Resurrection Walk

44

In the morning the marshals moved me back to the federal courthouse on the seven o’clock jail bus. I then spent the next two hours in the main courthouse jail with other detainees awaiting transfer to specific courtrooms and their holding cells. I was wearing federal blues and was unsure what had happened to my clothes, wallet, and phone. I was eventually moved to the cell off Judge Coelho’s courtroom. Lucinda Sanz was already in the cell next to mine. We couldn’t see each other but we could hear each other.

“Mickey, are you okay?” she whispered.

“I’m fine,” I said. “How are you feeling, Cindi?”

“I’m good. I can’t believe they made you stay the whole night.”

“The judge wanted to make a point.”

Marshal Nate came into the holding area, unlocked my cell, and handed me a brown paper bag.

“Your clothes,” he said. “Get dressed. The judge wants to see you.”

I dug through the bag. My suit was crumpled into a ball on top of my shoes.

“Where’s my phone?” I said. “And my wallet and keys?”

“Locked in my desk,” Nate said. “You get it back when the judge tells me to give it back. You’ve got five minutes. Get dressed.”

“No, I’m not getting dressed in this stuff. The suit’s wrinkled. If you’re going to take me to see the judge, I’ll go like this.”

“Suit yourself — no pun intended.”

“Good one, Nate.”

“Do I need to put the belly chain and cuffs back on or are you going to behave?”

“No need.”

He walked me out of the cell and past Lucinda’s on the way to the courtroom door.

“Hang in there, Lucinda,” I said.

I was walked through the courtroom, which was dark except for the single light over Gian Brown’s corral.

“All right to take him back?” Nate asked.

“She’s waiting for him,” Brown said.

He gave me and my attire the once-over.

“Are you sure you don’t want to change into your clothes?” Brown asked.

“I’m sure,” I said.

The marshal opened the half door to the corral and we walked through to the hall that led to the judge’s chambers. Nate knocked on the judge’s door and we heard her call to enter.

Nate walked me in and sat me down in one of the chairs in front of the desk. Judge Coelho sat on the other side of it.

“I gave instructions to put you back in your suit, Mr. Haller,” she said.

“The suit’s toast,” I said. “It’s a Canali. Italian silk that’s been balled up in a paper bag overnight. I need my phone so I can get a fresh suit delivered.”

“We’ll get you your phone. Nate, please have that ready for Mr. Haller when we’re through here. You can go back to the courtroom now.”

Marshal Nate looked hesitant.

“Are you sure I shouldn’t stay, Judge?” he asked.

“I’m sure I will be fine,” Coelho said. “I’ll call when it’s time to retrieve Mr. Haller. You can go now.”

Marshal Nate left the room and closed the door behind him. The judge looked at me for a moment, assessing me and determining what to say.

“I’m sorry it came to this, Mr. Haller,” she said. “But the disrespect you showed the court yesterday could not be allowed to stand. It is my hope that you used the night to reflect on how you handled yourself in my courtroom and that you can assure me it won’t happen again.”

I nodded.

“I reflected on a lot of things, Judge,” I said. “I apologize for my words and actions. I am contrite. It won’t happen again, I promise you.”

The only thing I had resolved during my overnight in a cold solo cell was never to address Coelho as Your Honor again.

“Very well,” Coelho said. “Apology accepted. You are released from contempt, and perhaps we can get a rush on your suit so that we don’t lose the entire morning. I will tell all parties to be in court by eleven to proceed.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I’d like to get out of this outfit as soon as possible.”

“I just buzzed Gian, and Nate will have your property out there.”

“When you put out the word about resuming the hearing, can you make sure that Sergeant Sanger is on notice to return to court? She’ll most likely be my next witness.”

“I will order her return.”

Five minutes later I was sitting in the courtroom taking my phone out of a plastic property bag. The first call I made was to Bosch.

“Mick, you’re sprung?”

“Yeah, just now. What’s happening? Where are you?”

“We’re at Applied Forensics. We brought in a cigarette butt from Sanger, and fifteen minutes ago Shami said they need two more hours.”

“Okay. I can deal with that. As soon as you know something, text me.”

“You got it.”

I disconnected and then called Lorna Taylor.

“Oh my God, Mickey, are you all right?”

“I am now.”

“Where are you?”

“In the courtroom. I need you to get me a suit, shirt, and tie and bring them to me here.”

“Not a problem. Which suit?”

“I think the Hugo Boss. The gray with the light pinstripes. A light blue oxford, and just pick any tie. You know where the key is, right?”

“Same place?”

“Same place.”

My next words were spoken in a low whisper so Gian and Nate could not overhear.

“Lorna, listen, don’t hurry. Don’t get here with the suit until at least twelve thirty. Harry and Shami need the time.”

“Got it.”

I raised my voice to its normal pitch and said, “Okay, I’ll probably be back in holding, so just bring it to the courtroom marshal. His name is Nate.”

“Got it. I’m leaving now to go to your place.”

“Thanks.”

I disconnected and got up. I presented myself to Marshal Nate and said I’d like to wait in holding so I could visit with my client and then change when my fresh suit arrived.

I realized as I was taken back into holding that I had not eaten anything and should have asked Lorna to bring me a PowerBar. The emptiness in my stomach was accentuated by the anxiety I was feeling about what was happening at Applied Forensics. I knew I was taking my last shot with the gambit I had played over the last two days. It was going to be do-or-die time very soon.

45

The hearing on the habeas motion did not get back under way until almost two o’clock, thanks to Lorna’s delay in bringing my suit. The judge wasn’t too happy about the late start but I was pleased because I now had everything I needed to face Stephanie Sanger one more time on the witness stand. Bosch and Arslanian had come through. Arslanian was outside in the hallway and ready to testify, and Bosch sat in the first row of the gallery next to the Channel 5 courtroom sketch artist.

After Judge Coelho convened court and told me to proceed, I recalled Sergeant Stephanie Sanger to the witness stand. The judge reminded her that she was still under oath.

“Good to see you again, Sergeant Sanger,” I began. “I want to start today by asking you about some testimony and evidence that came in last week. Specifically, the cell phone data that was examined by my investigator.”

“Is there a question in there?” Sanger asked.

“Not yet, Sergeant Sanger. But let’s start with this one. On the day Deputy Roberto Sanz was murdered on the front lawn of his ex-wife’s house, were you following him?”

Sanger stared at me with her dagger eyes before answering.

“Yes, I was,” she said.

I nodded and jotted a note down on my legal pad. No matter what Maggie McFierce had done to Bosch’s credibility on the stand, the data contained irrefutable facts, and Sanger was in no position to deny them. But I still was surprised by her straightforward answer to my first question. It knocked me off my game because I was expecting to have to ask several questions before I finally got her to admit that she had followed Roberto Sanz. My legal pad was covered with follow-up questions that I no longer needed. It made me jump to an improvised set of questions I should never have asked.

“You admit that you were following Roberto Sanz on the day of his death?”

“Yes, I just did.”

“Why were you following him?”

“Because he asked me to.”

There it was. With one ill-advised and improvised question, we were off in uncharted territory, and I had no doubt that what would come out would be a concocted story that explained the incontrovertible cell data. I knew that if I didn’t bring it out and attempt to control it, Hayden Morris would do that on his re-cross. I had to handle this right now and then get back to my intended path.

“Why did Roberto Sanz ask you to follow him?” I asked.

“Because he was meeting with an FBI agent and he was worried that he was being set up,” Sanger said. “He wanted me to watch in case something went wrong and he needed me to come to the rescue.”

Sanger and the AG were doing exactly what I had been doing throughout the hearing: taking the negatives and owning them. If it looks bad that you were following the murder victim, then say the murder victim asked you to — there was nobody alive to refute it.

“He would need you to rescue him from an FBI agent?” I asked.

“Not necessarily in that moment,” Sanger said. “More like later, if someone had to vouch for his story that he had met with the FBI and turned down whatever it was the Bureau wanted.”

“He never told you what the Bureau wanted?”

“He never got the chance.”

“Then how do you know he used the meeting to turn down the FBI?”

“He told me ahead of time that that’s what he planned to do.”

It was a story that didn’t make a lot of sense on close inspection. But I knew if I waded into the bog any further, there might be all manner of hidden traps below the murk for me to stumble into. I had already done enough damage by giving Sanger the chance to explain the cell data. I improvised as best I could in the moment.

“And you never filed a report on this or told the investigators of Sanz’s murder about it?” I asked.

“No, I didn’t,” Sanger said.

“Sanz gets murdered after a clandestine meeting with an FBI agent and you didn’t think the homicide investigators would want to know that?”

“I didn’t.”

“And why is that?”

“I thought it would taint Robbie Sanz’s reputation. He was dead, his ex-wife had killed him, and I didn’t think it had to be brought up.”

Once again I had opened an exit for her. I had to find my way out of this bog.

“All right, let’s move on, Sergeant Sanger,” I said. “Please describe for the court the protocol you followed when you conducted the gunshot-residue test on Lucinda Sanz on the night of her ex-husband’s murder.”

“It’s pretty simple, really,” she said. “The stubs come in a package of two and—”

“Let me interrupt you there. Can you explain what you mean by ‘stubs’?”

“They are round foam disks with a carbon adhesive that picks up the gunshot residue when wiped over a person’s hands and arms.”

“So you opened a package containing two stubs when you tested Lucinda Sanz?”

“Correct.”

“Did you wear gloves when you did this?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Why is that, Sergeant Sanger?”

“So I would not possibly contaminate the stubs. I carry and handle a weapon, so my hands could have GSR on them. It is standard protocol in the department and all other agencies to wear gloves while conducting a GSR test on a suspect.”

“You are saying that at the time, Lucinda Sanz was already a suspect?”

“No, I was talking about general protocol. In the case you are specifically referring to, Ms. Sanz was not considered a suspect at that time. We viewed her as a witness, primarily, until we gathered all the facts.”

“Why were you so quick to test her for GSR if she was just a witness?”

“Because, first of all, gunshot residue sheds from the skin. It is best to take a GSR test within two hours of a gun incident. After four hours it is useless because of shedding. And second, we didn’t know what we had out there, so we wanted to cover all the bases. I conducted the test and it turned out later to be positive. I think I already testified to all of this.”

“That’s okay, Sergeant Sanger. We want to make sure we get it right. How did you find out that the test was positive?”

“The lead investigator called me to tell me and to thank me for running the test so early. It was a very solid positive response for GSR, he said.”

I asked the judge to strike the second half of Sanger’s answer as nonresponsive to my question, but Coelho overruled me and told me to move on.

“So you did everything by the book — isn’t that correct, Sergeant Sanger?”

“Correct.”

“You gloved up, opened the testing package, conducted the test, then resealed the stubs in a lab bag.”

“Correct.”

“No contamination.”

“Correct.”

“And you gave that lab bag to Deputy Keith Mitchell to turn over to the homicide investigators, yes?”

“Yes.”

Morris stood up and objected.

“Your Honor, counsel has already been over this in his direct examination,” he said. “Why are we wasting the court’s time with this?”

“I was wondering the same thing, Mr. Haller,” Coelho said.

“Judge, my next questions should pretty much get us into new territory,” I said.

“Very well,” she said. “But I’m putting you on a short leash. Proceed.”

I looked at my legal pad and composed myself and the next question.

“Sergeant Sanger, are you familiar with touch DNA?”

Morris was quickly up on his feet again.

“Your Honor, sidebar?” he said.

Coelho signaled us forward with her hand.

“Come up,” she said.

Morris and I went to the bench, and the judge leaned forward to hear his objection.

“Your Honor, counsel is straying into an area of questioning the court ruled inadmissible yesterday,” Morris said. “I don’t know if he is trying to set up another outburst followed by a rebuke from the court, but he is obviously heading toward the forbidden zone.”

“Not true, Judge,” I said quickly. “I don’t intend to ask this witness anything about the lack of Lucinda Sanz’s DNA on the GSR pad. The court’s ruling was crystal clear to me yesterday.”

“I would think that a night in jail would keep you far away from what was ruled out yesterday, Mr. Haller,” Coelho said.

“It has, Judge,” I said. “And you can put me back in the cell if I bring up my client’s DNA or lack thereof.”

“Very well, proceed,” Coelho said. “Carefully. Objection over-ruled.”

We went back to our places and I checked my notes.

“Again, Sergeant Sanger, are you familiar with touch DNA?” I asked.

“I know what it is,” Sanger said. “But I’m not an expert on it. We have a lab for that.”

“Well, you don’t need to be an expert to answer this. How is it, with the protocol you say you followed in collecting GSR from Lucinda Sanz, that your own DNA ended up on at least one of the GSR stubs you allegedly swiped on Lucinda Sanz’s hands and arms?”

Morris bolted up from his chair as if he had received an electric shock. He spread his arms wide.

“Your Honor, counsel has done exactly what he just said he would not do,” he said.

“No, I did not,” I said quickly. “I asked the witness if—”

“Let me stop you there,” Coelho said. “I’ll see both of you in chambers right now. Everyone else can take a fifteen-minute break.”

She left the bench in a swirl of black robe. Morris and I followed.

46

Still in her robe, the judge looked at us from behind her desk.

“Sit,” she commanded. “Mr. Haller, I find myself losing patience with you once again. I can’t believe it’s because you find the accommodations at the Metropolitan Detention Center to your liking.”

“No, Judge,” I said. “Not at all.”

“Then I don’t understand what you’re doing,” she said. “As Mr. Morris has already pointed out, you are walking dangerously close to fire. I ruled the lab results proffered yesterday inadmissible, and here you are, asking the witness about lab results.”

I nodded in agreement as she said it.

“Judge, you ruled that the GSR pads could have been tested for Lucinda Sanz’s DNA by the defense at the time of the initial prosecution of this case,” I said. “You ruled that it wasn’t new evidence brought to light under the requirements of habeas but rather a misstep by the defense attorney back then and therefore inadmissible. As I said during the sidebar, I am not going there.”

“Then where are you going?” Coelho asked.

“The witness just testified to the protocols she allegedly followed when she tested Lucinda Sanz for gunshot residue. She gloved up, opened the testing package, swiped the stubs over Sanz, and resealed them in the package. I am prepared to provide the court with evidence that Sergeant Sanger’s DNA is on the stub turned over to the defense five years ago and held secure at Applied Forensics ever since.”

“You did a comparison with her DNA?”

“Yes, Judge.”

“And where did you get her DNA, since this was not a court-ordered analysis?”

“Sanger is a smoker. Her DNA was taken from a cigarette butt she discarded yesterday after court. My investigator and forensics expert collected it and took it to Applied Forensics for comparison to the unidentified DNA found on the stub from the Sanz case. Just so you know, this analysis did not require examination of the GSR pad, which is evidence and would have required an order from you. This was a comparison of DNA from the collected cigarette butt to the unknown DNA profile found during the earlier analysis of the evidence. We got the results just before court convened today. It’s Sanger’s DNA and I am entitled to ask her how it got there.”

Morris made a groaning sound that he rolled into an objection.

“It’s just as inadmissible as yesterday,” he said. “Plus, it’s impossible to get a DNA analysis done in less than twenty-four hours.”

“Not if you’re willing to pay,” I said. “And if your forensics expert is nationally recognized and overseeing the work.”

“Mr. Haller, where do you think you’re going with this?” the judge asked.

“Where we have always been going with this case,” I said. “Lucinda Sanz was set up for her ex-husband’s murder. The key piece of evidence in this setup was the GSR found on her hands. Not only did it indicate that she had fired a gun, but it appeared to catch her in a lie, and from there the investigators never looked at anybody else. It is the petitioner’s theory and belief that at some point after Sanger swabbed Sanz and before Mitchell handed the evidence to the homicide investigators, the pads — or stubs — were replaced with pads dirty with GSR. So, Judge, you want to know where I’m going? I’m going right at Sanger. I want to know how her DNA ended up on that pad.”

Coelho was silent as she tracked my argument. I took the time to pile on before Morris could.

“This is new evidence, Judge,” I said. “It’s not something the original defense could have come up with because Sanger’s name is not even in the police reports. Now, you kicked out the crime re-creation and the DNA from yesterday, but together these things make clear what happened. Stephanie Sanger now even admits to seeing Roberto Sanz meeting with an FBI agent but not reporting it to the investigation. Why? Because she’s the one who killed Sanz and set up his ex-wife to take the fall.”

The judge continued to stare at me without really seeing me. She was going through the steps, checking the logic of my theory. Morris had apparently already dismissed it, probably because it had come from a defense attorney and he was trained never to agree with one.

“This is fantasy,” he said. “Your Honor, you can’t possibly be considering this as valid. It’s smoke and mirrors — exactly what Mr. Haller is known for.”

Coelho stopped analyzing and looked at me.

“Is that what you are known for, Mr. Haller?” she asked. “Smoke and mirrors?”

“Uh, I hope it’s for more than that, Judge,” I said.

She nodded, her expression unreadable. But then she said the magic words I’d been waiting for.

“I’m going to allow it,” she said. “Mr. Haller, you can ask your questions and we’ll see where it goes.”

“Your Honor, I have to object,” Morris said. “This is pure—”

“Mr. Morris, you already objected and I just overruled the objection,” Coelho said. “Is that not clear to you?”

“Yes, Judge,” he said weakly.

“Thank you, Your Honor,” I said.

With her ruling, she was now redeemed in my eyes.

The judge stayed behind when we left her chambers. I followed Morris back to the courtroom. He was silent the whole way, walking fast, as if to get away from me.

“Cat got your tongue, Morris?” I said. “Or is it the weight of knowing you’re on the wrong side of this one?”

He didn’t respond other than to hold up a fist, the middle finger extended. He went through the door to the courtroom and didn’t bother to hold it open for me.

“Nice guy,” I said.

In the courtroom I saw that the spot where Bosch had been sitting was empty. I headed out to the hall, hoping to find him and Arslanian before the judge took the bench and convened the hearing again.

I found Shami on a bench next to the courtroom door but there was no sign of Bosch.

“The judge is going to allow Sanger’s DNA,” I said. “You will have to testify about the cigarette butt — the collection of it and everything else.”

“Mickey, that’s great,” Arslanian said. “I’m ready.”

“Where’s Harry? We may need him if the judge wants to see his photos of the cigarette.”

“When Sanger left the courtroom, he followed her out. He told me he wanted to keep an eye on her in case she made a run for it.”

“Seriously?”

“Cop instincts, I guess.”

I had never doubted Bosch’s cop instincts. Arslanian’s answer gave me pause as I thought about how I would continue the case if Sanger was in the wind.