“I do,” Haller said.
“Then get to it. Don’t tell the Court what it already knows.”
“What I have that’s new is this: Detective Bosch can show through documentation and sworn testimony that Lucas John Olmer’s DNA was planted in the evidence box in LAPD property control as part of an elaborate scheme to set Preston Borders free and realize millions of dollars in damages from a false conviction.”
Houghton held a hand out to stay Kennedy from an obvious objection.
“A scheme by whom, Mr. Haller?” Houghton asked. “Are you saying that Preston Borders on death row at San Quentin orchestrated this?”
“No, Your Honor,” Haller said. “I’m saying Preston Borders bought into it because he had no other shot left at freedom. But the scheme was orchestrated right here in Los Angeles by the law firm of Cronyn and Cronyn.”
Immediately Lance Cronyn was on his feet.
“I strenuously object to this charade!” he said. “Mr. Haller is besmirching my good reputation with this insidious accusation, when it is his client who—”
“Noted, Mr. Cronyn,” Houghton said, cutting off Cronyn in mid-paroxysm. “But let me remind you that we are in closed session here and nothing offered by counsel will reach the ears of the public.”
But then the judge turned his attention to Haller.
“You are making a very strong allegation, Mr. Haller,” he said. “You need to put up or shut up.”
“I’ll be putting up,” Haller said. “Right now.”
Haller briefly outlined the essential contradiction of the case as Bosch had expressed to Soto in the hallway. If the DNA found in evidence was legit, then the sea horse found during the search of Preston Borders’s apartment was not. It was an either/or proposition.
“Our position is that the sea-horse pendant was and always has been the true evidence of the case,” Haller said. “It is the DNA from Lucas John Olmer that was planted. And before outlining how that occurred, I would ask the Court to indulge me and allow my client to speak to this matter of planting evidence. He has spent more than forty years in law enforcement and it is his good name and reputation that are at stake here.”
Both Kennedy and Cronyn stood and objected to Bosch’s being allowed to enter testimony without cross-examination. Houghton quickly made a decision.
“We are not going to go down that road in this conference,” he said. “If we get back in open court and on the record, the Court will entertain that. I will say this, however. Detective Bosch has appeared in this courtroom many times over the years while I’ve had the honor to serve on the bench, and his integrity has never been called into question until now.”
Bosch nodded his thanks for the slim measure of support from the judge.
“Proceed, Mr. Haller,” Houghton said.
“Moving on, then,” Haller said as he opened the file he had on the lectern. “It is known to the Court and all parties here that Mr. Cronyn represented Lucas John Olmer in the case that resulted in his imprisonment until the time of his death sixteen months ago. Key evidence in that case was DNA evidence connecting Olmer to a series of sexual assaults for which he was charged. I submit to the Court now a copy of a court order taken from the record of that case requiring prosecutors to split DNA evidence with the defense for private testing.”
Kennedy stood to object.
“Your Honor, if counsel is trying to insinuate that Olmer’s DNA was handed to Cronyn so that he could secrete some of it for himself to use years later in a scheme to free a man from death row, then that is ridiculously offensive. As Mr. Haller certainly knows, Mr. Cronyn would not have come near that material. Chain-of-evidence protocol would require a secure lab-to-lab transfer. Mr. Haller is blowing smoke and wasting the Court’s time.”
Haller shook his head and smiled before defending himself.
“Blowing smoke, Your Honor? We will see who is blowing smoke. I am not suggesting that there was anything untoward in the lab-to-lab transfer before Olmer’s trial. But at trial the DNA was not ultimately challenged, as the defense chose to claim that the sex acts were consensual. The DNA matching was even stipulated to by the defense. The evidentiary record, however, is not complete post trial. According to Mr. Kennedy’s vaunted protocol, all genetic materials not used in the private lab’s analysis were to be returned after trial to the custody of the LAPD lab. There is no record of any material being returned. It’s missing, Your Honor, and was last in the hands of a lab working for Mr. Cronyn.”
Now it was Cronyn’s turn to stand up and protest.
“This is ridiculous, Judge. I never had that material and I wouldn’t know if the lab returned it or not. To have to sit here and have this sort of allegation—”
“Again, we are in closed session here,” Houghton said. “Let’s stay on point. Mr. Haller, what else do you have?”
“I have a couple more documents here I would like to tender to the Court,” Haller said. “The first is a letter from deputy city attorney Cecil French that confirms that the city has received a complaint for damages from Preston Borders regarding what he says is his false imprisonment for murder following a corrupt investigation by the LAPD. The complaint was filed by Lance Cronyn, attorney at law. The amount of damages being sought is not listed because they never are this early in the game, but common sense dictates that a man allegedly framed for murder by a city employee and sent to death row for almost three decades would be seeking millions of dollars in damages.”
Cronyn started to stand again but Houghton held up a hand like a traffic cop and the lawyer slowly sank back down to his seat. Haller continued.
“Additionally,” he said, “we have here a copy of the visitor log from San Quentin that shows Lance Cronyn has made regular visits to Preston Borders beginning in January of last year.”
“He is his attorney,” Houghton said. “Is there something sinister about an attorney visiting a client in prison, Mr. Haller?”
“Not at all, Your Honor. But in order to visit a death row inmate, you must be his attorney of record. Mr. Cronyn became that as of January of last year, several months before he sent the letter to the Conviction Integrity Unit allegedly clearing his conscience about Olmer’s confession to him.”
Bosch almost smiled. The timing of Cronyn’s beginnings with Borders was proof of nothing, but it certainly smacked of collusion, and the way Haller had walked the judge right into it was perfect. Bosch put his arm up on the empty chair next to him so he could casually glance to his right at Soto and Tapscott. They looked like they were seriously tracking the story Haller was spinning.
“Additionally,” Haller said, “if the motion to intervene is granted, Detective Bosch is prepared to present witnesses who contradict the key elements of the petitioner’s habeas motion. To wit, the petitioner throws the reputation of his trial attorney, Mr. David Siegel, to the wolves, saying that the late Mr. Siegel suborned Mr. Borders’s perjury at trial by telling him to testify that the key piece of evidence found in his apartment—the sea-horse pendant—was not the victim’s but a facsimile he bought on the Santa Monica pier.”
“And you have a witness who contradicts that testimony?” Houghton asked.
“I do, Your Honor,” Haller said. “I have Mr. David Siegel himself, who is willing to contradict the report of his own death as well as the contention that he suborned perjury from his client at the trial in nineteen eighty-eight. He is willing to testify that the entire testimony given by Mr. Borders was concocted by Mr. Borders himself in an attempt to explain away the damning evidence that he was in possession of the victim’s jewelry.”
Kennedy and Cronyn were both quickly to their feet, but Cronyn spoke first.
“Your Honor, this is absurd,” he said. “Even if it is proven that David Siegel is alive, his testimony would be a flagrant violation of attorney-client privilege and completely inadmissible.”
“Judge, I beg to differ with Mr. Cronyn,” Haller said. “Attorney-client privilege was wholly shat
tered by Mr. Borders when he revealed the inner workings of his trial strategy and sought to impugn the good name and reputation of his attorney in his petition—much as he maligned my client, Detective Bosch. I have in my possession a video proffer—an interview with Mr. Siegel seven days ago that shows him to be alive and sound of mind and defending himself against the slander perpetrated by Mr. Borders and his attorney.”
Haller reached into his pocket and produced a digital-storage stick containing the video in question. He held it up above his head, drawing all eyes in the courtroom to it.
The judge hesitated and then pulled the stemmed microphone closer. Cronyn and Kennedy sat back down.
“Mr. Haller,” Houghton said. “We’re going to hold off on your video for the time being. The Court finds it intriguing, but your fifteen minutes are just about up and this matter comes down to one thing. Olmer’s DNA was found on the victim’s clothing, and there seems to be no dispute about that. That clothing had been sealed in evidence archives for years—years before Mr. Olmer went to trial and Mr. Cronyn may or may not have come into possession of his genetic material, years before Mr. Cronyn ever met Mr. Borders, and years before Mr. Olmer died in prison. Do you have an answer for that? Because if you don’t, then it’s time to move on to a ruling on this matter.”
Haller nodded and looked down at his legal pad. Bosch caught a glimpse of Kennedy in profile and thought that he was smirking, no doubt because he believed Haller had no answer for the DNA’s being in the archive box.
“The Court is correct,” Haller then began. “We do not dispute the finding of DNA on the victim’s clothing. Detective Bosch—and I also—have the utmost belief in the integrity of the LAPD lab. We do not suggest that the results of the analysis are to be doubted. It is our belief that the DNA from Olmer was planted on the clothing prior to its being turned over to the lab.”
Kennedy jumped up again and hotly objected to the implication that there was corruption in either the property control section of the LAPD or the two detectives who reworked the case for the CIU.
“The moves by detectives Soho and Tapscott were well documented and aboveboard,” Kennedy said. “Knowing that desperate people sometimes make desperate claims, they went so far as to video their unsealing of the evidence box themselves in order to document that no tampering had taken place.”
Haller jumped in before the judge could respond.
“Exactly,” he said. “They videoed the whole thing, and if it may please the Court, I would like to play that video as part of my proffer. I have it cued up and ready to go on my laptop, Your Honor. I ask for the Court’s indulgence in extending my time. I can hook up my computer to the screen very quickly.”
He gestured toward the video screen on the wall opposite the jury box. There was a silence as Houghton considered the request, even as others in the courtroom were probably considering how Haller got a copy of the video. Bosch saw Soto sneak a sideways glance at him. He knew he was breaking their unspoken rule of confidentiality. She had not shared the video with him so he could use it in court.
“Set it up, Mr. Haller,” Houghton said. “I’ll consider it part of the proffer.”
Haller turned from the lectern and grabbed his briefcase, which was on the floor in front of the chair next to Bosch. As he opened the briefcase on the chair and retrieved his laptop, he spoke under his breath to Bosch.
“This is it,” he said.
“Like lambs to slaughter, right?” Bosch whispered.
Five minutes later Haller had the video playing on the wall screen. Everyone in the courtroom, including those who had already seen the video multiple times, watched with rapt attention. It ended without reaction from the judge or anyone else.
Haller then passed out copies of an 8 x 10 screen grab from the video to all the parties and the judge, then returned to the lectern.
“I’m going to play the video again but what you have in front of you is a screen grab from the one minute, eleven second mark,” he said.
He started replaying the video and then stopped it, freezing the screen on the moment that Terrence Spencer could be seen watching the two detectives from the next room.
Haller now pulled a pen-size laser pointer from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and circled the image of Spencer with a glowing red dot.
“This man, what is he doing? Just watching? Or does he have an interest that goes beyond curiosity?”
Kennedy stood once again.
“Your Honor, counsel’s flights of fancy are getting ridiculous. The video clearly shows the box was not tampered with. So what does he do? He tries to draw the eye away from what is obvious to something and someone who clearly works in the property control unit and would have a vested interest in monitoring the unsealing of evidence. Can we please move on from this charade and get to the sad business of correcting a severe miscarriage of justice?”
“Mr. Haller,” Houghton said. “My patience is also wearing thin.”
“Your Honor, if allowed to continue, my proffer will be completed in the next five minutes,” Haller said.
“Very well,” Houghton said. “Continue. With speed.”
“Thank you. As I was asking before being interrupted, what is this man doing? Well, we got curious and tried to find out. As it happens, Detective Bosch recognized this man as a longtime employee of the Property Control Unit. His name is Terrence Spencer. We decided to look into Mr. Spencer and what we found may startle the Court.”
Haller took another document from his file and glanced over at Lance Cronyn as he delivered it to the clerk, who in turn delivered it to the judge. While the judge was looking at it, Bosch saw Haller step back behind the lectern and use it as a blind as he pulled his phone from his pocket, held it down by his hip, and read a text message that was on the screen.
Bosch knew it was most likely the message from Cisco about Spencer that Haller had been waiting for.
Haller dropped the phone back into his pocket and continued to address the judge.
“What we found was that seven years ago Terrence Spencer almost lost his house in a foreclosure. It was a bad time in this country and a lot of people were in the same boat. Spencer got upside down, couldn’t make double mortgage payments, and the banks had lost patience. And he would have lost his house if it had not been for the efforts of his foreclosure attorney, Kathy Zelden, whom many of us in this courtroom now know as Kathy Cronyn.”
Bosch could literally feel the air in the courtroom go still. Houghton went from slouching in his luxurious leather chair to coming forward and leaning intently over the bench. He was holding up the document Haller had provided and intently scanning it as Haller continued.
“Zelden, now Cronyn, saved Spencer’s house at the time,” he said. “But all she really did was put off the inevitable. She put Spencer into a hard-money refi that carried a massive, half-million-dollar balloon payment due in seven years. Due, I should say, to a privately held investment fund that controlled whether or not Spencer could sell his property in an effort to get out from beneath the balloon. They chose to prevent the house’s sale because they knew it would come to them in foreclosure this summer.
“Well, poor Terry Spencer had no way out. He didn’t have half a million dollars and had no way to get it. He couldn’t even sell his house, because the mortgage holder wouldn’t allow it. So what does he do? He calls up his old lawyer, now a full partner in Cronyn and Cronyn, and says, What am I going to do? And Your Honor, from that point on, a conspiracy began. A conspiracy to defraud the District Attorney’s Office and frame my client for planting evidence. All in an effort to free Preston Borders and collect a multimillion-dollar settlement from the city of Los Angeles.”
Lance Cronyn stood up, ready to argue. Kennedy was hesitantly rising. But the judge held up his hand to stop all from speaking and looked squarely at Haller.
“Mr. Haller,” he intoned. “Those are very significant allegations. Do you plan to offer any evidence to go with them if I al
low you to present this in open court?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Haller said. “The last witness I would present is Terrence Spencer himself. We were able to locate him over the weekend, hiding out at a home down in Laguna Beach that happens to be owned by the Cronyns. I had him served with a subpoena, and at this moment he’s out in the hallway with my investigator and ready to take the stand.”
39
The threat of Terrence Spencer’s testimony seemed to momentarily freeze things in the courtroom. Then it was Preston Borders who broke the silence with laughter. It started low and soon became a head-back, full-throated burst of mirthless irony. He then cut it off as if with the blade of a knife and spoke to his lawyer with a deadly snarl in his voice.
“You fucking moron. You said this would work. You said it was foolproof.”
Borders tried to stand but forgot that the lead chain between his legs had been clamped to his seat. He rose with the seat still awkwardly attached to him and then dropped back down.
“Get me out of here. Just take me back.”
Cronyn tried to huddle in close in order to silence his client.
“Get the fuck away from me, asshole. I’m going to tell them everything. Your whole fucking plan.”
Kennedy rose then, seeing the only path he could take. There was a stunned look on his face.
“Your Honor, at this time, the state wishes to withdraw its motions in this matter,” he said. “The state now opposes the habeas petition.”
“I’m sure it does,” the judge said. “But you can take your seat for the moment, Mr. Kennedy.”
Houghton turned his attention to the other table, specifically to Borders instead of the two lawyers who flanked him.
“Mr. Borders,” he said. “As you have seen, your petition for habeas corpus is no longer uncontested. It is opposed now by the District Attorney and the lead detective on the case. Furthermore, you have just expressed what I take as a desire to discharge your lawyer and abandon these proceedings. Is it in fact your desire to withdraw your petition?”