A Class Action Page 6

  Olive’s Court appearance is coming up soon and Stuart has asked me to handle it. She’s still facing charges for driving without a license when she drove into that police car in the market’s parking lot. I go to the courthouse, and to my unpleasant surprise, the deputy city attorney is the same one I dealt with on the federal agent’s drunk driving charge; Miss Seymour. She’s as happy to see me as I am to see her. Our conversation is not exactly cordial, but she agrees to go into the judge’s chambers with me to discuss the case. The only reason she’d like to dispose of it is because she knows that if it goes to trial I’ll be sending out subpoenas to every one of the cops there that night, and that will take at least seven or eight peace officers off the street and cost the City a lot of overtime that they can’t afford.

  We’re buzzed into chambers. It’s Judge Parker, and he remembers me.

  “What can I do for you today Mister Sharp? Are you looking for a dismissal, with a five thousand dollar court cost? You know, we call that bribery around here.”

  Good. He’s got a sense of humor. Unfortunately I’m the butt of it, but I can work with that. I’ve got a lot to do in preparation for Joe Morgan’s preliminary hearing, so I decide to try and wrap this thing up right here and now.

  “Your Honor, I don’t think they’ve got a case here.” This brings the Deputy City Attorney to her feet, loudly protesting. The judge knows that I must have something in mind, because he remembers I’m a clever dealmaker. He waives off the prosecutor’s argument and signals for her to sit down and for me to continue.

  “First, we all know how much time it will take for all those police officers to be brought in off the street. They include members of the Los Angeles Police Department, Los Angeles Sheriffs, Culver City Police, and California Highway Patrol. It’ll be one pain in the rear for them all to get served and brought in here.

  “Added to that, the entire incident took place in the market’s parking lot, on private property, and not on the public street.

  “Furthermore, the car entered the parking lot almost two hundred yards away from where the collision occurred, and not one of your officers can place her behind the wheel before the car pulled into the parking lot. For all we know, this is probably a simple case of a guy using a large parking lot on private property, at night, to give his girlfriend a driving lesson.

  “And lastly, I’ve been authorized by the driver’s employer to offer full restitution to the City for all repairs to the damaged squad car. If we can make a deal to plead no contest to this charge, and allow for a retroactive expunging of the record upon her showing proof of a valid driver’s license, I’d like to wrap this thing up today and prepare for a murder case I’m working on.”

  No comment from the prosecutor. Judge Parker breaks the silence. “If the City Attorney’s office will go along with it, it’s okay with me. Mister Sharp, you’ve raised some good points here today and the offer of full reimbursement to the City and no need to bring in a lot of cops off the street works for me.”

  The deal is made and I’m on my way back to the boat, where my clients are anxiously waiting for me to return. I’m sure for the next couple of years Olive will be paying Stuart every week for the damage she caused to both Stuart’s Camry and the squad car, but that’s the way the ball bounces. If you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime.

  Back at the boat, the crew is sitting in the salon watching the dog watch television. I explain to Olive that her case is over, but that Stuart will be getting a nice big bill from the City for squad car repairs. They all want to know how the deal works with my entering a plea that gets expunged in the future.

  1203.4 (a) is one of the few sections of the California Penal Code that’s so self-explanatory, even this group gathered in front of me could probably read and understand it. But, just to make sure, I paraphrase it for them, adding a little history that doesn’t appear in the law books.

  “The section of the law that covers expungement of records stems from back in the early 1960’s, when a taxicab driver got into a dispute with Mrs. Sterling, his female passenger. They were arguing about her payment of the fare. The cab driver wasn’t going to let her get away with what he considered was wrongful conduct, so he made a citizen’s arrest and turned her over to the police.

  “The wheels of justice ground at their regular slow speed and eventually, all the misdemeanor charges against Ms. Sterling were dismissed… but she wasn’t through yet. She brought suit against the cab company for being imprisoned by the driver and wrongfully prosecuted – and she won against them in civil court. But was that enough for her? Noooo… that wasn’t all… she then sued the City of Oakland, where everything took place. She wanted them to destroy her fingerprints and booking photo, claiming that even though she was never convicted of a crime, the mere fact that she was in their criminal record system might hurt her some time in the future.

  “As a result of the efforts of Mrs. Sterling and quite a few other people over the years, California and a number of other jurisdictions have enacted laws allowing for people who have convictions for certain minor crimes against them to finish up with whatever conditions the court orders and then have an opportunity to have their plea or conviction reversed, a dismissal entered, and the records expunged. And that’s what will happen for Olive. On her behalf, I made a deal with the judge that if she finishes her driver’s education and reimburses the City for damages to their squad car, her plea of No Contest will be withdrawn, a plea of not guilty will be retroactively entered, and the case will be dismissed.”

  They give me a round of light applause. I bow, accept their adulation, and remind them that the fee I’m now owed for that brilliant legal work and lecture is their full cooperation in going over all the reports that Jack brought back from New York. In no time at all, the entire parquet floor of the boat’s salon is covered with paper and everyone’s going over every word.

  After what seems like hours, we get everything gathered up off the floor and put into order. Stuart brought some file folders with him that are especially designed for car dealers to keep track of the expenses incurred on a vehicle from its acquisition to its sale. The folders are like big envelopes open at the top. Outside of the folders are places to enter amounts spent and things done in order to get the car sold.

  When we’re done, we have everything back in order. The cars were stolen. Timely reports were made to the police. The policyholders got paid for their losses. The cars were recovered and sold to I.R.S., who then re-sold them to Stuart and shipped them by truck to Van Nuys, California. Every ‘i’ was dotted and ‘t’ was crossed. Perfect record keeping and compliance on every car.

  As far as everyone’s concerned, it’s a legit operation from start to finish. Stuart is happy. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m still not satisfied. It’s just too neat a package. Something has to be wrong somewhere, because this deal is still too good to be true.

  Myra calls. The caller ID on my display shows that she’s calling from home.

  “Hi, kid, what’s up? You ready to dismiss the murder charges against my client, wanna get laid, or both?”

  “None of the above. I called because I’m worried about the motive. You may have been right when you were in my office. I can’t connect him to the general manager’s explosion. You want to talk deal here?”

  “I know what he did, and I know what he didn’t do, and you’re gonna have to believe me when I tell you that he didn’t do any of the things you’re charging him with. I admit he may have been involved in some hanky-panky with those first two owners, but unless you want to amend your complaint to larceny for taking those bribes, then we don’t have much to talk about.”

  “I can’t do that Pete. This is the first major case the office has had since I got elected to this job, and I don’t want to fall flat on my face.”

  “I agree with you hon, but I can’t allow my client to take a dive to help your image. Maybe we can work something else out that everyone’s happy with.”


  “Okay, I’ll try to think of something, but there are about a million new competing budget requests. Do you have any idea of what it’s going to cost Los Angeles County when the President comes to town? Everyone working overtime, background investigations…”

  “What does that have to do with you? The District Attorney’s office has nothing to do with visits by politicians.”

  “Yeah, but all the money we spend during those visits has to come from somewhere, and our office is a favorite target. We may have badges, but we don’t have those nifty uniforms to make us look like heroes.”

  This was one of the longest telephone conversations I’ve had with Myra since before we got married, when we used to spend hours on the phone with each other. If we could have talked like this when we were married, I’d probably still be living with her in that house in Brentwood Glen. Maybe things worked out for the best. I don’t have a wife anymore, but I do have a young ward and a huge Saint Bernard – and the boat of my dreams. If Myra would come to her senses she could share it all, but that’s unlikely considering the bundle she inherited. She doesn’t need to share anything I’ve got now, because she can afford to buy it outright on her own. So much for bad timing. Her wealthy grandfather passed away shortly after I got tossed out.

  The only sharing I’ll be doing is some wine with Laverne tonight, because until I get to meet George, she’s my favorite neighbor.

  Joe Morgan’s preliminary hearing is set for this afternoon and I’ve already told him that not much is going to happen today. Like most other criminal clients, he wanted to know why we weren’t going to put up a vigorous defense, so I explained that unlike a trial, all the prosecution must do at a ‘prelim’ is show that a crime was committed and that there is probable cause to bind the defendant over for trial. Guilt needn’t be shown. The district attorney only has to show that the defendant ‘probably’ was involved in some way.

  Defense attorneys rarely put on a case at a prelim. They just sit back and see what the prosecution’s case looks like. You’re allowed to cross-examine the prosecution’s witnesses, but you don’t want to ask too many questions, for fear of giving away whatever kind of defense you might be using when the case goes to trial.

  Myra sends in one of her best deputies for Joe’s prelim, and he does it right by the numbers. First, the coroner establishes that there were deaths involved and talks about the autopsy results and causes of death, due to the explosion. Next are the detectives who arrested Joe on an anonymous tip that was called in to them. They’re also the ones who searched his house and found what they considered to be explosive devices – the stuff that Joe told me were for a fireworks display he was working on. I don’t want to try to tear their testimony apart at this time, because it would probably be an effort in futility. I know that the next witness will be the first exploding Suburban’s owner, and he’ll be testifying about the bribes paid to Joe for unwarranted repairs made to his vehicles over the years.

  This is a slam-dunk for the prosecution, but that’s to be expected because most prelims are – and there are no surprises today because Joe gets bound over for trial in the Superior Court. As planned, we refuse to waive time and the trial is scheduled for next month. Myra’s deputy tries to talk me into waiving time, but the only way I’ll do it is if they’ll agree to a reasonable bail amount for Joe. They won’t, so no deal is made. Joe will be staying in custody until trial, and the prosecution only has another couple of weeks to finish putting together what I think is a pretty weak case.

  When we get to trial I intend to call an explosive expert in who will testify that there’s no way the device they found at Joe’s house could ever have been configured to set off a bomb in any car.

  I’ll also be working over the two Suburban owners about their bribes to Joe, to find out what kind of deal was offered them for their testimony – like no filing of charges for conspiracy to commit larceny. I’ll also be grilling them about their thoughts that Joe was angry that their little repair scheme was closed down.

  I don’t see any way they can get a conviction in this case. If Myra has the brain I think she has, she’ll be offering me a deal before the trial. Joe and I discussed a plea bargain and he agrees to seriously consider one if they’ll drop the murder charges and let him plead to the briberies.

  Back at the boat I see that there’s a crew of guys applying some tinted material to the wheelhouse windows. From the outside that tint looks too dark, but when stepping inside I see that the special tint only prevents light from entering – you can still see outside very easily. It’s that special kind of tint that only affects the side that the light is on. In the daytime, you can see outside, but nobody can see in. At night, when the interior is lit up, people outside can see in, but you can’t see out.

  There’s no sense in asking who hired them, or what this whole procedure is for, because I know that forces beyond my control are at work around here.

  The phone rings and my caller ID display shows a number that looks familiar. The caller is a female.

  “Hello, Mister Peter Sharp?”

  There’s a lot of telemarketing going on, so whenever a strange voice asks for me by my first and last name, I assume it’s a stranger who wants to give me some sales pitch for something I’m definitely not interested in. Past experience has shown that if you start out by asking some questions, you can usually get the telemarketer to back off. They never want to give you their name, and will never give you a location they’re calling from, or a telephone number to call them back at.

  I start out with my first question. “Who’s calling please?”

  To my surprise it’s not a telemarketer. “Mister Sharp, can I call you Peter? This is Patty Seymour.”

  “I’m sorry Miss Seymour, but I don’t recognize your name. Is this about a current case we’re both working on?”

  “No, I’m the calendar deputy City Attorney in the West Los Angeles courtroom you appeared in a couple of times this month. I’m afraid we didn’t get off to a very good start in our past few meetings.”

  Jeez. This is the ex-district attorney’s niece – the one who hates my guts for getting her bi-sexual uncle ousted from office.

  “Oh, yeah… listen, I really am sorry about your uncle. I had nothing personal against him, I mean, he really dressed nice and now he’ll probably wind up being the governor, so everything worked out for the best. If you…”

  “No, no Peter. I know it was nothing personal. I’m not calling for that at all. I’m calling to ask if you’d like to accompany me to a legal function. Judge Parker will be addressing our legal group and he suggested that I bring you along as my guest. It’s a monthly meeting of our law luncheon club, and he’ll be talking about confidential informants and probable cause.”

  This is a pleasant surprise. I really thought she hated me. I guess the only way to attract members of the opposite sex is by ignoring them. That must be true, because over the years, thousands of women have been using that system, obviously trying to attract me.

  “Well yes, that would be nice. Why don’t you e-mail me the information, and I’ll pick you up.”

  If I remember correctly, she wasn’t too bad to look at. This could be very interesting. I’ve already got a connection with the District Attorney’s office, and if this relationship gives me access to the City Attorney’s office, my opportunities as a criminal defense lawyer will definitely be bumped up a notch.

  After hanging up with Patty, I see that the window tinting crew has gone. There’s a knock on the hull - it’s Tom and Lori, the married couple who are dockmasters at our anchorage. After inviting them aboard we exchange small talk about the Marina for a while and they surprise me with some news. “Mister Sharp, your little one called us earlier… we’re here to give you your boat handling test. You’re the only one on the dock who hasn’t taken it yet. Will you be driving from down here at the lower steering station, or from up on the flybridge?”

  What the hell is she up to? She knows
I don’t even know how to start the engines on this huge boat. I look towards her stateroom. The door is partly ajar and I see her peering out, pointing up in the air.

  “Mister Sharp, did you hear us? Will you be driving from down here or up on the bridge?”

  I received the signal from my coach. “Er, uh, I’ll be doing it from up on the bridge.”

  “Very smart, Mister Sharp. That’s the best place to do it from. Much better all-around vision from up there.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

  Suzi comes out tells us that she’s afraid to watch, so she’ll be hiding in her stateroom. This impresses Tom and Lori.

  “She’s such a little doll… we just love her.”

  The dockmasters step off of our boat and go up on the flybridge of a neighbor’s boat, where they sit down and prepare to make notes on their clipboards as they view my boat handling performance. This may wind up becoming one of my most embarrassing moments.

  The kid comes out of her stateroom and gives me only one instruction. “When you’re up there, put your hands on the clutch controls, but don’t hold on too tight. I’ll be working them from down here, and I don’t want to feel you fighting me from up there.”