“Now, before we go over the cases, let me ask you a question,” she said. “Do you know if the police are making any headway on the investigation of Mr. Vincent’s death?”
I hesitated a moment, wondering what I should be telling the chief judge of the superior court.
“I’m not really in the loop on that, Judge,” I said. “But I was shown a photograph of a man I assume they’re looking at as a suspect.”
“Really? What kind of photo?”
“Like a surveillance shot from out on the street. A guy, and it looks like he has a gun. I think they matched it up timewise to the shooting in the garage.”
“Did you recognize the man?”
I shook my head.
“No, the shot was too grainy. It looked like he might have had a disguise on anyway.”
“When was this?”
“The night of the shooting.”
“No, I mean, when was it that you were shown this photo?”
“Just this morning. Detective Bosch came to the office with it.”
The judge nodded. We were quiet for a moment and then the judge got to the point of the meeting.
“Okay, Mr. Haller, why don’t we talk about clients and cases now?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
I reached down and unzipped my bag, taking out the scorecard Lorna had prepared for me.
Judge Holder kept me at her desk for the next hour while I went over every case and client, detailing the status and conversations I’d had with each. By the time she finally let me go, I was late for my eleven o’clock hearing in Judge Stanton’s chambers.
I left Holder’s court and didn’t bother with the elevators. I hit the exit stairs and charged up two flights to the floor where Stanton’s courtroom was located. I was running eight minutes late and wondered if it was going to cost me another donation to another judge’s favorite charity.
The courtroom was empty but Stanton’s clerk was in her corral. She pointed with a pen to the open door to the hallway leading to the judge’s chambers.
“They’re waiting for you,” she said.
I quickly moved by her and down the hall. The door to the chambers was open and I saw the judge sitting behind his desk. To his left rear side was a stenographer and across the desk from him were three chairs. Walter Elliot was sitting in the chair to the right, the middle chair was empty and Jeffrey Golantz was in the third. I had never met the prosecutor before but he was recognizable because I had seen his face on TV and in the newspapers. In the last few years, he had successfully handled a series of high-profile cases and was making a name for himself. He was the undefeated up-and-comer in the DA’s Office.
I loved going up against undefeated prosecutors. Their confidence often betrayed them.
“Sorry I’m late, Your Honor,” I said as I slid into the empty seat. “Judge Holder called me into a hearing and she ran long.”
I hoped that mentioning the chief judge as the reason for my tardiness would keep Stanton from further assaulting my checkbook and it seemed to work.
“Let’s go on the record now,” he said.
The stenographer leaned forward and put her fingers on the keys of her machine.
“In the matter of California versus Walter Elliot, we are in chambers today for a status conference. Present is the defendant, along with Mr. Golantz for the state and Mr. Haller, who is here in the late Mr. Vincent’s stead.”
The judge had to break there to give the stenographer the proper spellings of all the names. He spoke in an authoritative voice that a decade on the bench often gives a jurist. The judge was a handsome man with a full head of bristly gray hair. He was in good shape, the black robe doing little to disguise his well-developed shoulders and chest.
“So,” he then said, “we’re scheduled in this matter for voir dire next Thursday – a week from today – and I notice, Mr. Haller, that I have received no motion from you to continue the matter while you get up to speed on the case.”
“We don’t want a delay,” Elliot said.
I reached over and put my hand on my client’s forearm and shook my head.
“Mr. Elliot, in this session I want you to let your lawyer do the talking,” the judge said.
“Sorry, Your Honor,” I said. “But the message is the same whether from me or directly from Mr. Elliot. We want no delay. I have spent the week getting up to speed and I will be prepared to begin jury selection next Thursday.”
The judge squinted his eyes at me.
“You sure about that, Mr. Haller?”
“Absolutely. Mr. Vincent was a good lawyer and he kept thorough records. I understand the strategy he built and will be ready to go on Thursday. The case has my full attention. That of my staff as well.”
The judge leaned back in his high-backed chair and swiveled side to side as he thought. He finally looked at Elliot.
“Mr. Elliot, it turns out you do get to speak after all. I would like to hear directly from you that you are in full agreement with your new attorney here and that you understand the risk you run, bringing in a fresh lawyer so close to the start of trial. It’s your freedom at stake here, sir. Let’s hear what you have to say about it.”
Elliot leaned forward and spoke in a defiant tone.
“Judge, first of all, I am in complete agreement. I want to get this thing to trial so I can blow the district attorney here right out of the water. I am an innocent man being persecuted and prosecuted for something I did not do. I don’t want to spend a single extra day as the accused, sir. I loved my wife and I’ll miss her forever. I didn’t kill her and it pierces my heart when I hear the people on TV saying these vile things about me. What hurts the most is knowing that the real killer is out there someplace. The sooner Mr. Haller gets to prove my innocence to the world, the better.”
It was O.J. 101 but the judge studied Elliot and nodded thoughtfully, then turned his attention to the prosecutor.
“Mr. Golantz? What is the state’s view of this?”
The deputy district attorney cleared his throat. The word to describe him was telegenic. He was handsome and dark and his eyes seemed to carry the very wrath of justice in them.
“Your Honor, the state is prepared for trial and has no objection to proceeding on schedule. But I would ask that, if Mr. Elliot is so sure about proceeding without delay, he formally waive any appellate redress in this regard should things not go as he predicts in trial.”
The judge swiveled his chair so that his focus could go back on me.
“What about that, Mr. Haller?”
“Your Honor, I don’t think it’s necessary for my client to waive any protections that might be afforded to-”
“I don’t mind,” Elliot said, cutting in on me. “I’ll waive whatever you damn well please. I want to go to trial.”
I looked sharply at him. He looked at me and shrugged.
“We’re going to win this thing,” he explained.
“You want to take a moment in the corridor, Mr. Haller?” the judge asked.
“Thank you, Judge.”
I got up and signaled Elliot up.
“Come with me.”
We walked out into the short hallway that led to the courtroom. I closed the door behind us. Elliot spoke before I could, underlining the problem.
“Look, I want this thing over and I-”
“Shut up!” I said in a forced whisper.
“What?”
“You heard me. Shut the fuck up. You understand? I am sure you are quite used to talking whenever you want and having everybody listen to every brilliant word you say. But you are not in Hollywood anymore, Walter. You aren’t talking make-believe movies with this week’s mogulito. You understand what I’m saying? This is real life. You don’t speak unless you are spoken to. If you have something to say otherwise, then you whisper it into my ear and if I think it is worth repeating, then I – not you – will say it to the judge. You got it?”
It took Elliot a long time to answer. His face turned dark and I understood that I might be about to lose the franchise. But in the moment I didn’t care. What I had said needed to be said. It was a welcome-to-my-world speech that was long overdue.