Compelling Evidence (23 page)

I've had clients who are genuine risks. I don't press for low bail if I think there's the iml, chance that my client will run. It's not good for business. tend to have long memories."

Then from a direction I do not see: "Have you *w@ftlmr‐R possibility of a plea bargaint' he asks. "What," I say, "you're gonna offer her bail if she 46"! Plea?" 4F He laughs a little at this. I've broken the ice.

"What are you offering?" I ask him seriously. "Maybe second degree." He pauses for an instant. "Maybe less. Depends on what your client has to offer."

"What can she offer?" ‐The name of her accomplice." He says this without missing a beat. The cops have been pissing up a rope for months trying to get a bead on who helped Talia murder Ben. They haven't for a moment considered the possibility that there was no accomplice, that whoever murdered him, and it wasn't Talia, may have acted alone. I tell Nelson this. He isn't interested. We are back to bail. He says, "I'll see you in court."

That is where we are at two o'clock in the afternoon. Nelson and are standing before the Honorable Norton Shakers, judge of the superior court. Talia's in the box, surrounded by oak railing and acrylic screens, as if in some space‐age loading pen, near the door that leads to the courthouse holding cells. She's wearing a all jumpsuit, overalls in Day‐Glo orange with the word PRISONER emblazoned across the back. On Talia the P and the R of the oversized jumpsuit have wrapped around, under her arms. I lean on the railing outside, close to her, a sheriff's matron behind us. Shakers is low on the totem pole, recently appointed to the court and with limited experience. He has drawn magistrate duty.

t means he's roused at all hours of the night to sign search warrants and listen to the ramblings of cops on probable cause. He's yawning and kneading his eye with two fingers when Nelson makes his motion for three million dollars in bail. It's the same sorry song he sang to me on the telephone. The defendant is well‐heeled. Bail set at $200,000 is an invitation to take a vacation. He emphasizes the seriousness of the crime, the consequences to my client if she is convicted, the inducement for ler to run. I put on my coat of indignation once more, and I tell the court of Talia's considerable contacts in the community. I flash her financial statement, copies to Nelson and, the court, and beat on the theme that excessive bail is no bail at all. The numbers from raiia's CPA show that liquidity is not among her financial virtues. Everything she owns is tied up in the law firm, a small business account from her real estate company, and the house, which is leavily mortgaged. The judge sits impassively as Nelson and I claw at each sim 1 make a case for reinstating the $200,000 bond. I argue i the lady has been free to roam for three months, since the i Jury indictment, and she has MI occasion as ordered. "This is a prominent woman in the *11,4111 nity," I say. "Talia Potter is no flight risk," I tell the court‐ "Mr. Nelson."

"Your Honor. The woman is accused of a capital crime. may have had no incentive to run before this. But she does in, I submit to the court that anyone faced with the death must be considered a potential flight risk." He looks i Mup at the bench. "The state does not believe that the of this defendant can be guaranteed without the posting @f@c"

considerable surety."

"Seems more than a little excessive to me:' says Shakers. f; see the figures fading fast in the judge's eyes. "Your Honor, I have a declaration here, may I bench?"

Shakers nods. 4 Nelson makes the rounds delivering a copy of this 41 ni@

declaration to the court and one to me. I took at it. It's a lengthy statement, fourteen pages, W!IT if one of the DA's investigators and signed under penalty of by a woman named Sonia Baron. I put it on the rail and the name so that Talia can see. "Sony's a friend," she whispers, and shrugs her ii=rt this is news to her. "For the convenience of the court I have highlighted 47T' nent part of this declaration. I would refer you to page ;O‐T@I I open it and read, a long, rambling statement in an 4?1 hand, a history of social friendship, of meetings and 4117'" between the two women over a period of years. It is ir"@'

fare for statements by investigators checking every lead, F@ to acquaintances, getting background on a suspect. Entire have been slaughtered for such irrelevance, and now XW77' in police files. Nelson has highlighted with a yellow marker a portion rambling discourse, a meeting for coffee between Talia ‐,%o at the club one morning shortly after Talia was indicted. "She was depressed," Sonia said of Talia. "She was 0 and hurt that anyone could think that she had done il : thing. She said that life wasn't worth living. That she had nightmares every night now and that she dreamed of getting away and starting over. She talked about Raul in Rio."

After the word

"Rio," in the double space above the written line, the cops have scrawled in a heavy hand "(Brazil)"‐just in case the reader doesn't get it. They've had Sonia initial this addition. "They had written to each other recently and he had talked of the weather, and the carefree life there. She had written back and said that she wished she could visit him there."

The declaration goes on, but Nelson's yellow overlay comes to an end. I lean over the railing into Talia's ear. "Who's Raul?" She gives me a look, like

"No big thing."

"He was the tennis pro at the club. Sonia and I both knew him."

I can imagine. Shakers lets the statement drop on the bench and emits a deep sigh, the first sign that this is not going as well as he'd hoped.

He will have to play Solomon. "Your Honor, I think it is clear that the staternents of the defendant made to this witness reveal a deep desire to escape her plight, if necessary to leave the country in order to avoid the situation she now finds herself in." Nelson is playing' the declaration for everything it is worth. "On the contrary," I say. "This declaration purports to be exactly what it is. A candid expression of the defendant's melancholy state as confided to a friend. The fact that she may have dreamed of being free from her current problems is natural, understandable. She told a friend how she felt. That's all."

"She wrote to Raul in Rio that she wished she could visit him." Nelson directs this little reminder more to me than ,to the court. I could put Talia on the stand, to explain her comments, to put theal in context, but this would seem self‐serving to the court, and it would open her to cross‐examination by Nelson. He would ask her about Raul, dig for a little dirt, something to go along with a IMPARD‐skin jock strap. "Yes, but she didn't go, did she?" I say. "During three oiwsilmi of harnmering in the press, when it would have been easy as , ' " to get a passport and slip off to some far‐flung place, my stayed here and confronted the charges against her. And she'll sr.7, the same now until she's acquitted."

Shakers sees that we are making no progress. He looks Nelson. "You've got to admit, Mr. Nelson"‐‐the judge is holding T7, declaration up a few inches‐‐‐‐"this sounds a lot like ‐*A MIM gossip between friends. There are times I wouldn't mind gjll' to Rio myself," he says. He makes it sound like this is sw; of them. I laugh a little to show my understanding for an ow;wat)orr judge. "This," says Shakers, looking at the declaration, "is not vis) three million dollars."

"Your Honor, the people believe that this declaration AK1MM' a state of mind, that flight is seen as a definite alternative to in the mind of this defendant. That, coupled with the fact she faces a possible death sentence, we believe, militates Me" a significant increase in bail."

Nelson is trying to pump a gravity back into the proceedings. "And I'll bet you've combed all of your reports and this best you could come up with," I say. "Raul in Rio." I roll eyes toward the ceiling. "This evidences nothing but a vis),@, who has exotic dreams of far‐off places.

Dreams," I 4w,=. "not present intentions to travel."

"All right, I've heard enough." Shakers is satisfied that .,c' 41 not going to talk ourselves to a compromise, Nelson and I. "A diree‐million‐dollar bond is out of the question," he

"I won't consider

it. I've seen the financial statement s4l. defendant, and while she has considerable holdings, it is lie‐, whether these could be posted as surety or given as tromm" a bond. The defendant is entitled to reasonable bail."

Talia is looking at me, smiling. I nudge her with my 418‐91t, diop the grin. Shakers looks in our direction. "By the same token MM, capital case. While the defendant has no prior record, 1 been known to be perceived as a preferable alternative to he says. "Bail is set at one million dollars. There will be a surcharge for any bond by an underwriter." t' 10 .I : Talia's on my sleeve. "I can't raise that from the house," she says. "This court stands adjourned." Shakers is off the bench and headed to chambers. "We can get a bond," I say. "It takes only ten percent."

"This is the premium to be paid to the bondsman who will post the balance in the form of a surety bond. "The equity in the house is at least $200,000‐we know that," I say. "We should be able to get eighty percent of that amount if we can refinance the second."

But Talia's looking at me. She knows the glacierlike speed with which commercial lenders move. She will be in jail for a week, if we're lucky, and if she can get friends to push the paper along. I don't even raise the other problems, a guarantor or collateral. The bondsmen don't give out a million‐dollar bond without something held as security‐an interest in realty, stocks, your mother, something. She looks at me. The matron has her by the arm, nudging Talia toward the door. I have, at least for the moment, defaulted on my promise to get her out of jail. "I'll get you out," I say. "I know you will," she says. It is something in her tone, the inflection of her voice. For the first time I think that perhaps this woman has more confidence in me than I have myself.

CHAPTER 16.

HARRY'S in my office at the bookshelf‐lined wall using my codes, too cheap to spring for the subscription to keep his own current. Harry's library is a forest of repealed statutes and outdated law. "Where's Dee?" he asks. "Given her the afternoon off," I say. "I need to do a little reading." I point to the report on my desk and signal that quiet is appreciated. I open the cover. Under the clear acetate is his letterhead: SCOTT BOWMAN AND ASSOCIATES LICENSED INVESTIGATORS Bowman was my own idea; without a word to Cheetarn or Skarpellos, over Talia's muted objections, I have paid him $2,500 of my own money, a retainer.

Halfway through the hearing Talia had finally come to realize that freedom was not likely to follow Cheetam's performance in the prelim.

Bowman does only capital cases. His specialty is penalty phase investigations, the background needed to save Talia from the gas chamber should a jury return a guilty verdict. While dwelling on the penalty phase may seem macabre at this stage, Bowman has recommended an early start. His advice makes sense. Little things known about Talia's background now might be !oven into our defense, a little preconditioning for mercy if the Jury convicts. Talia had a hard time with this, two lengthy interviews alone with Bowman at his office. Her early life, it seems, is somee she would rather forget. As I read this first preliminary report‐Bowman will do follow‐up investigation contacting family and friends for information‐1 am struck by just how little I know of Tali background. In the first five pages I learn more concerning life and what motivates her than I gleaned during the months our relationship. Talia is part Latina, something she has covered over Anglicized ways‐mastered, it would appear, at som( ost, her own identity. Conscious life for Talia Griggs began during a Monterey summer, her first memories coming from age five, She 1i with her mother, Carmen, two brothers and a sister in the tra less waste of nondescript duplexes and squalid five‐room houses that the contractors charitably dubbed "ranch ho These structures now litter the east end of Los Angeles C like some sorry architectural bivouac. As a teenager growing up in the more affluent section of county, I had seen it‐a place where the houses were domi by dead lawns and broken window screens. Long‐abandoned cles littered every residential street, resting on bricks or bloc wood, the fantasy of would‐be mechanics caught in the pe illusion of one day returning the wrecks to the highway. houses bake under an oppressive sun that is for months rs li visible through the perennial brown haze that hove ike clouded corn ea over the inland areas of the county. "And al there are the children, in disproportionate numbers sc about the streets and sidewalks playing with toys that ma houses in their state of disrepair. It is in such a setting that, from Bowman's report, I can visualize Talia, streams of oily brown hair curling at the s ou dirty‐faced, running to keep up with the boys. For an i visions of Sarah flood my mind between the lines of his n for their features and coloring, Talia's and my daughter's, dissimilar. Carmen Garcia, Talia's mother, was never entirely ce her daughter's paternal bloodline.

Apparently after so e lation and by process of elimination she settled on the p father. James Griggs, an itinerant truck driver, had follow men home from one of her habitual nightly haunts to s bed during a cold winter night and had remained a n home for a week while his truck had undergone repairs. Carmen had Griggs's name added to Talia's birth certificate when the little girl reached age two. According to Talia this was more an act of bureaucratic expedience than concern for pedigree. It gave the County authorities someone to pursue for contribution toward the AFDC benefits that Carmen received monthly from the welfare department for support of her daughter. it appears that this was an idle act, for Mr. Griggs was never seen again, and but for his brief, and questionable, genetic contribution he never entered little Talia's life. Through childhood and early adolescence, Talia learned to live with the constant stream of male friends who wandered through her mother's life like tattooed vagabonds ‐in search of some sexual holy grail. I sit back in my chair, and in my mind's eye I can visualize a small child kneeling on the living room floor of that littered house, wide‐eyed and precocious, as a procession of strangers wandered through the place in pursuit of her mother. The household of Talia's early childhood, it seems, was governed by two unfaltering doctrines. Rule number one, her mother did not suffer from an alcohol problem, and rule number two, the children did not talk to others about their mother's problem. The seeming lack of logical consistency between these two precepts apparently eluded their young minds, or else the fear of retribution was so great as to render reason impotent. More than anything else was the sense of misplaced loyalty shared by all of the children toward a mother who had shown little sensitivity or love. By the time Talia reached age twelve‐, Carmen's problems with alcohol had reached intolerable proportions. Most of her days were spent. in an intoxicated stupor. Talia noticed that the attention of male friends toward her mother had begun to wane. There were fewer such visits and the men were older, and die situation appeared more desperate.