Act of Deceit

Chapter 17

“W hat do you mean the public defender lost the rest of their file?” Nanston’s voice rose in anger. “I worked in that office for fourteen years. I know exactly what their procedures are. Files don’t get lost.”

Blaine had asked Donnally to come along and no one had objected. He leaned against the wall by the door, understanding that he had no more status in the meeting than the coatrack in the corner.

Perkins shrugged. “That’s what they’re telling me.”

Nanston searched the county directory on her computer, then reached for the telephone.

Five minutes later the chief public defender, Izel McAdam, stood before her, alternating between fidgeting with the pendant hanging from a chain around her neck and brushing away strands of gray hair from in front of her eyes.

Behind her lurked the chief assistant, bearing what Donnally had come to recognize during his years in the criminal justice system as the cowering countenance of a bureaucrat who’d been promoted far beyond his competence.

The judge looked at the two, her lips thin, her expression communicating bewilderment at how an office in which she’d worked for over a decade and had come to love had fallen into the hands of buffoons.

“Your Honor,” McAdam said, “our office handles sixty thousand cases a year. More than a million since Mr. Brown was arrested. One case among all of those-”

“This isn’t a lottery, Izel. This is a homicide.”

McAdam reddened. “But-”

Nanston held up her finger, then looked at Blaine.

“Our file is intact,” Blaine said. “And we’ve turned over everything except our work product.”

Blaine then glanced over at Donnally as if for confirmation, but he didn’t react. He had no way of knowing what Blaine had handed over to the defense. He only knew what he had given Blaine.

“I’ll need your assurance that you aren’t using an overly broad definition of what that is,” Nanston said.

“The only thing we didn’t turn over is some legal research and my own handwritten notes.”

“What about psych records you collected?”

“The burden wasn’t on us. It was on the public defender, so we didn’t subpoena any. If the defendant had been found competent to stand trial and had put on an insanity defense then, of course, we would’ve gathered a war chest of them.”

Nanston looked at McAdam. “When was the last time you’re certain the file was in your possession?”

McAdam glanced at her chief assistant. It seemed to Donnally as though she was trying to slough off the responsibility onto someone who didn’t seem capable of even serving as a fall guy.

When he didn’t respond to the judge’s question, McAdam said, “About fifteen years ago. That’s when the defendant was transferred into the civil system and we withdrew from the case.”

Nanston turned to Blaine. “When was the last time the developmental center submitted a report regarding Mr. Brown’s progress toward the restoration of his competency?”

“I haven’t looked at the court file,” Blaine said, “but the last report our office received was twelve years ago.”

Nanston glanced back and forth between Blaine and McAdam, her eyebrows furrowed.

“You mean no one in your office or in the public defender’s office has paid any attention at all to this case in over a decade?”

Blaine and McAdam answered with silence.

Nanston leaned back in her oversized leather chair and gazed out of her window toward the glass and concrete County Administration Building across the street.

After a long moment, she pointed at her law clerk.

“Get me Louis Craft v. Superior Court of Orange County and People v. Simpson. It’s a Fourth Appellate District case from the 1970s.”

She then pushed herself to her feet.

“Let’s go back.”

D onnally followed Blaine into the courtroom. The DA was shaking his head and biting his lower lip as he walked Donnally to his seat, then faced him across the low barrier.

“We’re in big trouble,” Blaine said in a tense whisper.

“How do you figure?”

The bailiff again. “The court will come to order.”

Blaine turned around and took two steps, stopping behind his chair, his shoulders slumping, his head lowered as if facing his executioner.

Nanston scanned the reporters in the gallery and the news video cameras in the jury box as if to say, You folks will want to get this down. Her eyes then bored down on Blaine.

“As the loss of evidence over the years may have impaired the ability of the defendant to put on a defense, the court is willing to entertain a defense motion to dismiss People v. Brown on speedy trial grounds.”

Donnally felt his body rock backward.

Blaine raised his hands in front of his chest as if to block a blow.

“Just a second, Your Honor-”

Donnally leaned forward, trying to hear the rest of the prosecutor’s complaint, but he couldn’t make it out over the gasps and confused chatter among reporters, each asking the other if the judge had said what they thought she had.

Nanston struck her gavel once and the room fell silent.

“This is not the time, Mr. Blaine.” She looked back and forth between him and Perkins. “And this isn’t brain surgery. I want all the briefing done in a week. Work out the schedule between you. Court is adjourned.”