Corrupt Practices (46 page)

“
CSA
was Harmon’s abbreviation for Church of the Sanctified Assembly.
TCO
is an acronym for the Technology Communications Organization. That’s Christopher McCarthy’s company.
Film fin
means film financing.”

“When you and Rich Baxter saw these notes for the first time, how did you interpret this reference to film financing?”

“Rich and I concluded that Assembly money was being laundered through McCarthy’s company via a film financing deal.”

“Objection,” Frantz says. “Improper opinion. Calls for speculation.”

“I’ll allow it,” Schadlow says. “It goes to Richard Baxter’s motive, which you’ve put in issue, Mr. Frantz.”

“Continue, Ms. Trimble,” I say.

“The money was moved through the Bank of Buttonwillow to one or more banks in the EU, and then offshore somewhere. Then Harmon wrote
disb
, which means disbursed. He was noting that the money was disbursed to various places.”

“The line that reads
CL, EC, PY, VE
, etc. . . . What does that mean?”

“This is where Rich and I hit a dead end. We thought they were people’s initials. But they’re not.”

“What are they?”

“Country postal codes. The first four are South American countries—Chile, Ecuador, Paraguay, and Venezuela. The rest are European countries—
BG
is Bulgaria,
FI
is Finland,
FR
is France,
MD
is Moldova, and
SK
is Slovakia.”

I glance at the jury. The retired financial manager and the housewife are nodding. They have an inkling of what’s coming.

I look over at Lovely, who moves on to our next slide.

“We’ve projected on the monitors Christopher McCarthy’s itinerary,” I say. “Do you see that he traveled to Sofia, Bulgaria; Helsinki, Finland; Paris, France; Chisinau, Moldova; and Bratislava, Slovakia?”

“Yes. Mr. McCarthy traveled to the capital of each and every European country that Harmon listed in his notes.”

The courtroom falls silent, except for the tapping of the media’s keyboards. The implication of Grace’s testimony is clear. Harmon discovered that someone was diverting Assembly funds. The scheme involved the countries of Bulgaria, Finland, France, Slovakia, and Moldavia, along with several countries in South America. McCarthy traveled to each of those European countries in May of 2011. Ergo, McCarthy’s 2011 trip had something to do with the ongoing scheme that Harmon had uncovered a year earlier, just before he died.

In his seat behind Frantz, McCarthy—the man with the perpetual tan—sits frozen, his cheeks blanched. He’s glowering at Grace with virulent eyes. No wonder she and Rich feared him.

I move away from the lectern. “Last night, Ms. Trimble, did you research whether the Church of the Sanctified Assembly has a particular political interest in those countries identified in Harmon Cherry’s notes?”

“Yes. In each of these countries, both in Europe and South America, the Assembly is waging a major political fight to be legally recognized as a legitimate religion for tax and other purposes.”

“Let’s explore that. What’s the Assembly’s legal status in France?”

“They’re seeking to be legally categorized as an established religion. Against strong opposition.”

“Finland?”

“Categorized as a cult without legal status.”

“Bulgaria?”

“Seeking recognition as a religious organization.”

“Moldova and Slovakia?”

“Seeking religious organization status. Very close to getting it in Moldova. Not so close in Slovakia.”

“The countries in South America?”

She goes on to confirm that the Assembly is fighting a pitched battle for legal recognition in every country that Harmon identified in his notes.

“Let’s go back to Harmon Cherry’s notes, Ms. Trimble. On the last line of the slide, the letters
CPA
appear. What did you understand that to mean?”

“Rich and I thought it meant Certified Public Accountant, that Harmon wanted to hire an accountant to investigate the scheme or something. That also threw us off.”

“What do you think the letters mean now?”

“Now I realize the letters mean Corrupt Practices Act.”

“What’s that?”

“Objection,” Frantz says. “The witness hasn’t been qualified as an expert.”

“Oh, but I am an expert on that,” Grace says. “I’ve litigated several Foreign Corrupt Practice Act matters that required extensive analysis, and when I was a Supreme Court clerk I wrote the draft of the opinion in
Creel Industries v. USA
, one of the seminal cases in the area.”

“The objection is overruled,” Judge Schadlow says, grinning slightly. “Continue, Ms. Trimble.”

“The Foreign Corrupt Practices Act is a federal law that makes it illegal for companies to bribe officials of foreign governments to get business in that country. By writing the letters
CPA
, Harmon Cherry clearly believed that someone was diverting Assembly money and using it to bribe foreign officials. That would be a federal crime.”

“To be clear, you believe that this bribery scheme included the countries that Christopher McCarthy visited just last year?”

Frantz objects to the question as leading and argumentative. He’s right, and the judge sustains the objection. But I don’t care. Now the jury knows that McCarthy orchestrated the bribery scheme, a serious federal crime. Which means he had a motive to cover up the scheme by murdering Harmon and Rich.

“No further questions,” I say.

On cross-examination, Frantz attacks Grace mercilessly, questioning her about her drug addiction, her illness, her history of aberrant behavior, her hatred of the Assembly, her stalking of Lake Knolls, and her obsessive love for Rich. He accuses her of lying, of misreading Harmon’s notes, of speculating just to please me, her former work colleague. At one point, I think he’s going to ask her whether she murdered Deanna, but he doesn’t want to open that topic up for me. I don’t know if it’s depression or resolve, but Grace parries all his questions calmly. Throughout the cross, she continuously fans herself with a piece of paper that someone left on the witness stand. I just hope it isn’t a trial exhibit.

Frantz confers with McCarthy and then asks, “Ms. Trimble, when you were in that apartment with Rich Baxter playing dress-up, he gave you computer access to the Assembly bank accounts, didn’t he?”

“He had to so I could analyze the transactions.”

“You’re an expert at using technology, are you not?”

“I was an early adopter of new technology.”

“Far more adept at using computers than Rich Baxter?”

“Yes. That wasn’t one of Rich’s strengths.”

“Weren’t you in contact with Mr. Baxter far earlier than you say, Ms. Trimble?”

“No.”

“You and he spent years together siphoning off millions in Assembly funds by laundering it through numerous shell companies that you and Richard Baxter set up, didn’t you?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Are you aware that a couple of days ago, in open court, Mr. Stern suggested that
you
might have stolen the Assembly money?”

She looks over at me in surprise, but then says, “I didn’t know that. But if I were in his shoes, I would’ve done the same thing.”

“Didn’t you betray your partner in crime, Mr. Baxter, and turn him into the FBI because you wanted to keep all the money for yourself?”

She laughs out loud, a slasher-film cackle made all the more chilling because her voice has been without affect for her entire testimony. I fear she’s about to have a manic episode that will in five seconds destroy all the credibility that she’s built up.

“Do you find something funny, Ms. Trimble?” Frantz asks, and now he’s the one who’s violated the first rule of cross-examination by asking an open-ended question.

“I find what you said hilarious, Mr. Frantz. Because, if I’d stolen seventeen million dollars, I wouldn’t have been living on the street for the past months or hiding in Harmon Cherry’s deserted beach house because I’m afraid the Assembly is trying to kill me. If I’d taken that money, I would be far, far away from here. No, your Mr. McCarthy took that seventeen million, laundered it through these shell companies, and used it to bribe foreign officials in violation of federal law. He probably kept a lot of it for himself, to pay for his expensive suits and whatever. And when Harmon Cherry caught him, he . . .” She crosses her arms and glares at Frantz with a faint look of self-satisfaction. She sensed that Frantz would let his guard down, and she set him up perfectly.

Frantz doesn’t even blink. “Ms. Trimble, you had the technological ability and the financial expertise and the opportunity to steal that money and blame Richard Baxter for it, didn’t you?”

“That might be true. But it didn’t happen that way.”

I served trial subpoenas on Lake Knolls and Delwyn Bennett two weeks ago. Knolls is in Washington, but I’m going to call him anyway because I want the judge, jury, and news media to know that a legislator sworn to support and defend the Constitution of the United States is ducking a valid subpoena. I hold out a scintilla of hope that Bennett will show only because he doesn’t have his boss’s clout. We made several calls to his office last week reminding him of his obligation to appear, but they all went unreturned.

Lovely and I spend the lunch break preparing a motion that asks Judge Schadlow to institute contempt proceedings against Knolls and against Bennett if he’s a no-show. Grace is physically present in the attorneys’ lounge, but not with us. She doesn’t acknowledge me when I praise her performance on the witness stand. She barely shakes her head when Lovely asks her if she wants lunch. While Lovely and I work, she just sits on a hard plastic seat, gazing at the wall. When it’s time for the trial to resume, she stays behind.

We get to the courtroom three minutes late. The judge and jury are already in their places. Lovely nudges me—to my amazement, Delwyn Bennett is sitting in the fourth row. If he knew that I had a document memorializing the half-million-dollar wire transfer to him, he’d be in DC with his boss.

“You’re late, Mr. Stern,” the judge says, her voice even more squeaky than usual. “Do you have a witness?”

“The defense calls Lake Knolls.”

This time there are loud gasps from the gallery, followed by stage whispers that quickly crescendo into full-blown conversations. The jurors remain impassive. The judge has to call for order twice before the courtroom settles down.

“Is Mr. Knolls present?” the judge asks.

“No, Your Honor, he’s in Washington, DC. But he was served with a valid subpoena. We’d ask the Court to issue an order to show cause why he shouldn’t be held in contempt.”

“We’ll discuss that later when the jury’s not present. Next witness?”

“The defense calls Delwyn Bennett.”

Bennett remains in his seat, but the woman sitting next to him stands up and walks to the podium. Her business suit and militaristic gait brand her as his lawyer.

“Your Honor, my name is Myrna Burowski. I’m here on behalf of Delwyn Bennett to seek a protective order quashing this burdensome, oppressive, and illegal subpoena directed toward him.”

Bennett understands the political consequences of not showing up, both for his boss and himself. He wants to look legitimate while at the same time avoiding the witness stand. He should have brought the motion days ago, but judges give third parties leeway that they don’t give the litigants. By waiting until trial to object to my subpoena, he’s trying to ambush me so I don’t have a chance to counter his arguments.

“I’ll consider your motion, Ms. Burowski, ” the judge says. This will test Schadlow’s mettle—it won’t be easy for her to force the aide of a sitting member of Congress to testify; it’s even more difficult because his boss is a famous movie star.

We wait for the jury to file out. The jurors aren’t allowed to hear the lawyers’ legal arguments. As Judge Schadlow has constantly reminded them, argument isn’t evidence. Burowski hands the court clerk her papers and then gives Frantz and me copies. As I read, Lovely looks over my shoulder. Occasionally, she’ll whisper in my ear to point out a flaw in Burowski’s reasoning. When I finish reading, I glance over at Frantz’s table. Weir is frantically flipping through the document, but Frantz is sitting with hands folded and eyes closed, as if meditating. He’s rooting for Burowski to be sure, but this motion presents a rare instance where one of the parties to a lawsuit doesn’t get to take a position—this fight is solely between Burowski and me.

The judge finishes reading through Burowski’s papers and announces that she’s ready to hear oral argument. Burowski goes to the podium and launches into a loud diatribe about how my subpoenas to Knolls and Bennett are part of a publicity stunt designed to divert attention from the real issues in the case. She argues that even if Bennett’s testimony were relevant, Knolls has legislative immunity that extends to his employees.

Schadlow nods in my direction. I can’t tell whether she’s buying Burowski’s argument. I glance through the notes that Lovely and I prepared at lunch and go to the podium. “Your Honor, under the Supreme Court’s opinion in
Hutchinson v. Proxmire
, Mr. Bennett is only immune from a subpoena if we want to question him about Mr. Knolls’s conduct as a legislator. We’re not calling Delwyn Bennett as a witness because of any legislative action. We’re calling him about something else entirely.”