Hardy nodded. "Laura Wright. She just happened to be there."
32
At 9:40 on Wednesday morning, Dismas Hardy stood up at his place at the defense table and addressed the juvenile court for the first time In the Matter of Minor: Andrew Bartlett.
"Your honor," he said. "Before we begin argument and witnesses today, I think it will save the court considerable time and trouble if counsel meet in camera for a few minutes."
Johnson, perhaps sensing shenanigans, considered for a long moment. "We just got out here, Mr. Hardy. I'd like to get a little work done before we take a break."
"We may not need to do the work, your honor. There is new and pertinent information about this case, critical evidence that will, I believe, be persuasive to the court and perhaps even lead to dismissal of all charges against Mr. Bartlett."
The courtroom, as always, was nearly empty, but his words still created an audible buzz from the Norths, who sat behind Hardy, and even from the bailiffs, the clerk and the recorder. Brandt, who sat to Hardy's right, at the prosecution table, pushed his chair back and stared with frank amazement.
Johnson pulled himself up to his full height in his chair behind the bench. "As I mentioned to you at the outset, Mr. Hardy, we're not here to consider the criminal charges against Mr. Bartlett. The purpose of this hearing, and it's only purpose, is to determine where Mr. Bartlett gets tried- here or in adult court. Not whether."
"Of course, your honor, I understand that. Nevertheless, the import of this new information is rather extraordinary and I believe the court will want to have heard it."
"To save the time that is obviously so important to you?"
"To prevent a grave injustice, your honor. I'm talking perhaps ten minutes, maybe less."
Johnson wore his reluctance like a shroud, but finally, shaking his head in disgust, he turned to Brandt. "Does the petitioner have any objection?"
"Nothing substantive, your honor."
"All right. I'll see counsel in my chambers." Johnson stood. "Ten minutes." And he left the courtroom by the back door.
Johnson, his arms crossed over his chest, stood in his robes in the middle of his room, so that when the three lawyers trooped in behind him, there really wasn't anyplace for them to go. After Brandt closed the door behind them, they stood with their backs to the wall, their faces to the intractable judge. "All right, Mr. Hardy, we're in chambers. As you can probably tell, I'm not in much of a trifling mood, so let's hear what's so important."
Hardy nodded. "Thank you, your honor. I'll cut to the chase. Andrew Bartlett didn't kill Mike Mooney and I have information which I believe rises to the level of proof, and I think you'll agree."
But Johnson was already shaking his head no. "I won't agree because I won't hear it."
"Pardon?"
"I can't imagine, Mr. Hardy, how I could have made it more clear to you that this seven-oh-seven is not about Mr. Bartlett's guilt or innocence."
Hardy, striving for equanimity, inclined his head an inch in deference. "Yes, your honor, I understand, but this-"
"You say you understand, and follow it with a 'but.' That sounds like an argument coming up. Do you hear yourself?"
"Your honor, forgive me. I'm not trying to be argumentative. I'm trying to present information that you will, I'm sure, find compelling."
"About your client's guilt or innocence?"
Hardy knew the wrong answer, and tried to avoid it. "About the circumstances of the crime. Which would make it fall under criteria five."
"All right, but be careful." Johnson cocked his head. "We're getting a little obscure here, Counselor."
"I'm talking about the person they're calling the Executioner."
"What about him?"
Brandt got on the boards. "Excuse me, but wait a minute. This sounds to me like we're getting back to who committed these murders."
"It does to me, too," Johnson said. "Mr. Hardy, you're not going to imply, I hope, that some unknown serial killer might be guilty of the crimes for which your client is charged."
"Your honor, with respect, it's not a question of might. I was in the Hall of Justice last night with Deputy Chief Glitsky. He identified a defendant in a seventeen-year-old case with connections to Allan Boscacci as well as to all the so-called Executioner victims…"
"And you're saying the victims in this case…"
"I'm saying Mike Mooney and Laura Wright were killed by the Executioner, yes."
"Excuse me," Brandt said again. "Did I miss something? Have they caught him?"
"No."
"Has someone confessed?"
Hardy came back to Johnson. "That's not the point, your honor. Glitsky knows who he is, but hasn't been able to identify him yet by name."
Johnson barked a note of derision. "So he's known but unidentified, whatever that means. It seems we've gotten to quite a long throw from whether or not Mr. Bartlett is an adult."
"I'm getting there, your honor."
"You are? You know, Mr. Hardy, I don't believe you are. Is Mr. Bartlett somehow related to this known but unidentified Executioner?"
"No."
"May I ask how you can know that one way or the other if you don't know who the man is?" The judge gathered himself for a moment, then pointed an accusatory finger at Hardy. "This is exactly the type of alternative theory hocus-pocus that I warned you against at the outset, and warned you again before we came back here to chambers."
"But this isn't hocus-pocus, your honor. You can call Deputy Chief Glitsky and-"
Johnson finally raised his voice. "I don't have to call anyone! If there is strong enough evidence to warrant revisiting the charges against Mr. Bartlett, I'm sure Mr. Brandt will hear about it from the district attorney. Mr. Brandt, have you gotten any calls today on this topic?"
"No, your honor."
He turned to Hardy. "Then this court is going to assume, Mr. Hardy, that the current charges are still in effect. If Mr. Bartlett is demonstrably innocent of them, I'm sure that Mr. Jackman will drop them and let Mr. Brandt know as soon as he can. But in the meanwhile, until I hear otherwise, Mr. Bartlett is in the middle of an administrative process to determine where he gets tried. That's all that's happening here. Enough of this!"
Hardy, in a bit of a fury of his own, took a step forward, moving into the judge's personal space. "To the contrary, your honor, with all respect. There has not been enough of this. If it's your decision to refuse to hear what I've got to say, then when we get outside I'm going to open up by making a representation to the court and getting it on the record."
Johnson glared at him. "Talk all you want, Mr. Hardy. Sooner or later you'll have to stop and we'll get on with it."
"If it please the court." They were all back in the courtroom. Hardy didn't even sit down, but got back to his table, turned and spoke. "Last night, acting on information received from a classmate of Andrew Bartlett, I spoke to a woman named Catherine Bass, who was at one time the wife of Michael Mooney." Because proceedings in juvenile court were kept confidential, Hardy could bring up the bare fact of Mooney's sexuality here if he needed to and still keep it out of the public record. But now he realized with some relief that there was no reason even for that. "She informed me, and subsequently I have verified it as true, that in 1984, Michael Mooney served on a jury here in San Francisco in the case of People v. Lucas Welding, a murder case. The prosecutor in that case was Allan Boscacci. Other members of that jury included"- Hardy looked down and checked his notes-"Elizabeth Cary, born Elizabeth Reed, Edith Montrose, Philip Wong, and Morris Tollman. All of these people, the jurors I've mentioned and Allan Boscacci, have been murder victims in the past three weeks."