Contempt: A Legal Thriller Page 20

  Skunk looked at Kristin in disbelief. After a hard look from her, he shook himself and calmed his features.

  Thane decided it was finally time to stop this production.

  “Objection, your Honor. How do we know this tape hasn’t been altered?”

  Before the judge could answer, Stone couldn’t help but respond. “By whom, Mr. Banning? Mr. Davis has been Chief of Security at this bank for over twelve years. Believe me, sir, this gentleman is beyond reproach.”

  “I didn’t mean by him, your Honor,” Thane responded.

  Judge Reynolds stared down at Thane from the bench. “Mr. Banning, don’t even think of going there.”

  “Your Honor, is inquiring about the chain of evidence out of line? I’m not accusing any one individual of changing the footage: I simply want some assurance that it went directly from Mr. Davis to the District Attorney’s office and didn’t, for example, lay unattended on someone’s desk.”

  Stone looked at the judge. “I obtained this security footage myself directly from Mr. Davis—and at no time has it been out of my direct control.”

  Thane reluctantly retook his seat. The image on the monitor continued to play on fast forward until it reached 12:00 a.m. Stone nodded at Davis, who stopped the DVD.

  “We’re now far past the time Mr. Burns claimed he sat on that bench, and as you can see, he didn’t show. Mr. Burns’s alibi simply does not bear out.” Stone once again gave a look of appreciation to Davis. “Thank you very much, sir. Your assistance has been invaluable. No further questions, your Honor.”

  Stone returned to his table, where Keaton gave him a quick pat on the back. Winston’s face didn’t display the same pride that Keaton’s did, but he nodded in agreement as Stone took his seat.

  Thane remained sitting, looking first at Davis, then over at Stone. He finally rose and approached the witness. “Mr. Davis, would you please restart the footage from 8:00 p.m.?” Davis once again punched in some numbers, and the image reappeared on the monitor. Thane walked over to the monitor and studied it closely.

  “At my signal, I want you to pause the picture. Don’t stop it: just put it on pause.” He held up his hand for a moment, then dropped it. “Now.”

  Davis pushed the pause button, freezing the image on the monitor.

  “Perfect,” Thane said. He pointed to the upper right-hand part of the monitor. “Please do me a favor and enlarge this store window from the other side of the park.” An unidentifiable red jumble of lines filled the monitor, like red worms in some alien formation.

  “Thank you. Go ahead and start it again.”

  The red reflection remained on the screen for just a moment, then disappeared, only to reappear in a different configuration of lines, equally unintelligible, which again disappeared after a couple of seconds.

  “Can you tell me what that is, Mr. Davis?”

  Davis studied the image for a moment: red lines made up of sections, almost like hieroglyphs. He shook his head—then the confusion on his face melted into recognition.

  “Ah, that’s the reflection of the time-and-temp sign outside the bank. It’s reflecting on that store window.”

  “That makes sense. Okay, I want you to freeze the image again—now!”

  Once again, the image froze. Thane turned on an overhead projector that was set up next to the monitor and copied the shape of the red reflection onto an overhead transparency, taking his time to ensure he copied the lines as displayed. The courtroom was dead silent, the gallery seemingly mesmerized by the image shining on the wall of the courtroom.

  “I believe your neon display also gives the date. But since we’re viewing the reflection in the store window—” Thane turned the transparency over: it now read 7/23/19.

  For the first time during Thane’s cross-examination, Keaton looked uncomfortable. Winston looked nauseous. But if Stone felt anything, it didn’t show on his face, even when Thane looked directly at him.

  “The twenty-third?” Thane remarked. “I thought we were viewing the twenty-eighth of July.”

  Davis looked at the remote control. “That’s what I entered. I swear.”

  “Mr. Davis, if someone wanted, could they make a copy of July twenty-third footage and lay it over the July twenty-eighth footage?”

  “I suppose so, but the date would still be on it.”

  “Maybe so,” Thane said. “But would it be possible to digitally add a white line, filling in the three to make it look like an eight? Tell you what, do me a favor and enlarge the date for us please, as large as you can. Have it fill the screen to the degree possible, and then start it again.”

  Davis glared at Stone for a moment, then focused on the request at hand, enlarging the date until it filled the screen.

  The left side of the number three occasionally appeared less solid than the rest of the number, a couple of times flickering in an unsteady way. If the line wasn’t there, the eight would clearly be a three. Several members of the jury glanced from side to side, and the murmur from the gallery started to grow.

  “That doesn’t look right to me,” Thane said.

  “Objection, Your Honor,” Stone demanded.

  Judge Reynolds leaned forward. “And that objection would be?”

  Stone stood for a moment, then slowly sat back down without saying a word. Thane walked over and stood next to the witness stand. Davis shifted in his seat, turning toward him.

  “Mr. Banning, I swear to you I did not change this tape.”

  “I believe you, Mr. Davis. As our District Attorney stated, you are beyond reproach. He also said it hasn’t left his possession. But just out of curiosity, could you please punch in the date July twenty-third at 8:00 p.m.—just for kicks?”

  The monitor once again filled with the image of a park bench with the same couple sitting on it, the new date in question appearing at the bottom of the screen. Within a matter of seconds, the same punk-rock teenager approached the ATM, and once again the young woman spilled the contents of her purse.

  Thane turned and looked coldly at Stone. “Oops.”

  But this time no one in the courtroom smiled. Several members of the jury turned and looked toward Stone, who rose quickly. “Your Honor, I can assure you that this DVD is exactly what Mr. Davis gave me. I had no reason to alter it.”

  “Unless, of course, Mr. Burns appeared in the original,” Thane said. This time there was no reprimand from the bench.

  “I have no idea,” Stone said, “and we may never know. Your Honor, I ask that you instruct the jury that they should not assume Mr. Burns appeared on the missing tape simply because of a surveillance error. Believe me, I wish we had accurate footage.”

  As Judge Reynolds considered Stone’s request, Davis quietly offered a suggestion. “I brought the original.”

  Stone stopped cold. He glanced toward Keaton and Winston, but only Keaton would return his stunned look. Winston continued staring at the base of the witness stand, looking dazed.

  The judge leaned over and looked at the witness. “This isn’t the original?”

  “No, sir. I would never give out the original. Mr. Banning’s assistant,” Davis nodded toward Kristin, “came to my office Saturday morning and said Mr. Stone would likely be coming by for a copy of this footage, so I made him one. If I’d known he was going to call on a Sunday, I would have dropped it by his office after I made it. Ms. Peterson asked me to bring the original today.”

  Stone’s eyes burned as he looked over at Kristin, who simply nodded in his direction. “Looks like you get your wish,” Thane said.

  Davis pulled a second DVD from his jacket pocket and handed it to Thane, who inserted it into the machine. Davis held up the remote control. “I’m assuming . . .?”

  “If you would, please. July twenty-eighth.”

  A new image appeared, eliciting a buzz in the courtroom when Skunk Burns event
ually walked into the picture and settled onto the park bench. He glanced around from side to side a couple of times, then slumped down on the bench, looking as though he was preparing for a potentially long evening.

  “Fast-forward, if you would,” Thane said.

  The image and the corresponding time once again raced by, but Skunk never left the park bench—until almost 11:30 p.m., well after the time of the murder.

  The judge banged his gavel, but the room did not come to order for almost a full minute. Once the crowd finally quieted down, he turned toward the Prosecution’s table and stared at the District Attorney for a moment. He finally spoke, his tone uncharacteristically harsh.

  “Mr. Stone… Can you explain this?”

  Stone remained seated and silent; he could only manage to shake his head. Judge Reynolds continued studying him, but Stone wouldn’t blink first. The judge sent the jurors out of the room, then turned to the DA’s colleagues.

  “Mr. Winston and Mr. Keaton, if either of you are able to shed any light on what just happened here, now is the time to speak up. I can’t prove this was the result of wrongdoing within your department, but I have strong suspicions already—and rest assured, somebody will be looking into it. If nothing else, I hope you will speak up as a matter of professional pride.”

  Keaton refused to make eye contact with the judge. Winston stared at the floor. He slowly shook his head, almost imperceptibly, as if in shock. His body language was shouting so loud the judge zeroed in on him immediately.

  “Mr. Winston,” boomed Judge Reynolds, “I’d like to speak with you in my chambers.”

  The judge started to rise from his chair, but at first Winston didn’t move.

  “Mr. Winston. Now, if you would.”

  Winston continued staring blankly at the floor. If he weren’t sweating so profusely, he would have appeared catatonic. He remained seated for a moment longer; then, under the unwavering gaze of the judge, he lifted himself up from his chair with great effort. He ignored the stares as he mechanically made his way across the room like a man walking down death row.

  Judge Reynolds looked at Winston like a disappointed parent, then turned his attention toward the DA. “Court is in recess until this afternoon at 2:00 p.m.” He banged his gavel almost angrily and disappeared into his chambers with a whirl of dark robes.

  After the judge and Winston left the courtroom, Thane walked over to the railing that separated him from the gallery and addressed the reporters.

  “I’m sure the members of the press have the same questions the judge has, and I can answer them for you. The security footage was changed to cover DA Stone’s involvement in the murder. Detective Gruber knew Mr. Stone had been involved in the death of Lauren McCoy. The missing computer disk covered notes the detective had made during the time period when the young woman was killed. Check the dates on the missing disk. Detective Gruber was blackmailing Mr. Stone, threatening to write a book about this case, so our law-and-order District Attorney had him killed.”

  Stone rose—but he did not respond, only shaking his head in utter disbelief.

  Thane didn’t take his eyes off the rapt reporters. “I will meet any members of the press who are interested in hearing more outside in ten minutes, at which time I will share some facts I think you’ll agree prove my accusation.”

  Journalists grabbed their gear and scrambled for the door like the building was on fire. A few of them stayed behind and hollered out questions at Stone, but when the DA refused to even look at them, they too left the courtroom.

  Thane returned to the defense table where Kristin stood next to Skunk, her arm around his shoulder. While their client still looked a little confused, Kristin sported a megawatt smile.

  “Funny,” she said. “They never taught me any of this in law school.”

  “Guess you were right,” Thane said. “This case is a media magnet.”

  Gideon walked up to them, grinning and nodding his head like a bobble head doll. “Damn. This lawyering stuff can be kind of fun.”

  “Is that it?” Skunk asked. “Is it over?”

  “Not quite,” Thane responded, “but just about. I need to do one more thing right now. Unless I’m mistaken, somebody’s going to want to talk to me before I get outside.” He pulled a business card from his shirt pocket and his cell phone from his jacket as he walked toward the door to the courtroom.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-ONE

  Thane made his way down the courthouse corridor, ignoring the curious stares of the audience filing out of the gallery. One older guy in a flannel shirt even clapped his hands together loudly; Thane was surprised how strange it felt to have a fan.

  He turned the corner to head toward the elevator and saw Stone standing next to the small conference room reserved for the prosecution. A policeman stood nearby, and when Stone nodded, the cop ushered away the few people who had been milling around to watch in case anything of interest happened.

  As Thane approached, Stone stepped in front of him, blocking his way. “You know I didn’t kill Lauren McCoy,” Stone said. “Throw all the mud you like, but it won’t work. It’ll only make you look petty.”

  “I’ll let the reporters decide how it makes me look.”

  “You’ve got nothing. Whatever you tell them will just be some bullshit fantasy you made up.”

  “What about the ether, Stone? Did I make that up?”

  Stone’s eyebrows rose in confusion. “Ether? What the hell are you talking about?”

  Thane stepped closer and lowered his voice. “At my release hearing you said Lauren McCoy had been knocked unconscious with ether before being dragged down the alley and stabbed. But there was no mention of ether in the original trial. The police report never mentioned it, at no time does it appear in the court transcript, and your star witness testified he saw me walk with Lauren McCoy into the alley. How did you know something that never came out in court?”

  Stone’s brow furrowed. “So I got it confused with another case. Big deal.”

  “No, I read the coroner’s report, a copy of which I have with me to give to the press. Lab tests detected a small amount of ether, but not enough to jump out during the investigation unless you were looking for it. So how did you know she was knocked out unless you killed her or know who did?”

  Stone drew in a slow breath, then opened the door to the little conference room and waved Thane inside. “Nobody comes in,” he called out to the cop standing guard. Thane followed him into the room, and Stone shut the door.

  “You are so wrong it’s not funny,” Stone said. “Gruber wasn’t blackmailing me.”

  “Someone called a publisher from Gruber’s home and said he had information on a big scandal,” Thane said. “A call was also made to your office not long after he was killed. You’re the one who suggested to the police that the MO of the burglar fit my client’s. You went to Mr. Song immediately after he said he saw my client and got him to change his story. And you’re the one who got the ‘anonymous tip’ about where the stolen goods were hidden.”

  “I swear to you, those things happened. I know how it looks, but they just happened that way.”

  “And now we find out you altered evidence that would clear my client. You killed Gruber because he knew of your involvement in the McCoy murder, and then you took step after step to ensure my client took the fall. You’re no better than the criminals you prosecute.”

  “You’re delusional. I didn’t kill Gruber.”

  “You think the reporters are going to buy that?” Thane asked. “Especially after you altered the security footage?” Stone started to protest, but Thane cut him off. “Stop it. You telling me you think Winston is going to hang tough under Judge Reynolds’s questioning? Are you kidding me? He looked like he was going to throw up. You know he’s already folded. You know it.”

  Stone didn’t respond.


  “Come on, Stone. It’s just you and me now. The reporters are going to look at everything I just told you, including your knowledge of the ether and you changing the security tape. You think I need to lead them there? Who’s delusional now?”

  Stone continued to glare, but his fury couldn’t hold much longer.

  “I remember reading about you campaigning for DA while I was in prison,” Thane said. “You boasted about being willing to make the tough decisions. Being tough on crime. Turns out you’re nothing but a hypocrite and a coward. A weak, self-serving, sniveling coward. It’s time the public knew the truth.”

  “Don’t talk to those reporters,” Stone said. “You don’t understand. You’d be doing more harm than you could ever imagine, and not to me. I’m talking about harm to the city.”

  “Right. Because you only care about your citizens.”

  “I do care about the people of L.A. They’re why I’ve done . . . everything I did.”

  “Right.” Thane turned and walked toward the door. As his hand grabbed hold of the doorknob, Stone called out to him, almost pleadingly. “I didn’t kill Lauren McCoy. Gruber did.”

  Thane froze as the words soaked in, then looked back over his shoulder and saw Stone leaning on the table for support. “Near the end of your trial,” Stone continued, “I discovered evidence implicating Detective Gruber in the girl’s death. Gruber killed her. Not me.”

  For a moment, the honk of a car in traffic outside was the only sound in the room.

  “When you learned that Gruber and your star witness knew each other, you figured out they lied about not having met so his testimony would hold water.”

  “Yes,” Stone said reluctantly.

  “Which led you to learn about Gruber’s involvement in the murder.”

  “I’m not proud of it, but I had to make a tough decision,” Stone said.

  “Your political future—or my life.”

  “That is absolutely untrue. It wasn’t about me. I swear to God,” Stone said. “That’s what you need to understand. I didn’t learn about Gruber until the trial was almost over. If I’d exposed him, hundreds of his cases would have been overturned. Hundreds of guilty felons, back on the streets. Hundreds. Think about that and tell me it wasn’t a tough call.”