to Stafford for at least six months — or, apparently, until he was murdered by fellow prisoners. That explained Valdez's cold-blooded killing.
But Hartman's reception in prison wasn't Tribow's problem. The prosecutor believed he had a simple task in life: to keep his county safe. This attitude was considerably different from many other prosecutors.' They took it personally that criminals committed offenses, and went after them vindictively, full of rage. But to Danny Tribow, prosecuting wasn't about being a gunslinger; it was simply making sure his county was safe and secure. He was far more involved in the community than a typical DA. He'd worked with congressmen and the courts, for instance, to support laws that made it easier to get restraining orders against abusive spouses and that established mandatory felony sentences for three-strikes offenders, anyone carrying a gun near a school or church, and drivers whose drinking resulted in someone's death.
Getting Ray Hartman off the streets was nothing more than yet another brick in the wall of law and order, to which Tribow was so devoted.
This particular man's conviction, however, was a very important brick. At various stages in his life Hartman had been through court-ordered therapy and though he'd always escaped with a diagnosis of sanity, the doctors had observed that he was close to being a sociopath, someone for whom human life meant little.
This was certainly reflected in his MO. He was a bully and petty thug who sold protection to and extorted recent immigrants like Jose Valdez. And Hartman would intimidate or murder anyone who threatened to testify against him. No one was safe.
'Hartman's got money in Europe,' Tribow said to the cop. 'Who's watching him — to make sure he doesn't head for the beach?' The suspect had been released on a $2 million bond, which he'd easily posted, and he'd had his passport lifted. But Tribow remembered the killer's assured look not long before as he'd said, 'You're going to lose,' and wondered if Hartman conveyed a subconscious message that he was planning to jump bond.
But Detective Moyer — helping himself to the cookies that Tribow's wife had once again sent her husband to work with — said, 'We don't have to worry. He's got baby-sitters like you wouldn't believe. Two, full-time. He steps over the county line or into an airport and, bang, he's wearing bracelets. These oatmeal ones're my favorite. Can I get the recipe?' He yawned again.
'You don't cook,' Tribow told him. 'How 'bout if Connie just makes you a box?'
'That'd work too.' The cop wandered back out of the office to find some criminals to arrest — or to get some sleep — and Chuck Wu accompanied Viamonte to her office, where they'd spend the evening preparing questions for voir dire — jury selection.
Tribow himself turned to the indictment and continued to plan out the trial.
He'd carefully studied the facts of the Valdez killing and decided to bring Hartman up on three charges. The backbone of the case — the conviction that Tribow wanted most badly — was first-degree murder. This was premeditated homicide, and if convicted of it Hartman could be sentenced to death, a punishment that Tribow intended to recommend to the court. But this was a difficult case to prove. The state had to establish beyond a reasonable doubt that Hartman had planned out Valdez's murder ahead of time, went looking for him, and killed him under circumstances that showed no heat of passion or emotional turmoil.
But there were several other charges included in the indictment too: murder two and manslaughter. These were backups — what were called 'lesser-included offenses.' They were easier to prove than murder one. If the jury decided, for instance, that Hartman hadn't planned the murder ahead of time but decided impulsively to kill Valdez, they could still convict for second-degree murder. He could go to prison for life for this type of murder but he couldn't be sentenced to death.
Finally Tribow included the manslaughter charge as a last-ditch backup. He'd have to prove only that Hartman had killed Valdez either under conditions of extreme recklessness or in the heat of passion. This would be the easiest of the crimes to prove and on these facts the jury would undoubtedly convict.
That weekend the three prosecutors prepared questions to ask the jury, and over the course of the next week they battled Hartman's impressive legal team during the voir dire process. Finally, on Friday, the jury was empaneled and Tribow, Wu and Viamonte returned to the office to spend the weekend coaching witnesses and preparing evidence and exhibits.
Every time he got tired, every time he wanted to stop and return home to play with Danny Junior or just sit and have a cup of coffee with his wife, he pictured Jose Valdez's wife and thought that she'd never spend
And when he thought that, he pictured Ray Hartman's arrogant eyes.
Danny Tribow would then stop daydreaming and return to the case.
When he'd been in law school Tribow had hoped for the chance to practice law in a Gothic courthouse filled with portraits of stern old judges and dark-wood paneling and the scent of somber justice.
Where he plied his trade, however, was a brightly lit, low-ceilinged county courtroom filled with blond wood and beige drapes and ugly green linoleum. It looked like a high school classroom.
On the morning of trial, nine a.m. sharp, he sat down at the counsel table, flanked by Adele Viamonte — in her darkest suit, whitest blouse and most assertive visage — and Chuck Wu, who was manning his battered laptop. Hundreds of papers and exhibits and law books surrounded them.
Across the aisle Ray Hartman sat at the other table. He was surrounded by three high-ticket partners in the law firm he'd hired, two associates, and
The uneven teams didn't bother Tribow one bit, however. He believed he was put on earth to bring people who did illegal things to justice. Some of them would always be richer than you and have better resources. That was how the game worked and Tribow, like every successful prosecutor throughout history, accepted it. Only weak or incompetent DAs whined about the unfairness of the system.
He noticed Ray Hartman staring at him, mouthing something. The DA couldn't tell what it was.
Viamonte translated. 'He said, 'You're going to lose.''
Tribow gave a brief laugh.
He looked behind him. The room was filled. He nodded at Detective Dick Moyer, who'd been after Hartman for years. A nod too and a faint smile for Carmen Valdez, the widow of the victim. She returned his gaze with a silent, desperate plea that he bring this terrible man to justice.
I'll do my best, he answered, also silently.
Then the clerk entered and called out, 'Oyez, oyez, this court is now in session. All those with business before this court come forward and be heard.' As he always did, Tribow felt a chill at these words, as if they were an incantation that shut out reality and ushered everyone here into the solemn and mysterious world of the criminal courtroom.
A few preliminaries were disposed of and the bearded judge nodded for Tribow to start.
The prosecutor rose and gave his opening statement, which was very short; Danny Tribow believed the divining rod that most effectively pointed toward justice in a criminal case wasn't rhetoric but the truth as revealed by the facts you presented to the jury.
And so for the next two days he produced witness after witness, exhibits, charts and graphs.
'I've been a professional ballistics expert for twenty-two years… I conducted three tests of the bullets taken from the defendant's weapon and I can state without a doubt that the bullet that killed the victim came from the defendant's gun…'
'I sold that weapon to the man sitting there — the defendant, Ray Hartman…'
'The victim, Mr. Valdez, had gone to the police complaining that the defendant had extorted him… Yes, that's a copy of the complaint…'
'I've been a police officer for seven years. I was one of the first on the scene and I took that particular weapon off the person of the defendant, Ray Hartman…'
'We found gunshot residue on the hand of the defendant, Ray Hartman. The amount and nature of this residue is consistent with what we would've found on the hands of someone who fired a pistol about the time the victim was shot…'
'The victim was shot once in the temple…'
'Yes, I saw the defendant on the day of the shooting. He was walking down the street next to Mr. Valdez's
