Unfit to Practice (35 page)

“Thank you very much. No further questions.”

Gayle Nolan got up, every line in her face arched and incredulous. “Mrs. Gleb, what are the names of the last two books you have published?”

“Let me see. I have published ten. The last book was titled
Graphology in Everyday Life
.”

“And the one before that?”

“The Psychology of the Hand.”

“That is also supposed to be a book about graphology?”

“Yes. Graphology is my current area of interest.”

“What exactly is graphology?”

“It is a type of psychology, a method of determining personality by examining handwriting.”

“And you used graphology in making these observations about the last sentences and the preceding sentences in Exhibit 18, didn't you?”

“Over the years I have developed greater insight into traditional methods of examining questioned documents using the methods of graphologists, and I took advantage of my insight in this case, yes.”

“Now, you testified that you examined the ink on the two samples and found them to be identical, right?”

“Yes. From the same pen, the lab concluded.”

“And you assume that the forger used Ms. Reilly's pen, which was found when the briefcase was stolen?”

“That's what I understood.”

“But in fact you have no personal knowledge that the pen was in the briefcase, right?”

Mrs. Gleb, unflappable, said, “None of us was there at that time. However, I saw the contents of the briefcase as listed in the police report Ms. Reilly gave on the day after the theft, and she mentioned her Waterman pen.”

Nice comeback, Nina thought.

“Let's assume that we don't know what happened to the pen,” Nolan said. “And all you had to go on was that the ink was identical. What would be your conclusion then? Based on that one fact alone?”

Jack stood up and said, “I think we're running into trouble with this hypothetical. I object, lack of foundation. It's not a fair question, Judge. No handwriting examiner ever looked at just one thing.”

“I understand the point, Counsel,” Judge Brock told Nolan. “We'll go on.”

“All right, Your Honor. Now, Mrs. Gleb, the paper didn't help you either, did it, since the questionable sentences were written on the same paper?”

“That is true.”

“So you were quite handicapped in terms of doing any sort of chemical analysis?”

“Yes.”

“Did you look for fingerprints?”

“Yes. Allied Laboratories did that. They discovered many smudged fingerprints. Apparently the papers passed from hand to hand at the insurance company. None were identifiable.”

“So you had no hard evidence of any forgery, isn't that right?”

“Objection,” Jack said. “What's hard evidence?”

“Let's rephrase,” Brock said.

“The point is, all you had was the handwriting itself, is that correct?” Nolan asked.

“It was quite sufficient.”

“Okay, you said that you examined the angle of the writing, the slant, the spacing. You couldn't conclude anything from that, right?”

“Not from that.”

“Did you find any evidence of tracing?”

“I would say, no.”

“Differences in pen pressure?”

“Nothing obvious.”

“Wavering? Hesitation?”

“No. This was a confident person.”

“So you based your conclusion on four factors, you testified.”

“That, and my overall experience. Many, many years of experience.”

“Right. The first factor you mentioned was the dot above the
i
.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Now, exactly how many
i
's were you able to observe in these disputed final phrases?”

“Six.”

“And in every case, was the dot directly above the short line of the letter?”

“As I testified, only two of the six
i
's had dots directly above the line. But these distinct variations from all the other
i
's in the document are quite dispositive in my opinion. These two dots were damning, as they show a deliberation and care that does not come from a person taking notes, but only from a person forging a document.”

“The two damning dots were above, rather than to the right, as in the other
i
's on the other pages?”

“Yes.”

“What was the difference?”

“I don't know what you mean, the difference.”

“Between the dots? What you called the forged dots and the nonforged dots. How much out of alignment were the nonforged dots from their roots or slashes, whatever you call the rest of the
i
?”

“Well, the difference would be in millimeters.”

“Couldn't Ms. Reilly have made a couple of dots just a millimeter closer to the main letter because she had something on her mind that was affecting her writing a little? Something that maybe made her feel a little less headlong than usual? Like finding out her client was a crook and deciding right then, as she was writing, that she would go along with it?”

“It's true the sample was small. Only the two letters. However, people don't usually vary much in the same piece of writing written at the same time.”

“But she'd just had a big piece of news there at the end.”

“Even so.”

“Okay, let's move on to your second factor. What you call the terminals on the final letters of the words. You say there is evidence that in the questioned passage this extroverted forger wanted to curve up the terminals?”

“Yes. There was a tendency.”

“Let's see that side-by-side slide again. A tendency, you say. Does that have anything to do with something we can observe?”

“Slide 12, please,” Mrs. Gleb said. A giant swooping geometrical design appeared. “That is the terminal
s
on the final word,
this
, found in the last sentence,” Mrs. Gleb said. “Note the slight movement upward.”

“It's slight, all right. In fact, it's microscopic, this tendency, isn't it?”

“Most crucial details in this work are only observable under a microscope.”

“Hmm. Your third factor. The breaks between the letters. Looks to me like this so-called forger did put breaks between the letters.”

“Under the microscope I saw faint connecting lines.”

“Show us the slides then.”

“The slides did not pick up these slight lines.”

“Ah! Because they were only tendencies, too?”

“I saw them, but there are limits to photography. There was an almost imperceptible attempt to connect the letters in several instances.”

“Which you cannot show us in court today?”

“I can only testify they were seen by me.”

“And from these imperceptible tendencies, by the way, you adduced quite a lot about our so-called forger. He or she is a logician, a craftsman who will never be a Rembrandt. Unlike Ms. Reilly, who could dazzle the art world?”

“These are my observations.”

“These are your fantasies.”

“Objection!”

“Let's move on.” Judge Brock obviously didn't like to rule on things because inaction cut down on points to appeal.

“And now we move on to your fourth and final factor. Put that slide up, please. Okay, we have a little angularity on two of the letters, on the lower loops, right before they start to loop upward.”

“Where the forger wanted to stop.”

“You certainly are deep into the mind of this mythical forger, aren't—”

“Objection!”

“Move on.”

“I'd like a ruling.”

“Sustained.” That's more like it, Nina thought. At least a tiny semblance of real law practice endured.

“So the forger wanted to stop? To just make a straight line instead of a lower loop?”

“Correct. That is demonstrated by this stoppage, this angle here, for example.”

Nolan smiled. “It was hard for this speculative person to duplicate the evidence of Ms. Reilly's huge appetite for life, her sexual vigor?”

“Objection!” Jack roared.

“She's the one reading palms,” Nolan said.

“Counsel, restrain yourself,” Judge Brock said, his voice as affectless as ever, still attempting to demonstrate that he was a mere shell of a man, a nonpartisan vehicle for justice, in contrast to Nolan, who now openly flaunted the instincts of a starving she-wolf.

“That's what you testified, isn't it? The so-called forger is practical and money-oriented, not much of a lover, I take it. He was faking it, right? But according to you no one could ever accuse Ms. Reilly of faking it.”

“Your Honor, Counsel's sarcasm isn't getting us anywhere and is squandering the court's valuable time,” Jack said. Nina bristled at his mildness. In good old Judge Milne's court back at Lake Tahoe, the bailiff would be carting Nolan off to the tank, high heels kicking, on a contempt citation. Not only was Nolan assassinating Nina's character, she was indulging in jokes at her expense, trivializing the whole proceeding as unworthy of serious attention. She wanted Nina clapped quickly into the stocks so the outraged townspeople could hurl rotten eggs at her.

“How much of your conclusion is based on court-approved techniques of questioned-documents analysis, versus graphology, Mrs. Gleb?”

“It is all relevant and important.”

“You can't separate the two?”

“There is no separation. Let me say to you, Madam Attorney, that any examiner who tells you he isn't using his intuition in the examination isn't doing his job.”

“Right, intuition. I have nothing further for this witness.”

“You may step down.”

Mrs. Gleb left in a cloud of expensive perfume.

Jack had told Nina he tried out two other examiners before trying Mrs. Gleb, who had seemed so—so unperfumed back then. After examining the document, these alternative experts both admitted the likelihood of forgery, but had refused to stake their reputations on it.

Nina looked at the gigantic, swooping strokes of her handwriting, naked and eager on the screen. She looked down at her legal pad, at the notes she had been taking this morning with their huge lower loops everywhere. She turned the page hastily.

“We will take a final short break. You have one more witness on the Vang matter, is that right?” Judge Brock asked Jack.

“Yes. Mrs. See Vang,” Jack said.

“All right. We'll take her then.”

Outside in the general waiting area, Mrs. Gleb cornered them before they could escape. “Know one thing,” she said. “I am right in what I say. You must ignore the mean-spirited sarcasm, as I'm sure the judge will do.”

“Thanks for coming, Mrs. Gleb,” Jack said. “We appreciate it.”

“Right is on your side, darlings, and what's more practical, I'm there, too. Call me if there's anything more I can do for you. I'm at the Marriott until the weekend.”

26

T
HE BREAK ALLOWED
just enough time for mutual recriminations.

“Why couldn't you control her better?” Nina said to Jack as soon as they were on the next floor down and out of earshot. “She had some important points to make that had nothing to do with my voracious sexual appetite! I'm sure she signs her name with giant capitals, the better to express her inflated ego.”

“I talked to her at least three times on the phone. I saw a summary of what she would testify. She never mentioned those lower loops. Sometimes they do get carried away up there on the stand, as you well know.”

“You should have seen it coming. She's flamboyant. I could see that right away. An expert should be conservative.”

“Hey, we owe her. Remember, we couldn't get any other expert, and the truth is, she has a fantastic reputation in spite of Nolan's vivisection, and she didn't come off as badly as you make out. The forger used the same ink as you, the same paper, and wrote just a few words. There was no signature, and the fact is, nobody else had the guts and confidence to stick his neck out.”

“Graphology,” Nina said. “Sorta like astrology, right? I'm sure Judge Brock is having a private yuk in his chambers right now over that testimony. So how are we doing, Jack? Are we burying me alive? Because that's how it feels.”

“Put aside your insecurity. Zip that lip and sit tight. We attack this thing point by point. Commit that to memory. Let's go back in.”

Nina didn't want to return to court and be a good girl. She was sick of Jack telling her what to do and irritated to trigger-finger sensitivity by her perpetual state of fury. She had abuse heaped up in her throat, backlogged. Jack deserved further tongue-lashing if she was to deliver him the conventional and complete client reflex.

She breathed four deep breaths, her mother's advice from childhood for fending off tension and anger, and went back into the chamber of horrors, where the formidable Dr. Pell waited at the door.

The former FBI man, with his dark hair and devilish air, bore a remarkable resemblance to the actor Andy Garcia. He kept his testimony earnest, succinct, and, well, Nina had to admit it, fair. To keep the issues straight and so that he could get back to work in Quantico, they had taken him out of order.

Gayle Nolan held the floor. Pell had brought his own set of slides, but he didn't talk about loops. He testified merely that nobody could tell if the last sentences were forged or not, as the forensic evidence was insufficient and the sample too short for an examination of the phrasing. “There are no smoking guns,” he said. “No misspellings, no obvious variances from the preceding writing.”

“So the writing is consistent with the writing in the rest of the document?” Nolan asked.

“Yes, it's consistent. But—”

“There is therefore no evid—”

“Objection,” Jack said. “Let the witness finish. He was stopped before he could complete his answer.”

“Did you wish to add to your answer?” Judge Brock said.

Ignoring Nolan, who clearly did not want him to continue, Dr. Pell said, “Yes. I have to add that while it is consistent, that does not mean that I can conclude that this sample is indeed the handwriting of the defendant. It's consistent, but then a passable forgery will be consistent. I simply don't have enough to go on. I can only say that there is insufficient evidence to conclude these nineteen words were forged.”

“There is no evidence that this is a forgery, Dr. Pell,” Nolan said. “None. Is that correct?”

“That is correct.”

Jack cross-examined Dr. Pell, making sure he reiterated his inability to draw a conclusion either way. So far, Pell had not injured them fatally and Jack kept it that way, sticking to his own agenda, making his points without allowing any wiggle room. Apparently Nolan had had the same trouble they had finding an unequivocal opinion.

Dr. Pell stepped down, leaving them all understanding that there was no way expert testimony would prove whether or not Nina had written the final words.

What they had in the Vang case at this point were two conflicting pieces of evidence: the writing itself, apparently made in the usual course of business and therefore legally presumed to be what it purported to be, and Nina's testimony along with Sandy's addition, bless her heart.

The only other witness they had would be Mrs. Vang, who had arrived and was waiting outside with the omnipresent Dr. Mai. She would testify that Kao Vang had spent the evening and night with her and therefore could not have set the fire.

During the preceding six months, much had happened in the Vang family. Kao Vang had left town and by all accounts was back in his home village in the middle hills of Laos, but he didn't answer his letters. Mrs. Vang had divorced him and was now studying computer science at Fresno State. The children had stayed with her.

Nina had continued to learn about the Hmong in America and by now realized what tremendous steps away from tradition Mrs. Vang had taken in obtaining a divorce, in living alone, and even in keeping the children, who ordinarily would have stayed with the father's family. The Vangs had suffered in the U.S. but they had survived, each in separate ways.

Kao Vang had taken his share of the money ahead of the insurance company's lawyers and was a rich man now in his home country, pretty much untouchable by Heritage. But Mrs. Vang's share of the settlement check had been placed in an escrow account pending the outcome of a civil lawsuit alleging fraud, which Heritage had filed against the Vangs.

And against Nina, as a coconspirator. She had been sued by Heritage, but the proceedings were on hold while this proceeding went forward. The fight over Mrs. Vang's share of the settlement money, of course, meant that today, in this court, Mrs. Vang had a credibility problem, which Nina knew would be exploited to the fullest extent by Gayle Nolan.

Small and unassuming, Mrs. Vang came in, was sworn, and took the stand.

When a witness first sits down, an instant occurs in the box during which the rest of the courtroom takes a long look and forms impressions. Nina's first reaction was personal. Mrs. Vang looked better than Nina had ever seen her. Her posture was erect and the exhausted expression from the days of collecting receipts and making the claim was gone. She wore a modest pantsuit and held a stylish purse in her lap. She did not look like a liar.

Nina's second reaction was professional. Mrs. Vang might make an impressive witness. They should get everything they could from her. Jack watched her, too, squinting in his concentration, no doubt forming a similar opinion.

The only problem was that Mrs. Vang's answers would have to be translated. She spoke only limited English. Nolan had agreed without comment that, in the absence of a local certified Hmong-language translator, Dr. Mai could interpret. Sitting in a chair directly in front of Mrs. Vang, between Nolan and the witness box, Dr. Mai wore the same old shirt and pants. He made no eye contact with Nina or Jack.

Judge Brock looked tired. Naptime. Not good. He consulted with his clerk in whispers.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Vang.”

Dr. Mai spoke briefly and she answered softly in English, “Good afternoon.”

Jack took her through the litany of misfortune that had befallen the family, first in Laos, then in the U.S. He came to the second robbery, in which Kao Vang had been armed and shot and killed the robber at the Blue Star Market.

“And you were present when all this occurred?”

“I was in the back room looking out through the curtain, very frightened. Mr. Vang, he pulled out the gun from under the cash register and he shot this man, Song Thoj.” Dr. Mai translated her words carefully, without emotion.

“What about the other man?”

Mrs. Vang looked troubled. She obviously didn't want to talk about the other robber. She looked at Dr. Mai, who frowned.

“There was another person at the store that night, wasn't there?” Jack said. “Mrs. Vang, you have sworn to tell the truth.”

She spoke. Dr. Mai's frown deepened. He hesitated. A long moment passed before he translated her answer. “How did you know that?”

“Just answer the question,” Judge Brock told her.

Jack was already satisfied. He had established his new arson suspect but he forayed further, just as Nina would have done.

“Yes, there were two of them,” Mrs. Vang said quietly.

“And what happened after Mr. Vang shot one of them? What did the second person do?”

“Ran away.”

“And, to your knowledge, was this person ever arrested in connection with the robbery or arson?”

Struggling with herself, she shook her head. She did not want to say anything but did not want to commit perjury either.

“Speak up,” Brock said again, and she answered, “No.”

“So to your knowledge, this second robber saw his partner shot by Mr. Vang and he got away.”

“Yes.”

“Then your store burned to the ground some two months later?”

“Yes. Completely destroyed.”

“During the night of July fourth and into the following morning?”

“Yes. Independence Day it started burning. The fire went on for many hours.”

She spoke without rancor but Nina could hear the emotion camouflaged by her impassivity.

“And you were where during that entire night?” Jack asked.

“I worked at the store until five. Mr. Vang worked until twelve and then closed up. He came home by twelve-fifteen
A
.
M
. I was awake. We went to bed. About four
A
.
M
. the fire department called us to say the store was on fire. We went there right away without even taking the time to get dressed. Our Blue Star Market had already collapsed. Everything gone.”

Jack said, “Now, Mrs. Vang, was Mr. Vang with you that whole night between the time he got home and the time the fire department called?”

“Yes. We were in bed.”

“And you were present in Ms. Reilly's office during the time of the first consultation with her?”

“Yes.”

“Did you or your husband ever tell Ms. Reilly that he started the fire himself?”

“No. We never said anything like that.”

“Thank you. Nothing further.”

Jack sat down, smiling.

Nina whispered, “You should have asked—”

“I got what we needed. Shh,” Jack said.

Nolan started in on Mrs. Vang. “So let's see. Mrs. Vang, you're telling us that your, um, ex-husband had nothing to do with this fire. Right?”

“Yes.”

“And you collected, or tried to collect, between the two of you, two hundred ten thousand dollars as a result of this fire.”

“I have collected nothing. The company took the money from me.”

“Ex-actly. And the company's suing you, right?”

“Yes.”

“And you of course deny that your husband had anything to do with it? And he's conveniently absented himself from court process so he doesn't have to speak up?”

“Objection! What's this ‘of course'? These editorial comments are improper, Judge.”

“Let's move on,” Brock said. Nina was sick of the judge's now stock response, which evaded so many issues.

“So you have all that money at stake, though?”

“Objection!”

“The point is taken, Ms. Nolan. Move on.”

Nolan took a breath, then pointed her finger at Mrs. Vang. “Did Ms. Reilly help you cook up this story about there being two robbers?”

“Objection!”

“Rephrase that, Counsel.”

“That testimony you just gave, that you saw a second robber, that's untrue, isn't it?”

“No.”

“You still claim a second person was present?”

“Yes.”

“Then, Mrs. Vang, why oh why didn't you mention it in the police report? Why did you and your husband in fact tell the police that only one man, the man your husband killed, came to the store that night?” Nolan asked. She pushed her pointing finger closer to Mrs. Vang as she spoke, triumphant.

Mrs. Vang looked down. She spoke in a low voice. “I am ashamed to say we lied.”

“You lied then? Or you're lying now?”

“No, there were two men.”

“Come on, Mrs. Vang. What reason could you possibly have to lie to the police when you had just gone through such a terrible event? Why would you lie to the police?”

Mrs. Vang began to weep. Dr. Mai looked distressed.

“Well, Mrs. Vang?” said Nolan.

In a voice punctuated by weeping, Mrs. Vang spoke, drawing out a large cotton handkerchief to hold to her eyes. “I can't say,” she said.

“Can't? Or won't?”

“I can only admit, there was another man. Because it is true.”

Nolan shook her head in disgust. “I have nothing further from this witness.”

“You may be excused,” Judge Brock said, but Jack was already saying “I just have a few questions on redirect.”

“Remain seated,” Brock told Mrs. Vang.

Jack bent his head toward Nina. “Well? Do we do this to her?”

“She won't lie,” Nina said. “And the details are important, why the second man was motivated to commit arson. Ask her—ask her if she knew him.”

“Mrs. Vang,” Jack said, “had you ever seen this second man before?”

“I can't say.” Jack glanced at Nina and she nodded.

“You knew this man, didn't you? Mrs. Vang, you are in a court of law and you have sworn to tell the truth.”

“Yes. This is the land of the free,” Mrs. Vang said.

“You must speak the truth.”

“I am ashamed.” She wept.

Jack gave her a second. “You knew this man?”

“Yes.”

“Who is he?”

“Moua Thoj.”

“Same last name as the man your husband shot in his store?”

“Yes. Song Thoj's brother.”

“Tell us about it, Mrs. Vang,” Jack said kindly.

Mrs. Vang spoke at some length this time, haltingly, in Hmong. Eventually Dr. Mai held up his hand to stop her. Nolan sat at her table, disdainful but also taking furious notes.

“She says—excuse me. Moua and his brother, Song, belonged to a gang in Fresno together. We told our daughter she cannot ever see Song, but our daughter lied to us and she saw him one day after school. We found out later. He was angry that we would not consider him to be our daughter's husband. He and his brother, Moua, they came to the store and robbed it and shot my husband.”