Witness for the Defense (12 page)

“This is Mr. Hunter Dobbs,” Sarah said. I extended my hand, but Bragg was busy fluffing the bright red hankie in the breast pocket of his suit. “He will be assisting me,” she added.

“That’s what I understand.” Bragg looked at me for the first time. “Lieutenant McBean tells me he’s worked with you in the past.”

“We’ve had the pleasure,” I said curtly. I withdrew my empty hand and placed my briefcase on the counsel table and opened it.

The D.A. smiled, flashing his perfect white teeth. “He tells me you were with the P.D.’s office.” It was Bragg’s way of letting me know McBean had informed him of my problem.

“I still am. No matter what the good lieutenant has told you, I’m on temporary leave.”

“Then I hope you enjoy your temporary stay in our beautiful county.”

Sarah nodded toward the front of the courthouse. “That mob outside doesn’t make a very good impression.”

“Mob?” he scoffed, and then noticed my puffy bottom lip. “You didn’t have a problem out there, did you?”

“Problem?” I scratched the caked blood from the corner of my mouth. “Nothing that three or four stitches won’t help solve.”

“Who’s responsible for that?” Bragg said, with about as much sincerity as a candidate playing a voter the day before an election.

And I wasn’t buying any of it.

“Forget it.” I pulled the police report from my briefcase. “Why don’t we discuss what you have planned for this prelim?”

“Like the names of the witnesses you intend to call,” Sarah said.

Bragg gave us a curious “you should know better” look. “Why, just Lieutenant McBean,” he said.

“What about the boy?” Sarah asked anxiously. “Surely you will be putting him on the stand.”

“This will be a Prop 115 prelim,” the D.A. said matter-of-factly.

Sarah stiffened. I knew what she was thinking. In a prop 115 prelim, the arresting officer testifies to the hearsay statements of the victim and any other witnesses he may have interviewed. That meant she might not be able to examine the young boy before the trial.

“Could we discuss that decision with the deputy who is assigned to the case?” she asked.

“Why, you have been,” he said with an incredulous tone. “Ill be handling both the prelim and the trial. If it goes that far.”

“But—” Sarah said and he cut her off.

“We consider child molestation and kidnapping to be very serious offenses in this county.”

“I’m not aware of any county in this state that doesn’t,” I shot back. “We just never thought the head district attorney would be the trial attorney.”

A small smile appeared at the corner of his lips. “Well, I am.” The smile quickly faded. “And as far as this preliminary hearing is concerned, I’m not going to force that poor child to relive the events of that night unless he absolutely has to.”

“But normally,” I persisted, “when allegations have little, if any, corroboration, the victim testifies at the prelim.”

He shook his head in disgust. “Maybe where you come from, but in this county we protect our victims.”

“Come on, Bragg,” I said. “You’re not in front of the cameras now. Save your champion of the public’s welfare speech for them.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow at my combativeness. She knew it was time to regroup. She had to make Bragg understand that he had as much to gain by the boy’s testimony as we did. “I can only advise my client to accept or reject whatever offer you’re making if I know exactly what that boy has to say.”

“See, there you go. The only person who benefits is your client.”

“Not really,” she said in a reasonable tone. “It may also help you see the weaknesses in your case.”

“This case doesn’t have any weaknesses.”

With her hands on her hips, Sarah looked at him like he had to be kidding. “The victim can’t even give an accurate description of the car or his attacker,” she said. “I’d call that pretty weak.”

Bragg reached for a folder on the counsel table and placed it under his arm. “And what about the candy wrapper?”

“I’ll tell you what I think about that wrapper,” Sarah said, but I interrupted her with a shaking of my head. If the D.A. wasn’t going to allow us to hear what the boy had to say, I didn’t see why she should alert him that we suspected his investigating officer had planted the key evidence.

Bragg pulled his chair away from the table. “Are you ready to begin?”

As long as McBean would be Bragg’s only witness, I knew we had nothing to gain by going through with the prelim. McBean’s testimony would consist of only what was contained in the police report. And we knew that by heart.

“No way,” I said.

Bragg jumped out of his chair. “Well, I’m telling you now, I’ll be objecting to a continuance. And knowing Judge Willamont like I do, I’m sure he’ll agree. Child molestation has statutory priority.”

I was sick of the pious show-off. “Don’t spout the law to us,” I said. “If the boy’s not going to testify, then we’ll be waiving the preliminary hearing.”

That got him.

“What?”

“We don’t want to put your investigating officer through the trauma of cross-examination,” I said sweetly.

“Is that so?” Bragg withdrew a one-page document from the folder he’d been holding under his arm and handed it to Sarah. “You may want to review this before you and your friend make any hasty decisions.”

Bragg grinned, with his arms crossed in front of his chest, while Sarah and I read the summary of an analysis of the Gummy Bear wrapper for fingerprints—indicating that Danny Barton’s fingerprints had been on the candy wrapper found in Jared’s car.

“That should about do it, wouldn’t you say?” Bragg’s eyes narrowed as if he were about to say something we’d better pay attention to. “However, in order to keep that poor young boy off the stand at trial, I’m offering a plea to ten years in state prison.”

“I don’t think so,” I said dismissively. I knew full well that if Sarah couldn’t dispute the report or prove that somehow McBean had finagled it, her chances of success would be next to impossible. But I also knew that ten years for a first offense was as good as no offer at all.

Ignoring me, Bragg turned to Sarah. “What’s it going to be, Miss Harris?”

Sarah mused over the report for a moment longer. It obviously bothered her. “How long have you known about these results?”

“Not long.”

“It doesn’t look that way to me,” she snapped, and I smiled. She had the moxie of a hardened veteran. “This report is dated over three days ago.

Don’t you feel the day of the prelim is a little late to be springing this on me?”

Bragg’s hands dropped to his side. “If you think I’ve done something wrong, I suggest you take it up with the judge. Otherwise, I’m informing the clerk I’m ready to begin the preliminary hearing.”

Sarah looked up at me as if she wanted my input. “Waive it,” I mouthed.

Without hesitating, she turned back to Bragg. “I’ll be waiving the prelim.”

“What about my offer?”

Sarah placed the document inside Jared’s file. “Doesn’t thrill me.”

“Well, I can’t do any better,” he said flatly. “Why don’t you see what your client has to say?”

“By law I have to,” she said and abruptly walked away. Halfway down the aisle, she stopped and turned to Bragg. “But you can bet the only meaningful discussion I’ll have with Mr. Reineer will be convincing him to waive the prelim.”

Chapter 12

“In a molestation case, if the victim doesn’t testify, a prelim is next to useless.”

Sarah and I were discussing why it was best that we waived the hearing. It was after eleven and we were sitting at a diner called Harvey’s Eatery off the main highway.

My uncle, Joe Calabrese, had been a trucker most of his life, delivering produce up and down the northern coast of California. Like most truckers, he thought he was a real connoisseur. He’d always boast there wasn’t a better meal served anywhere in the good old “U.S. of A.” than the mom-and-pop operations that dotted the coastal highways.

I’d persuaded Sarah to stop and give the place a try.

I was inspecting a water-stained spoon on the counter in front of me. We’d only had ten minutes to explain to Jared what we had in mind. He readily agreed with us once he understood that waiving the prelim wouldn’t delay the start of the trial.

According to Sarah, Jared had been a drifter for most of his life, wandering aimlessly from place to place, relying on handouts to stay alive. I would have thought a place like the Mendocino County Jail, which provided three meals a day, would be welcome. But Jared was still very upset about being incarcerated. He wouldn’t eat. He looked like he’d lost ten pounds in less than a week.

The waitress emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her dirty apron as she walked toward us. She withdrew a pencil and pad from her breast pocket, ready to take our order.

“What’ll it be?” she said, snapping her gum.

I was planning on my monthly allotment of fat and cholesterol—the trucker special—eggs, country-fried potatoes, sausage, and pancakes. But after a good look at the grill and the deep fryer, which hadn’t been cleaned since probably the last time my uncle ate here, I ordered a doughnut instead. Sarah did the same.

“Wouldn’t it have been worth going through with the prelim?” she asked. “We could have asked McBean that if the boy was wearing gloves, then how could his fingerprints be on the candy wrapper?”

“Why alert him? Let him think he’s getting away with something. Otherwise, he’ll get nervous and do his best to cover it up. Plus,” I said, “we don’t know if the boy was wearing his gloves the whole time. Maybe he took them off.”

Sarah nodded. “If we could just get Danny alone, he could tell us whether or not he ever took them off.”

Except for the waitress barking out an order, there was total silence as she considered it.

“We also have to start broadening the rest of our investigation.” I said.

“Like what?”

“Well, if Jared didn’t do it, who did? We have to find out if there is anyone around here who has a prior history of molestations. And that will take some time.”

“Not as long as you may think,” she said, smirking. “This isn’t San Francisco, you know. Everybody in this county knows his neighbor’s business.”

“What about a stranger to the area?”

“Someone would have noticed him. I can guarantee it.”

Just then a heavy-set, middle-aged man, dressed in a plaid shirt and black suspenders, belched at the end of the counter. He then leered at Sarah and took a big chomp out of his doughnut, which he immediately washed down with one gulp of coffee. A real attractive sight like that would bring Sarah right over.

She chuckled. “That’s your uncle twenty years ago.”

“Nah,” I deadpanned. “He never wore suspenders.”

Sarah glanced at the man again.

“He reminds me,” she said as we watched him dump a handful of change on the counter. “What do you make of that man from Boonville who was with McBean at the courthouse?”

I frowned at the memory of the big redneck. “Just a grieving father who feels he has to blame someone.”

Sarah nervously ran her finger around the rim of her mug. “I wonder if he has any proof,” she said quietly.

“I don’t see how. By the looks of him, his son probably took off on his own.”

I began to dunk the doughnut that was thrown in front of me, when I caught Sarah running her finger along the top of hers and then licking it.

“I only like the chocolate,” she said, by way of explanation. Her gaze settled on the front of my shirt. “At least I don’t need a bib,” she jabbed, referring to the coffee spatter on my breast pocket.

I looked at it and shook my head. “No wonder everyone around here wears overalls.”

Sarah tried to smile, but something was bothering her. “I find it hard to believe it’s just a coincidence that the day after Danny is attacked that boy from Boonville disappears.”

That was hard to believe. “Are you sure. The very next day?”

“Positive. The attack on Danny and the boy s disappearance were front-page news at the time,” she said. “But it wasn’t even hinted there could be a connection.”

“There probably isn’t. But we have a couple of days before we have to go to San Francisco for my prelim. Let’s check it out.”

“Do you even know where Boonville is?” she asked.

“Don’t have the foggiest.”

She nodded in the direction to the rear of us. “It’s a half hour toward the coast.”

Sarah dipped the tip of her napkin into her water glass and wiped a syrup stain from her laminated menu. “What if the two are connected?” she muttered.

“If they were, we would have heard about it by now.” I paused to consider. “Relax,” I finally said. “The boy’s father is just grasping at straws.”

“But if they are connected, that would mean whoever kidnapped Danny may be a murderer.”

“You’re not beginning to doubt Jared, are you?” I asked.

“Of course not,” she said. “It’s just that suddenly this case has far greater implications than I ever imagined. Once that Cosgrove fellow tells the press what he suspects, all hell will break loose.”

I knew what Sarah was driving at. The Boonville boy’s disappearance would be the cause célèbre that was sure to make Jared’s case a higher-stakes trial than it already was. His prosecution would be the only chance to get the man who many believed was responsible for the Cosgrove boy’s disappearance.

“The D.A. will have to prove an awfully strong connection between the two before a judge will ever allow it in.”

Sarah made a face, like she didn’t want to tell me what she was about to say.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s really bothering you?” I said.

She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I think I’m in way over my head. I don’t have enough criminal-law experience to properly defend someone charged with child molestation. I’ve handled maybe three or four criminal cases in my life and that’s only because, like your case, they also dealt with attorney discipline.”

“Who do you think you’re kidding? I’ve seen you in court. Jared’s lucky to have you.”

“But I’ve never handled anything remotely close to a criminal case like Jared’s,” she said and hesitated. “If you hadn’t been there today, I would have been lost.”