Family Affair
After lunch, the occupancy of the gallery in Courtroom 2 was near capacity with the section behind the defense table full. A number of years had passed—nearly a decade—since Johnny last litigated a criminal case, much less one for the capital crime of murder. Reports of his cross examination of Detective Douglas eviscerating the Commonwealth’s evidence circulated through the courthouse, arousing the interest of legal professionals, most especially amongst public defenders who were so often outmatched in terms of money and manpower by the government prosecutors, that Griff’s preliminary hearing suddenly and unexpectedly found an audience, though few of them knew who E.J. Leonard was.
As Griff was led to the defense table, he noticed Lance sitting in the back row on the prosecution’s side of the courtroom, right next to the County Prosecutor and the anonymous Fed. Maura was nowhere to be seen.
I can’t believe she would miss Helena testifying, he thought.
“The Commonwealth calls Clifford Nickolson, Junior.”
“Hmmm…” Johnny looked at Griff. “Well, he did fairly announce he had two more witnesses. This should be interesting.”
Griff nodded.
“Mr. Nickolson, do you know the defendant, Griffith Crowe,” asked William Sewell.
“I have met the defendant on only two occasions. Once in the offices of my father’s company, the Hornet Investment Group. The second time at a sushi bar at home in Silicon Valley while I was having lunch.”
“What was the purpose of those meetings?”
“I believe he was working some kind of scheme to extort or blackmail money from our family.”
Griff looked at Johnny and whispered, “Maybe an objection, here?”
Johnny smiled at Griff and patted his arm.
“What makes you think that?” asked Sewell.
“Well, the first meeting, at Hornet Invest, Crowe was actually there to see the Managing Director, Donald Wallace. I just happened to be in Los Angeles to review the quarterly results with Don. I was concerned for his safety, so I made sure I was there in the conference room when Crowe got there.”
“Why were you concerned for Mr. Wallace’s safety?”
“The night before I received an entry notification text from the security system of my parents’ house in Bel Aire, which is on the market. Usually, the realtor gives me advance notice of showings, but hadn’t, so I asked the security services company I use to check it out. Three of their men were overpowered, restrained with zip ties, and assaulted with a stun gun.”
“After they were zip tied?”
“Yes.”
“And their assailant was the defendant?”
“Yes, though we did not know that at the time. Nevertheless, a complete stranger showing up at the Century Tower offices out of the blue the very next day after that incident struck me as just too much of a coincidence.”
“So, the next day, did the defendant threaten or assault you and Mr. Wallace?”
“Not exactly. Don said the pretext given for the meeting was that Crowe was helping,” JR paused to gesture air quotes, “Helena recover some missing items of my father’s. When I challenged his intentions, he stared at me with a look in his eyes…honestly, I swear he looked like he was trying to figure out how to kill me. It was creepy.”
Griff, recalling the meeting, covered his mouth to mask a quiet snort of a laugh.
“What?” Johnny whispered.
“General Mattis. That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
Johnny smiled. “I knew there had to be a good reason I took such a shine to you.”
“That is all? A look?” Sewell asked.
“No. Despite my gut feeling about this guy, I let him and Don have a brief meeting. A couple of days later Don was shot dead in the parking garage. The LAPD said it was a nine-millimeter Glock.”
“And you suspect it was the defendant?”
“I didn’t connect the dots at the time, ‘cause the police said it was a carjacking and Don’s Beemer was gone and—you know, you don’t really see things so clearly when you're dealing with an unforeseen tragedy like that.”
“Are the Los Angeles Police looking into Crowe for this murder?”
Johnny stood up. “At this point, I feel compelled to object, your honor. Relevance, hearsay, or whatever. Perhaps we should focus our attention on crimes which have actually occurred here in the Commonwealth, rather than trying to assist California in solving theirs.”
“Sustained.”
“Crowe claimed to be working with your sister, correct?” Sewell asked.
“That’s what Don said.”
“Do you think your sister was involved in this extortion scheme?”
“Trust me, Helena does not need money. Our father’s estate was valued at well over a billion dollars and she got half. She’s got her Learjet and her home in New Mexico and her apartments in New York, Paris and San Francisco, and a bank balance some small governments only dream of having.”
“If not for money, would Helena have other reasons for joining the defendant in his scheme?”
“If I can speak candidly, my sister is a ball buster.”
Griff looked to Johnny for an objection.
Johnny just stared at JR like a hungry predator.
“How do you mean?”
“I mean, I am sorry that her mother caught brain cancer and died. That wasn’t my mother’s fault. Or mine. Or that poor sap she married, Edward. She took it out on everyone except our father. And when he died—I mean it was bad enough dealing with the loss of him and my mom in the crash, but she doubled down and fought me every step of the way as executor of his will. It was fair, though. She got half. Just like Dad wanted. And she got all her mom’s diamonds, but not my mom’s jewelry—not that she really wanted it. She just wanted to twist the knife in my heart, you know?”
“Was she a part of the defendant’s scheme?”
“I really didn’t think so until the second time I encountered Crowe.”
“At the sushi bar?”
“Yeah, he kind of ambushed me at lunch. Must have been stalking me for a couple of days or how else would he know that was my regular place. I had a security detail with me that day because somebody had been taking pot shots at my car and my home. I had found bullet holes in the fender and through the living room window.”
“By Crowe?”
“I hadn’t gotten any death threats or anything and the cops had nothing to go on, really. But then one day, this guy,” JR pointed at Griff.
“Let the record show that the witness identified the defendant,” Sewell said.
“This guy gets by my security and sits himself down at the table and starts talking like he knows all about the sniper attacks. How can that be?”
“Did he threaten to kill you?”
“Not in so many words, but he knew. How could he know unless he did it? A short time later, Helena comes in and sits down beside him. And it’s like they’re Bonnie and Clyde or something.”
“What did Helena say?”
“I don’t recall exactly. Nothing specific, but the vibe coming off those two was…you know, menacing like. I warned them to leave me alone, because I had taken steps to protect myself. I pointed out my security detail at a nearby table. After that, they left together and all I can think at the time is ‘good riddance.’ The next thing I know I get a call from Kentucky police about the murder of some guy named Eply who was digging up dirt on my father. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to start figuring out who was behind it.”
“Objection,” Johnny said wearily. “I do not recall the witness being put forth as an expert in rocketry.”
“Sustained. Mr. Sewell?”
“I have nothing more, your honor.”
“Mr. Leonard?”
“Thank you, your honor.” Johnny sat with his hands flat on the defense table, shaking his head. “Gosh, dang it all, if this don’t sound like some kind of tall tale from a Harold Robbins novel—what with all the money and mansions and jets and diamonds and danger and intrigue and whatnot.”
“Does the defense actually have any questions?” asked Sewell.
“Of course. Of course.” Johnny stood up and stepped in front of the witness box. “You mentioned that your sister, excuse me, your half-sister, engaged Mr. Crowe to find items belonging to your father, which had gone missing, correct?”
“That’s what he said, anyway.”
“What items?”
“I’m not sure. Some notebooks. I think his medals from the Gulf War and some personal trinkets and memorabilia.”
“Did you or do you now have possession of these items?”
“No. I did not and do not now”
“Had Helena asked you about these items in the past—being the executor of your father’s estate and all.”
“She kept harping on it. But it was trivial stuff in the grand scheme of disposing of my father’s considerable assets—”
“He was her father, too. No?”
“Yes, of course. Anyway, I figured the items would show up eventually at one of the residences—there were nearly a dozen properties all over the world. You have to understand finding that stuff was way down on the priority list at the time.”
“And these notebooks were some kind of diary, correct?”
“Journals. My—our father kept a journal for himself. Not some kind of trivial ‘Dear Diary’ garbage, but an instrument of recollection and reflection, as he always used to tell me. A habit of great men down through history. He tried to get me to do it, too, but it never stuck with me. Besides, who needs it with social media nowadays? Same thing.”
“Hardly.”
JR casually shrugged off Johnny’s opinion.
“It does appear as if there might be quite the trove of invaluable information and insights contained on those pages, given your father’s experiences, what, from high over the deserts of Iraq in a jet fighter to clawing his way to the very pinnacle of this here planet’s financial pyramid. It would be a fascinating ancestral family record and, perhaps, even a window into these contemporary times for future historians. Can you see why Helena might have concern to preserve them?”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“But you cared not about it.”
“I got other things on my mind.”
“What other things?”
“You mean, besides getting my own tech sector startup company off the ground and still dealing with probate issues and trying to keep on top of managing Hornet Investments—especially now with Don’s death? Not to mention dealing with my crazy sister?”
“Oh, that’s right. You now own half of your father’s company and Helena owns the other half, correct?”
“We each own forty-two-and-a-half percent. Don owned the other fifteen.”
“So, Mr. Wallace was the deciding vote, should you and your half-sister have a difference of opinion on corporate matters.”
“You could look at it that way, though there haven’t been any votes taken. No need, really.”
“Do you think any of the recollections and reflections in your father’s journals might touch on matters of import to Hornet Investment Group? Perhaps about all the companies and individuals and other entities he worked with during his career? Certainly, I’d expect incisive observations on the same from a man of your father’s powerful intellect and keen financial acumen. Not to mention a clearly focused documentation of behind-the-scenes corporate activities, strategeries and power play machinations? Who knows, perhaps even government intrigue.”
“Yeah. Probably. But what difference does it make? They’re missing.”
“What if I informed you that they are not, in fact, missing?”
“He found them?”
In his peripheral vision, Lance noticed the suspected Fed’s spine stiffen abruptly, so much so, it caused the County Prosecutor to look that way.
“He did. And they make for quite interesting reading.” Johnny stopped directly in front of JR and smiled a crooked smile.
“Do you, sir, in all honesty believe your sister was in cahoots with Mr. Crowe to cause you or Donald Wallace or Wes Eply any physical harm?”
“I think those two were using one another. That’s the kind of person my sister is. A user. And he seems no better. But Helena is not a killer, like him. She likes to squeeze, not crush. So, no. I do not believe she had anything to do with murder.”
“I believe the defense is finished with Mr. Nickolson.”
‘You may step down, sir,” said Judge Hemmings.
After JR left the courtroom, Sewell announced, “The Commonwealth calls Helena Nickolson.”
Helena entered dressed in a conservative black skirt, matching jacket, and white silk blouse which neither detracted from her beauty nor constrained her sexuality. She took her oath and sat in the witness stand, staring blankly into the gallery, avoiding eye contact with Griff.
“Miss Nickolson, what is your relationship with the defendant, Griffith Crowe?” Sewell asked.
“I have no relationship with Mr. Crowe. He is an employee of one of the law firms I have retained.”
“One of the law firms?”
“Isn’t that what I just said?”
“And you have no relationship with the defendant?”
“Do you have a relationship with the fry cook at the McDonald’s you so obviously frequent?”
“Have you had sexual relations with the defendant?”
“Having sex does not constitute a relationship.”
In exasperation, the prosecutor turned to the judge and said, “Your honor, permission to treat this witness as hostile.”
“Mr. Leonard?” asked Judge Hemmings.
“I most certainly was not absent from that particular class in law school where they instructed us if your opponent is suicidally destroying his own case, just stand back and enjoy the spectacle. Who am I to object to the Commonwealth presenting a witness so obviously hostile to their own cause, your honor?”
Judge Hemmings shook his head. “A simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ would have sufficed. You best not be so verbose in the presence of a jury, Mr. Leonard. Proceed, Mr. Sewell”
“Have you had sexual intercourse with the defendant?” Sewell asked.
“Of course. Look at him. Who wouldn’t? Surely you understand exactly what I mean,” Helena answered, smiling at Sewell and licking her lips.
The prosecutor blushed visibly.
The judge gaveled down the snickers percolating in the gallery.
“How many times?” Sewell asked.
“Do you mean on how many occasions or how many specific acts of fornication we performed?”
“Your honor, instruct the witness to answer.”
“I am so sorry, judge, but my attorney warned me to be very, very careful not to fall prey to—what is it called—oh, yeah, a perjury trap.” Helena waved at Lance at the back of the courtroom.
Lance flashed an “Okay” sign to Helena, then leaned over towards the County Prosecutor and the Fed to whisper, “That’s my client. Lucky me, huh?”
“Perhaps, you might want to rephrase your question, Mr. Sewell,” said Judge Hemmings.
“Okay. Have you had sexual intercourse more than once with the defendant?”
“Yes.”
“Have you had sexual intercourse with defendant Crowe at your home in New Mexico?”
“Yes. Yes. Yes, and yes. Four times—no. Yes. Five times.”
“Quiet.” Judge Hemmings gaveled down a ripple of laughter in the gallery.
“Have you had sexual intercourse with defendant Crowe at the Beverly Hills Hotel?”
“Yes. In Bungalow Seven.”
“Have you had sexual intercourse with defendant Crowe at his ranch in Wyoming?
“Yes.”
“Have you had sexual intercourse with defendant Crowe at the St. Francis Hotel in San Francisco?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have a relationship with defendant Crowe?”
“No.” Helena looked at Griff for the very first time. “Not yet.”
“Were you in Los Angeles at the time Griffith Crowe met with Donald Wallace and your brother, Cliff Nickolson, Jr.?
“I know who my brother is. Yes.”
“Did you kill Donald Wallace?”
“No.”
“Did you conspire with the defendant to kill Donald Wallace?”
“No.”
“Did you and the defendant meet your brother, Cliff Nickolson, at the Sushi Shack in Menlo Park, California?”
“Yes.”
“Did you threaten your brother with harm?”
A clear look of disgust came over Helena’s face. She shook her head. “No.”
“Did defendant Crowe shoot at your brother’s car and home?”
“No.”
“How do you know?” Sewell smirked at Helena.
“How do you know he did? My brother? Yeah. Right. Take that to the bank for a laugh.”
“Did you hire Defendant Crowe to find your father’s journals and war medals?”
“Yes.”
“Did he find the journals and medals?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have any further need, then, of Mr. Crowe’s services?”
Helena sighed. “No. I suppose not.”
“I have nothing further, your honor.”
“Mr. Leonard?”
Johnny stood up, cocked his head to the side and gave Helena a sympathetic look. He took a photograph out of a file folder and held it behind his back. He walked slowly up to the witness stand, his head bowed as if examining his own shoes. “Miss Nickolson…”
Helena looked at Griff, then back at Johnny. “Yes?”
Johnny looked over to scowl at the prosecutor’s table, then turned back to gaze directly into Helena’s gunmetal blue eyes. “Please forgive me for the necessary follow up to the Commonwealth’s insatiably prurient interest into your romantic life.”
Helena shrugged.
“We heard in prior testimony that you are the proud owner of a Learjet. Is that correct?”
“Yes. A Learjet 31.”
“What is the N-number of your aircraft?”
“November Six-Nine-Six-Papa-Romeo.”
“Papa?” Johnny smiled. “I do so sincerely apologize, now, but have you had sexual intercourse with defendant Crowe on Lear Six-Nine-Six-Papa-Romeo?”
Helena smiled. “Yes.”
“Your honor, I’d like to have Defense Exhibit A submitted into evidence.” Johnny handed the photo to the bailiff to hand to Judge Hemmings. After taking it back, he showed it to William Sewell.
“Any objection, Mr. Sewell?”
“No, your honor.”
Johnny handed the photo to Helena. “And is the Learjet 31 which appears in this photograph, the very same aircraft aboard which you hosted said tryst?”
“Yes. Yes, it is.”
“Do you recognize the aircraft parked next to your Learjet in this photograph?”
“I do. It is Mr. Crowe’s cute little airplane. A Cirrus, I believe he said it was.”
“Would you please read the time stamp in the lower right-hand corner?”
“Cowboy Aviation Security Camera Three; June 8, zero four one eight.”
“Four eighteen in the morning. And would that have been the night of your romantic encounter with Mr. Crowe?”
“Yes. I believe it is.”
“Where is Cowboy Aviation located, Miss Nickolson?”
“Laramie, Wyoming.”
“A mere one thousand, two hundred sixty miles from here as the crow flies.” Johnny looked at the prosecutor, then back to Helena. “Thank you, darling. And again, I apologize. Nothing further your honor.”
“The Commonwealth rests, your honor,” said Sewell.
“Mr. Leonard, will you present a defense?”
“I have only one witness, your honor. We shall require a mere ten or fifteen minutes…or so of the court’s time.”
“Very well, let’s take a twenty-minute recess.”
Johnny came over and leaned with his hands on the defense table in front of Griff. “Poor Judge Hemmings. He’s got one angry prostate bedeviling his bladder relief schedule. Gives me pause to count my blessings I am haunted only by Patty Ann to aggravate my quickly fleeting days. You need to use the head, Griff?”
“No, but just one witness?”
“Why use more when one will do?” Johnny looked over the people milling about the gallery.
“Who is it?”
“You’ve drawn quite a crowd, son. I ain’t seen this much public interest in a case since O.J.”
“And you’re going to get me off like O.J., right?”
“If it does not fit, you must acquit. I always did favor that Johnny Cochrane fella.”
“And you’re going to get me off, right?”
Johnny smiled. “Trust me.”
“But you’re a lawyer.”
“But I am your lawyer. And a one damn fine practitioner of jurisprudence.”
***~~~***