I closed my eyes and repeated the words in my head, ignoring the sounds around me: people shuffling into the benches of the gallery behind me, whispers from the AG’s table to my left, the court clerk in his corral muttering into his phone to the right. And then came an intrusion I could not ignore.
“Mickey! Mickey!”
An urgent whisper. I opened my eyes and looked at Lucinda. She nodded toward the back of the room. I turned and saw the reporters in the first row and the courtroom artist working for one of the TV stations, since cameras were not allowed in federal court. And beyond them I saw Deputy Stephanie Sanger sitting in the last row. It was the first time I had seen her in person. Since the habeas was a civil motion, I could have deposed her but that would have given her, and the AG, a heads-up on my case strategy. I didn’t want that. So I’d gambled and skipped the depo, and I would question her for the first time when I called her as a witness.
I locked eyes for a moment with Sanger. She had sandy-blond hair and pale eyes; her stare was as cold and angry as the eagle’s up on the wall. She was in full uniform, badge and commendation pins on display. This was the oldest trick in the book when it came to reminding a jury of the authority of a testifying law enforcement officer. But this wasn’t a jury trial and the uniform most likely would not impress the judge.
“Can she do that?” Lucinda asked. “Sit behind us like that?”
I looked from Sanger to my client. She was scared.
“Don’t worry about her,” I said. “When court starts, she’ll leave. She’s a witness and they’re not allowed to be in court until they testify. That’s why Harry Bosch isn’t here.”
Before Lucinda could respond, the courtroom marshal stood at his desk next to the door to the courtside holding cell and announced the arrival of Judge Ellen Coelho. The timing was perfect. As people in the courtroom stood, the door behind the bench opened and the black-robed judge took the three steps up to the black leather chair from which she would preside.
“Be seated,” she said, her voice amplified by the coffered ceiling and the other acoustics of the courtroom.
As I sat down, I leaned toward Lucinda and whispered, “There will be some discussions with the judge and then it will be your turn. Like we talked about, be calm, be direct, look at me or the judge when you answer. Don’t look at the other attorneys.”
Lucinda nodded hesitantly. She still looked scared, her light brown complexion turning pale.
“It’s going to be okay,” I said. “You’re ready for this. You’ll do fine.”
“But what if I don’t?” she said.
“Don’t think like that. These people at the other table want to take the rest of your life away. They want to take your son away. Be angry at them, not scared. You need to get back to your son, Lucinda. They are trying to stop you from doing that. Think about that.”
I noticed motion behind her and looked up from our huddle to see Frank Silver pull out the chair on her other side and sit down.
“Sorry I’m late,” he whispered. “Hi, Lucinda, do you remember me?”
Before she could answer I put my hand on Lucinda’s arm to stop her and leaned across her to address Silver as quietly as my anger would allow.
“What are you doing here?” I whispered.
“I’m co-counsel,” he said. “That was our deal. I’m here to help.”
“What deal?” Lucinda asked.
“There is no deal,” I said. “You need to leave, Frank. Now.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Silver said.
“Listen to me carefully,” I said. “You can’t be here. It will throw—”
I was cut off by the judge.
“In the matter of Sanz versus the State of California we have a habeas corpus petition. Is counsel ready to proceed?”
Hayden Morris and I stood at the same time at our separate tables and affirmed that we were ready to proceed.
“Mr. Haller,” the judge said, “I have no record of you having a co-counsel. Who is seated next to your client?”
Silver stood up to answer the question himself, but I beat him to it.
“Mr. Silver is the plaintiff’s original defense attorney in this case,” I said. “He just came by to show his support for her. He is not co-counsel.”
Coelho looked down at the paperwork in front of her on the bench.
“He is on your witness list, is he not?” she asked. “I recall that name, I believe.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” I said. “He is. And he just wanted to be here at the start, as I said, to show his support. He will step out now. In fact, Your Honor, plaintiff requests that all witnesses be excused from the courtroom until they are called upon to testify.”
Morris, who had already sat down, shot back up to his feet and told the judge that the witness I was referring to was Sergeant Stephanie Sanger, who was in the courtroom for a state motion to quash her subpoena for improper service.
“All right, we’ll get into that,” Coelho said. “But first, Mr. Silver, you are excused from the courtroom.”
I was still standing, readying for the argument about Sanger, and I’d already dismissed Silver from my thoughts. I had to keep my eyes on the prize and not be distracted. Morris obviously wanted to keep Sanger off the stand and as far away from the case and my questioning as possible. I could not allow that.
In my peripheral vision I saw Silver slowly stand and push back his chair. I turned and gave a quick nod so it looked like we were close colleagues and of one mind on this miscarriage of justice. He played along, giving Lucinda a pat on the shoulder before moving by me to the gate. He smiled and nodded in a supportive way while he whispered, “Fuck you. And I’m not testifying. Good luck hitting me with a subpoena.”
I nodded as though he had just whispered words of great inspiration.
And then he was gone. I remained standing for the argument to come while opening a file on the table with a copy of the subpoena Bosch had dropped on Sanger. I had no idea how Morris was going to challenge this.
Judge Coelho waited until Silver was almost to the courtroom door before continuing.
“Mr. Morris, you may proceed,” she said.
For the next five minutes Morris argued that the subpoena served on Sergeant Sanger should be quashed because opposing counsel — me — was on a fishing expedition with no evidentiary basis for putting Sanger on the stand.
“Sergeant Sanger is involved in ongoing investigations that could be compromised if counsel strays willy-nilly in his questioning. He is trying to grandstand with this witness, Your Honor, and it could come at the expense of justice in other cases. Additionally, counsel’s application for the subpoena is based on an identification made by the plaintiff that was highly suspect and did not conform to standard procedures for photographic identification. That alone makes the subpoena invalid.”
“Tell me about the photo identification,” Coelho said.
“Yes, Your Honor. Plaintiff’s investigator showed her a series of photos in the visiting room at the prison where she was housed. This allowed him to steer her identification to Sergeant Sanger. This then became the basis for the subpoena you signed. As the court knows, a proper photographic display to a witness would be what is commonly known as a six-pack, where the individual is shown six photos at once and without any outside influence as to which photo, if any, to choose. But now it is too late; the identification is tainted, and the People ask that the subpoena be quashed.” Morris sat down.