Chapter 42
AT TEN A.M. Friday I was ushered in to see Ali Adebayo at the district attorney’s office.
Adebayo’s title was chief of the Conviction Integrity Unit, but in reality he was the only prosecutor assigned to it.
DA McPherson learned shortly after taking office that she did not have the personnel to properly set up the unit she had promised to institute.
She had a CIU sign made and posted on the door to Adebayo’s office and tasked him with the job until the next budget could be squeezed for more staff.
Adebayo was a seasoned prosecutor whom I was familiar with from my days in criminal defense. When I entered the office I found he was not alone. His boss, my ex-wife and current roommate, was waiting with him.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were bringing this in today?” she asked.
“Uh, because you’re the DA and I thought it was best to go through proper channels,” I said. “I didn’t want any blowback to come to you or the case.”
I reached across the desk to shake hands with Adebayo.
“Ali,” I said. “It’s been a minute.”
“Yeah, I see you’re over in the fed now,” Adebayo said. “Tilting at tech windmills.”
“Something like that. But we’re off till Monday and this other case is time-sensitive.”
“Well, let’s hear it, then.”
I looked at Maggie and she nodded. She was staying.
“Well, I only brought one copy with me,” I began. “But I have a petition here and medical reports and statements from two different physicians who have examined the victim and reviewed her history.”
I handed the file I was carrying across the desk.
Adebayo took it and opened it. While he took the petition, Maggie took the backup statements and X-ray copies.
My phone buzzed. I pulled it and checked the screen.
I recognized the number as belonging to Judge Ruhlin’s clerk. I sent the call to voicemail.
“What is this?” Maggie said. “These doctors made these statements based on these twenty-year-old photocopies?”
“Both doctors said the fractures were clear in the copies,” I said.
“Where are the originals?”
“Uh, it looks like they’re gone. The copies are from court archives. After the trial, the court allowed the lawyer who handled the appeal to take the originals.”
“Who was that?”
“Joel Firestone. I don’t know if you knew him. He died about ten years ago and somebody cleared out his office and got rid of the files from dead cases. The appeals had run their course.”
Maggie shook her head, then looked back down at the documents and started reading one of the physician’s statements.
She seemed to be all business, as though I were any lawyer who had come in repping a convict.
I knew it was the way it should be, but I couldn’t help but wonder if the coldness was residual upset from the night before, when I told her about how Victor Wendt had tried to bribe me and what he had said about her insurance and rebuilding situation.
It infuriated her that my case had resulted in such an invasion of her private life.
My phone buzzed. I pulled it and saw that it was the clerk calling again.
“Look, I’m going to step out and take this,” I said. “I’ll be in the hallway. Why don’t you two keep reading.”
I answered the call as I went through the door.
“Mr. Haller, Judge Ruhlin wants to see you in chambers forthwith,” the clerk said.
“Uh, I’m in a meeting at the DA’s office,” I said. “Is this about the juror with COVID? Are more jurors sick?”
“I can’t tell you what it’s about, sir. But the judge said you need to get here forthwith.”
“Are the Masons coming in?”
“They are on their way and you should be too.”
“Okay. Tell the judge I’ll be there.”
“She asked that you bring your investigator as well.”
“My investigator? Why does she need him to come?”
“Again, sir, I cannot discuss the matter with you. You must come in and speak to the judge.”
“Okay, I’m on my way.”
I disconnected and immediately called Cisco, but the call went to voicemail.
I told him to meet me at the federal courthouse ASAP, then stepped back into Adebayo’s office.
He and Maggie had switched documents. Maggie was now holding the petition.
I knew I had not been out of the room long enough for Adebayo to have thoroughly read the nine pages.
“You’re just scanning it?” I asked.
“While you’re here, I thought I’d just do a quick read,” Adebayo said. “But I’ll spend some time with it.”
I nodded, suspicious of his true intentions.
“Well, I’m leaving,” I said. “I just got a forthwith from the district court.”
“Then go,” Maggie said. “We wouldn’t want to hold you up.”
“Well, I mean, if you have questions, I’ll answer them,” I said. “It just seems like you’re skimming it at the moment.”
“No questions right now,” Maggie said.
Very perfunctory. I waited for more, but nothing came. I looked at Adebayo.
“How about I call you after lunch?” I asked.
“We’ll call you,” Maggie answered. “Once we’ve thoroughly reviewed the material.”
I nodded.
“Okay, then,” I said. “I hope to hear from you.”
I nodded again and headed for the door. I thought about Maggie’s demeanor the whole walk to the federal courthouse half a block away. It crowded my head when I should have been thinking about the next meeting and why I had been called to Judge Ruhlin’s chambers.
The courtroom appeared empty, but the clerk raised his head in the corral when he heard the door close behind me.
“They’re in with the judge,” he said.
“They?” I asked.
“The Masons just arrived.”
“What about my investigator?”
“Not here.”
“I called him. Send him back when he gets here.”
“Oh, I will.”
I made my way through the rear door of the courtroom and to the judge’s chambers, checking my phone for messages as I went. The door was open but I heard no voices. I rapped my knuckles on the open door as I entered.
“Come in, Mr. Haller,” the judge said. “Is your investigator with you?”
The judge was behind her desk, with Marcus and Mitchell Mason seated in front of her. I sat next to them.
“He’s not here yet, Judge,” I said. “I just got a text from him saying he is on his way.”
“I have something to show you,” Ruhlin said.
“Sure. Any word on how our sick juror is doing?”
“Well, I thought maybe you could tell us how she’s doing.”
I looked at the Masons for any clue as to what this was about. Mitchell’s face was blank while Marcus looked smug, as usual.
“I don’t understand, Judge,” I said. “Why would I know how—”
“Let’s just watch the video the court received this morning, shall we?” Ruhlin interrupted.
I raised my hand as if to say, Lead the way.
Ruhlin had an open laptop on the desk. She tapped a key and turned the screen toward the three attorneys sitting across from her.
On it was the front of a small ranch house with white stucco walls and green shutters.
It could have been one of thousands of small homes built in the Valley during the boom years after World War II.
The lawn was neatly cut. There was a time stamp in the lower corner of the frame indicating that the video had been taken at 6:31 the night before.
There was still natural light, and a lamp next to the front door was not on.
The frame of the video shook slightly, indicating that it was likely shot on a handheld camera or phone.
“What are we looking at here?” I asked.
“Just watch,” Ruhlin said. “You’ll get to tell me.”
The video was silent until the thrum of an approaching motorcycle came through loud and clear.
Soon a Harley panhead with orange flames painted on the gas tank moved into the frame and stopped at the front curb.
I knew it was Cisco before he took off his helmet.
I watched as he got off the bike and propped the helmet on the gas tank.
He then crossed the lawn to the front door.
“Is that your investigator?” Ruhlin asked.
“It is,” I said, my eyes not moving from the screen. “Dennis Wojciechowski.”
“He looks like a biker.”
“Well, sometimes it’s a look that helps.”
“Not this time.”
There was no doubt about the anger in the judge’s tone. On the video, Cisco pushed a doorbell and waited briefly for an answer before pushing the button again and knocking loudly enough to be picked up on the camera filming from across the street.
“Whose place is this?” I asked. “And who’s taking the video?”
The judge held a hand up to silence me.
“Just watch,” she said.
The lantern light next to the front door went on and the door swung open.
At first, Cisco’s large frame blocked the view of the person who had answered.
Whoever it was, he was looking down at them.
The verbal exchange was muffled but Cisco started gesturing with both hands, at one point holding them both up, palms out. It looked like a gesture of apology.
He then took a step back, revealing the woman who had answered the door. She was Black and wore a headscarf hiding her hair. She had on an open robe over a pink T-shirt and baggy blue sweatpants. She closed the door as Cisco turned away, but not before her face was clearly recognizable.
It was juror number eleven.
The judge scowled at me. It appeared from the video that my investigator had broken a cardinal rule of jurisprudence: He had attempted to make contact with a juror in the middle of a trial.
There could be no excuse for such an act.
I became aware that both Masons had turned to look at me with outrage written across their faces.
“Mr. Haller, do you know who that was on the screen with your investigator?” the judge asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Juror eleven. The one with COVID.”
“Do you know of any valid reason why Mr. Woja… the man you call Cisco would go to a juror’s home?”
“I don’t at the moment, Your Honor. But I’m sure there is an explanation.”
“There’d better be, or he is going to jail—and you might be with him. This is a major breach of the protection and sanctity of the juror system.”
“I don’t disagree, Judge. But can I ask where this video came from?”
“It was sent anonymously to my clerk this morning.”
I raised my hands and immediately realized I was making the same gesture Cisco made at the front door of juror eleven’s house.
“Anonymous, Your Honor?” I said. “It obviously came from them.”
I pointed at the Masons.
“The court was clear when it said earlier this week that surveillance and intimidation of the parties of this suit would not be tolerated,” I continued. “But they’ve ignored that order and surveilled my team, and now they’re sending anonymous videos of that surveillance to the court.”
Marcus Mason shook his head as a smile cracked across his face.
“First of all, this did not come from us,” he said. “But this is truly laughable. His investigator is caught crossing a line no one should ever cross, and he wants to blame whoever it was that caught him doing it? Your Honor, I think we have reached a new low with Mr. Haller.”
I shook my head vehemently.
“No, the new low was when your boss came to my office yesterday and tried to bribe me with a briefcase full of cash,” I said. “And this—”
“That never happened,” Marcus shot back.
“You don’t know,” I said. “You weren’t in the room. But I refused to take his money, so he set this up.”
I pointed at the screen.
“How?” Marcus asked. “How did he set this up?”
“Good question, Mr. Haller,” Ruhlin added.
The tension in the room was palpable. The judge was angry. The Masons were angry. I had to somehow make sure this didn’t spill over into a mistrial.
“Judge, I don’t know yet,” I said as calmly as I could. “But this is a setup. That camera—whoever was holding it—was already in place when my investigator rolled up. That’s clear on the video. They were waiting and hiding. Why?”
The logic of what I said seemed to hit everyone in the room as they realized that my observation was correct.
“Another good question,” the judge said, turning her eyes to the Masons. “I seriously hope that what Mr. Haller is suggesting here is not the truth.”
“Your Honor, again, we had nothing to do with this,” Marcus said. “I can promise you that.”
“Can you promise that Victor Wendt didn’t have anything to do with it?” I asked.
The silence that followed that question was punctuated by a buzz from the judge’s desk phone. She answered and then said, “Ask for a marshal to bring him back.”
She hung up and looked at me.
“Your investigator is here,” she said. “I can assure you, Mr. Haller, that if he says the wrong thing, he’s going to jail.”