In The Plan - 12. Chapter 12

12

Thursday and Friday went according to plans for Jenkins. He presented his series of witnesses, they said what was expected, Lee asked only perfunctory questions, and the two days passed easily. Overall, Jenkins was pleased, but from the start, he hadn't anticipated any problems.

Monday, Doug Hodges testified, and he was all Jenkins had hoped. Likable. Clear. Focused. Sympathetic. He seemed to remember everything that had happened in the bar. Well, almost. Lee questioned him on one detail - from a pair of witnesses he said would later be appearing - and Hodges couldn't correct himself. He simply said that a lot was happening in the forty-five minutes before he and Brad left the bar, that Brad had been steadily rowdy, and almost everyone there had contributed to the conversations about who'd drive him home. Some people on the jury nodded, as though they'd been at parties like that themselves.

When Doug Hodges came to describing the accident - he called it "the drive that never should have happened" - he was as detailed. Listening to him, Jenkins could hear a panic that didn't come across in his deposition statements to the police, and Jenkins was sure that panic had affected the jury as well. Lee questioned Hodges briefly on his conflicting early and later police statements, and Jenkins thought Lee was going to make more of that. But he let it go.

After Doug Hodges, there was another small snag, but nothing as big as the one with Joseph Muraro. When Jenkins went to present his final witness - his expert - Lee had the man eliminated on a technicality.

"I've read this report," Lee explained, when he and Jenkins had approached the bench. "I read it when it first came to me, and I reviewed it last night - hoping I'd see it differently. But I simply don't think it's an expert's opinion."

Jenkins grinned. "You can't possibly discredit my witness," he said. "He's an established authority, and he has been - in this community and often in this courtroom - for thirty years. You may even have used him yourself."

"I'm not questioning his authority," Lee calmly replied. "I'm saying the reason one uses an expert is to give expert opinions - to support a particular point of view. And this report isn't opinion. It's facts. On top of that, those facts seem directly lifted out of the section of the police report written by Officer William Huntley.

He produced his copy of the report, had it noted, and began to quote some of the sentences he'd highlighted.

Faint tire marks starting in the southbound lane.

Extending approximately 52' feet and curving to the left.

Distinctive yaw mark on the double yellow lines.

"There's no interpretation here," he went on. "It's straight reporting - good reporting, admittedly. Still, according to People vs. MacDonald, 1984..."

"I know what People vs. MacDonald says," the judge interrupted. "As I'm sure Mr. Jenkins does."

"I do," Jenkins agreed.

The judge took the expert's report Lee handed him and then the one from the police. He compared them and turned to Damon Jenkins.

"I'm afraid Mr. Lee is right here," he admitted. "This doesn't seem to be opinion at all. It's direct repetition."

"But..."

"No - I'm sorry, counsel. Let's move on."

Jenkins walked back to his desk frowning, wondering if this was Lee's tiny revenge for Joseph Muraro's surprise testimony. Still, he wasn't completely upset. It was again his fault. He should have read the report more carefully, and - when he discovered the problem - should have had his expert's language tweaked to solve it. But that's also what happens when you're doing too many things, in too little time, without enough help.

Lee also walked back to his desk. He hated pulling something that small - that technical. Jenkins's expert's case would have in no way weakened his own expert's. They focused on two different things. And Jenkins's expert never even approached the opinion that because of the type of injuries Doug Hodges had, he had to be driving.

Lee was sure that would persuade the jury, but there was nothing wrong with making his position stronger. He also now had something further to use - something one of his investigators had turned up over the weekend. He would rather have not used that, either, and certainly didn't want to overplay its strength. Besides, he had to wait patiently until the next morning when he'd face Joseph Muraro again - "Cowboy," as his friends called him. For good reasons.

The trial resumed tentatively Tuesday, with a feeling of being thrown back five days and trying to catch-up. Joseph Muraro was again seated in the witness chair, but Jenkins had finished his presentation, so Lee had the witness to himself. He started slowly. He got out the folder of police photos and handed Muraro one of Brad Coghlan's car.

"Let me show you this picture, okay? This is what we call an S-25. Can you tell what that's a picture of?"

Muraro looked at the photo. "What's left of the Mercedes."

"That's a wrecked car, yes?"

"Yes."

"The car you saw driving - was that in a wrecked condition?"

"No."

"So other than the fact that this is a wrecked car, is it about the same here - same model - as far as you know?"

"Yes."

"Now, do you have any familiarity with a Mercedes-Benz that age?"

"I almost bought one, the same car, '66. This looks like about a '65, '64."

"And that's what, the roadster? The SL?"

"Um-hmm."

"The one you bought, was that a convertible?"

"I didn't buy it."

"I'm sorry. The one you almost bought - was that a convertible as well?"

"Yes."

"Was the car you bought instead of that one the one you were driving the night of the accident?"

"Yes."

"Was it also a Mercedes?"

"No, a Corvette, a '71. I like old cars, though they cost a lot to own - all those repairs. And parts are harder to find."

"In addition to the Corvette, do you own any other cars?"

"Yes - but not really a car. A beat up pick-up I use for work."

"And any other vehicles?"

"Yes, another old one. A Harley - '79."

"A Harley's a motorcycle, correct?"

"Yes."

"A big one?"

Muraro nodded. It wasn't that big, and it wasn't that fast because of its age. And neither of those things had anything to do with the accident. Knowing this, he looked toward the judge, to see if he'd do something to stop these questions. The judge just smiled, as if counseling, "Be patient."

"Do you ride your motorcycle a lot?" Lee continued.

"Every chance I get," Muraro replied, smiling. Maybe he could humor the man.

"But not on the night of the accident?" Lee went on.

"No. That night, I had a date. I was going on a date - picking up a woman I'd only met recently - for the first time. The Corvette seemed a better choice."

This time Lee did smile. "Makes sense," he agreed. "But she wasn't in your car at the time of the accident - well, when the Mercedes nearly hit you."

"No. I would've told the police. She would've made a statement."

Lee accepted that then veered off again. "Do you belong to a Corvette car club?"

The question came out of nowhere, but Muraro fielded it, thinking it possibly connected to Brad Coghlan's restoring his Mercedes.

"Yes," he said.

"Do you belong to a motorcycle club?" Lee asked.

"Yes," Muraro allowed, again being patient.

"Is it specific to Harleys?"

"No." Short answer. He didn't want to go into this.

"Do you ride with the members of this motorcycle club a lot?"

This was getting further from the accident, and Muraro looked again at the judge and then at Jenkins. The lawyer should have been on his feet, objecting. Instead, both he and the judge said nothing.

"I ride with my friends," Muraro answered.

"And your friends are members of this club?"

"Some of them." He hesitated. "A lot of them."

"Could you tell me the name of this club?"

Muraro was afraid that's where Lee was headed, and again he hesitated - realizing exactly what he was being trapped into saying. Then he simply surrendered. "Hells Angels."

He could see the reaction from the jury and was sure Lee could sense it. But the lawyer didn't even turn around to acknowledge his win. He went right on.

"Have you been a member of Hells Angels for a long time?" he asked.

"Some."

"And I understand it's a long and difficult process to be accepted into membership."

"It can be," Muraro allowed.

"You have to be approved by all the members of your local chapter and by many of the national ones as well."

"Yes."

"So it can take five or six years? Sometimes longer?"

"Yes."

"Do you know how long you've been a member?"

"Not exactly." Muraro decided to try to be a little more cooperative, since this wasn't going away. "Since sometime in my 20s - my late 20s," he said. "I started riding pretty young, so I was a member pretty young. They don't always take them."

"I hear it's a pretty exclusive club."

"Not really."

"But I hear that once you're in, you stay in. Isn't your motto, 'Forever Angels, Angels Forever?'"

"Yes." There was no denying that.

"I also hear that Hells Angeles are sometimes called 'the one percenters' - and they call themselves that."

Muraro sighed. "A lot of people call themselves a lot of things. And they let themselves be falsely labeled. Because it's not worth fighting."

"Then it isn't true?"

"No," Muraro admitted. "It's true."

"And that one percent is very specific?"

Muraro thought about this, and he tried to create a neutral answer. "Well, you have to ride a certain kind of bike - a pretty big one."

"And you have to be white?" Lee asked instead. "And male?"

Muraro knew where this was headed but worked to stay cool. "Not necessarily," he replied.

"Do you know any members who aren't?"

"Aren't what?" he asked - hoping that wasn't going to piss off the judge. He didn't risk even glancing that way.

"White," Lee simply repeated. He seemed to enjoy rubbing it in.

"No. I don't," Muraro told him. "Being honest."

"Do you know any members who aren't guys?" Lee pushed on.

"No."

Keep it simple, Cowboy, Muraro told himself.

"Do you know any members who are police officers?" Lee pressed.

Muraro knew better than to hope for help. It simply wasn't coming.

"No," he answered. "No police officers."

"In fact, it's on the record that some Hells Angels say they hate cops."

Muraro steadied himself. Cool. Cool. Cool. "I don't hate police officers," he said. Evenly. "I never have. In fact - as I told you the last time you asked - I have good friends who are long-standing police officers. Very close buddies."

"Do you ever ride with them?"

"Yes. Yes, I do."

"Often?"

Muraro smiled, hoping that might help let off some pressure. "As I said - I ride a lot. I don't always remember who with."

"Can you remember if you ride with more police officers than with Hells Angels?"

"No, I don't."

"You don't ride with officers, or you can't remember?"

It seemed like another trap, so Muraro spoke carefully.

"I don't ride with many officers. I know them more from other places."

"Can you remember the last time you rode with a police officer?"

Muraro thought hard. He really did.

"No. No, I honestly can't."

"And with a Hells Angel?"

Again, Muraro was trapped. He couldn't even look at the jury. He sighed again and said, "On Sunday."

"That would be this Sunday?" Lee asked. "Just two days ago?"

"Yes. Saturday as well." May as well throw that in.

At the point, Muraro was so pissed, he just wanted to walk out. He wanted to bolt. He knew he was getting screwed - publically - in the worst way - and in front of people he didn't know or trust. He was so mad - and working so hard not to let it show - that he wasn't sure what the jury could see. But he knew he couldn't walk out without making things worse - possibly without being thrown in jail. So he couldn't let himself seem angry.

Lee continued - relentlessly. "Do you know that the FBI and the Justice Department classify the Hells Angels as being 'a criminal network?'" he asked. "Do you know that for over sixty years the Hells Angels have been accused of carrying out widespread violent crimes, including drug dealing, trafficking in stolen goods, racketeering, arms trafficking, assault, extortion, money laundering, contract killing, murder, and prostitution?"

Muraro listened to the fool recite his little list, taking it all in, then letting out a long breath and staring directly at this asshole lawyer. "Some of us just ride bikes," he said.

"But not all?"

Lee wouldn't give up.

"No," Muraro said. Giving nothing further.

Lee just smiled, then turned to the judge. "I have no further questions."

Muraro looked across at Jenkins, and Jenkins looked tiredly back at him. But neither of them could guess how much damage Lee had just done.