Resurrection Walk

48

Late Friday morning I was summoned to Judge Coelho’s courtroom. It had been three days since she had adjourned the habeas hearing in the wake of Stephanie Sanger’s murder. I had spent most of that time watching and reading news reports on the killing, waiting for the media to connect the dots. Finally, there was a story this morning in the Times by their veteran crime reporter James Queally that delved deeply into Sanger’s background and activities, and most likely that had prompted the summons from the judge.

Queally reported that Sanger was a member of a sheriff’s clique called Los Cucos and that investigators of her murder had found connections between her and a Mexican cartel that had compromised her and forced her to do its bidding, which may have included a series of contract killings of cartel rivals in California. The story also detailed the Roberto Sanz case from his murder to his ex-wife’s current bid to be exonerated. The Times report was the first to reveal that Sanger had been testifying in that habeas case just minutes before she was killed outside the courthouse.

Unnamed sources told the newspaper that the working theory of the investigation was that Sanger had been killed to prevent her from testifying further and being pushed to cooperate with authorities.

I had talked to Queally off the record, telling him both what I knew as fact and what I believed. Without naming Agent MacIsaac, I reported what MacIsaac had told me at my house earlier in the week: that on the day of his murder, Roberto Sanz had informed the FBI agent that Sanger and other deputies in the Cucos were controlled by members of the Sinaloa cartel operating in Los Angeles. I also told Queally my own working theory, based on the fact that she had followed Roberto Sanz and had seen him with the FBI, that Sanger had killed him. The reporter had taken it from there, confirming the facts and ferreting out new ones, and the story was on the front page above the fold of the print edition and was the lead in the newspaper’s digital edition.

When I got to Coelho’s courtroom, Morris was already there waiting. He did not acknowledge me. He sat stone silent at the State’s table, not even responding when I casually said hello to him as well as to the court’s clerk and the stenographer, Milly.

Gian Brown called the judge in chambers to say all parties were present and she told him to send us back to her along with the stenographer. We went silently. Morris looked like he’d experienced a couple of sleepless nights.

The judge’s robe was on a hanger on the back of the door to her chambers. She was dressed in black pants and a white blouse.

“Gentlemen, thank you for coming,” she said. “Let Milly get set up and then I’d like to go on the record in the Sanz matter.”

“Should Lucinda be here?” I asked.

“I don’t think it’s necessary for this meeting,” Coelho said. “But I did tell the marshals to bring her over from MDC for the afternoon session.”

That told me that the case wasn’t over — yet.

We sat silently as the stenographer moved into the corner behind the judge’s desk, sat on a padded stool already there, and poised her fingers over her steno machine.

“Okay, on the record again with Sanz versus the State of California,” Coelho said. “Mr. Haller, where are you with the presentation of your case?”

I’d known she would ask this question and was prepared for it.

“Your Honor, in light of what has transpired and the fact that I can’t continue with Sergeant Sanger as a witness, I’m prepared to rest my case and proceed with final arguments. If final arguments are even necessary.”

Coelho nodded, having expected that answer.

“Mr. Morris?” she said.

The prosecutor seemed to sense that the case was on the line. His tone was defensive from the start.

“The State is ready to proceed, Your Honor,” Morris said. “We have witnesses, including a witness who will testify that Lucinda Sanz confessed to her that she killed her husband.”

I smiled and shook my head.

“You can’t be serious,” I said. “Your witness is a little leaky, Hayden. She’s a convicted killer who concocted this confession from newspaper stories she had her brother pull from the library downtown and read to her over the phone.”

I could tell that the brother was new information to Morris and that he was realizing that his team had failed to properly vet the witness.

“One day,” I went on. “That’s all it took to find the brother. I was going to destroy your witness on the stand. But it doesn’t matter now. Have you read the paper today? Sanger was a killer and she killed Roberto Sanz. There is no doubt about that. And my investigator witnessed her murder. She was arguing with a guy she obviously knew — she let him get close enough to grab her gun. Bosch spent an entire night with the cops, the DEA, and everybody else, looking at mug shots. The guy he identified as the shooter is a sicario for the Sinaloa cartel. A hit man!”

Morris shook his head as if to ward off the truth.

“She pleaded no contest,” he said.

He’d gone back to his case mantra: Lucinda pleaded no contest to killing her ex-husband. Innocent people didn’t do that.

“She had no choice,” I said. “That’s what this is about. She got railroaded. She had a bad lawyer, and the key piece of evidence against her was manufactured by Sanger. We were in the middle of proving that when Sanger was put down.”

Morris looked at the judge, ignoring me.

“Judge, we are entitled to present our case,” he said. “He got to present his. Now we present ours.”

“You’re not entitled to anything, Mr. Morris,” Coelho said. “Not in my courtroom. Not until I tell you what you are entitled to.”

“Apologies, Your Honor,” Morris said. “I misspoke. What I meant was—”

“I don’t need to hear it,” the judge said, cutting Morris off. “I’m prepared to rule on the petition. I just wanted to give you gentlemen a heads-up. At two o’clock we will convene in the courtroom and I will announce my decision. That will be all for now. You may go.”

“You can’t do this,” Morris said. “The State strenuously objects to the court’s rendering of a decision before the State has presented its case.”

“Mr. Morris, if the State disagrees with my ruling it can take the matter up on appeal,” Coelho said. “But I think your appellate branch will look at the case closely and decide not to embarrass itself. We are adjourned and off the record now. I will see you both in the courtroom at two. In the meantime, go have a nice lunch.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” I said.

I stood up. Morris looked paralyzed. He seemed unable to get up from his chair.

“Mr. Morris, are you leaving?” Coelho asked.

“Uh, yes, I’m leaving,” Morris said.

He rocked back, then forward, using the momentum to launch himself out of the chair.

This time I led the way back to the courtroom, and when I got to the door, I opened it wide for Morris to go through first.

“After you,” I said.

“Fuck you,” he said.

I nodded. I had seen that coming.

In the courtroom I checked the time and saw that I had a solid two hours before the hearing resumed and Coelho gave the ruling that I believed would end the case. Still, I didn’t think there was enough time for me to get over to MDC to prep Lucinda before they started procedures to move her to the courthouse. I texted Bosch and told him to pick me up out front.

I took the elevator down and saw Bosch in the Navigator when I stepped through the heavy lobby doors. I glanced along the front of the building to the designated smoking section on the north side. It was still taped off and I wondered whether the tape had just been forgotten or if there was still an on-scene investigation at the spot where Sanger was killed.

I opened the front door of the Navigator and jumped in.

“Harry, we just climbed El Cap,” I said. “Let’s go eat.”

“Where?” Bosch said. “And what’s that mean?”

“I told you about climbing El Cap. The judge is going to rule on the habeas this afternoon and she’s going to rule for us. Let’s go over to Nick and Stef’s and get steak for lunch. I always eat steak when I win.”

“How are you sure it’s a win? The judge told you this?”

“Not in so many words. But I feel it. My courtroom barometer tells me this is over.”

“And Lucinda is going to walk?”

“Depends. The judge could vacate the conviction and set her free. But she could also send the case back to the district attorney’s office and let them decide whether or not to take her to trial. If that happens, she could keep Lucinda incarcerated until the choice is made or until the AG’s office decides if they’re going to appeal. We’ll know for sure at two.”

Bosch whistled as he pulled the Navigator away from the curb.

“And all because you pulled a needle out of a haystack,” I said. “Amazing. We make a good team, Harry.”

“Yeah, well...”

“Come on, man. Don’t rain on the parade.”

“No rain. But I’ll wait till it’s official. I don’t have a courtroom barometer.”

“I gotta call Shami. She’ll want to be in court for this.”

“What about Silver?”

“Second-Place Silver can read about it in the news. I’m not doing him any favors. He cost Lucinda five years of her life.”

Bosch nodded in agreement.

“Fuck him,” he said.

“Fuck him,” I repeated.

“What about her kid?” Bosch asked. “Should we get him to court?”

“Yes, good idea,” I said. “I’ll call Muriel at lunch, see if they can come down. I’ll need her to bring some clothes for Lucinda. Just in case.”

As Bosch drove to the restaurant, I worked my phone, texting news about the two o’clock hearing to James Queally, Britta Shoot, and all the other reporters I knew. I wanted everybody there.

49

The courtroom was packed by two o’clock. In the first two rows of the gallery, members of the media were sitting shoulder to shoulder. The Sanger killing and the mysteries surrounding it was the biggest story going at the moment, and thanks to the Times article it was clear that the nexus of the case was courtroom 3 in the U.S. District Courthouse.

The two rows behind the media contained several members of Lucinda Sanz’s family, including her mother, son, and brother, as well as a variety of citizen observers, defense attorneys, and prosecutors who knew this courtroom was the place to be. In the last row, all the way in the back corner, sat Maggie McPherson with our daughter, Hayley. I was happy to see my daughter but puzzled by my ex-wife’s decision to be there, especially after her efforts against my client’s cause.

There was a palpable sense of momentousness in the air. The feeling that something unusual, maybe even extraordinary, was going to happen ramped up another notch when Lucinda was brought through the door from holding — for the first time not in MDC blues. Her mother had brought clothes for her and I got them to her in holding in time for her to change before the hearing. She wore a light blue Mexican housedress with short sleeves and flowers embroidered along the hem. Her hair was not in a tight ponytail but down and framing her face. A hush fell over the gallery as Marshal Nate escorted her to our table and cuffed her to the ring — hopefully for the last time.

“You look great,” I whispered. “I think it’s going to be a good day. Your son and mother and other family members are here to see it.”

“Is it okay for me to turn and look?” she asked.

“Of course it is. They’re here for you.”

“Okay.”

She turned and looked back into the gallery and tears immediately came to her eyes. She clasped her free hand into a fist and held it to her chest. I don’t know if I had ever been more moved by something I saw in a courtroom. When Lucinda turned to the front to hide her tears from her family, I put my arm around her shoulders and leaned in close to whisper.

“You’ve got a lot of love behind you.”

“I know that. They never gave up on me.”

“They knew the truth. And they’re going to hear it said today.”

“I hope so.”

“I know so.”

The silence from the gallery seemed to increase the tension in the room, and it doubled when two o’clock came and went without the judge emerging from chambers. The minutes ticked by like hours. Finally, at 2:25, Marshal Nate gave the order to rise as the judge took the bench. Coelho carried a thin file and seemed to be all business from the start.

“Please be seated,” she said. “We are back on the record with Sanz versus the State of California. It looks like we have a full house today. I want it known that the court will not tolerate any outbursts or demonstrations of any sort from those in the gallery as we proceed. This is a court of law and I expect decorum and respect from all those who come through these doors.”

She paused and scanned the gallery as if looking for dissenters. I saw her eyes hold for a moment when she reached the area where Maggie McPherson was sitting. Her focus then moved on, and with no challenges to her authority, Coelho finally brought her eyes down to me and then over to Morris. She asked if there was any new business before she proceeded to issue her ruling on the habeas petition.

Morris stood up.

“Yes, Your Honor,” he said. “The State of California, representing the people of California, renew our objection to the court’s decision to leapfrog the State’s case in this matter.”

I stood up and was ready to argue the point if needed.

“‘Leapfrog,’” the judge said. “An interesting choice of words, Mr. Morris. But as I said earlier in chambers, the State’s remedy here is to appeal the rulings of this court.”

“Then the State asks that this hearing be continued until there is an appellate ruling,” Morris said.

“Not happening, Mr. Morris,” Coelho said. “You file your appeal, but I am ready and I am going to rule today. Anything else?”

“No, Your Honor,” Morris said.

“No, Your Honor,” I said.

“Very well,” Coelho said.

She opened the file she had brought with her, put on a pair of glasses, and began to read her decision aloud. I looked over at Lucinda sitting next to me and nodded.

“The writ of habeas corpus is a fundamental pillar of our justice system,” Coelho said. “Chief Justice John Marshall wrote nearly two hundred years ago that habeas corpus is the sacred means of allowing for the liberation of those who may be imprisoned without sufficient cause. It safeguards our freedom, protects us from the arbitrary and lawless actions of the State.

“It is my job today to decide if the State made a lawless action in imprisoning Lucinda Sanz for the murder of Roberto Sanz. The question is complicated by the fact that the petitioner, Ms. Sanz, pleaded no contest to a charge of manslaughter. After carefully reviewing the evidence and testimony presented during this hearing and considering what happened outside court this week, the court holds that the petitioner saw the plea agreement she was offered as the only light at the end of a dark tunnel. Whether she was coerced by her attorney at the time — not you, Mr. Haller — or concluded on her own that she had no choice but to accept a plea agreement does not matter to this court. What does matter is the clear mandate of the Constitution and Bill of Rights that habeas relief be granted when the state court’s determination of a case is an unreasonable application of the law. This court finds that the petitioner has established that by producing clear and new evidence of the manufacturing of evidence against the petitioner.”

I made a fist and turned and whispered to Lucinda.

“You’re going home.”

“What about a trial?”

“Not when there’s manufactured evidence. This is over.”

Because I was turned toward Lucinda, I didn’t see Morris stand to object.

“Your Honor?” he said.

Coelho looked up from the document she was reading.

“Mr. Morris, you know better than to interrupt me,” she said. “You will sit down. I know what your objection is and you are overruled. Sit down. Now!”

Morris dropped down into his seat like a bag of dirty laundry.

“Continuing,” Coelho said, “as I expect no further interruptions.”

She looked down and it took her a moment to find the spot where she had left off.

“The actions of the sheriff’s department, particularly those taken by the late Sergeant Sanger, so damaged the integrity of the investigation and subsequent prosecution as to permanently embed it with reasonable doubt. Therefore, the ruling of this court is to grant habeas relief to the petitioner. The conviction of Lucinda Sanz is vacated.”

The judge closed the file and took off her glasses. The courtroom remained silent. She looked directly at Lucinda.

“Ms. Sanz, you are no longer convicted of this crime. Your freedom and civil rights are restored. I can only offer you the apology of this court for the five years you have lost. Godspeed to you. You are free to go, and this court is now adjourned.”

It seemed that it wasn’t until the judge had gone through the door and left the courtroom that everybody remaining took a breath. But then the sound of excited voices exploded in the room. Lucinda turned and hugged me, throwing her free arm around my neck.

“Mickey, I thank you so much,” she said, her tears smearing my freshly dry-cleaned Canali suit. “I can’t believe this. I really can’t.”

While she held me, Marshal Nate came to the table and unlocked her wrist. He started to remove the cuff.

“Can she leave from here?” I asked. “Or does she have to go through the MDC?”

“No, the judge set her free, man,” Marshal Nate said. “She’s free to go. Unless she left property behind at the jail and wants to get it.”

Lucinda turned from my chest to look up at Marshal Nate.

“No, nothing,” she said. “And thank you for being kind to me.”

“Not a problem,” Marshal Nate said. “Good luck to you.”

He turned and walked back to his desk by the holding cell’s door.

“Lucinda, you heard him,” I said. “You’re free. Why don’t you go see your family now.”

She looked over my shoulder at her family waiting in the gallery — her son with her mother, brother, and several cousins. To a person, they had tears running down their faces, even those whose clothing couldn’t hide the tattoos affirming their allegiance to White Fence.

“I can just go?” she asked.

“You can just go,” I said. “If you want to talk to the media after you see your son and everybody, I’ll tell them they can find you outside the courthouse where they can set up cameras.”

“You think I should?”

“Yes, I think you should. Tell them what you’ve been through these last five and a half years.”

“Okay, Mickey. But first, my family.”

I nodded. She got up, walked through the gate into the gallery, and was soon being hugged by her son and all her family members at once.

I took it all in for a long moment and then I heard my name called from the front row. It was Queally. I walked over to the rail, and the reporters squeezed together to hear me.

“For those of you who need film, my client and I will hold a press conference outside the courthouse on the Spring Street side. Bring your cameras and questions and I’ll see you there.”

I turned to look at the AG’s table and saw that Morris was already gone. He had probably slipped out while Lucinda and I hugged and celebrated our victory and his loss. When I looked at the back of the courtroom, I saw my daughter and ex-wife still seated in the last row. I walked through the gate, went down the center aisle, and slipped into the now-empty row in front of them.

“Congratulations, Dad,” Hayley said. “That was amazing.”

“I call it the resurrection walk,” I said. “You don’t get too many of them. Thanks for coming, Hay.”

“I would have missed it if Mom hadn’t called me,” she said.

I looked at Maggie, unsure how to proceed. Luckily, she took the lead.

“Congratulations,” she said. “I obviously was on the wrong side of this one. Please apologize to Harry for me.”

“Well, he’s around here somewhere,” I said. “Maybe you could say that to his face.”

“Apologize for what?” Hayley asked.

“I’ll tell you in the car,” Maggie said.

I nodded that that was okay with me.

“Now what?” Maggie asked. “Are you going to sue the county for millions?”

“If my client wants me to. I’ll have to talk to her.”

“Come on, you know you’re going to sue and you’re going to win.”

There was an edge to her voice. She still had to bust on me even though I had won the day. I let it go. Maggie didn’t have the same hold over me she’d once had. I had reached the point where her disappointments in me no longer mattered.

“We’ll see,” I said. “It helps when the other side has manufactured evidence.”

Hayley pointed behind me and I turned to see Gian Brown standing at the railing.

“The judge would like to see you in chambers,” he said.

“Right now?” I asked.

He nodded and I realized it had been a dumb question.

“I’ll be right there.”

I turned back to my daughter.

“Can you come out tonight and celebrate with me?” I asked.

“Sure,” she said. “Where are you going to go?”

“I don’t know. Dan Tana’s, Musso’s, Mozza? You pick.”

“No, you pick. Just text me where and when.”

I looked at Maggie.

“You can come too, you know,” I said.

“I think you should celebrate with your daughter,” she said. “Have a great time. You earned it.”

I nodded.

“Well, I guess I should go see what the judge wants,” I said.

“Don’t keep her waiting,” Maggie said.

I walked down the row to the center aisle and got there just as Bosch came through the door from the hall.

“Were you here?” I asked. “We won. Lucinda is free.”

“I saw,” he said. “I was standing in the back.”

“Where’s Shami? Did she see it?”

“She was here but she went back to the hotel. She’s going to try to get a red-eye back to New York tonight. I’ll take her to the airport.”

A sudden involuntary need took over and I reached out and hugged him. He stiffened but didn’t pull away.

“We did it, Harry,” I said. “We did it.”

“You did it,” he said.

“No, it takes a team,” I said. “And an innocent client.”

We awkwardly disengaged and both looked at Lucinda, still surrounded by family, her once-manacled hand grasping her son’s.

“That’s a beautiful thing,” Bosch said.

“It is,” I said.

We watched silently for a moment and then I saw Gian standing and staring at me from his corral. I nodded to him. I was coming.

“I gotta go see the judge, but two things, Harry,” I said. “As soon as I’m finished with her, we’re going to have a press conference outside on the Spring Street side. I know it’s not your thing, but I would like you there if you want to be there.”

“And the second?” he asked.

“Dinner tonight. To celebrate. Hayley’s coming. Bring Maddie if you want.”

“That’s something I’m up for. I’ll check with Maddie. Where? When?”

“I’ll text you.”

I started walking toward the railing.

“Hope to see you downstairs,” I said. “You deserve to be there. Call Shami and see if she’ll come back for the press conference. And for dinner. We’ll get her to the airport afterward.”

“I’ll call her.”

I left him there, went through the gate, and crossed the proving ground to go see the judge.

The door to her chambers was open but I reached in and knocked anyway. She was behind the desk, no longer wearing the black robe.

“Come in, Mr. Haller,” she said. “Have a seat.”

I did as she instructed. She was writing on a legal pad and I said nothing to interrupt. She finally put her pen into the holder of an ornate desk set with her name engraved on a brass plaque and looked up at me.

“Congratulations,” she said. “I believe the petitioner in this case had a formidable advocate at her side.”

I smiled.

“Thank you, Your Honor,” I said. “And thank you for cutting through all the distractions and smoke screens to get to an incisive and just ruling. You know, I rarely venture into federal court, because, well, it’s kind of David versus a bunch of Goliaths most of the time, but after this ex—”

“I know what you did, Mr. Haller,” she said.

I paused. Her tone had grown too serious for a post-hearing meeting between a judge and attorney.

“What I did, Your Honor?” I tried.

“I took the long lunch to review everything that was presented before I made my determination,” she said. “That included my prior rulings and actions. And I realized what you’d done in my courtroom.”

I shook my head.

“Well, Judge,” I said. “I think you’re going to have to share it with me because I don’t really—”

“You intentionally drew me into holding you in contempt,” Coelho said.

“Judge, I don’t know what—”

“You needed time to conduct your DNA test before continuing the case. Don’t sit there and deny it.”

I looked down at my hands and spoke without looking at her.

“Uh, Judge, I think I’m going to take the Fifth on that.”

She said nothing. I looked back up at her.

“I should file a complaint with the California Bar for conduct unbecoming an attorney,” she said. “But that could significantly damage both your record and your reputation. As I said, you are a formidable advocate and we need more of them in the justice system.”

I started to breathe easier. She wanted to scare me, not destroy me.

“But your actions cannot go by without any consequences,” she continued. “I’m holding you in contempt, Mr. Haller. Again. I hope you have a toothbrush in your briefcase. You’re going to spend another night at MDC.”

She picked up the desk phone and pushed one number. I knew Gian was on the other end of that call.

“Please send Marshal Nate back,” she said.

She hung up the phone.

“Judge, isn’t there a fine I could pay?” I said. “A donation to the court’s favorite charity or—”

“No, there’s not,” she said.

Marshal Nate entered the room.

“Nate, please take Mr. Haller to holding,” Coelho said. “He’ll be spending the night at MDC.”

Nate looked puzzled and didn’t move.

“He’s being held in contempt,” the judge explained.

Nate moved forward and grabbed me by the arm.

“Let’s go,” he said.

50

It was a long night marked by a fellow inmate’s incessant howling. There was no rhyme or reason to it, just a repeated announcement of mental illness. Since sleep was not an option, I spent the time in the dark of my solo cell sitting on its thin mattress, my back to the concrete wall, toilet paper stuffed in my ears, thinking about prior moves and next moves in my life and work.

The Lucinda Sanz case felt like some sort of pivot to me, as though it might be time to move in a new direction. Chasing cases to feed the machine, grab headlines, and pay for billboards and bus benches — I could not see it being my final destination. I could no longer see it as even valid.

But a pivot to what?

My long night of discontent ended an hour before dawn when my breakfast was delivered — an apple and a bologna-on-white-bread sandwich. I hadn’t eaten since lunch with Bosch the day before, and the jail breakfast tasted as good as anything I’d ever had at Du-par’s or the Four Seasons.

The cell had a three-inch-wide escape-proof window. Soon after morning light started to filter in through the glass, a detention officer opened the door of my cell, dropped a bag containing my suit on the floor, and told me to get dressed. I was being released.

There were men and women in this place who had been held for weeks or months, but my sixteen hours of sleep deprivation and isolation were enough for me. This time they changed me. Something had started with Jorge Ochoa and reached a crescendo with Lucinda Sanz. It was a need to change.

At the release unit I was handed a ziplock bag containing my wallet, watch, and phone. I looked at these things and wondered if I needed them anymore.

A few moments later I stepped out through a steel door into the sun and began my own resurrection walk.