The Crossing

  A video screen was set up in front of the jury box and Golantz played the tape, often stopping it to ask Kinder a question and then starting it again. The taped interview lasted ten minutes and was nonconfrontational. It was simply an exercise in which the investigators locked in Elliot’s story. There were no hard questions. Elliot was asked broadly about what he did and when. It ended with Kinder presenting a search warrant to Elliot that the investigator explained granted the Sheriff’s Department access to test his hands, arms, and clothing for gunshot residue.

  Elliot smiled slightly as he replied.

  “Have at it, gentlemen,” he said. “Do what you have to do.”

  Golantz checked the clock on the back wall of the courtroom and then used a remote to freeze the image of Elliot’s half smile on the video screen. That was the image he wanted the jurors to take with them. He wanted them to think about that catch-me-if-you-can smile as they drove home in five o’clock traffic.

  “Your Honor,” he said. “I think now would be a good time to break for the day. I will be moving with Deputy Kinder in a new direction after this and maybe we should start that tomorrow morning.”

  The judge agreed, adjourning court for the day after once more admonishing the jurors to avoid all media reports on the trial.

  I stood at the defense table and watched the jurors file into the deliberation room. I was pretty sure that the prosecution had won the first day, but that was to be expected. We still had our shots coming. I looked over at my client.

  “Walter, what do you have going tonight?” I asked.

  “A small dinner party with friends. They’ve invited Dominick Dunne. Then I am going to watch the first cut of a film my studio is producing with Johnny Depp playing a detective.”

  “Well, call your friends and call Johnny and cancel it all. You’re having dinner with me. We’re going to work.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Yes, you do. You’ve been ducking me since the trial began. That was okay because I didn’t want to know what I didn’t need to know. Now it’s different. We’re in trial, we’re past discovery, and I need to know. Everything, Walter. So, we’re going to talk tonight, or you’re going to have to hire another lawyer in the morning.”

  I saw his face grow tight with checked anger. In that moment, I knew he could be a killer, or at least someone who could order it done.

  “You wouldn’t dare,” he said.

  “Try me.”

  We stared at each other for a moment and I saw something about his face relax.

  “Make your calls,” I finally said. “We’ll take my car.”

  Forty-one

  Since I had insisted on the meeting, Elliot insisted on the place. With a thirty-second phone call he got us a private booth at the Water Grill over by the Biltmore and had a martini waiting on the table for him when we got there. As we sat down, I asked for a bottle of flat water and some sliced lemons.

  I sat across from my client and watched him study the fresh fish menu. For the longest time I had wanted to be in the dark about Walter Elliot. Usually the less you know about your client, the better able you are to provide a defense. But we were past that time now.

  “You called it a dinner meeting,” Elliot said without taking his eyes from the menu. “Aren’t you going to look?”

  “I’m having what you’re having, Walter.”

  He put the menu to the side and looked at me.

  “Fillet of sole.”

  “Sounds good.”

  He signaled a waiter who had been standing nearby but too intimidated to approach the table. Elliot ordered for us both, adding a bottle of Chardonnay to come with the fish, and told the waiter not to forget about my flat water and lemon. He then clasped his hands on the table and looked expectantly at me.

  “I could be dining with Dominick Dunne,” he said. “This better be good.”

  “Walter, this is going to be good. This is going to be where you stop hiding from me. This is where you tell me the whole story. The true story. You see, if I know what you know, then I’m not going to get sandbagged by the prosecution. I am going to know what moves Golantz is going to make before he makes them.”

  Elliot nodded as though he agreed it was time to deliver the goods.

  “I did not kill my wife or her Nazi friend,” he said. “I have told you that from day one.”

  I shook my head.

  “That’s not good enough. I said I want the story. I want to know what really happened, Walter. I want to know what’s going on or I’m going to be moving on.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. No judge is going to let you walk away in the middle of a trial.”

  “You want to bet your freedom on that, Walter? If I want off this case, I will find a way off it.”

  He hesitated and studied me before answering.

  “You should be careful what you ask for. Guilty knowledge could be a dangerous thing.”

  “I’ll risk it.”

  “But I’m not sure I can.”

  I leaned across the table to him.

  “What does that mean, Walter? What is going on? I’m your lawyer. You can tell me what you’ve done and it stays with me.”

  Before he could speak, the waiter brought a bottle of European water to the table and a side plate of sliced lemons. Enough for everybody in the restaurant. Elliot waited until he had filled my glass and moved away and out of earshot before responding.

  “What is going on is that you have been hired to present my defense to the jury. In my estimation you have done an excellent job so far and your preparations for the defense phase are on the highest level. All of this in two weeks. Astonishing!”

  “Drop the bullshit!”

  I said it too loud. Elliot looked outside the booth and stared down a woman at a nearby table who had heard the expletive.

  “You’ll have to keep your voice down,” he said. “The bond of attorney-client confidentiality ends at this table.”

  I looked at him. He was smiling but I also knew he was reminding me of what I had already assured him of, that what was said here stayed here. Was it a signal that he was willing to finally talk? I played the only ace I had.

  “Tell me about the bribe Jerry Vincent paid,” I said.

  At first I detected a momentary shock in his eyes. Then came a knowing look as the wheels turned inside and he put something together. Then I thought I saw a quick flash of regret. I wished Julie Favreau had been sitting next to me. She could have read him better than I could.

  “That is a very dangerous piece of information to be in possession of,” he said. “How did you get it?”

  I obviously couldn’t tell my client I got it from a police detective I was now cooperating with.

  “I guess you could say it came with the case, Walter. I have all of Vincent’s records, including his financials. It wasn’t hard to figure out that he funneled a hundred thousand of your advance to an unknown party. Is the bribe what got him killed?”

  Elliot raised his martini glass with two fingers clenching the delicate stem and drank what was left in it. He then nodded to someone unseen over my shoulder. He wanted another. Then he looked at me.

  “I think it is safe to say a confluence of events led to Jerry Vincent’s death.”

  “Walter, I’m not fucking around with you. I need to know—not only to defend you, but to protect myself.”

  He put his empty glass to the side of the table and someone whisked it away within two seconds. He nodded as if in agreement with me and then he spoke.

  “I think you may have found the reason for his death,” he said. “It was in the file. You even mentioned it to me.”

  “I don’t understand. What did I mention?”

  Elliot responded in an impatient tone.

  “He planned to delay the trial. You found the motion. He was killed before he could file it.”

  I tried to put it together but I didn’t have enough of the parts.

  “I don’t understand, Walt
er. He wanted to delay the trial and that got him killed? Why?”

  Elliot leaned across the table toward me. He spoke in a tone just above a whisper.

  “Okay, you asked for it and I’ll tell you. But don’t blame me when you wish you didn’t know what you know. Yes, there was a bribe. He paid it and everything was fine. The trial was scheduled and all we had to do was be ready to go. We had to stay on schedule. No delays, no continuances. But then he changed his mind and wanted to delay.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I think he actually thought he could win the case without the fix.”

  It appeared that Elliot didn’t know about the FBI’s phone calls and apparent interest in Vincent. If he did know, now would have been the time to mention it. The FBI’s focus on Vincent would have been as good a reason as any to delay a trial involving a bribery scheme.

  “So delaying the trial got him killed?”

  “That’s my guess, yes.”

  “Did you kill him, Walter?”

  “I don’t kill people.”

  “You had him killed.”

  Elliot shook his head wearily.

  “I don’t have people killed either.”

  A waiter moved up to the booth with a tray and a stand and we both leaned back to let him work. He deboned our fish, plated them, and put them down on the table along with two small serving pitchers with beurre blanc sauce in them. He then placed Elliot’s fresh martini down along with two wineglasses. He uncorked the bottle Elliot had ordered and asked if he wanted to taste the wine yet. Elliot shook his head and told the waiter to go away.

  “Okay,” I said when we were left alone. “Let’s go back to the bribe. Who was bribed?”

  Elliot took down half his new martini in one gulp.

  “That should be obvious when you think about it.”

  “Then I’m stupid. Help me out.”

  “A trial that cannot be delayed. Why?”

  My eyes stayed on him but I was no longer looking at him. I went inside to work the riddle until it came to me. I ticked off the possibilities—judge, prosecutor, cops, witnesses, jury… I realized that there was only one place where a bribe and an unmovable trial intersected. There was only one aspect that would change if the trial were delayed and rescheduled. The judge, prosecutor, and all the witnesses would remain the same no matter when it was scheduled. But the jury pool changes week to week.

  “There’s a sleeper on the jury,” I said. “You got to somebody.”

  Elliot didn’t react. He let me run with it and I did. My mind swept along the faces in the jury box. Two rows of six. I stopped on juror number seven.

  “Number seven. You wanted him in the box. You knew. He’s the sleeper. Who is he?”

  Elliot nodded slightly and gave me that half smile. He took his first bite of fish before answering my question as calmly as if we were talking about the Lakers’ chances at the playoffs and not the rigging of a murder trial.

  “I have no idea who he is and don’t really care to know. But he’s ours. We were told that number seven would be ours. And he’s no sleeper. He’s a persuader. When it gets to deliberations, he will go in there and turn the tide for the defense. With the case Vincent built and you’re delivering, it probably won’t take more than a little push. I’m banking on us getting our verdict. But at minimum he will hold out for acquittal and we’ll have a hung jury. If that happens, we just start all over and do it again. They will never convict me, Mickey. Never.”

  I pushed my plate aside. I couldn’t eat.

  “Walter, no more riddles. Tell me how this went down. Tell me from the start.”

  “From the start?”

  “From the start.”

  Elliot chuckled at the thought of it and poured himself a glass of wine without first tasting from the bottle. A waiter swooped in to take over the operation but Elliot waved him away with the bottle.

  “This is a long story, Mickey. Would you like a glass of wine to go with it?”

  He held the mouth of the bottle poised over my empty glass. I was tempted but I shook my head.

  “No, Walter, I don’t drink.”

  “I’m not sure I can trust someone who doesn’t take a drink from time to time.”

  “I’m your lawyer. You can trust me.”

  “I trusted the last one, too, and look what happened to him.”

  “Don’t threaten me, Walter. Just tell me the story.”

  He drank heavily from his wineglass and then put it down too hard on the table. He looked around to see if anyone in the restaurant had noticed and I got the sense that it was all an act. He was really checking to see if we were being watched. I scanned the angles I had without being obvious. I didn’t see Bosch or anyone else I pegged as a cop in the restaurant.

  Elliot began his story.

  “When you come to Hollywood, it doesn’t matter who you are or where you come from as long as you’ve got one thing in your pocket.”

  “Money.”

  “That’s right. I came here twenty-five years ago and I had money. I put it in a couple of movies first and then into a half-assed studio nobody gave two shits about. And I built that place into a contender. Another five years and it will no longer be the Big Four they talk about. It will be the Big Five. Archway will be right up there with Paramount and Warner’s and the rest.”

  I wasn’t anticipating going back twenty-five years when I told him to start the story from the beginning.

  “Okay, Walter, I get all of that about your success. What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying it wasn’t my money. When I came here, it wasn’t my money.”

  “I thought the story was that you came from a family that owned a phosphate mine or shipping operation in Florida.”

  He nodded emphatically.

  “All true, but it depends on your definition of family.”

  It slowly came to me.

  “Are you talking about the mob, Walter?”

  “I am talking about an organization in Florida with a tremendous cash flow that needed legitimate businesses to move it through and legitimate front men to operate those businesses. I was an accountant. I was one of those men.”

  It was easy to put together. Florida twenty-five years ago. The heyday of the uninhibited flow of cocaine and money.

  “I was sent west,” Elliot said. “I had a story and I had suitcases full of money. And I loved movies. I knew how to pick ’em and put ’em together. I took Archway and turned it into a billion-dollar enterprise. And then my wife…”

  A sad look of regret crossed his face.

  “What, Walter?”

  He shook his head.

  “On the morning after our twelfth anniversary—after the prenuptial agreement was vested—she told me she was leaving. She was going to get a divorce.”

  I nodded. I understood. With the prenup vested, Mitzi Elliot would be entitled to half of Walter Elliot’s holdings in Archway Studios. Only he was just a front. His holdings actually belonged to the organization and it wasn’t the type of organization that would allow half of its investment to walk out the door in a skirt.

  “I tried to change her mind,” Elliot said. “She wouldn’t listen. She was in love with that Nazi bastard and thought he could protect her.”

  “The organization had her killed.”

  It sounded so strange to say those words out loud. It made me look around and sweep my eyes across the restaurant.

  “I wasn’t supposed to be there that day,” Elliot said. “I was told to stay away, to make sure I had a rock-solid alibi.”

  “Why’d you go, then?”

  His eyes held on mine before he answered.

  “I still loved her in some way. Somehow I still did and I wanted her. I wanted to fight for her. I went out there to try to stop it, maybe be the hero, save the day, and win her back. I don’t know. I didn’t have a plan. I just didn’t want it to happen. So I went out there… but I was too late. They were both dead when I got there. Terrible??
?”

  Elliot was staring at the memory, perhaps the scene in the bedroom in Malibu. I dropped my eyes down to the white tablecloth in front of me. A defense attorney never expects his client to tell him the whole truth. Parts of the truth, yes. But never the cold, hard, and complete truth. I had to think that there were things Elliot had left out. But what he had told me was enough for now. It was time to talk about the bribe.

  “And then came Jerry Vincent,” I prompted.

  His eyes came back into focus and he looked at me.

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me about the bribe.”

  “I don’t have a lot to tell. My corporate attorney hooked me up with Jerry and he was fine. We worked out the fee arrangement and then he came to me—this was early on, at least five months ago—and he said he had been approached by someone who could salt the jury. You know, put someone on the jury who would be for us. No matter what happened he would be a holdout for acquittal but he would also work for the defense on the inside—during deliberations. He would be a talker, a skilled persuader—a con man. The catch was that once it was in play, the trial would have to stay on schedule so that this person would end up on my jury.”

  “And you and Jerry took the offer.”

  “We took it. This was five months ago. At the time, I didn’t have much of a defense. I didn’t kill my wife but it seemed the odds were stacked against me. We had no magic bullet… and I was scared. I was innocent but could see that I was going to be convicted. So we took the offer.”

  “How much?”

  “A hundred thousand up front. Like you found out, Jerry paid it through his fees. He inflated his fee and I paid him and then he paid for the juror. Then it was going to be another hundred for a hung jury and two-fifty for an acquittal. Jerry told me that these people had done it before.”