appointment tomorrow with the CIU.”
“Okay, but that might be easier to get through Maggie,” Lorna said.
“Maybe, but that’s not the way I want to go,” I said.
I waited for pushback or any other comments. There were none.
“Okay, let’s do it,” I said. “I’ll be in my office.”
Before beginning to outline and write the David Snow habeas petition, I went on the website for the California Health Care Facility in Stockton and registered as inmate Snow’s attorney.
This would allow me unrestricted access to my client in person or by phone.
I then spent the next two hours writing the evidentiary summary and legal argument I hoped to hand to someone in the Conviction Integrity Unit.
Maggie McPherson had assembled the unit shortly after her election to fulfill a campaign promise, and now I would put it to the test with the Snow case.
I had finished writing and was reviewing and editing the nine-page document when Lorna entered my office, her eyes wide.
“We have visitors,” she said.
“Who?” I asked.
“The Masons are here. With Victor Wendt.”
Victor Wendt, the billionaire tech investor behind Tidalwaiv.
He had been a player in Silicon Valley for decades, was said to have made his fortune on early investments in Apple.
I stood up and followed Lorna out into the main bay of the warehouse, where I saw the Mason twins standing on either side of Wendt.
Behind them stood two large men in black suits—bodyguards.
Cisco had not left yet and was standing with them, seemingly taking their measure, one man with a history of violence appraising two of the same.