Fox is Framed (6 page)

“You told me to find the guy Lawrence might have talked to. I was only doing as asked.” I'd taken her request further than she'd anticipated, maybe, but I'd thought that my zeal would earn me recognition for a job well done.

She seemed not to realize she'd changed her view about a hundred and eighty degrees since we'd last discussed the subject. “The problem is I don't think we can accomplish anything today if what your father says is correct. If the DA has an informer, then it's going to trial, and there's nothing we can do to stop it.”

“Let's see what Car comes up with,” I said.

“
If
he shows up.”

“Let's get Bell on the record, then, if he turns out to be the snitch,” I said, pushing the issue even though she no longer seemed to be listening, and even though I knew that what I was urging was foolhardy, pushing the point because I couldn't stand being dismissed. “They won't have him prepared today. Surprise will be on our side.”

“It's a preliminary hearing this morning, not a trial. We're not calling witnesses.”

I tried to get Car on his cell to tell him not to serve Bell with a subpoena, but he didn't pick up. Probably he hadn't found him. At eight fifteen we left for court. We arrived at Judge Liu's courtroom at the same time as Angela Crowder and a very tall, silver-haired, expensively suited SFPD detective. We all had to wait outside the courtroom for the deputy to unlock the door. The detective, whom Crowder introduced as Neil Shanahan, stood aloof, his hands folded, his chin lowered but his eyes on Lawrence. Nina glanced at him only once.

On the hour, Judge Liu took the bench. His gaze held no amusement as he took in the detective sitting next to Crowder at the prosecutor's table, the reporters and other spectators half filling the gallery. He knew as well as the rest of us what Shanahan's presence meant. He'd be here only because Crowder had decided not to dismiss the case, because she intended him to testify and provide evidence that she believed would ultimately support a murder conviction.

“We're here today in the matter of the people versus Lawrence Maxwell. Counsel and others present at counsel table, state your appearances.”

Crowder rose. “Your Honor, Angela Crowder for the people. Here with me is Detective Shanahan from the San Francisco Police Department.”

“Welcome, Detective Shanahan. And I see we have new counsel for the defendant.” Nina introduced herself, and Liu said, “Ms. Schuyler is no stranger to this court. Anything else we need to take up before we begin?” Hearing no response, the judge went on. “Very well, then. The state may call its first witness.”

Crowder rose. “The state calls Detective Shanahan.”

Crowder stood at the podium while he was sworn. Two weeks ago, arguing against bail, she'd been tentative, almost reluctant. Now she radiated intensity, her stubby hands gripping the edges of the open binder before her. I knew from previous experience that her excitability often tripped her up. At the same time, it gave her a powerful presence in the courtroom, like a flood that overwhelms all obstacles.

Crowder and Shanahan worked through the preliminaries, establishing that he was the lead investigator, that he was trained and qualified, and that he'd reviewed the complete investigative file. The next part of her examination was devoted to establishing that a homicide had in fact been committed on that April morning twenty-one years ago, the day my life shattered. She introduced my mother's death certificate, the coroner's report, and finally, the crime scene photos.

One by one Crowder had the pictures marked, then handed them to the clerk, who passed them to Judge Liu. He studied each intently, as if the waste that is violent death was being revealed to him for the first time. Between photos he glanced at my father with new and keener appraisal. Though his sympathies had seemed to rest with Lawrence during the bail hearing, today his mood, like Crowder's, was somber.

He'd freed Lawrence, and he'd clearly considered the prosecutorial malfeasance that necessitated that freedom as something akin to a personal wrong, a violation of the processes and principles that he administered. However, all that now was behind us. The books were cleared, the slate wiped clean; we were starting over. And Liu, who in two years would be required to run for reelection, could be counted on to treat my father like any defendant accused of a heinous crime.

I'd seen the pictures he was looking at, of course. Since discovering that my brother was working on my father's case, I'd been through the file from front to back numerous times. It wasn't their gruesomeness that affected me. After all, I'd seen crime scene photos of dead bodies before. Rather, it was the details of the scene, the deeply familiar patterns of wallpaper and carpets, objects long forgotten that seemed to leap back to vivid life in my mind's eye.

Watching Liu study the photos, and noticing him glance solemnly at my father, I felt my own doubts return. The DA's version of events was certainly the most probable story from the perspective of anyone on the outside looking in: that he'd caught her with her lover or come home just after the man had left, then beaten her to death in a jealous rage. Such a scenario was wholly consistent with the semen samples taken from my mother's body showing that she'd had sex with another man shortly before her death. This evidence had been concealed from the defense by Gary Coles, the DA who'd prosecuted my father, necessitating his retrial now.

I heard the courtroom door creak open. Turning, I saw Car, my investigator, beckoning me. I slid from the spectators' bench and went out through the double doors into the hall.

“I talked to Russell Bell, served him with a subpoena. If you want him in court, you'll need a body attachment. He isn't coming on my say-so.” Car handed me a file folder with the subpoena return inside it. What this meant was if the judge allowed it, we could have Bell arrested by a sheriff's deputy and brought to court.

“So he's the snitch?”

“Apparently. He didn't deny it.”

“What've they got hanging over him?”

“Nothing, far as I can tell. He's been clean since the day he got out of prison. He's right here in the city. At city hall, in fact. He works as a driver for Supervisor Eric Gainer.” Car delivered this astonishing news without blinking.

“You've got to be kidding me,” I said. Eric Gainer had been my high school classmate and the star of our state championship basketball team my junior year. Five years later, he'd also been an eyewitness to the abduction of Lucy Rivera. His role in the drama had involved a heroic attempt to save the girl. He'd managed to yank the driver's door open as the kidnapper sped away. Eric would end up dragged along for half a block before he was shaken loose, yet he'd managed to get a look at the kidnapper's face. Lucy was herself unable to identify her abductor, as she'd spent the long hours of her captivity blindfolded while being repeatedly raped.

In many ways, Gainer's heroism and his testimony identifying Russell Bell as the kidnapper had launched his political career. From the beginning, Gainer seemed marked for higher office: the governor's mansion, perhaps. Now, in what appeared to be a stunning reversal, Bell worked for Gainer and had ratted out Lawrence, who'd helped free him.

I wondered why on earth this hadn't made the papers, why we'd heard nothing about it. Nothing Car had said so far contradicted my father's story that Russell Bell had snitched on him before my father could do the same. Yet there had to be more.

Car and I returned to the courtroom to hear Crowder ask, “Detective, how long have you been the lead investigator on this case?”

“Two weeks,” Shanahan said.

Sitting at the defense table, Nina glanced back. I held up the folder containing the subpoena return, and she rose to take it. Returning to her chair, she opened it partway to glance at the contents, then gave a frown.

Crowder went on with her examination. “In those two weeks, have you learned of any information that was not contained in the investigative file?”

“I have. I interviewed a new witness earlier this week, who provided important information.”

So here it was, exactly as Nina had predicted. The DA was going to solve the problem of relying on stale and tarnished evidence by building its case on words allegedly from Lawrence Maxwell's own mouth.

“Does the name of this witness appear in the original investigative file?”

“No. The individual wasn't a witness at the time of that investigation.”

“Explain to me, if you can, how you came to interview this person.”

“Sure. Maxwell'd been in prison twenty-one years. It seemed logical to me that at some point he would have talked about why he was there. I obtained a list of individuals with whom he might have communicated, including prison staff and inmates. I contacted as many people as I could whose names appeared on that list, and interviewed them, either in person or over the telephone.”

Nina was jotting notes, presumably a reminder to request a copy of the list from the DA.

“And what information, if any, did you learn from these interviews that was relevant to your investigation?”

“Last week I spoke to a former inmate who told me that Lawrence Maxwell had confessed to murdering his wife.”

“Did you obtain a statement?”

“Signed and sworn.”

“Without revealing any information that might identify that informant, please read his statement into the record.”

Nina rose to object to the statement being admitted without Bell's testimony. But Liu overruled the objection and told Shanahan to go ahead. The state wasn't required to bring Bell into court until the trial.

Shanahan proceeded in a monotone, paraphrasing from the document in front of him. “The informant told me that one morning in 1991, he and ‘Larry' were in the yard at San Quentin prison, where they both were inmates. Larry remarked to the informant that his younger son was graduating from college, and that he hadn't spoken to the son since Larry's arrest. Then Larry made the comment, ‘The boy hates me. I killed his mother.' He went on, ‘It was a terrible thing, but it had to be done. I just wish he hadn't been the one to find her. I'll have to live with that for the rest of my days.'”

The younger son referenced in the supposed confession, of course, was me. I heard the murmur of hushed voices, muted exclamation, and a buzzing in my ears. The courtroom seemed to swim. The gist of the confession, even if manufactured, struck me as the sort of remarks my father might make. It pierced me to the core.

Crowder moved on quickly, establishing that Bell was out of prison but entirely omitting any mention of Lawrence's role in getting Bell exonerated. They went on for about ten more minutes, Shanahan testifying that the details of Lawrence's confession matched those of the crime.

At last, Crowder yielded the podium to Nina. “Detective, please identify the informant and give his current address and telephone number,” Nina said.

Shanahan looked at Crowder. She promptly announced that the state would not disclose the informant's identity out of concern for his safety.

“Ms. Schuyler?” Judge Liu said.

“We're entitled to this informant's identity. The prosecution can't withhold evidence.”

“If the defendant wants to learn this informant's identity, he can follow the procedures in the Evidence Code,” Crowder said. “But that's for another day. We're here to establish probable cause.”

“I agree,” Judge Liu said. “Ms. Schuyler, you can raise this issue again at the proper time, by motion. Your questioning today should be limited to matters that would conclusively establish your client's innocence.”

“But we can't possibly prove that this informant is lying without knowing his identity,” Nina protested.

“I won't allow a fishing expedition. If you develop something, I'll give you leeway, but right now you've got nothing other than conjecture, and that's not enough for me to disbelieve the informant's statement.”

Nina drew an impatient breath and turned to the witness. “Detective Shanahan, do you share the DA's opinion that disclosing the identity of this informant would pose a safety risk?”

“I do. Absolutely. He begged me not to let the defendant know that he was the one who'd given this information. He told me that if Maxwell found out he'd come forward, his life would be in danger. He said that Maxwell had orchestrated several violent reprisals. In one of those attacks, an inmate had ended up stabbed to death.”

At the defense table Lawrence loudly muttered, “Jesus.” Judge Liu shot him an angry glance. Nina didn't turn, but I saw her shoulders tighten. My own blood boiled at his loss of self-control. She must have been even more furious. On the stand, Shanahan now wore a look of self-satisfaction.

“Did you make any attempt to verify whether what he said was true—whether Mr. Maxwell had been responsible for such attacks?”

“Mr. Maxwell's name never came up in the original investigations of those attacks.”

“So this part of the informant's story didn't check out, correct?”

“That was actually the point, that he'd been able to cover himself by acting through intermediaries. So no, I wouldn't say that it didn't check out. I was able to confirm that the inmates in question were, in fact, assaulted. And that one died as a result.”

“Are there any facts independent of this informant's statement that allow you to connect Lawrence Maxwell with those incidents behind bars?”

“Not yet.” The detective looked straight at Lawrence. “I've only been investigating this informant's information for a day and a half.”

“Did this informant tell you any information that was not publicly available regarding the murder of Caroline Maxwell?”

Shanahan thought for a moment, then said, “No, he didn't.”