Grant of Immunity (13 page)

S
ean Collins awoke early
on the morning of Erin’s probation violation hearing. He was excited and anxious at the same time. He viewed Erin’s hearing as his chance to do something for Erin, as well as Fitz, the closest thing to a father figure he’d ever had.

Sean’s supervisor had come up with the ideal training solution that would permit Sean to help with Erin’s probation violation hearing. Sean would simply associate with Beth Daniels, Erin’s public defender. Sean could do all the investigation and research, and might even conduct part of the hearing—with Beth at his side. If Sean got into trouble, Beth would be there to help.

Fitz was happy with the arrangement. The four of them had met last night to discuss the mechanics of the hearing, and what would be expected of Erin and Fitz.

“You really don’t need me, Sean,” Beth said.

Sean wasn’t so sure. That’s why he was glad she’d be there. He’d become good friends with Beth—admired her courtroom presence. She knew how to stand up for her client’s rights without giving offense to the court or her opposing counsel. At twenty-nine, she was almost five years older than Sean. She had a natural beauty, he thought. Brown hair, blue eyes—wore almost no makeup, but always looked great.

“Possibly you can get Judge Hart to reinstate probation without a hearing,” she said. “If that fails, discredit the bastard by introducing the cell phone records, and then use Fitz’s testimony to prove that Babbage hadn’t checked in to dispatch before pulling Erin over.”

And hope
, Sean thought.

The four met in the courthouse cafeteria at 7:30 a.m. and went over everything one last time before heading into court. Erin was nervous. Beth said little during the discussion of the hearing details, just sipped her coffee and listened. This was going to be Sean’s show. Beth expected that the case would be called early in the morning, so they went upstairs to the courtroom and walked in as soon as the doors opened at 8:30.

They sat in the crowded, noisy courtroom for an hour and a half, waiting for the calendar call. Fitz pretended to be cheerful, but he could only make small talk. Erin was quiet. She sat still, hands folded in her lap. Beth was busy with her other clients, but she checked back periodically to see how they were doing and to confer with Sean. Sean was concerned about the delay. Where was Judge Hart?

Beth had seen the judge early in the morning, in the employees’ elevator, so Hart was at the courthouse. Sean wanted to ask Louise, the courtroom clerk, about the delay, but Beth warned him not to. Louise was very busy, and she didn’t like being interrupted.

By 10:30, Sean was convinced something was wrong. He looked at Beth. “The judge is two hours late. I’m going to ask Louise.”

“Suit yourself,” Beth said. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Sean went to Louise. “What’s going on, Louise? Why hasn’t the judge taken the bench?”

Louise had a stack of case folders and appeared to be arranging them according to the court’s calendar. She looked up. “Judge Hart is going to be out for the rest of the day. Judge Finch is going to call Judge Hart’s calendar at 1:30 p.m.”

Sean was stunned. “But why? Beth saw Judge Hart earlier this morning. Is he sick?”

“All I know is Judge Hart won’t be in for the rest of the day.” Louise turned back to her case folders. Sean knew that meant the conversation was over. But he was not going to be put off so easily.

“Does this mean the probation violation hearing is going to be delayed?”

Louise opened each case folder and rubber-stamped something inside each folder, without turning to face Sean. “That’ll be up to Judge Finch. Judge Hart has recused himself from the case. And just so you know, the witness, Sergeant Babbage, was remanded by Judge Hart this morning.”

“Remanded?” Sean couldn’t believe what he heard. “Did you say remanded? Why?”

“I don’t know the details. And if I did, I certainly wouldn’t be discussing them with you. I’m sure you’ll find out soon this afternoon. I’ve got to get back to work.” Louise got up and walked into the file room.

Sean returned to Beth and the others. “Babbage was remanded, and Hart has recused himself from the case. Finch is handling the calendar.”

Beth stared at Sean. She opened her mouth to speak, than closed it. “Holy crap,” she said. “In my seven years in practice, I thought I’d just about heard it all. But I’ve never heard anything like this. Finch is bad news. He’s all image and no substance. A real asshole.”

After lunch, at 1:30, two buzzes sounded in the courtroom, the signal that the judge was about to take the bench. A tall, distinguished-looking man entered. He had gray hair and rimless glasses over blue eyes—the very essence of what a judge should look like, Sean thought. Was Beth wrong about him?

Judge Finch sat down at the bench and immediately started calling the calendar. It was 2:30 p.m. when the court finally got to the Erin Collins matter. Judge Finch called the case. Sean, Beth, and Erin went to the counsel table. Fitz remained in the spectator section sitting in the first row.

“The defendant, Erin Collins, is present with Counsel, Deputy Public Defender Sean Collins, Your Honor.” Sean’s voice broke in the middle of his sentence.

The prosecutor stood up. “Doris Reynolds for the People, Judge.”

Another lawyer, whom Sean did not recognize, came to the counsel table and stood next to Doris. “Are the People ready to proceed with the probation violation matter, Ms. Reynolds?” Judge Finch asked.

“No. I mean, yes, Judge,” Doris said.

“Make up your mind, Ms. Reynolds. Which is it?” Judge Finch was frowning.

Doris took a deep breath. “My case was sorely compromised this morning by Judge Hart. He remanded my witness, Sergeant Babbage. I’ll represent to the court that I’ve worked with Sergeant Babbage numerous times in the past and find him a credit to his uniform. There’s no doubt whatsoever that Judge Hart deliberately remanded Sergeant Babbage to sabotage the People’s case against Erin Collins and to bolster his election prospects.”

“I’m not concerned with your election politics, Ms. Reynolds,” Judge Finch said. “But I can solve this little problem easily. I’ll let Judge Hart have his remand hearing whenever he wants. In the meantime, I’ll release Sergeant Babbage on his own recognizance, pending Judge Hart’s hearing.”

Louise stood. “You can’t do that, Your Honor. Judge Hart found Sergeant Babbage guilty of contempt and sentenced him to five days. He’s a sentenced prisoner.”

Judge Finch’s face turned red. “Sit down, Louise. I won’t have a clerk interrupt court proceedings.
I’ll
be the one who decides what I can do and what I cannot do. If you don’t understand that, I’ll get another clerk who does.”

Louise sat at her desk and looked down. Judge Finch turned to the bailiff. “I’m ordering Sergeant Babbage released OR, forthwith. Please release him and bring him here.”

The bailiff got up, and went into the lockup. Within minutes, Sergeant Babbage was brought out. The lawyer who had been standing next to Doris walked over to him. The two conversed in hushed tones.

“Are you ready to proceed with the probation violation now, Ms. Reynolds?” Judge Finch asked.

“We are, Judge,” Doris replied.

“Just a moment.” It was the lawyer Sean didn’t know. “Anthony Giovanni representing the witness, Sergeant Jake Babbage. Your Honor, my client cannot testify today in light of what happened this morning. I need time to talk to him and to decide if there are any constitutional rights involved.”

Judge Finch’s face had a pained expression. “Can’t you take a moment to find out now?”

“I’m sorry, Your Honor,” Giovanni said. “But I cannot allow my client to testify today. If the court will continue this matter briefly, I’m sure there’ll be no problem.”

“Very well,” Finch said, petulantly. “The matter is continued to next month, November twenty-two. That should be sufficient time to work out all the problems. This matter is in recess until then.”

Finch called the next case. Babbage shook Giovanni’s hand, and the two of them left the courtroom immediately.

Sean, Beth, and Erin were still standing there as the lawyers for the next case came forward. They turned and walked out, meeting Fitz in the aisle. “What just happened?” Erin asked.

Erin looked at Beth. “What’s an OR release?”

“OR stands for Own Recognizance,” Beth replied. “It means that Babbage is released until his hearing without having to put up bail. Instead, he just has to sign a written promise to appear on the hearing date. Of course, if he doesn’t show up, he violates that promise and the judge would issue a warrant for his arrest, setting a very high bail amount. The warrant is called a bench warrant.”

"But why was he arrested in the first place, and why would the judge release him OR? What the hell is going on?”

“I wish I knew,” Fitz said.

D
riving
to the law offices of Amanda Jordan, Daniel Hart was in a state of near panic. It was all he could do to drive through traffic. At one intersection, he turned right instead of left and went the wrong direction on a one-way street, nearly colliding with oncoming traffic before awkwardly making a U-turn.

If Snake carried out his threat, he would lose his job and, very likely, his freedom. An expert in criminal law, he knew exactly what would happen if a jury found him to be Snake’s accomplice. Snake had forced Sarah Collins to perform oral sex on Hart. Hart was forced, too, but he could still be found guilty of forcible oral copulation in concert, which alone carried a sentence of five, seven, or nine years in prison. Snake’s murder of Sarah to cover up the forced oral sex would be felony murder with special circumstances, making Hart eligible for life in prison without possibility of parole. Hart was aware of the defenses he could raise. Most important of these was that at the time he was, after all, only a boy. But objectively, he knew it was unlikely any juror would buy this or any of the other possible defenses. The law was clear.

At Jordan’s Century City office building, Hart took the elevator to the twenty-fifth floor and entered Jordan’s carpeted suite. The reception room was spacious. Background classical music played quietly. Oil paintings hung on walnut-paneled walls. An attractive dark-haired receptionist sat in a corner alcove adjacent to a closed door, answering the phones.

He waited patiently for her to acknowledge him, but she continued to speak into the phone for several minutes before turning to him. He gave her his name and told her he was going to wait until Ms. Jordan came in. Yes, he understood that Ms. Jordan might not be back for another hour. Hart sat in a chair and picked up a magazine.

He wasn’t able to read. Other people were waiting as well. An elegantly dressed woman sat next to a pimply teenaged boy, probably her son. Across from Hart, a heavy-set man with combed-back, dark greasy hair and open-necked shirt leafed through a
Sports Illustrated
magazine. People who, like him, had some sort of problem involving the criminal justice system.
Accused criminals
, he thought.
Accused criminals who have sufficient funds to employ an expensive defense attorney to help get them acquitted.
And they look at me and think the same thing.

Hart had a detached, hollow feeling inside that he couldn’t completely recognize. Part of it was nervousness. Part of it was fear. Part of it was just being sick to his stomach. But there was something more.

Then he realized. He was grieving. That was it. He was grieving for what he had lost today, this very morning. His career as a judge was over. And maybe his life, too.

Jordan walked in at 11 a.m., with her eyes widening in surprise at seeing him. “Judge Hart, how nice to see you.”

“Do you have a few moments to talk?” Hart asked.

“Of course.” Jordan looked over to the receptionist. “Angela, please give my apologies to my 11 a.m. appointment,” and then, “Judge Hart, come with me.”

She escorted him back to a spacious corner office with large picture windows overlooking the expansive Los Angeles Country Club. The floor was polished dark wood with a square Tabriz Persian carpet covering the center area. Jordan sat behind her oversize dark mahogany desk; he sat in one of the plush fabric chairs. “Would you like some coffee, Judge?” Jordan asked.

A grandfather clock stood in the corner behind Hart and he listened to the steady tick-tock.

Hart shook his head. “No, thank you. But please don’t call me ‘judge,’ Ms. Jordan. Especially not here and not under these circumstances.”

Jordan’s eyebrows raised and she frowned. “What brings you here?”

Being in this office, talking to Jordan, was almost more than Hart could manage. His mouth was dry. There didn’t seem to be enough oxygen in the room. He could hear his own rapid, pounding heartbeat, and he could feel the sweat under his arms and on his chest.

“I think I’m going to need a good lawyer,” Hart said. He recounted everything that occurred on that July 4th weekend nineteen years ago. Jordan listened patiently, occasionally interrupting to ask a question for clarification. Just the process of telling everything to another human being gave him some small relief. Jordan’s eyes were understanding, and if she was shocked by any of the details, she didn’t show it. As for Hart, he felt detached from reality. As if he were viewing the conversation from outside of himself, marveling at how professional Jordan was and worrying about what she really was thinking inside. Would she share the same contempt he had for himself. He finished by describing what occurred this morning, including remanding Babbage for contempt. He sat back, waiting to hear her reaction, but thinking to himself …
had today really happened?

Jordan got up from her desk, came around, and sat in the chair next to him. She took his hands in hers. He felt their warmth, their softness. “It wasn’t your fault,” she said. “You were a fifteen-year-old kid, confronted, threatened, and manipulated by a twenty-year-old adult. I can’t imagine any teenaged boy that would have handled the situation better.”

He couldn’t help it. Tears came to his eyes. He said nothing, afraid he might break down completely.

They sat there, neither saying anything. The grandfather clock chimed three times.

“Besides,” Jordan said, “the reality is that Babbage isn’t going to say anything about your complicity in the murder, because in doing so, he’ll implicate himself.”

“It really doesn’t matter whether or not he says anything. The fact is, I must tell the authorities something. I’ve kept silent too long. And it’s the only way to keep Babbage locked up once his five-day contempt sentence is completed.”

Jordan pondered. “My advice is that you say nothing about the murder. At least, not until I get a chance to review this matter in more detail.”

He looked out the window at two tiny figures walking on the green turf of the golf course, twenty-five floors below. It seemed so tranquil.

“All right,” Hart finally said. “I’ll postpone my meeting with the District Attorney’s Office for two days. Babbage will still be in custody, so he won’t pose a threat to anyone. I don’t know what you could possibly come up with, but I’ll give you until then.”

“Two days it is,” Jordan said. “Until then, say nothing about this to anyone. In the meantime, if you get put in a position where you feel you have to explain something, call me first.”

Jordan rose and held out her hand. The interview was over. Hart stood and shook Jordan’s hand. It was warm and comforting. The two walked to the door leading back to the reception area, and Jordan held it open. “I’ll call you within two days to discuss our options.”

Hart walked through, and the door closed behind him. He stood for a moment in the reception area, trying to orient himself. He noticed that he couldn’t stop trembling.