Haller now pulled a pen-size laser pointer from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and circled the image of Spencer with a glowing red dot.
“This man, what is he doing? Just watching? Or does he have an interest that goes beyond curiosity?”
Kennedy stood once again.
“Your Honor, counsel’s flights of fancy are getting ridiculous. The video clearly shows the box was not tampered with. So what does he do? He tries to draw the eye away from what is obvious to something and someone who clearly works in the property control unit and would have a vested interest in monitoring the unsealing of evidence. Can we please move on from this charade and get to the sad business of correcting a severe miscarriage of justice?”
“Mr. Haller,” Houghton said. “My patience is also wearing thin.”
“Your Honor, if allowed to continue, my proffer will be completed in the next five minutes,” Haller said.
“Very well,” Houghton said. “Continue. With speed.”
“Thank you. As I was asking before being interrupted, what is this man doing? Well, we got curious and tried to find out. As it happens, Detective Bosch recognized this man as a longtime employee of the Property Control Unit. His name is Terrence Spencer. We decided to look into Mr. Spencer and what we found may startle the Court.”
Haller took another document from his file and glanced over at Lance Cronyn as he delivered it to the clerk, who in turn delivered it to the judge. While the judge was looking at it, Bosch saw Haller step back behind the lectern and use it as a blind as he pulled his phone from his pocket, held it down by his hip, and read a text message that was on the screen.
Bosch knew it was most likely the message from Cisco about Spencer that Haller had been waiting for.
Haller dropped the phone back into his pocket and continued to address the judge.
“What we found was that seven years ago Terrence Spencer almost lost his house in a foreclosure. It was a bad time in this country and a lot of people were in the same boat. Spencer got upside down, couldn’t make double mortgage payments, and the banks had lost patience. And he would have lost his house if it had not been for the efforts of his foreclosure attorney, Kathy Zelden, whom many of us in this courtroom now know as Kathy Cronyn.”
Bosch could literally feel the air in the courtroom go still. Houghton went from slouching in his luxurious leather chair to coming forward and leaning intently over the bench. He was holding up the document Haller had provided and intently scanning it as Haller continued.
“Zelden, now Cronyn, saved Spencer’s house at the time,” he said. “But all she really did was put off the inevitable. She put Spencer into a hard-money refi that carried a massive, half-million-dollar balloon payment due in seven years. Due, I should say, to a privately held investment fund that controlled whether or not Spencer could sell his property in an effort to get out from beneath the balloon. They chose to prevent the house’s sale because they knew it would come to them in foreclosure this summer.
“Well, poor Terry Spencer had no way out. He didn’t have half a million dollars and had no way to get it. He couldn’t even sell his house, because the mortgage holder wouldn’t allow it. So what does he do? He calls up his old lawyer, now a full partner in Cronyn and Cronyn, and says, What am I going to do? And Your Honor, from that point on, a conspiracy began. A conspiracy to defraud the District Attorney’s Office and frame my client for planting evidence. All in an effort to free Preston Borders and collect a multimillion-dollar settlement from the city of Los Angeles.”
Lance Cronyn stood up, ready to argue. Kennedy was hesitantly rising. But the judge held up his hand to stop all from speaking and looked squarely at Haller.
“Mr. Haller,” he intoned. “Those are very significant allegations. Do you plan to offer any evidence to go with them if I allow you to present this in open court?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Haller said. “The last witness I would present is Terrence Spencer himself. We were able to locate him over the weekend, hiding out at a home down in Laguna Beach that happens to be owned by the Cronyns. I had him served with a subpoena, and at this moment he’s out in the hallway with my investigator and ready to take the stand.”
39
The threat of Terrence Spencer’s testimony seemed to momentarily freeze things in the courtroom. Then it was Preston Borders who broke the silence with laughter. It started low and soon became a head-back, full-throated burst of mirthless irony. He then cut it off as if with the blade of a knife and spoke to his lawyer with a deadly snarl in his voice.
“You fucking moron. You said this would work. You said it was foolproof.”
Borders tried to stand but forgot that the lead chain between his legs had been clamped to his seat. He rose with the seat still awkwardly attached to him and then dropped back down.
“Get me out of here. Just take me back.”
Cronyn tried to huddle in close in order to silence his client.
“Get the fuck away from me, asshole. I’m going to tell them everything. Your whole fucking plan.”
Kennedy rose then, seeing the only path he could take. There was a stunned look on his face.
“Your Honor, at this time, the state wishes to withdraw its motions in this matter,” he said. “The state now opposes the habeas petition.”
“I’m sure it does,” the judge said. “But you can take your seat for the moment, Mr. Kennedy.”
Houghton turned his attention to the other table, specifically to Borders instead of the two lawyers who flanked him.
“Mr. Borders,” he said. “As you have seen, your petition for habeas corpus is no longer uncontested. It is opposed now by the District Attorney and the lead detective on the case. Furthermore, you have just expressed what I take as a desire to discharge your lawyer and abandon these proceedings. Is it in fact your desire to withdraw your petition?”
“Might as well,” Borders said. “It ain’t fucking going anywhere.”
“Very well,” the judge said. “The matter before the Court is withdrawn. Deputy Garza, you can take Mr. Borders out of here. But keep him in holding. I believe the detectives here may want to talk to him.”
The judge gestured toward Soto and Tapscott.
Garza nodded to the two deputies seated behind Borders and they moved in on the convict to unlock the lead chain and remove him. As he was stood up, Borders took a last look down at Lance Cronyn.
“Thanks for the road trip,” he said. “Better than three days in the cage.”
“Get him out,” Houghton ordered loudly.
“Fuck you all very much,” Borders called out as he was half walked, half carried through the door into the courthouse holding area. “And please tell my girls to stay in touch.”
The door banged closed and the sharp metal-on-metal reverb rolled through the courtroom like an earthquake.
Cronyn stood slowly to address the Court, but Houghton cut him off as well.
“Counselor, I advise you not to speak,” he said. “Anything you say here could be used against you later in another court of law.”
“But, Your Honor, if I may,” Cronyn insisted, “I need to put on the record how my client threatened me and my family and—”
“Enough, Mr. Cronyn. Enough. I’ve heard more than I need in order to know that you, your co-counsel, and your client came into this courtroom today with the clear intent of manipulating the court for financial gain, not to mention gaining the release into society of what appears to have been a rightfully convicted murderer, and tarnishing the reputation of a veteran police detective.”
“Your—”
“I’m not speaking to hear myself talk, Mr. Cronyn. I told you to be quiet. One more interruption and I will have you silenced.”