quash the subpoenas. Although I granted a similar motion filed by a
different witness last Friday, I believe that the defense's desire to
question Mr. Gunderson and Mr. Minkins is distinguishable. The
questioning does not raise the same issues of privacy implicated by the
earlier subpoena, and the defense has articulated a plausible nexus
between these witnesses and this offense. Although it is not a nexus
that has in any way been proven, I believe the defense should be
entitled to at least question these witnesses further to determine
whether they possess relevant exculpatory evidence. As for potential
harm to the witnesses, Mr. Thorpe, you said so yourself: They can
always invoke if they believe the questioning is likely to incriminate
them.'
Thorpe was clearly stunned, but he did his best to cover. 'I'd like a
moment to confer with my clients, your honor, to determine how they
would like to proceed.'
'Of course. We'll reconvene here in ninety minutes. And, with respect
to Ms. Kincaid's observations about the appropriateness of joint
representation, if either of your clients wishes to speak to me in
chambers about that matter, I will be available and can assist in
obtaining substitute counsel if necessary. Ms. Kincaid, you might
want to stay nearby, in the event you're needed.'
Prescott had gone one step further than I expected. If Min-kins had
missed the point of my earlier comments, Prescott's certainly set the
stage for Minkins to jump ship.
As we left chambers, Thorpe said something to Roger, who then excused
himself from Townsend, no doubt so he could accompany his partner and
Slip's next witnesses back to some conference room at Dunn Simon.
'Roger, I was hoping we could talk before you leave,' I said. 'I need
to speak to Townsend about something.'
'Now's not exactly a good time, Samantha. Jim told me about the stunt
you pulled back there. I don't know what you're up to, but don't say a
word to Dr. Easterbrook while I'm gone, or I'll have your bar ticket.
On my instructions, he's going home.'
I stood by the door and watched them head down the hall. By the time
they got to the elevator, Jim and Roger were already playing referees
between Gunderson and Minkins.
I turned to my favorite flannel-and-cords guy. 'Hey, Slip. You
gamble?'
Thirteen.
I won the bet. Minkins called Judge Prescott just forty minutes later
from a pay phone in the lobby of the Dunn Simon building. Slip had
guessed it would take an hour.
I spent some of the time talking to Slip. He gave me a copy of the
spreadsheets he'd printed out from Clarissa's mystery disc. Based on a
quick scan, I had to agree that nothing interesting popped out, except,
of course, the fact that the data had been password-protected in a safe
deposit box.
I thought about the security system on the Easterbrook house. Maybe
they were cautious enough to keep something as innocuous as a backup
file under lock and key. But would Clarissa really stow a copy of her
husband's file alongside a video of a tryst with her boyfriend?
I spent the remaining half hour thinking about everything I had learned
about Clarissa this week. Based on what I'd heard, it was hard to
imagine that she'd sell her office to someone like Gunderson. But
ultimately I could picture it. After all, there had been times when I
wondered whether the cops and lawyers
I knew were always squeaky clean. You never know how a person's
circumstances might affect their decisions. A few years of pushing
through the morass of boredom I saw in Clarissa's files, and your
average person might not see the harm if a couple of arbitrary,
meaningless decisions went the wrong way.
So what had been Clarissa's circumstances? Maybe she felt guilty about
her affair and wanted the money if in fact there had been any money to
make it up to Townsend. Or maybe the money was to help her leave
Townsend and start a life with T. J. Caffrey.
Judge Prescott's clerk finally saved me from my aimless speculation
when she told me about the call from Minkins.
Prescott handled the stress well. She made a quick call to Thorpe to
confirm that he was aware of Minkins's decision, then found the nearest
defense attorney in the hallway to stand in as counsel. The short
straw went to Lisa Lopez, one of the most liberal cop-haters in the
PD's office. If you need a defense attorney who can cut through the
crap and pull a recalcitrant defendant to the plea table, Lopez is a
pain in the ass. But here, we'd paint the picture of a
down-on-his-luck chump-change cheat, eager to flip the switch on the
big bad white-collar criminals in exchange for a walk. Lisa'd be all
over it.
Prescott gave Lisa a chance to talk to Minkins alone. I called
Minkins's probation officer to make sure I wasn't missing anything. The
PO had never heard of him and told me to do what I needed to do.
