An Insignificant Case

Chapter Sixteen

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The call Charlie had been dreading came at ten o’clock the next morning.

“Judge Noonan is on line one,” the receptionist informed Charlie.

“Mr. Webb, you’re needed in my courtroom this afternoon at two o’clock,” the judge said when they were connected.

“Uh, what for?”

“Mr. Weiss’s arraignment.”

“Is this on those murders at Tryon Creek park?” Charlie asked, certain that he knew the answer to his question.

“Yes.”

“I was afraid of that. Look, Your Honor, I already told Mr. Sabatini that I can’t try a murder case. I’ve never handled anything that serious. You need to get someone else to represent him.”

“I would have, but your client made it very clear that you have to be his lawyer. He says that he’ll represent himself if you aren’t appointed.”

“It would be malpractice if I’m his lawyer in a murder charge.”

“I’m aware of the problem, and I’ll make sure you have an experienced cocounsel appointed to assist you. But you’ll be doing me a big favor if you accept the appointment. Can you imagine what the trial will be like if Mr. Weiss represents himself?”

Charlie had no trouble imagining the chaos that Guido would cause if he were his own lawyer. There was an old adage that a person who represented himself had a fool for a client. Guido would be representing a lunatic.

“I don’t know.”

“Look, Charlie, I’ve seen you try a case. You do a good job. Everyone who tries murder cases had to try their first murder case without any prior experience. And I promise you I will get you a first-rate, experienced cocounsel. I don’t want a conviction reversed because a defendant didn’t have competent representation.”

Charlie sighed. “If you promise to get me all the help I need, I’ll do it. I’ll need fees for investigation and experts and things I haven’t even thought about.”

“That won’t be a problem. And I’ll make sure that the DA sends you all of the discovery this morning.”

The police and the district attorney’s office had not been shy about publicizing Guido’s arrest for the murder of two of the defendants in a major sex trafficking prosecution, and reporters swarmed in the corridor outside Judge Noonan’s courtroom. None of the reporters bothered Charlie when he walked down the hall and entered the courtroom because he was a nonentity. That was just fine with him.

The courtrooms in the old courthouse featured high ceilings, ornate molding, marble Corinthian columns, and daises of polished wood. The courtrooms in the new building had none of the grandeur or historic character of the old courtrooms. They had flat, dull, brown wooden desks with clean lines that could have been bought at IKEA and were built for function, not form. Attorneys could charge laptops or phones in outlets in their counsel tables. Videos and evidence were presented to jurors on wall-mounted screens.

Judge Noonan’s courtroom was packed with spectators, but Charlie had no trouble spotting detectives Blaisedale and Rawls sitting in the back row. A young woman turned toward him. Charlie guessed that she was in her late twenties, and she was so attractive Charlie had to use all his self-control to keep from staring. She smiled at Charlie. The smile puzzled him, but he realized that he had to focus on Guido’s case.

Bridget Fournier was sitting at the prosecution’s table.

“Hi, Bridget,” Charlie said. “I didn’t know you handled homicides. How come you’re prosecuting Guido?”

“Maybe it’s because Mr. Weiss murdered the person I was hoping would be my star witness in the biggest sex trafficking case in the county’s history,” she said as she handed him a copy of the indictment charging Lawrence Weiss, a.k.a. Guido Sabatini, with murdering Gretchen Hall and Yuri Makarov.

“Whoa. Hold on. I’ve gotten to know Mr. Weiss a little, and I can’t see him killing anyone. He’s a fruitcake, but he’s a harmless fruitcake.”

“Did you read the discovery?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you read the part where two handguns were discovered in the house of your harmless fruitcake when it was searched pursuant to a warrant authorized by a judge?”

Suddenly, Charlie didn’t feel so confident. “Guido lives out in the country by himself. The guns were probably for self-defense.”

“That’s not what our ballistics expert says. One of the guns is the weapon that was used in the murders of Gretchen Hall and Yuri Makarov.”

“I, uh, I didn’t see that report.”

Fournier handed Charlie a stack of papers. “I just got it. Here’s your copy. You might want to ask Mr. Weiss for an explanation,” she said, flashing a smug grin.

“You have to get used to calling my client Guido Sabatini or he checks out,” Charlie said, desperate to change the subject.

“I’ll call him by his real name, and I’ll ask the judge to hold him in contempt if he causes any trouble about it.”

Fournier was definitely angry, and Charlie wondered if that had anything to do with his victory in the drug case.

“So, where did you find Mr. Weiss?” Charlie asked.

“He was selling his paintings in a farmers market in Lincoln City.”

Charlie laughed. “I’m not surprised. And doesn’t it make you wonder that he wasn’t hiding out?”

Bridget flashed an angry smile. “No, Mr. Webb, it does not. I see his actions as those of a person who is trying to manufacture an insanity defense.”

Charlie didn’t see any point in arguing his case to Fournier. It was obvious that her mind was made up, so he started to walk to the defense table.

“Charlie Webb?” someone called out.

Charlie turned and saw one of the best criminal defense lawyers in Oregon walk through the bar of the court.

Henry Roman was a former United States attorney who had been practicing criminal law on both sides of the aisle for thirty years. He was six feet, two inches tall, 268 pounds, with close-cropped, silver-gray hair and steel-blue eyes that lasered a belligerent stare at any opposing counsel who had the temerity to try to best him. Every day before work, in every kind of weather, Roman rowed for an hour on the Willamette River, and he looked like he could still make the Olympic team he’d rowed on when he was at the University of Washington.

“Yes?” Charlie answered.

Roman held out his hand. “Henry Roman. Judge Noonan appointed me to help out in your murder case.”

Charlie couldn’t believe his ears. It was as if someone had asked LeBron James to play on his team in a pickup basketball game or Tiger Woods had joined his foursome at his public course.

“That’s great,” Charlie managed.

“I want to assure you that I’m here as an advisor. You’re lead counsel.”

“Uh, about that, Mr. Roman—”

“Henry,” Roman corrected him with a smile.

“Yeah, well, I’m in way over my head with this case. I told Judge Noonan that I shouldn’t be Guido’s lawyer. I’ve never represented anyone in anything more serious than a bar fight, and I’m only here because Guido says he’ll represent himself if I’m not his lawyer, which would be a disaster. So, I would be really grateful if you would act as lead counsel.”

“Are you sure?”

“Definitely. I think Guido, uh, Mr. Weiss, might be completely innocent, and I’d feel awful if he was convicted because I made a mess of his defense.”

“Well, okay, if you’re certain I’m not stepping on your toes.”

“You have no idea how relieved I am.”

“The judge made sure I had a complete set of the discovery in Mr. Weiss’s other cases and this one, so I’m up to speed.”

“There’s other stuff you need to know,” Charlie said, and he told Roman about the discovery of the murder weapon in Sabatini’s farmhouse, his suspicions that Guido was in possession of something that bore on the sex trafficking case, what had happened at Guido’s farm, and the correct way to address their client to avoid a scene.

Bridget Fournier frowned when she saw Henry Roman sit beside Charlie at the defense table. Then she was distracted when the courtroom door opened and Thomas Grant, the Multnomah County district attorney, walked down the aisle and entered the bar of the court.

Grant was in his early forties with wavy black hair and an all-star smile. A career politician, he’d won a seat in the Oregon legislature shortly after receiving a master’s in political science. Next was a seat in the state senate. Most people in the know saw his victory in the Multnomah County district attorney race as a stepping stone in a bid to be Oregon’s governor.

Charlie thought that Bridget Fournier looked surprised and upset when Grant sat next to her. Grant leaned over and whispered something to Bridget. She didn’t look pleased.

Two jail guards escorted Guido to the defense table. Guido looked like he didn’t have a care in the world, and he beamed at Charlie.

“Mr. Webb, how kind of you to represent me again,” Guido said.

“I told you that you made a big mistake by insisting that I be appointed to represent you in your murder case, Guido. Fortunately, Judge Noonan realized that I need help. This is Henry Roman. He’s one of the most experienced and successful criminal defense lawyers in Oregon. Judge Noonan appointed him to assist me in your defense, so you’re going to have the best representation possible.”

Guido turned toward Roman. “Thank you for agreeing to help me. It should help our defense that I am completely innocent.”

“You didn’t kill Gretchen Hall or Yuri Makarov?” Charlie said.

“I’ve never killed anyone.”

“What happened at your farm? When I came to settle the case, the farmhouse and the barn had been trashed.”

“I have an excellent security system. It alerted me to an intrusion by a person dressed like an assassin in a James Bond movie, so I left.”

“Did you bring Miss Hall’s painting and the other things you took with you?”

“I did, and they are in a safe place.”

Charlie wanted to ask some more questions, but Judge Noonan took the bench, and his bailiff called the case. The judge looked surprised to see Grant sitting next to Bridget.

“Welcome to my courtroom, Mr. Grant. Are you representing the State in this case?”

Grant stood. “Miss Fournier is prosecuting the defendant. I’m just appearing with her so the people of our county will know how seriously I take this case.”

“Very well. Miss Fournier, are you ready to proceed?”

“I am.”

“And Mr. Webb?”

“Uh, Your Honor, I wanted to thank you for appointing Mr. Roman to assist me. I’ve asked him to be lead counsel because of my inexperience with this type of case.”

“Very well.”

The bailiff read the indictment, and Judge Noonan asked Guido how he was going to plead. Roman stood.

“Mr. Sabatini will enter a plea of not guilty, Your Honor. And I would like to take up the issue of bail at this time.”

Bridget Fournier stood up. “This is a murder case, Your Honor. There is no automatic bail. You’ll need to hold a bail hearing so I can put on witnesses to support the State’s position that Mr. Weiss should not be granted bail.”

“Sabatini,” Guido said as he cast a pleasant smile at the deputy DA, who ignored him.

“Normally, that’s true,” Roman said. “But I’ve read over the police reports in Miss Hall’s and Mr. Makarov’s murder cases. Frankly, there is nothing connecting our client to the scene of the crime except his painting. No witness places him there. There is no forensic evidence like a footprint or DNA.”

“Mr. Roman has failed to mention that the gun that was used to murder Gretchen Hall and Yuri Makarov was found in Mr. Weiss’s farmhouse along with a second gun.”

“My cocounsel went to Mr. Sabatini’s farm with Miss Hall the day she was murdered. He can testify that Mr. Sabatini was not there and his studio and his house had been searched and ransacked. So, the painting could have been taken at that time, and the murder weapon could have been planted at any time after the murders, because no one was on Mr. Sabatini’s property.

“Actually, the painting’s presence at the scene, draped across Miss Hall’s body, and the gun being found in Mr. Sabatini’s house create a reasonable doubt. As I’m certain Your Honor knows, Mr. Sabatini has a genius IQ. Why would someone that intelligent leave evidence like the painting at the crime scene when it points toward him like a neon arrow?

“And Mr. Sabatini would have had to return to his home to leave the gun. Why would he do that instead of getting rid of it? This smells like a setup, Your Honor.”

“Miss Fournier, is Mr. Roman correct when he says that there is no physical evidence connecting the defendant to the scene of the murders, except for the painting?” the judge asked.

“And the murder weapon. And you know, because you presided over the arraignment in Mr. Weiss’s burglary case, that he stole another painting from Miss Hall’s restaurant.”

“That fact doesn’t bear on whether there is a high probability that Mr. Sabatini committed murder,” Roman said.

“I have to agree with Mr. Roman. Miss Fournier, if I held a bail hearing next week, would you be able to produce any other evidence connecting the defendant to the scene where the victims were found?”

“May we have a moment, Your Honor?” Thomas Grant said.

“Of course.”

Charlie watched as Fournier and her boss had a heated conversation. Then Bridget addressed the court.

“I can’t swear that I could.”

“It is unusual to settle the matter of bail at an arraignment for murder,” Judge Noonan said, “but given what the parties have told me, I am going to settle the bail question today.”

The judge met in chambers with the lawyers and decided on an amount that Charlie’s client would have to post to get out of jail. They went back to the courtroom, where the judge put the bail discussion on the record before recessing court.

“Guido, here’s my card with the address of my office,” Henry Roman said. “When you are released, come over and we’ll meet.”

“I must go back to my farm to paint. I have lost valuable time away from my studio.”

“You’ll lose more time if you’re sent to death row,” Charlie said. “Start taking your case seriously.”

“Very well,” Guido conceded.

“See you soon,” Roman said, and he followed Fournier and Grant, who were just leaving the courtroom with the detectives. Charlie looked at the spectator section, but the blonde was nowhere to be seen.

The guards started to approach Guido to take him back to the jail so he could be processed out, but Charlie held up a hand. When the guards retreated, Charlie leaned close to his client.

“Guido, you are in great danger if you continue to hold on to whatever you took from Gretchen Hall’s safe. Hall and Makarov have been murdered, your house and barn were trashed, and I think someone may have searched my office. The people who want what you took from the safe will kill to get it back. Give it to me, and I’ll make sure it goes to the DA. If you don’t have these things, no one will have a reason to hurt you.”

Guido smiled. “I appreciate your concern, but the granting of bail so I can continue to paint is proof that God is protecting me. And I believe he will continue to watch over me as long as I keep these objects in a safe place.”

Guido stood up. “Now I must accompany these gentlemen back to the jail so I can be released.”

Charlie felt helpless. Then he thought of a way to help Guido.