But Freeman was too cagey to make such a slip. She argued that Lisa Trammel was a danger to the community and should continue to be held without bail until further into the proceedings of the case. She noted that the victim of the crime was not the only individual involved in foreclosing on Lisa’s place of residence, but only one link in a chain. Other people and institutions in that chain could be endangered if Trammel was set free.
There was no big reveal there. It seemed obvious from the start that the prosecution would use the foreclosure as the motive for the murder of Mitchell Bondurant. Freeman had said just enough to make a convincing argument against bail, but had mentioned little about the murder case she was building. She was good and we had faced each other on cases before. As far as I remembered, I had lost them all.
When it was my turn, I argued that there was no indication, let alone evidence, that Trammel was either a danger to the community or a flight risk. Barring such evidence, the judge could not deny the defendant bail.
Fluharty split his decision right down the middle, giving the defense a victory by ruling that bail should be set, and giving the prosecution a win by setting it at two million dollars. The upshot was that Lisa wasn’t going anywhere. She would need two million in collateral or a bail bondsman. A ten percent bond would cost her $200,000 in cash and that was out of the question. She was staying in jail.
The judge finally called for the recess and that gave me a few more minutes with Lisa before she was removed by the courtroom deputies. As the media filed out I quickly admonished her one more time to keep her mouth shut.
“It’s even more important now, Lisa, with all of the media on this case. They may try to get to you in the jail—either directly or through other inmates or visitors you think you can trust. So, remember—”
“Talk to no one. I get it.”
“Good. Now, I also want you to know that my entire staff is meeting this afternoon to review the case and set some strategies. Can you think of anything you want brought up or discussed? Anything that can help us?”
“I just have a question and it’s for you.”
“What is it?”
“How come you haven’t asked me if I did it?”
I saw one of the courtroom deputies enter the pen and come up behind Lisa, ready to take her back.
“I don’t need to ask you, Lisa,” I said. “I don’t need to know the answer to do my job.”
“Then ours is a pitiful system. I am not sure I can have a lawyer defending me who doesn’t believe in me.”
“Well, it’s certainly your choice and I’m sure there would be a line of lawyers out the door of the courthouse who would love to have this case. But nobody knows the circumstances of this case or the foreclosure like I do, and just because somebody says they believe you, it doesn’t mean they really do. With me, you don’t get that bullshit, Lisa. With me, it’s don’t ask, don’t tell. And that goes both ways. Don’t ask me if I believe you, and I won’t tell you.”
I paused to see if she wanted to respond. She didn’t.
“So are we good? I don’t want to be spinning my wheels on this if you’re going to be looking for a believer to take my place.”
“We’re good, I guess.”
“All right, then I’ll be by to see you tomorrow to discuss the case and what direction we are going to be moving in. I am hoping that my investigator will have a preliminary take on what the evidence is showing by then. He’s—”
“Can I ask you a question, Mickey?”
“Of course you can.”
“Could you lend me the money for the bail?”
I was not taken aback. I long ago lost track of how many clients hit me up for bail money. This might have been the highest amount so far, but I doubted it would be the last time I was asked.
“I can’t do that, Lisa. Number one, I don’t have that kind of money, and number two, it’s a conflict of interest for an attorney to provide bail for his own client. So I can’t help you there. What I think you need to do is get used to the idea that you are going to be incarcerated at least through your trial. The bail is set at two million and that means you would need at least two hundred thousand just to get a bond. It’s a lot of money, Lisa, and if you had it, I’d want half of it to pay for the defense. So either way you’d still be in jail.”
I smiled but she didn’t see any humor in what I was telling her.
“When you put up a bond like that, do you get it back after the trial?” she asked.
“No, that goes to the bail bondsman to cover his risk because he’d be the one on the hook for the whole two million if you were to flee.”
Lisa looked incensed.
“I’m not going to flee! I am going to stay right here and fight this thing. I just want to be with my son. He needs his mother.”
“Lisa, I was not referring to you specifically. I was just telling you how bail and bonds work. Anyway, the deputy behind you has been very patient. You need to go with him and I need to get back to work on your defense. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
I nodded to the deputy and he moved in to take Lisa back to the courthouse lockup. As they went through the steel door off the side of the custody pen Lisa looked back at me with scared eyes. There was no way she could know what lay ahead, that this was only the start of what would be the most harrowing ordeal of her life.
Andrea Freeman had stopped to talk with a fellow prosecutor and that allowed me to catch up with her as she was leaving the courtroom.
“Do you want to grab a cup of coffee and talk?” I asked as I came up beside her.
“Don’t you need to talk to your people?”
“My people?”
“All the people with cameras. They’ll be lined up outside the door.”
“I’d rather talk to you and we could even discuss media guidelines if you would like.”
“I think I can spare a few minutes. You want to go down to the basement or come back with me to the office for some DA coffee?”
“Let’s hit the basement. I’d be looking over my shoulder too much in your office.”
“Your ex-wife?”
“Her and others, though my ex and I are in a good phase right now.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“You know Maggie?”
There were at least eighty deputy DAs working out of Van Nuys.
“In passing.”
We left the courtroom and stood side by side in front of the assembled media to announce that we would not be commenting on the case at this early stage. As we headed to the elevators at least six reporters, most of them from out of town, shoved business cards into my hand—New York Times, CNN, Dateline, Salon, and the holy grail of them all, 60 Minutes. In less than twenty-four hours I had gone from scrounging $250-a-month foreclosure cases in South L.A. to being lead defense attorney on a case that threatened to be the signature story of this financial epoch.
And I liked it.
“They’re gone,” Freeman said once we were on the elevator. “You can wipe the shit-eating grin off your face.”
I looked at her and really smiled.
“That obvious, huh?”
“Oh, yeah. All I can say is, enjoy it while you can.”
That was a not-so-subtle reminder of what I was facing with this case. Freeman was an up-and-comer in the DA’s office and some said she would someday run for the top job herself. The conventional wisdom was to attribute her rise and rep in the prosecutor’s office to her skin color and to internal politics. To suggest she got the good cases because she was a minority who was the protégée of another minority. But I knew this was a deadly mistake. Andrea Freeman was damn good at what she did and I had the winless record against her to prove it. When I got the word the night before that she had been assigned the Trammel case, I had felt it like a poke in the ribs. It hurt but there was nothing I could do about it.
In the basement cafeteria we poured cups of coffee from the urns and found a table in a quiet corner. She took the se
at that allowed her to see the entrance. It was a law enforcement thing that extended from patrol officers to detectives to prosecutors. Never turn your back on a potential point of attack.
“So…,” I said. “Here we are. You’re in the position of having to prosecute a potential American hero.”
Freeman laughed like I was insane.
“Yeah, right. Last I heard, we don’t make heroes out of murderers.”
I could think of an infamous case prosecuted locally that might challenge that statement but I let it go.
“Maybe that is overreaching a bit,” I said. “Let’s just say that I think public sympathy is going to be running high on the defendant’s side of the aisle on this one. I think fanning the media flames will only heighten it.”
“For now, sure. But as the evidence gets out there and the details become known, I don’t think public sympathy is going to be an issue. At least not from my standpoint. But what are you saying, Haller? You want to talk about a plea before the case is even a day old?”
I shook my head.
“No, not at all. I don’t want to talk about anything like that. My client says she is innocent. I brought up the sympathy angle because of the attention the case is already getting. I just picked up a card from a producer at Sixty Minutes. So I’d like to set up some guidelines and agreements on how we proceed with the media. You just mentioned the evidence and how it gets out there into the public domain. I hope you are talking about evidence presented in court and not selectively fed to the L.A. Times or anybody else in the fourth estate.”
“Hey, I’d be happy to call it a no-fly zone right now. Nobody talks to the media under any circumstances.”
I frowned.
“I’m not ready to go that far yet.”
She gave me the knowing nod.
“I didn’t think so. So all I’ll say then is be careful. Both of us. I for one won’t hesitate to go to the judge if I think you’re trying to taint the jury pool.”
“Then same here.”
“Good. Then that’s settled for now. What else?”
“When am I going to start seeing some discovery?”
She took a long draw on her coffee before answering.
“You know from prior cases how I work. I’m not into I’ll show you mine if you show me yours. That’s always a one-way street because the defense doesn’t show dick. So I like to keep it nice and tight.”
“I think we need to come to an accommodation, Counselor.”
“Well, when we get a judge you can talk to the judge. But I’m not playing nice with a murderer, no matter who her lawyer is. And just so you know, I already came down hard on your buddy Kurlen for giving you that disc yesterday. That should not have happened and he’s lucky I didn’t have him removed from the case. Consider it a gift from the prosecution. But it’s the only one you’ll be getting… Counselor.”
It was the answer I was expecting. Freeman was a damn good prosecutor but in my view she didn’t play fair. A trial was supposed to be a spirited contesting of facts and evidence. Both sides with equal footing in the law and the rules of the game. But using the rules to hide or withhold facts and evidence was the routine with Freeman. She liked a tilted game. She didn’t carry the light. She didn’t even see the light.
“Andrea, come on. The cops took my client’s computer and all her paperwork. It’s her stuff and I need it to even start to build the defense. You can’t treat that like discovery.”
Freeman scrunched her mouth to the side and posed as though she was actually considering a compromise. I should’ve seen it for the act it was.
“I’ll tell you what,” she said. “As soon as we are assigned to a judge, you go in and ask about that. If a judge tells me to turn it over, I’ll turn it all over. Otherwise, it’s mine and I ain’t sharing.”
“Thanks a lot.”
She smiled.
“You’re welcome.”
Her response to my request for cooperation and her smiling way of delivering it only served to underline a thought I had growing in the back of my mind since I had gotten word she was on the case. I had to find a way to make Freeman see the light.
Five
Michael Haller and Associates had a full staff meeting that afternoon in the living room of Lorna Taylor’s condo in West Hollywood. Attending were Lorna, of course, as well as my investigator, Cisco Wojciechowski—it was his living room, too—and the junior associate of the firm, Jennifer Aronson. I noticed that Aronson looked uncomfortable in the surroundings and I had to admit it was unprofessional. I had rented a temporary office the year before when I was engaged in the Jason Jessup case and it had worked out well. I knew that it would be best to have a real office, instead of two staff members’ living room, for the Trammel case. The only problem was it would add another expense I would have to eat until I manufactured fees out of the movie and book rights of the case—if I managed to make that happen. This had made me reluctant to pull the trigger, but seeing Aronson’s disappointment made the decision for me.
“Okay, let’s start,” I said after Lorna had served everybody soda or iced tea. “I know this is not the most professional way to run a law firm and we’ll be looking into getting some office space as soon as we can. In the mean—”
“Really?” Lorna said, clearly surprised by this information.
“Yes, I just sort of decided that.”
“Oh, well, I’m glad you like my place so much.”
“It’s not that, Lorna. I’ve just been thinking lately, you know, with taking on Bullocks here, it’s like we’ve got a real firm now and maybe we should have a legit address. You know, so clients can come in instead of us always going to them.”
“Fine with me. As long as I don’t have to open shop till ten and I can wear my bedroom slippers to work. I’m kind of used to that.”
I could tell I had insulted her. We had been married once for a short time and I knew the signs. But I would have to deal with it later. It was time to put the focus on the Lisa Trammel defense.
“So anyway, let’s talk about Lisa Trammel. I had my first sit-down with the prosecutor after first appearance this morning and it didn’t go so well. I’ve done the dance with Andrea Freeman before and she’s a give-no-quarter kind of prosecutor. If it’s something that can be argued then she’s going to argue it. If it’s discoverable material that she can sit on until the judge orders her to give it up, then she’ll do that, too. In a way, I admire her but not when we’re on the same case. The bottom line is that getting discovery out of her is going to be like pulling teeth.”
“Well, is there even going to be a trial?” Lorna asked.
“We have to assume so,” I answered. “In my brief discussions with our client she has expressed only a desire to fight this thing. She says she didn’t do it. So for now that means no plea agreement. We plan on a trial but remain open to other possibilities.”
“Wait a minute,” Aronson said. “You e-mailed me last night saying you wanted me to look at the video you got of the interrogation. That’s discovery. Didn’t that come from the prosecution?”
Aronson was a petite twenty-five-year-old with short hair that was carefully made to look stylishly unkempt. She wore retro-style glasses that partially hid brilliant green eyes. She came from a law school that didn’t turn any heads in the silk-stocking firms downtown but when I interviewed her I sensed that she had a drive that was fueled by negative motivation. She was out to prove those silk-stocking assholes wrong. I hired her on the spot.
“The video disc came from the lead detective, and the prosecutor wasn’t happy about it at all. So don’t be expecting anything else. We want something, we go to the judge or we go out and get it ourselves. Which brings us to Cisco. Tell us what you’ve got so far, Big Man.”
All eyes turned to my investigator, who sat on a leather swivel chair next to a fireplace that was filled with potted plants. He was dressed up today, meaning he had sleeves on his T-shirt. Still, the shirt did little to hide the
tats and the gun show. His bulging biceps made him look more like a strip club bouncer than a seasoned investigator with a lot of finesse in his kit.
It had taken me a long time to get over the idea of this giant beef dish being my replacement with Lorna. But I had worked through it and, besides, I knew of no better defense investigator. Early in his life, when he was cruising with the Road Saints, the cops had tried to set him up twice on drug raps. It built a lasting distrust of the police in him. Most people give the police the benefit of the doubt. Cisco didn’t and that made him very good at what he did.
“Okay, I am going to break this into two reports,” he said. “The crime scene and the client’s house, which was searched by police for several hours yesterday. First the crime scene.”
Without using any notes, he proceeded to detail all of his findings from WestLand National’s headquarters. Mitchell Bondurant had been surprised by his attacker while getting out of his car to report for work. He was struck at least twice on the head with an unknown object. Most likely attacked from behind. There were no defensive wounds on his hands or arms, indicating he was incapacitated almost immediately. A spilled cup of Joe’s Joe coffee was found on the ground next to him along with his briefcase, which was open, beside the back tire of his car.
“So what about the gunshots somebody said they heard?” I asked.
Cisco shrugged.
“I think they’re looking at that as car backfire.”
“Two backfires?”
“Or one and an echo. Either way, there was no gunplay involved.”
He went back to his report. The autopsy results were not yet in but Cisco was betting on blunt-force trauma being the cause of death. At the moment, time of death was listed as between 8:30 and 8:50 A.M. There was a receipt in Bondurant’s pocket from a Joe’s Joe four blocks away. It was time-stamped 8:21 A.M. and investigators figured the fastest he could have gotten from the coffee shop to his parking space in the bank garage was nine minutes. The 911 call from the bank employee who found his body was logged at 8:52 A.M.