JO01 - Guilty or Else Page 2

  “I’ll talk to Rodriguez before the arraignment and pass along the offer, but I’ll need to know more before I can recommend anything. How long is this offer going to last?” I asked.

  “Until tomorrow at five o’clock. After that, I’m prepared to go all out. Your client will be convicted and locked up forever, and I hope he suffers each and every day. Goodbye, Mr. O’Brien.”

  I looked into her face, calm, innocent and beautiful. “Like I said, I’ll talk to him.”

  “See you in court,” she said, managing to give me a weak smile. Maybe it wasn’t a smile at all. Maybe it was a smirk, a sardonic expression of confidence. Maybe she knew I had never tried a murder case. Maybe she knew my biggest criminal case had been a pickpocket. The guy did a little time.

  I turned and walked out of the room.

  On the way back to my office, I stopped for a bite at Harvey’s Broiler, a drive-in restaurant on Firestone. While I tucked into my Fat Boy burger, I reviewed the file Roberta Allen had given me. No doubt about it, just as she’d said, the case was a sure bet for the State. With evidence this tight, Clearance Darrow couldn’t get Rodriguez off. Yet they wanted me to offer him a deal. Why?

  If this case went to trial, especially in an election year, the D.A. could show his office was tough on crime. The voters had a shameless passion for hard-nosed politicians who didn’t coddle criminals. The D.A. could add another notch to his alligator briefcase, another killer got the max. All over town there would be cheering in the streets.

  There had to be something missing. I rolled the facts around in my mind. Again, why me? Way did Johnson dump the case in my lap? He’s a member of Welch’s for re-election committee. Could it have to do with the senator’s campaign?

  Johnson had to figure I wouldn’t dig, wouldn’t ask questions. He knew about my experience and probably figured I was a little naïve. He knew I needed money. But why would he assume I’d go along with the deal? Because, I’d sat on my hands and told him I would. That’s why.

  C H A P T E R 3

  The next day, I waited for Ernesto Rodriguez in a room the court made available to lawyers and their incarcerated clients holding pre-trial conferences. The room, a stark and unforgiving cubicle, had plain white walls and a cold, grey cement floor. A bluish light radiated from the fluorescent tubes embedded in the acoustic tile above. A metal table, bolted down, occupied the center. Two chairs, also bolted, faced the table.

  At nine-thirty, the guards appeared with Rodriguez. They hustled him into a chair, and his body sagged with fatigue. The guards ran chains through eyebolts welded to the chair and locked them to the iron encircling his hands and feet. With his arms shackled behind his back, the chains hitched too tight, his torso tilted forward at an oblique angle. Fear and anger burned in his dark eyes.

  I sat down across from him. “Mr. Rodriguez, I’m Jimmy O’Brien. I’ve been appointed by the court to represent you today at the arraignment.” Rodriguez wore a white jumpsuit with the words LA County Jail stenciled in India ink on the back. He had a full head of black hair, which he wore Indian style, hanging long and straight. I imagined when he wasn’t in jail that he pulled it back into a ponytail.

  The D.A.’s report had a copy of his driver’s license. It said he stood six feet tall, was thirty-three years old, and weighed 186 pounds.

  “As you know, Mr. Rodriguez, you’ve been charged with first degree murder. And I’m here to help you as much as I can.”

  He remained silent, eyes boring holes in the steel table.

  “I’m talking to you!”

  “Hey, man, you’re wasting your time.” He spat the words, hard and angry. “They needed somebody to hang and those gabachos picked me.”

  I ignored the remark. “Listen, I’ve spoken to the Judge and the D.A. They’ve agreed to drop life without parole. You could be out in twenty-five years. That is if you plead guilty today.”

  With effort, he bent his neck back and looked at me straight on. “Plead? I will plead to nothing. I didn’t kill her,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Listen to me, damn it. Today is the last day. Tomorrow they’ll withdraw the offer.”

  “You no comprende? I don’t give a shit about you, the other abogados, or the judge. No way will I say I did it. But, hey man, tell them what you want.” He closed his eyes and lowered his head.

  “I can’t enter a guilty plea without your consent.” I placed the D.A.’s report on the table. “Let’s look at what they’ve got. An eyewitness saw you arguing with the victim on the evening she died. They found her blood splattered all over your pickup truck; and they found the knife you used to kill her hidden under the seat. Did they make all of that up? I don’t think so.”

  His eyes stayed closed, his head down.

  “The report says you have no alibi. She died Saturday night, the night before your arrest. If you didn’t kill her, where were you when she died?”

  Rodriguez remained silent with no reaction.

  “It says here you have a prior arrest, beat up some guy in a bar, showing a pattern of violence. Are you a violent person, Ernesto? How long ago did this happen?”

  It was like talking to a zombie. All I heard was the sound of his breathing.

  “Why were you arguing with the murdered girl?” I paused. “What was all that about? Tell me, goddammit. Tell me what you and the girl were arguing about.”

  I waited and stared at him. The chains tightened and loosened with each breath he took.

  “Listen to me. I can’t help you unless you talk to me.”

  He raised his head, shot a look filled with contempt. “Pendejo, you are with them. You don’t want to help me. You want me to lie, tell everyone I killed her. Then you collect your fee and brag to your people how you nailed another wetback.”

  The small hairs on the back of my neck stiffened. What he said hit a nerve. I’d pounded him hard, trying to get him to plead guilty while I just gave a cursory look at the facts. I was just following Johnson’s orders. God, what kind of a criminal lawyer am I?

  “Look, Ernesto, part of my job is to let you know what the D.A. is offering.”

  He continued to glare at me defiantly. “Shit man, I did not do it,” he said.

  “But the evidence…” I stopped and thought for a moment. “Please listen to me. I have an idea. The judge handling this case wants to wrap it up. Maybe I can get you a better deal, twenty to life. How does that sound?”

  Ernesto looked at me and moved his head slowly from side to side.

  I took an oath to act in the best interests of my clients regardless of their crimes or their guilt or innocence. With this case, I took a few dollars to tip the scales of justice, tip them Johnson’s way. A chimpanzee in a three-piece suit could have done a better job for this guy. Give Jimmy a banana; he’ll do as he’s told.

  The hell with Johnson, Rodriguez is my client now, but the law said I had to pass along the offer. It wasn’t a bad deal, twenty-five to life for a vicious murder. Okay, I did what Johnson asked me to do. I gave him the deal. Now I’ll listen to what Rodriguez has to say—if he says anything. Then I’ll try to figure out what’s in his best interests.

  “Mr. Rodriguez, c’mon man, talk to me. I’m on your side.”

  “You say you work for me. You don’t want the truth. You work for the judge.”

  “No, I—”

  His eyes challenged me. “How much you get paid to lie?”

  “I’m not lying. I’m just trying to get you the best deal I can.”

  “I don’t want no stinking deals. I don’t care what they do to me. I am not going to tell the judge I am a woman killer.”

  “Maybe you didn’t mean to kill her. Things just got out of hand—”

  His nostrils flared. “You are not listening to me.”

  “I’m trying, but you’re not saying much for me to listen to,” I said. “Look, Ernesto, we don’t stand a chance. They have all the evidence they need to get a conviction. They’ll nail you with first degree a
nd you’ll rot in prison. You’ll never get out, but right now they want to settle the case.”

  His voice exploded. “Que?”

  “What do you mean why?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Why, if they have such a strong case, do they want to settle with me, offer me a chance to be free someday?”

  I sat straight back in my chair. Why indeed. “That’s a good question, Ernesto, and I don’t have an answer for it. I just don’t know.”

  “Here is something else you don’t know, Mr. Lawyer Man. I would rather die in jail than lie and say that I killed Señorita Gloria. Even if they let me go, I would not say I killed her.” Then in a calm voice he asked, “You have any niños?”

  “No.”

  “If you did, could you tell them you are a liar and a killer?”

  “I see where you’re going with this, but do you want your kids to know you’re rotting away in a prison cell?”

  “They will know I did not kill nobody. That is more importante.”

  With all the evidence, he had to be guilty. But even so, he had the right to a fair trial. And I was the only person in the world standing between him and a life without hope. Was it better for him to take a deal? Should he accept a reduced charge, or was going to trial the better option? It had to be his choice, but I wanted him to understand the full consequences of going all the way.

  “Are you absolutely sure you want to go to trial? We will most likely lose. Maybe it would be better if you got a new lawyer.”

  “You kidding me, man? All lawyers work for the judges. I will tell them I did not do it and they can do what they want with me. I don’t need no lawyer.”

  “Listen to me, Ernesto, you need a lawyer—believe me you need a lawyer. And, unless you want someone else, I’m it. If you want me, I’ll work for you, not the judge or the system. But I’m obligated to tell you the deal that they’re offering.”

  “I told you! I want no deal.”

  “That means you’ll have to stand trial. They have a mortal-lock case, means they’ll win and you’ll go to jail forever. We have no evidence to present, no witnesses— nothing—we have no money. Christ Almighty, Rodriguez!”

  Ernesto Rodriguez continued to sit there with his head down. I wasn’t getting through to him. “Listen to me. The complaint says ‘The People of the State of California versus Ernesto Rodriguez.’ That’s twenty million people against you. How can you possibly win?”

  “I don’t care. I already lost. They don’t give a damn about anything. I’m a Mexican piece of shit, just another spic in their eyes. But I won’t lie to make them feel better when they slam that iron door on me.”

  There might have been some truth in what he said about the ugly specter of racial prejudice in the system. But in this case, with all the evidence pointing at him, they had the right guy.

  “One last chance, guilty or not guilty?”

  He shook his head violently. “Not guilty!”

  I knew Johnson would be pissed, but I couldn’t plead him down to second degree without his consent. If he wanted to maintain his innocence, then we would go to trial. If that’s the way it’s going to be, then I’d give Rodriguez everything I had. If Johnson doesn’t like it, so what!

  “I promise I’ll do the best I can for you,” I said to Ernesto Rodriguez. “I’ll tell them you didn’t do it, and we’ll go to trial.”

  The voice of the deputy sheriff followed the metallic sound of the lock being turned. “It’s time to remove the prisoner. His arraignment’s in ten minutes.”

  “Ernesto, I’ll see you in the courtroom.” I stood up to leave. The guard untangled the chains binding Rodriguez to the chair. He looked up at me, and his eyes softened. I think he gave me a slight nod before they dragged him away.

  C H A P T E R 4

  I walked into Division III somewhat concerned about the arraignment, wondering if Johnson would explode when I announced the not guilty plea. Placing my briefcase on the defendant’s table, I glanced at the prosecutor’s station.

  Roberta Allen hadn’t arrived.

  Because of the extra security required in a prominent murder case, only one arraignment would be held in the morning session: The People versus Ernesto Rodriguez.

  Two guards entered with Rodriguez handcuffed between them. They brought him to the defendant’s table and sat him down next to me. He sat stiffly, turning his head, looking in all directions with wide eyes, like someone caught in a trap in a strange land.

  Roberta Allen finally entered, checked in with the clerk and walked briskly to her table. She wore a no-nonsense prosecutor’s outfit: a charcoal jacket and a slim skirt, but somehow she made it seem feminine. Without acknowledging my presence, she sat and arranged several documents in front of her.

  My client looked like he might break in two if he bent over. I turned to the bailiff. “Can’t you remove his cuffs during the proceedings?” I asked.

  “We have our orders—security. You know better than that.”

  “I’ll take responsibility.”

  “No way, forget it.”

  A small green light flashed above the chamber door, a cue to the bailiff. He moved to the front and turned to face us. “All rise. The court is now in session. The Honorable Robert B. Johnson presiding.”

  Johnson strolled in, adjusting his black robes as he ascended the steps to his throne. “Clerk, call the case,” he said.

  “Docket number 72-3852, the People of the State of California versus Ernesto Rodriguez, section 187, Penal Code. Murder in the first degree,” the clerk said and took her seat.

  “James O’Brien, counsel for the defendant, Judge.” I placed my hand on Rodriguez’s shoulder.

  “Roberta Allen for the People, Your Honor,” she said, then sat and adjusted her skirt.

  The Judge glanced from Roberta to me. He paused a bit too long when he looked at me. Finally, he said, “Mr. Rodriguez, you are charged with murder in the first degree. Shall the court read the complaint?”

  “Reading waived,” I said.

  “The People move to reduce the sentence, second degree, if the defendant pleads guilty today,” Roberta said, half standing.

  Johnson nodded at her. “So ordered.” Then he turned back to Rodriguez and me. “How do you plead to the charge? Guilty or not guilty?” The arraignment: just another routine matter, all in a day’s work.

  The critical moment had arrived. I leaned into Rodriguez.

  “Last chance, still not guilty?” I whispered.

  His silence answered my question.

  I took a deep breath. “My client, Ernesto Rodriguez, pleads—not guilty.”

  Johnson leaned forward, frowning. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  I glanced at the prosecutor’s table and saw Roberta stuffing papers into her briefcase. I turned back to Johnson. “Not guilty, your honor.”

  The plea obviously confused Johnson. He swung his head from me to the prosecutor’s table and back again. “Approach the bench,” he ordered.

  The deputy D.A. and I walked forward. Johnson put his hand over the mike fixed to his desk. “What’s this all about, O’Brien?”

  “Deal’s off. Like I said, not guilty.”

  “You can’t change the deal.” He glanced at Roberta.

  “Didn’t we agree on a deal?” Before she answered, he faced me again. “You were supposed to bring in a plea.”

  “Rodriguez refused it.”

  “Just what are you trying to pull?”

  Roberta jumped in. “Judge, the People made an offer. Mr. O’Brien and his client refused the deal. We’re ready to go forward. We’ll take the case to trial.”

  Johnson gave her a dismissive wave and continued to stare at me. “Have you explained to Rodriguez that he’ll lose his case and die in prison? Did you tell him there’s no way he can win?”

  “Judge, he says he didn’t do it.”

  Johnson’s confusion turned to anger. “That’s bull and you know it. I don’t think you tried to get a plea, I think
you saw dollar signs, six to nine months of steady work. Talk to your client again. Get the guilty plea!”

  “Won’t do any good. His mind is made up.”

  “I want to talk to him myself.”

  I felt my face getting hot. “You’re going beyond your authority. My client says he didn’t do it, and maybe he didn’t. He has a right to a trial. I signed on as his lawyer. I’m staying.”

  Roberta broke in, cool and calm. “Your Honor, Mr. O’Brien has agreed to represent the defendant. I suggest we set a date for the prelim.”

  Johnson looked at Roberta one more time, then sighed. “All right, O’Brien, it’s your case. Don’t come back later and try to get released and don’t think you’ll get any money from the county. You won’t get a lousy dime. If Rodriguez wants you, you’re stuck.”

  I turned to my client and watched him stand with his head bowed. I hoped he was praying silently for a miracle. He had to know the consequences of his decision. Going to trial, murder one, no money and the deck stacked against him. A sure trip to oblivion.

  “Trial is set for sixty days from today in Norwalk Superior Court,” Johnson said, biting his words. “Preliminary hearing in ten days, also at Norwalk. Does that suit the People, Miss Allen?”

  She nodded.

  “Okay, court’s adjourned.” Johnson picked up his gavel.

  I figured I’d push it a little. “Wait a minute, Judge, let’s keep the date open.” Without consulting Rodriguez, I said, “My client waives time. It’ll take longer to be properly prepared.”

  “You will be in Norwalk Superior Court in sixty days ready for trial. Is that clear?” Johnson raised his gavel, ready to slam it down. “And, remember, not a dime from the county. I’ll see to it.”

  “Judge, I want to discuss my client’s bail—”

  “Bail denied. Now get the hell out of my courtroom.” He banged the gavel. “Court’s adjourned.”

  He jumped up and bolted from the room. Any ideas I had about getting future favors from Johnson left the room with him.

  The guards started to march my client back to the courthouse cell, where he would wait for the return bus to the central jail. I asked them to hold up for a moment.