“Oh, I clipped her wings a little bit at the end of her case, then came out on mine like gangbusters. She’s probably trying to figure out how to counter.”
“Probably.”
She went back to her file. I was clearly being wordlessly dismissed. First my daughter, now the ex-wife I still loved. I did not want to go gentle into that good night.
“So what about us?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You and me. Things didn’t end so good the other night at Dan Tana’s.”
She closed the file, slid it aside and looked up at me. Finally.
“Some nights are like that. It doesn’t change anything.”
I pushed off the counter and came to the breakfast bar. I leaned down on two elbows. We were eye to eye.
“So if nothing’s changed, then what about us? What are we doing?”
She shrugged.
“I want to try again. I still love you, Mags. You know that.”
“I also know that it didn’t work before. We are the kind of people who bring home what we do. It wasn’t good.”
“I’m beginning to think my client is innocent and that she was set up and that even with all of that I still might not be able to get her off. How would you like to bring that home with you?”
“If it bothers you so much then maybe you should run for DA. The job’s open, you know.”
“Yeah, maybe I just will.”
“Haller for the People.”
“Yeah.”
I hung around for a few minutes after that but could tell I wasn’t making any headway with Maggie. She had a skill for freezing you out and making you feel it.
I told her I was going and to tell Hayley I said good night. There was no rush to bar the door before I could exit. But Maggie did call one thing after me that made me feel good.
“Just give it time, Michael.”
I turned back to her.
“What are you talking about?”
“Not what, who. Hayley… and me.”
I nodded and said I would.
Driving back to my place I let the accomplishments of the court day boost my spirits. I started thinking about the next witness I planned to put on the stand after Lisa. The task ahead was still formidable but it didn’t help to think that far in advance. You start with a day’s momentum and go from there.
I took Beverly Glen up to the top, then drove Mulholland east toward Laurel Canyon. I got glimpses of the city lights both to the north and the south. Los Angeles spread out like a shimmering ocean. I kept the music off and the windows down. I let the chill air work like loneliness into my bones.
Forty-one
All that had been won the day before was lost in a span of twenty minutes Friday morning when Andrea Freeman continued her cross-examination of Lisa Trammel. Being sandbagged by the prosecution in the midst of trial is certainly never a good thing, but in many ways it is acceptable as part of the game. It’s one of the unknown unknowns. But being sandbagged by your own client is the worst thing that can happen. One of the unknown unknowns should never be the person you are defending.
With Trammel in place on the witness stand, Freeman went to the lectern carrying a thick document with crisp edges and one pink Post-it sticking out of the pages. I thought it was a prop, designed to distract me, and paid it no mind. She started things off with what I call setup questions. These were designed to get a witness’s answers on the record before they were proven false. I could see the trap forming but wasn’t sure where the net was going to fall.
“Now, you testified yesterday that you did not know Mitchell Bondurant, is that correct?”
“Yes, correct.”
“You never met him?”
“Never.”
“Never spoke to him?”
“Never.”
“But you tried to meet him and speak to him, right?”
“Yes, I went to the bank twice to try to meet him to talk about my home, but he wouldn’t see me.”
“Do you remember when you made those efforts?”
“They were last year. But I don’t remember the exact dates.”
Freeman then seemed to shift directions, but I knew it was all part of a careful plan.
She asked Trammel a series of seemingly innocuous questions about her FLAG organization and its purpose. Much of this had already been touched on during my direct examination. I still couldn’t see the play. I glanced over at the document with the bright pink Post-it and started to believe it was no prop. Maggie had told me yesterday that Freeman was working the night shift. Now I knew why. She had obviously found something. I leaned across the defense table in the direction of the witness stand, as if being closer to the source would speed the arrival of understanding.
“And you have a website that you use to support the efforts of FLAG, don’t you?” Freeman asked.
“Yes,” Trammel replied. “California Foreclosure Fighters dot com.”
“And you are also on Facebook, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
I could tell by the timid, cautious way in which my client said that one word that this was where the trap was set. It was the first I’d heard of Lisa on Facebook.
“For those on the jury who might not know, what exactly is Facebook, Ms. Trammel?”
I leaned back in my chair and surreptitiously pulled my phone. I quickly tapped out a text to Bullocks telling her to drop whatever she was doing and see what she could find out about Lisa’s Facebook page. See what’s there, I said.
“Well, it’s a networking site and it lets me stay in touch with people involved in FLAG. I post updates on what is happening. I tell them where we are going to meet or march, things like that. People can set it up so they get automatic notifications on their phone or computer whenever I put a post on there. It has been very useful in our organizing.”
“You can post on your Facebook page right from your phone, too, correct?”
“Yes, I can.”
“And this digital location where you make these posts is called your ‘wall,’ correct?”
“Yes.”
“And you have used your wall to do more than just send out messages about protest marches, haven’t you?”
“Sometimes.”
“You gave regular updates on your own foreclosure case as well, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I wanted it to be like a personal journal of a foreclosure.”
“Did you also use Facebook to alert the media to your activities?”
“Yes, that too.”
“So in order to receive this information someone would have to sign up as a friend, correct?”
“Yes, that’s how it works. People who want to friend me make the request, I accept them and then they have access to my wall.”
“How many friends do you have?”
I didn’t know where this was going but I knew it wasn’t going to be good. I stood and objected, telling the judge that it appeared we were on a fishing expedition with no defined purpose or relevance. Freeman promised that relevance would become clear very soon and Perry let her go on.
“You can answer the question,” he said to Trammel.
“Um, I think… well, last time I checked I had over a thousand.”
“When did you first join Facebook?”
“Last year. I think it was in July or August when I filed papers for FLAG and started the website. I did it all at once.”
“So let’s make this very clear. As far as the website goes, anybody with a computer and the Internet has access, correct?”
“Right.”
“But your Facebook page is a little more private and personal. To gain access a person has to be accepted by you as a friend. Is that correct?”
“Yes, but I generally friend anybody who asks. I don’t know them all because there are too many. I just assume they’ve heard about our good work and are interested. I don’t turn anybody down. That’s how I got to a thousand in less than a year.”
“Okay, and you have been making regular posts on your wall since you joined Facebook, correct?”
“Pretty regular, yes.”
“In fact you’ve posted updates on this trial, have you not?”
“Yes, just my opinion of things.”
I could feel my temperature rising. My suit was beginning to feel like it was made of plastic and was trapping my body heat inside. I wanted to loosen my tie but knew if a juror saw such a move during this questioning, it would send a disastrous signal.
“Now, can anyone go on the page and post a message under your name?”
“No, just me. People can respond and make their own posts, but not under my name.”
“How many posts would you say you’ve put on your wall since last summer?”
“I have no idea. A lot.”
Freeman held up the thick document with the Post-it sticking out.
“Would you believe that you have posted more than twelve hundred times on your wall?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I do. I have every one of your posts printed right here. Your Honor, may I approach the witness with this document?”
Before the judge could respond I asked for a sidebar. Perry waved us up. Freeman brought the thick document with her.
“Your Honor, what’s going on?” I said. “I have the same objection I did yesterday to the prosecution’s deliberate avoidance of discovery. There has been nothing about this previously, and now she wants to introduce twelve hundred Facebook posts? Come on, Judge, this isn’t right.”
“There has been nothing in discovery because this Facebook account was unknown until last night.”
“Judge, if you believe that, I have some property west of Malibu I’d like to sell you.”
“Judge, yesterday afternoon my office came into possession of a printout of all posts made by the defendant to her Facebook page. I was pointed to a set of posts from last September that are relevant to this case and the defendant’s own testimony. If I can be allowed to proceed this will become very obvious, even to counsel.”
“ ‘Came into possession’?” I said. “What’s that mean? Judge, you have to be an invited friend to see my client’s Facebook wall. If the government engaged in subter—”
“It was given to me by a member of the media who is friends with the defendant on Facebook,” Freeman interjected. “There was no subterfuge. But its source should not be at issue here. Res ipsa loquitur—the document speaks for itself, Judge, and I am sure the defendant can identify her own Facebook posts for the jury. Counsel is simply engaged in trying to prevent the jurors from seeing what he knows is evidence of his client’s—”
“Judge, I have no idea what she’s even talking about. The first I heard about a Facebook page was during her cross. Counsel’s view of—”
“Very well, Ms. Freeman,” Perry interrupted. “Give her the document but get to the point quickly.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.”
As I sat back down I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I pulled it and read the text under the table and out of the judge’s view. It was from Bullocks and she simply said she had access to Lisa’s Facebook wall and was working on my request. I typed with one hand, telling her to check the posts from September, then pocketed the phone.
Freeman gave Trammel the printout and had her verify the most recent posts as coming from her Facebook wall.
“Thank you, Ms. Trammel. Could you now go to the page I have marked with the Post-it?”
Lisa reluctantly did as instructed.
“You will see that I have highlighted a series of three of your posts from last September seventh. Could you please read the first one to the jury, including the time of the posting?”
“Um, one forty-six. ‘I am heading into WestLand to see Bondurant. This time I’m not taking no for an answer.’ ”
“Now, you just pronounced the name Bondurant but it is misspelled, is it not, in the post?”
“Yes.”
“How is it spelled in your post?”
“B-O-N-D-U-R-U-N-T.”
“Bondurunt. I notice that the name is spelled that way on all posts in which he is mentioned. Was that intentional or a mistake?”
“He was taking away my house.”
“Could you please answer the question?”
“Yes, it was intentional. I called him Bondurunt because he was not a good man.”
I could feel the sweat moving through my hair. The hidden Lisa was about to come out.
“Could you please read the next highlighted post? With the time.”
“Two eighteen. ‘They wouldn’t let me see him again. So unfair.’ ”
“And now please read the next post and time?”
“Two twenty-one. ‘Found his spot. I’m going to wait for him in the garage.’ ”
The quiet in the courtroom was as loud as a train.
“Ms. Trammel, did you wait for Mitchell Bondurant in the parking garage at WestLand National on September seventh of last year?”
“Yes, but not that long. I realized it was dumb and he wouldn’t even be out until the end of the day. So I left.”
“Did you go back to that garage and wait for him on the morning of his murder?”
“No, I didn’t! I wasn’t there.”
“You saw him in the coffee shop, you became enraged and knew just where he would be, didn’t you? You went to the garage and waited for him and then—”
“Objection!” I yelled.
“—you killed him with the hammer, didn’t you?”
“No! No! No!” Trammel yelled. “I didn’t do it!”
She burst into tears, loudly moaning like some kind of cornered animal.
“Your Honor, objection! She’s badgering the—”
Perry seemed to snap out of some reverie as he watched Trammel.
“Sustained!”
Freeman stopped. The courtroom was again silent except for the sound of my client sobbing. The courtroom deputy came over with a box of tissues and Lisa’s tears finally subsided.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Freeman finally said. “I have no further questions.”
I asked for an early morning break so my client could compose herself and I’d have time to decide whether to continue on redirect. The judge granted the request, probably because he felt sorry for me.
Lisa’s tears did not undercut the fact that Freeman had been masterful in setting her trap. But all was not lost. The best thing about a setup defense is that almost every piece of damning evidence or testimony—even when it comes from your own client—can become part of the setup.
After the jury was led out I walked up to the witness stand to console my client. I pulled two tissues out of the box and handed them to her. She took them and started dabbing her eyes. I cupped my hand over the microphone to avoid broadcasting our conversation across the courtroom. I tried my best to control my tone.
“Lisa, why the hell am I finding out about Facebook now? Do you have any idea what this could do to our case?”
“I thought you knew! I friended Jennifer.”
“My Jennifer?”
“Yes!”
Nothing like having both your junior associate and your client know more than you.
“But what about these posts from September? Do you know how damaging they are?”
“I’m sorry! I totally forgot about them. They were so long ago.”
It looked like another cascade of tears was coming. I tried to head it off.
“Well, we’re lucky. We might be able to make this work for us.”
She stopped dabbing at her face with the tissue and looked at me.
“Really?”
“Maybe. But I need to go outside and call Bullocks.”
“Who’s Bullocks?”
“Sorry, it’s what we call Jennifer. You sit tight and pull yourself together.”
“Am I going to be asked more questions?”
“Yes. I want to do some redirect.”
&nb
sp; “Then can I go fix my face?”
“That’s a good idea. Just don’t take long.”
I finally got out to the hallway and called Bullocks at the office.
“Did you see the entries on September seventh?” I asked by way of a greeting.
“Just saw them. If Freeman—”
“She already did.”
“Shit!”
“Yeah, well, it was bad but there might be a way out. Lisa said you’re her friend on Facebook?”
“Yes, and I’m sorry. I knew she had a page. It never occurred to me to go back and look at previous posts on her wall.”
“We’ll talk about it later. Right now, I need to know if you have access to her list of friends.”
“I’m looking at it right now.”
“Okay, first I want you to print out all the names, give them to Lorna and have Rojas drive her over here with them. Right away. Then I want you and Cisco to start working the names yourselves, find out who these people are.”
“There’s more than a thousand. You want us to run them all down?”
“If you have to. I’m looking for a connection to Opparizio.”
“Opparizio? Why would—”
“Trammel was a threat to him, just like she was a threat to the bank. She was protesting fraud in foreclosure. The fraud was being committed by Opparizio’s company. We know through Herb Dahl that she was on Opparizio’s radar. It stands to reason that somebody in that company was checking on her through Facebook. Lisa just testified that she accepted anybody who asked to friend her. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find a name we know.”
There was a silence and then Bullocks tumbled to what I was thinking.
“By tracking her on Facebook they would know what she was up to.”
“And they could have known that at one time she waited for Bondurant in the garage.”
“And then they could have constructed his murder around that record.”
“Bullocks, I hate to tell you this but you’re thinking like a defense lawyer.”
“We’ll get right on this.”
I could hear the urgency in her voice.
“Good, but first print that list and get it over to me. I start redirect in about fifteen minutes. Tell Lorna to walk it right in to me. Then if you and Cisco find something, text it to me right away.”