“Rossoblu? Where’s that?”
“City Market South, off Eleventh.”
“I’ll be there.”
I disconnected. I felt a push of momentum. The arrest report could confirm a lot of things about Sam Scales and the case. It could also be a way to penetrate the FBI wall.
“Who put that under the door?” Kendall asked.
I thought about Agent Ruth but didn’t say her name.
“I think it was somebody who wanted to do the right thing,” I said.
31
In anticipation of my return to custody, the courtroom had three times the number of deputies usually on hand for a hearing involving a noncustodial defendant. They were posted by the door, in the gallery, and on the other side of the gate. It was clear from the start that no one was planning on my leaving the way I had come in.
My daughter had been unable to take me up on an invitation to lunch because of a class but now was in the front row of the gallery, directly behind the defense table. She sat next to Lorna, who sat next to Cisco. I hugged Hayley and spoke to each of them, trying to be encouraging even though it was hard for me to be encouraged myself.
“Dad, this is so unfair,” Hayley said.
“Nobody ever said the law is fair, Hay,” I told her. “Remember that.”
I moved down the line to Cisco. He had not been to lunch and didn’t know about the arrest report that had been slipped under my door. I had chosen Bosch to run with it because of his law enforcement pedigree. I believed he was better suited to make contact with the Ventura County sheriff’s investigator who had arrested Sam Scales.
“Anything new?” I asked.
He knew I was talking about the surveillance and the hopes of locating Louis Opparizio.
“Not as of this morning,” he said. “The guy’s a ghost.”
I nodded, disappointed, and then moved through the gate to the defense table, where I sat down alone and collected my thoughts. I had beat Jennifer to the courtroom from our lunch because she had to find parking in the black hole while I’d had Bishop drop Kendall and me at the front door. I looked at notes from our lunch meeting and rehearsed in my mind what I would say to the judge. I had never been nervous or intimidated in a courtroom. I had always felt at home and fed off the animosity that was usually directed at the defense from the prosecution table, the bench, sometimes even the jury box. But this was different. I knew that if I failed here, I would be the one who was escorted through the steel door into lockup. Before, when I was arrested, there had been no opportunity to argue my case before being booked. This time I had a chance. It was a long shot because the state was within the rule of law in making its moves. But that didn’t make it right and I had to convince the judge of that.
My concentration broke when I noticed Dana Berg and her bow-tied second take seats at the prosecution table. I didn’t turn to look at them. I didn’t say good afternoon. This had gotten personal, with Berg repeatedly seeking to take away my freedom to prepare my case unfettered. She was now the enemy and I would treat her as such.
Jennifer slid into the seat next to me.
“Sorry, no parking in the black hole,” she said. “I had to go down to a pay lot on Main.”
She seemed out of breath. The parking lot must have been more than a few blocks down Main.
“No worries,” I said. “I’m ready to go.”
She turned in her seat to acknowledge our line of supporters, then turned back to me.
“Bosch not coming?” she asked.
“I think he wanted to get going,” I said. “You know, head up to Ventura.”
“Right.”
“Listen, if this doesn’t turn out the way we want it to and I go back to Twin Towers, you’ll need to deal with Bosch on the Ventura thing. Make sure there’s no paper. He’s not used to how we work things on the defense side. No paper, no discovery. Okay?”
“Got it. But things are going to work out, Mickey. We’re going to tag-team them and we are a damn good team.”
“I hope so. I like your confidence — even if the whole legislature and penal code is against us.”
I turned and made one more sweep of the gallery, making momentary eye contact with the two reporters who were in their usual places in the second row.
A few minutes later the deputy called the courtroom to order as Judge Warfield came through the door to chambers and took the bench.
“Back on the record with California versus Michael Haller,” she said. “We have new charges filed in the case, warranting a custody-and-arraignment hearing as well as a reading of the indictment. And we have a six-eight-six motion from the defense as well. Let’s start with the charges.”
I waived a formal reading of the indictment.
“How do you plead?” Warfield asked.
“Not guilty,” I said crisply.
“Very well,” Warfield said. “Now let us take up the issue of pretrial release or detention. And I have a feeling we are going to have a lot of back-and-forth between the lawyers today, so let’s remain at our respective tables to reduce traffic and time. Please speak loudly and clearly when addressing the court so the record will be clear. What is the position of the People, Ms. Berg?”
Berg stood up at the prosecution table.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” she began. “This morning, previous charges in this case were dropped after the Los Angeles County grand jury delivered an indictment of J. Michael Haller on a charge of first-degree murder under special circumstances outlined by the state legislature, to wit, murder for financial gain. It is the People’s position that this is a no-bail offense and we are seeking detention pending trial. There is a presumption—”
“I’m well aware of what the law presumes, Ms. Berg,” Warfield said. “I am sure Mr. Haller is as well.”
Warfield seemed annoyed by the state’s effort to incarcerate me and also by having her hands tied in the matter. She appeared to write something on a document up on the bench. She took a few moments to finish before looking down at me.
“Mr. Haller, I assume you want to be heard?” she asked.
I rose from my seat.
“Yes, Your Honor,” I said. “But first I’d like to know whether the state is seeking the death penalty under this new charge.”
“Good question,” Warfield said. “That would change things considerably, Ms. Berg. Has your office decided to seek the death penalty in your case against Mr. Haller?”
“No, Your Honor,” Berg said. “The People will waive the death penalty.”
“You have your answer, Mr. Haller,” the judge said. “Do you have anything else?”
“Yes, I do, Judge,” I said. “Legal precedent holds that once the death penalty has been taken off the table, this is no longer a capital case, notwithstanding that I face a sentence of life without parole. Ms. Berg must also convince the court that guilt is evident and the presumption thereof is great. In and of itself, the indictment is insufficient to prove that guilt is evident, and Ms. Aronson will further address this issue.”
Jennifer stood.
“Your Honor, Jennifer Aronson, representing Mr. Haller on this issue,” she said. “Mr. Haller will argue the six-eight-six motion himself when that comes up. As to the indictment before the court, it is the defense’s position that the prosecution has gone outside the bounds of fair play to deprive Mr. Haller of his freedom as he prepares to defend himself in this matter. This is no more than a ploy to handicap Mr. Haller’s ability to defend himself by putting him in a jail cell, where he cannot work full-time on his defense, is in constant danger from other prisoners, and risks his health as well.”
She looked down at her notes before continuing.
“The defense also challenges the allegation of special circumstances in this case,” she said. “Though we have not seen this new evidence that the prosecution claims will show Mr. Haller’s financial gain from the murder of Samuel Scales, it is preposterous to think, let alone prove, that his death would in any way result in gain to Mr. Haller.”
Warfield was again writing when Jennifer finished, and Berg took the opportunity to respond. She stood and addressed the judge while the pen was still moving in her hand.
“Your Honor, the indictment by the grand jury precludes a preliminary hearing on the charges, and the state would object to turning this hearing into a determination of probable cause. The legislature is quite clear on that.”
“Yes, I know the rules, Ms. Berg,” Warfield said. “But the legislature also gives a superior court judge in this state the power of discretion. I join Ms. Aronson in being troubled by this move by the prosecution. Are you prepared for the court to use its discretion and rule on bail in this matter without providing further support of probable cause?”
“A moment, Your Honor,” Berg said.
For the first time today, I looked over at the prosecution table. Berg was conferring with her second. It was clear that the judge, a former defense attorney, did not approve of the game Berg was playing to put me back in jail. It was put-up-or-shut-up time, no matter what she had been able to run by the grand jury. I saw the second open one of the files in front of him and take out a document. He handed it to Berg, who then straightened up to address the court.
“May it please the court, the People wish to call a witness in this matter,” she said.
“Who is the witness?” Warfield asked.
“Detective Kent Drucker. He will introduce a document that I am sure the court will see in support of probable cause regarding the special-circumstances allegation.”
“Call your witness.”
I had not seen Drucker earlier, but there he was in the front row of the gallery. He got up and went through the gate. He was sworn in and took the stand. Berg began by eliciting from him the details of the searches conducted of my home and warehouse, as well as the home of Lorna Taylor.
“Let’s talk specifically about the records you searched at the warehouse,” Berg then said. “What exactly were you looking at there?”
“These were nonprivileged files relating to the business of Michael Haller’s law practice,” Drucker said.
“In other words, the billing of clients?”
“Correct.”
“And was there a file relating to Sam Scales?”
“There were several because Haller had represented him in a number of cases over the years.”
“And in searching these files, did you find any documents pertinent to your investigation of his murder?”
“I did.”
Berg then went through the formality with the judge of gaining approval to show the witness a document he had found in my files. I had no idea what it could be until the prosecutor dropped off a copy at the defense table after handing the judge’s copy to her clerk. Jennifer and I leaned toward each other so we could read it at the same time.
It was a copy of a letter apparently sent to Sam Scales in 2016 while he was awaiting sentencing for a fraud conviction.