Final Vows

  Every time Dan tried to phrase a question, Ben Bernard would stand politely and object to its wording, its content, or its intention. Dan tried to give the appearance of an attorney, walking about the courtroom as he asked questions and using words that lawyers sometimes use. But as soon as he began cross-examining Lynch it became evident that he knew nothing about what was legally permissible.

  Dan was asking Lynch about the entry log that kept track of the officers who came and left the Montecalvo home in the days following the murder.

  “Sergeant Lynch, would it refresh your recollection to review the entry log again and tell me what time Sergeant Madrid went into the house?”

  Judge Tso took a deep, exasperated breath. “Counsel, he can only testify as to personal knowledge. If you are asking him to testify as to the document itself, that is hearsay. I will sustain all objections on the basis of hearsay, which I am mandated to do.” The judge threw his hands up in the air. “You are going about it all wrong and you are wasting the court’s time.”

  “It is not my intention to waste your time, Your Honor. I thought police reports were an exception.”

  “Those reports are only exhibits, they are not in evidence,” Tso said.

  “Sergeant Lynch . . .” Dan tried to sound professional as he continued pacing in front of the jury. When he turned back toward Lynch his question sounded like an accusation. “You never wrote in your report that Sergeant Madrid pronounced my wife deceased at a certain time?”

  Judge Tso shook his head in frustration and leaned toward Dan. “Is that another question? Or does that relate to time of entry, or what?”

  Dan’s face went blank as he continued to pace the courtroom. “Excuse me, Your Honor?”

  “Listen,” Tso said, and Bernard shrugged questioningly toward the jurors. “I will run this courtroom. You may go back and stand near your seat. This is not a television show. I do not permit the attorneys to wander up and down before the jury. That is not permissible by court rules.”

  Dan’s cross-examination went on in this manner for more than an hour, frustrating everyone in the courtroom. It was like watching someone with a thimble bail water from a sinking ship. The more Dan worked at correcting his interrogative skills the deeper he sank.

  Later in the afternoon Judge Tso stopped the proceedings altogether to admonish Dan after Ben Bernard had objected to another of his questions.

  “Mr. Montecalvo, I think it would be wise for the court—on your behalf—to sustain Mr. Bernard’s objection.” The judge leaned over the bench again and removed his glasses. “Mr. Montecalvo, you are asking questions that are only harmful to you.”

  Thirty minutes later Dan was still questioning Sergeant Lynch when he began drawing on terms no one in the courtroom had ever heard before.

  “In the course of turning over your investigation to Detective Arnspiger did you apply due diligence in contacting various agencies that assisted you that evening in crime-scene workup, if you will?”

  Bernard stood up, his face twisted in confusion. “Your Honor, I’m not sure I understand what the question means.”

  Judge Tso rolled his eyes and released a deep sigh. “I will sustain the objection as to the phrasing ‘due diligence’ being vague and nonsensical. Please restate the question if you wish, Mr. Montecalvo.”

  And so it went. By the end of the day, Dan actually thought he had made progress in showing Lynch to be a dishonest man whose single goal in 1988 had been to frame Dan Montecalvo for the murder of his wife. Of course no one else who had been in the courtroom that day saw the proceedings that way. Ron Applegate, for instance, felt as if he’d spent the past four hours in some kind of hideous torture chamber. In his opinion Dan had come across as an angry, defensive, bitter man who wanted only to seek revenge on the men who had caught him and sent him to jail.

  The next day Ben Bernard began disputing the idea that someone else had been in the Montecalvo home that night. Bernard knew the defense intended to show that Carol could have been killed by their gardener, the cologne salesman from the May Company, or the local wild teenager who had stolen guns from his father’s house. Bernard started by putting the gardener on the witness stand.

  “Mr. Gomez, in the late hours of March 31st, 1988, at approximately eleven o’clock at night, do you remember where you were?”

  The small Hispanic man shrugged blankly. “No.”

  “Did you kill anyone that night?”

  The gardener thought long and hard before answering. “Yes, señor,” he said. “A cockroach.”

  Laughter filled the courtroom and Bernard grinned knowingly toward the jurors.

  “What I mean, Mr. Gomez,” Bernard continued, “is did you kill a human being that night?”

  The man’s eyes grew wide with concern. “No. No, señor.”

  Bernard nodded warmly toward the man. “Thank you, Mr. Gomez. No further questions.”

  When Bernard had exhausted that angle, he introduced testimony proving that the guns stolen by the teenager had been recovered and the May Company salesman had merely sold the Montecalvos a bottle of cologne. Next he brought evidence technician Phil Teramoto in to testify about the lead spirals found on Dan’s hands based on the second gunshot residue test. Yes, he could have gotten the lead from touching his own wound. But the evidence was also consistent with having fired a gun—especially if the shooter had worn gloves. When the gloves were removed, one or two lead spirals might have fallen onto Dan’s hands. Bernard then marched in a string of witnesses to talk about Dan’s habits of carrying guns, frequenting bars late into the night, and flirting with other women.

  “Did you ever see Mr. Montecalvo in the Pago Pago with a gun?” Bernard was questioning one of the bar’s frequent customers who had become an acquaintance of Dan’s.

  “Quite a few times.”

  A rash of whispers filled the courtroom. This was the first time anyone had heard testimony that Dan carried guns. Already several officers had testified that Dan had told them he never had guns.

  “Was the first time you saw Mr. Montecalvo with a gun some time before March 31, 1988?”

  “Yes.”

  Bernard nodded as if understanding the information for the first time. “Can you tell us under what circumstances you first saw that gun?”

  “Sure. He had it out lying on the bar showing a couple of the guys the bullets in it, telling them they were special-made bullets and stuff like that.”

  “What kind of gun was it?”

  “A .38.”

  Another wave of whispering rose from the spectator section as people made the connection: Earlier testimony had proven that Carol had most likely been killed with a .38 caliber handgun. Bernard continued.

  “Did there come a time in the Pago Pago when the defendant threatened you?”

  “Yeah, sure did. You name it.”

  “I would like you to name it, sir. What did Mr. Montecalvo say?”

  “He was saying how he didn’t like police officers and he didn’t like me, either. I told him, ‘I’m not scared of you and I’m not scared of guns.’ ”

  “What did he say he was going to do with his gun?”

  The witness turned and stared at Dan. “He said he was going to blow my head off.”

  On Monday, October 15, Bernard released his most potent testimony. Mark Paulson was on the witness stand, describing what Denis Cremins had told him about Dan Montecalvo. Bernard was refreshing Paulson’s memory about Sept. 7, 1989.

  “On that day at approximately noon did you have a meeting with a client, Denis Cremins?”

  “Yes, we were putting together an advertisement for his plumbing business.”

  “And did Mr. Cremins ask you if you knew Carol Montecalvo?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did Mr. Cremins tell you that he had met Mr. Montecalvo?”

  “Yes. He said that when he lived in Burbank he used to frequent a steak-house bar, and I guess Dan Montecalvo
used to go there also.”

  “Did Mr. Cremins ever tell you that Mr. Montecalvo made any comments about taking out insurance on anyone?”

  The jury was hanging on every word. Meanwhile, Applegate did not object to Bernard’s leading his witness. Although Paulson’s testimony was hearsay, Judge Tso had allowed it because Cremins would later testify that he was unclear on the details of his conversation with Dan.

  “Yes. As I recollect, Denis said he and his fiancée were having some problems and he had told Dan about these problems.” Paulson was obviously uneasy as he took a deep breath and continued. “Denis told me Dan told him to take out an insurance policy on her and that, you know . . .”

  Bernard was waiting expectantly. “I’m afraid I don’t know, Mr. Paulson. Please finish your statement.”

  Paulson swallowed loudly. “Well, that Dan would kill her and they would split the insurance money.”

  The courtroom erupted into a symphony of surprised gasps and whispered discussions. Judge Tso sat up straighter in his chair and rapped his gavel on the bench. “That is enough. Come to order.”

  Gradually the commotion settled down and Bernard, looking astonished by the revelation, continued.

  “Did you think that was a little bizarre?”

  Paulson nodded quickly. “Oh, yes. I really did. I mean, the story that I had heard in the newspaper was that Carol had been killed in a burglary. The whole story Denis was telling me was really bizarre because it was possibly another explanation for Carol’s murder.”

  Bernard paused a moment and sorted through his notes. “Let me clarify something before I go on,” he said, enunciating each word. “Mr. Cremins told you that Mr. Montecalvo had offered to kill his fiancée so they could split the insurance money?”

  “That’s right.”

  A look of genuine disbelief crossed Bernard’s face. “After he told you this information, did you think you’d better report it to somebody?”

  “Well, I finished writing up Denis’s advertisement and I thought about it for a while—about twenty minutes. Finally, you know, at about twelve-thirty I decided to see my supervisor and tell the story to her.”

  “What did your supervisor say about the story?”

  “She said she’d pass the information along to the detectives.”

  “Thank you. Nothing further.”

  Carol’s supervisor took the stand next and admitted that after promising to pass the story on to detectives, she had forgotten about it for several months. Denis Cremins was subsequently called up to tell the jurors that he had, indeed, had the conversation with Mark Paulson. The details, however, were vague. He was obviously not happy about testifying and kept glancing nervously toward Dan.

  In what Ron Applegate had to admit was perfect witness placement, Bernard called Cathy Hines to the stand next. With the vivid image in their minds of Dan’s suggesting he would kill Denis Cremins’s fiancée so they could split her insurance money, the jurors listened to Cathy Hines tearfully recount Carol’s deep love for her husband.

  “Ms. Hines . . .” Bernard sounded sympathetic and understanding. “Was there ever a time when Carol and you were in church and she kind of broke down and was crying?”

  “Yes, I believe it was in February of 1988.”

  “Approximately one month before her murder, then?” Bernard appeared distraught and it seemed he had become Cathy’s friend, sharing an intimate conversation in the privacy of her living room.

  “Yes.” Cathy’s voice cracked with emotion. “I had seen Carol in the back of the church, and I went back to see her. I asked her how Dan was doing and at that time she had tears in her eyes. She said Dan wasn’t doing too good, that he was drinking heavily. She asked me to pray for him. I told her that I would and, well . . .” Cathy paused to wipe the tears off her cheeks. “She said she was really concerned for him and she started crying.”

  Bernard shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry, Ms. Hines,” he said softly. “Nothing further.”

  If that evidence wasn’t damaging enough, in the following days Bernard paraded a host of witnesses through the courtroom who carefully detailed Dan’s gambling debts. When they were finished, the jurors heard from insurance agents who had records of policies totaling $600,000 on Carol’s life. Annette Wilder was next, testifying about the two guns she had seen Dan carrying after Carol’s murder.

  Bernard’s guided tour was almost finished but he wanted to point out one final landmark. He called Brian Arnspiger to the stand.

  “Your Honor,” Bernard said, lifting a bag containing a worn-out hardback book. “I have what appears to be a book called Howard Hughes: The Man, the Myth, the Madness. I’d ask the book to be marked as Exhibit one fifty-one.”

  “It will be so marked,” Judge Tso stated.

  “Thank you, Your Honor.” The prosecutor turned toward the witness stand. “Detective Arnspiger, have you seen this book before?”

  “Yes, during our search of Mr. Montecalvo’s storage unit in Irwindale.”

  “Did you ever open that book, sir?”

  “Yes. It felt very light, and when we opened it, we found that it was hollowed out.”

  “I see. And did you ever take two guns—the same types of guns Ms. Wilder indicated Dan was carrying after Carol’s murder—and place them in this hollowed-out book?”

  “Yes. If you arrange them the right way, a thirty-eight and a twenty-five will fit perfectly inside that book.”

  Again the courtroom burst into a chorus of exclamations. A question that had haunted the jury was that if Dan had killed Carol, why hadn’t the prosecution been able to produce the guns? The answer lay between the covers of the hollowed-out book.

  Dan wisely chose not to cross-examine Brian, leaving the task instead to Applegate. The defense wanted to show that if guns had indeed been hidden in the hollowed-out book, detectives certainly would have found them the night of the murder—regardless of Lynch’s earlier testimony that the bookcase had been accidentally overlooked.

  “Detective Arnspiger,” Applegate said in a monotone voice. “You’ve been to the scene of a lot of homicides?”

  “Yes, I have.”

  “You search bookcases for weapons?”

  “I search everything.” Brian sounded very sure of himself and Bernard knew instantly what the defense was trying to do. “In fact,” Brian continued, “some detectives don’t like to take me along because I spend too much time searching.”

  Applegate nodded. “So, if you would have been there that night, you would have searched the bookcase?”

  “Yes. I would have gotten to it. If that had been my assigned room, I would have checked it.”

  “I guess if you would have been there, we would have known whether or not there were weapons in that book, wouldn’t we?”

  Brian paused, realizing the picture taking shape. “Yes. If there were weapons in that book, I would have found them.”

  “If the book had been empty, you would have probably found that, too, wouldn’t you?”

  Brian nodded. “I’m sure.”

  Applegate looked at Judge Tso. “Nothing further.”

  If Arnspiger would have checked the bookcase, it was reasonable to assume that other detectives would have checked it, too. Just because Lynch didn’t check the bookcase didn’t mean that no one else had. Ben Bernard was on his feet immediately, hoping to correct that impression.

  His smile suggested he was willing to allow for the inexperience of his opponent. “Detective, you weren’t there that night, were you?”

  “No, I was not.”

  “So, you have no idea if anyone checked the bookcase, do you?”

  “No, sir.”

  Bernard gave a single nod of his head as if Brian’s answer had clarified the issue. “Your Honor, I have nothing further. The prosecution rests.”

  Chapter 41

  On April 28, 1980, convicted felon Garrett Trapnell—serving time in the U.S. Penitentiar
y at Marion, Illinois—made the decision to turn over a new leaf. Nearly ten years after receiving a life sentence for hijacking a passenger airplane, Trapnell suddenly knew he could no longer live without a moral code of conduct. For the first time in his life he felt the need to atone for his past wrongs.

  A week later Garrett knew what he had to do. He had heard through the prison grapevine that Vic Santinni, a runner for the Gamboda family, had been picked up for murder. The Gambodas were Chicago Mafiosi, heavily involved in narcotics. Someone in the family had hired Santinni to knock off a district attorney who had been working overtime to put the family out of business. Santinni had rigged a car bomb one night and set it to go off when the prosecutor started his car the next morning. There was one problem. The next morning the district attorney handed the car keys to his eight-year-old daughter, Juliana. The blond-haired, blue-eyed child loved the occasional privilege of starting her daddy’s car.

  Investigators who later searched through blown-up bits of the prosecutor’s car found very little of Juliana’s body for identification. The grief-stricken attorney had suspected Santinni in other cases and, working with detectives, he quickly put together a case against him. But talk on the street and in prison had it that Santinni had suddenly come up with an alibi for his whereabouts that night.

  Garrett Trapnell knew otherwise. One of the Gamboda brothers was serving time at Marion. Like other inmates Joe Gamboda found some kind of perverse enjoyment in sharing war stories with his fellow convicts. A week after the prosecutor’s daughter was killed, Trapnell found himself sharing a lunch table with Joe Gamboda.

  “Darn shame,” Gamboda was saying, wiping the back of his hand across some crumbs of food on his upper lip. Gamboda was a strict Catholic and he never used foul language. “Stupid old fool, that Santinni. Set the whole thing up perfect like, you know? Perfect bomb, perfect timing. Then he puts it in the flippin’ car.”

  He paused a moment and stuffed an enormous bite of mashed potatoes into his mouth. “Coulda put the darn thing in the D.A.’s briefcase or his office. Somethin’.”

  “Look, Joe, maybe he didn’t do it.” A man sitting across from Gamboda broke in, waving his fork for emphasis. The man was also involved in organized crime.