No Way Out
Sitting on a lounging chair on the deck of his Mediterranean-style villa, looking out onto the ocean, Elias Claymore realized that crime and repentance had served him well. His present surroundings were a far cry from the ramshackle hut where he had been born and the rat-infested ‘hood where he had grown up.
The villa stood in landscaped grounds on the sands of Montecito’s most prestigious beach and had breathtaking views of the ocean from nearly every room. There was a huge living room with fireplace, bar and ocean view, a beachside kitchen, two beachside bedrooms each with a fireplace, and a third at the back. Even the office had an ocean view. There was also a separate guest apartment, a large beachfront deck, a sunset view seaside spa, majestic trees and flowering gardens and seventy-five feet of private beachfront.
But how far had he really come?
‘You can take the man out of the ghetto,’ the racists had taunted, ‘but you can’t take the ghetto out of the man.’ And much as it pained his troubled conscience, the racists were right on this one, albeit in the most literal sense. A ghetto is a place of retreat where one is surrounded by one’s own kind yet is constantly under threat from those outside. And right now Elias felt besieged.
His mind drifted back to what his life had once been like. He used to think that the pain was all over. He had never forgotten what he had done. But after all these years he thought it would no longer come back to haunt him. Yet the events of the past week had proved him wrong – and it was like a slow, drawn-out torture.
He tried to soften the pain by reminding himself what had driven him to do the things he had done and become the man he became, thinking back to the time he was nine when two white policemen raped his mother before his eyes. He had tried to stop them, but one of them had grabbed him and twisted his arm behind his back, forcing him to watch while the other had pinned his mother to the ground, ripped her clothes and forced himself into her as she screamed and begged for mercy.
She had brought up Elias alone, without the help of a man, and she had always been a strong figure in his early years, dishing out the punishment while protecting him from the bigger kids in the ‘hood. But she couldn’t protect herself from this. And Elias Claymore learned in those few minutes that his mother, who had been like a pillar of support for the entire world as he knew it, was powerless in the face of this invading force in their own home.
And through his childish eyes, little Elias knew why. She was a woman – and women were weaker than men. He couldn’t expect a woman to protect him. It was for men to be strong and to protect women…or violate them. That was how it was in other households. He had seen the local pimps slapping their girls around and he quickly learned that this was the natural order in the world. It was normal for men to dominate women.
But these men who had invaded his house and raped his mother were not their men. They were an alien presence. These were the pigs who beat up blacks just because they were black. These were the people who called him ‘Nigger’ and made him afraid whenever they walked by, knowing that he daren’t respond to their racist taunts. And now they were here in his home, doing…this thing…to his mother.
He couldn’t blame her for being weak. But it was her fault that they didn’t have a man to protect them. She had driven him away. That’s what one of his brothers had told him. She had called Elias’s father a no-good, drunken deadbeat and thrown him out of the house. But now he realized how much they needed a man in this household…and they didn’t have one because of her.
He realized in that moment that one day he would be a man. He would be big and strong and then there’d be hell to pay! Because then he’d be able to fight back…and he’d hit them where it hurt. He’d hit their weakness – their women.
He was shaken out of his unhappy daydream by a loud, aggressive knocking on the front door.
‘Who is it?’ he called out.
‘This is the police! We have a warrant for your arrest.’
Friday, 12 June 2009 – 13.00
‘This time we’ve got a witness,’ said Lieutenant Kropf.
‘Who?’ asked Alex.
‘You’ll find out soon enough.’
Alex had flown down to Los Angeles from San Francisco as soon as he heard of Claymore’s second arrest, having told his client not to say a word until he got there. He knew that the cops would try their usual tricks – telling the suspect that they were more likely to believe him if he spoke freely on the record, without getting all ‘lawyered up.’ But Alex had been firm.
‘Don’t fall for it,’ he had warned. ‘The issue is not whether they believe you, but whether they’ve got a case. They’re capable of talking themselves into anything. You just stay cool and hang on till I get there. If they’ve got no case, they can’t act. If they think they’ve already got one, then nothing you can say will make any difference.’
‘What exactly did this witness see?’ Alex assumed that someone hadn’t just stood there watching a rape and doing nothing about it.
‘He saw your client running away from the crime scene,’ said Kropf, regretting it a moment later.
He.
Alex picked up on it. So the witness was a man…or a boy. And he had only seen Claymore allegedly running away from the crime scene, not the rape. That was a very different thing.
And Kropf had also let slip that an ID had already been made.
‘Wait a minute, you put my client in a line-up when I wasn’t there?’
‘We didn’t need to,’ said the lieutenant. ‘He recognized him from the news reports.’
They hadn’t said anything about a witness at the time of Claymore’s first arrest. And even if he was right about the identity of the man running away, how did he know that it was from the scene of a rape? If he had known at the time, would he not have stayed to help the victim? Or given his name to the police? And would they not have said something about a witness at the time of the first arrest? And put Claymore in a line-up? But now they were saying that this man had recognized Claymore from the news reports. That meant that he didn’t stick around at the time.
Why not? Had he been afraid? Why would he be afraid if the rapist had run away? Was he afraid to get involved? Was he afraid of the police? Was he a criminal himself? Had he really seen something? Had he even been there? Or was he one of the legion of freeloaders who come out of the woodwork in high profile cases, looking to make a quick buck?
‘Can I see his statement?’ asked Alex.
At a certain point, if they decided to proceed against Claymore, they’d have no alternative but to show him the statement. However at this stage, they owed him nothing, not even the name of the witness.
‘You’ll get it from the D.A. with the rest of the discovery material.’
That sounded ominous, like they had already made up their minds to charge Claymore.
‘I don’t suppose you’d like to give my client an opportunity to explain what he was doing there?’
‘What, you mean why he was at a crime scene at the time of the crime when he had previously claimed to be at home? No, as a matter of fact, we wouldn’t.’
Alex realized that he was in a tight spot. The police were under no obligation to give Claymore a chance to explain himself, now that they had a witness to put him at the crime scene. They could do so, if they wanted to. But they didn’t have to. If they decided to go to trial, Claymore would have to take his chances with a jury.
The door opened and Bridget entered. She signaled the lieutenant over and whispered in his ear while showing him a piece of paper. The lieutenant was nodding seriously and the expression on his face looked grave. Alex suspected that this scene was being staged. He had seen this sort of thing dozens of times before.
The lieutenant came back to the table. ‘Do you want the good news or the bad news?’ he asked Alex.
‘Just cut the crap and spit it out,’ said Alex.
‘We just got back the results of the DNA test.’
Alex suspected that they already had the results before rearresting Claymore. They wouldn’t have arrested him on the strength of the witness’s ID alone, when the test results were still pending.
‘And?’ asked the lawyer tensely.
‘We didn’t have any DNA in the vaginal swab because the rapist used a condom. But the victim scratched the rapist’s face and so we were able to get a good DNA sample from under her fingernails. Want to know what the results were?’
‘Spill it,’ said Alex, realizing where this was going.
The lieutenant handed the fax over to Alex, watching his face for a reaction with a growing sense of excitement. But when Alex perused it, the emotion he felt was anger – not towards Kropf, but towards his own client. And when he showed it to his client, the look on Claymore’s face was one of confusion…and fear.
Friday, 12 June 2009 – 14.30
‘Your Honor,’ Alex Sedaka’s voice rang out confidently, ‘although my client has a criminal record, his last criminal conviction was over twenty years ago.’
They were in Court 13 of the Ventura Courthouse, in the same building where Claymore was being detained. It was a crowded courtroom with backless spectators’ benches and a large cage for holding prisoners. Being based up north in the Bay area, Alex had never had to practice here before, but he knew that this was one of the busiest courts in the country, essentially a meat factory for arraignments, scheduling motions and defendants’ pleas. With 200 cases a day to process, user-comfort was a luxury that they couldn’t afford.
‘Mr Claymore has strong roots in the community,’ Alex continued. ‘And for the last ten years has been a model citizen.’
In truth, Alex was rather less confident than he sounded. The warrant for the second arrest had been a no-bail warrant, because of Claymore’s past, a powerful indicator of which way the judge’s thinking was heading. Alex would have liked to file for an interim appeal. But he knew that his grounds were weak to nonexistent. Denying bail to a man who had previously escaped from prison and stayed at liberty for several years was hardly unreasonable.
But his training and experience as a trial lawyer, permitted him to conceal the doubt – indeed required him to conceal it.
So it was with this turbulent mixture of emotions that Alex was addressing the judge. Except that he was all too aware that he wasn’t addressing only the judge. This was Claymore’s first appearance in court since his arrest and predictably enough it had attracted a lot of public attention. The courtroom was packed with reporters and Alex knew how important it was to get the message out there into the stream of news as quickly as possible, to counteract the negative effect of Claymore’s well-known past.
It was inevitable that the media would dredge up Claymore’s history; there would be no restrictions on public discussion of the facts of the case. Gag orders could be imposed at the judge’s discretion, but there was no automatic sub-judice rule.
As Alex sat down, a woman of about forty, of average height with neat, jet-black hair, rose from her chair to dispute the point. She was Sarah Jensen, the Assistant District Attorney who headed the domestic violence division of the D.A.’s office. Alex had never crossed swords with her before but he was well aware of her reputation. Some prosecutors are tough but not good. Others are good but not tough. Sarah Jensen was both tough and good.
‘Your Honor,’ there was an angry, almost contemptuous edge to the voice, ‘Elias Claymore’s record is well known and the defense counsel conveniently failed to mention that he not only raped six women in the past, but he also escaped from prison last time he was convicted and remained at liberty for several years. For this reason alone, he is a very serious flight risk.’
Alex was back on his feet. ‘Your Honor, the Assistant District Attorney seems to have conveniently forgotten that my client returned to America voluntarily to serve out his sentence.’
It was Alex who, as a young law graduate, still learning his craft, had negotiated the plea bargain.
‘And why should that outweigh the fact that he fled in the first place?’ asked the judge, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
The judge was an old man, close to retirement from the bench. He had seen and heard just about every piece of bullshit that lawyers were capable of throwing at him, and if there were any new tricks to be learned – even from a veteran like Alex – he would have been most surprised.
‘Because it’s a more recent event, Your Honor. And in judging a man’s character, the court should give more weight to his recent past than his distant past.’ He placed the emphasis on his key words, in the hope of neuro-linguistically programming the judge to respond as he wanted.
‘You mean the fact that he returned to the United States to serve out his sentence after he escaped?’
‘Precisely, Your Honor.’
The judge squirmed with mock embarrassment and scratched his head. ‘Forgive me for pointing out the obvious, Mr Sedaka, but he could hardly have done it before he escaped.’
The courtroom erupted with mirth at the judge’s wisecrack and Alex felt the frustration that goes with knowing that one faces an uphill struggle against a hostile judge – especially when the hostile judge has the law on his side.
The gallery, packed with journalists who had got wind of Claymore’s arrest, sensed that this was the beginning of another media event, like the O.J. Simpson trial.
Sarah Jensen shook her head. ‘Your Honor, if I might just add something at this juncture. There is nothing particularly confidence-inspiring in Mr Claymore’s return to the United States, after he’d spent several years on the run as a fugitive from justice. He stayed away as long as he could hold out, until he decided that he preferred the comforts of an American prison to the hardships of a Third World dictatorship.’
Alex bristled with anger. ‘Your Honor, anyone who thinks a prison is a comfortable place to be, should spend a couple of nights there.’
‘I believe,’ the judge replied solemnly, ‘that prison is supposed to be an unpleasant place…so that the inmates don’t get too attached to it.’
Again, laughter erupted from the spectators.
‘My point, Your Honor,’ Alex replied, with growing irritation, ‘is that the court should be guided in its judgment by considering the new Elias Claymore, not the old Elias Claymore. His absconding, like his criminal record, belongs to his past.’
‘That’s something that the prosecution will no doubt dispute, and something that the jury will have to decide,’ said the judge in his world-weary tone. ‘However, I’m inclined to accept that the defense has a valid point regarding the flight risk. The fact that Mr Claymore returned to the United States to serve his sentence is a strong point in his favor. Also he does now have roots in the community. On the other hand I must also bear in mind the severity of the alleged crime and the fact that Mr Claymore has a record for this sort of crime and the fact that he did once escape lawful custody.’
Alex and the A.D.A. waited in silence while the judge considered his options.
‘I feel that in this case, the accused’s record of escape outweighs any other factors. Bail is denied.’
Alex was angry. ‘In that case my client stands by his right to a speedy trial.’
‘That is his right, Mr Sedaka. I’ll set the prelim fourteen days hence in Court 12.’
In general lawyers are more amenable to a delay when their client is out on bail. Alex’s motive for refusing to waive the right was twofold. Firstly to put pressure on the D.A. – and thus indirectly on the judge – to reconsider the bail question. Secondly, if bail was to be denied, then he didn’t want his client sitting in jail for long. Jail is an unsafe environment at the best of times, and for a black man who was thought of as an ‘Uncle Tom’ it was particularly dangerous. He would be in danger from both sides.
Whether either of them would go as far as to try and kill him was another matter, but prison beatings were almost impossible to prevent. The only way Claymore would be safe was if he asked for isolation from the general prison population. But that would involve being put in a special section with all the sex offenders, including child molesters. Alex wasn’t sure if Claymore would be ready to seek this. Knowing Claymore, he’d probably try to tough it out – until it was too late. And this wasn’t an area in which Alex could advise his client. It was something Claymore would have to decide for himself.
After a brief whispered exchange, Claymore was led away to the county jail that was located in the same building.
As Alex was walking away, he was approached by a dignified, sixty-something gray-haired man, who stiffly proffered his business card to Alex, by way of introduction.
‘I’m Arthur Webster of Levine and Webster.’
‘How do you do, Mr Webster,’ said Alex, tensely. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Let’s walk,’ said Webster, indicating with his hand to the side exit from the court building. Alex was happy to comply, but felt alienated by the man’s manner, that appeared to straddle the fence between embarrassment and condescending arrogance.
‘I should explain that we’re a local law firm, based in Los Angeles. We’re retained by the network that broadcasts Mr Claymore’s show and we work extensively with SoCal Insurance where Mr Claymore carries his liability insurance.’
‘I’ve heard of you,’ said Alex.
Webster seemed pleased by this.
‘The reason I wanted to talk to you is because I understand that you’re actually based in San Francisco.’
‘What of it?’
‘Well Claymore’s insurance policy with SoCal Insurance includes legal liability and it occurred to us that it might be rather hard for you to represent Claymore down here in Ventura when you’re based up in the Bay area.’
‘And you want…’
‘We’d like you to step aside as attorney of record and let us represent Mr Claymore.’
Friday, 12 June 2009 – 15.40
‘But as I’m sure you know,’ said Alex, ‘the policy only covers civil liability.’
Alex was seated with the partners of Levine and Webster, including Paul Sherman, around the long oval rosewood table in the main conference room. The atmosphere was tense.
‘Well obviously it can’t cover criminal liability,’ said Webster with a puerile grin, ‘because an insurance company can hardly serve a custodial sentence. But the policy includes payment of legal fees as well as liability payouts, and the insurance company has specifically asked us to take the case.’
Alex had kept his cool when Webster had first approached him and had agreed to this meeting without prejudice. But he was getting irritated now.
‘That means, presumably, representation and legal fees in a civil suit, when there’s an issue of liability.’
‘It covers all legal representation,’ Webster insisted, ‘including criminal.’
‘You seem to be assuming that you can do a better job of defending him on criminal charges than I can.’
‘Oh, come on Mr Sedaka, you’re a one-man band. We’re a large law firm. We’ve got dozens of lawyers and a network of experts and other contacts that you can only dream about.’
‘I’m not disputing your size, but that’s not necessarily an advantage. If the accused marches into court with an army of lawyers, that can actually count against him.’
‘There’s also the logistical aspect. You’re up there in the Bay, we’re down here in the Basin. Ventura’s in our backyard. What are you going to do? Commute down from San Fran every day?’
‘You seem to be assuming that the trial is going to stay in Ventura.’
‘Are you going for a change of venue?’ asked Sherman.
‘I might. It certainly wouldn’t hurt if we could get it transferred to a county with better demographics.’
‘I thought you wanted a speedy trial,’ said Webster. ‘A change of venue motion will give them a pretext for a delay.’
‘Also we’re in a better position than you when it comes to a change of venue,’ added Sherman.
Alex’s ears pricked up at this. ‘How so?’
‘We’ve got a whole department for demographic analysis.’
Alex thought about this for a moment. ‘You may have a point. But it’s not for me to decide. It’s Claymore’s call. I’m his lawyer and I’m here for him as long as he wants me.’
‘But you could talk to him,’ said Webster, ‘convince him.’
‘I’m not even going to try. I’m not convinced that you can do a better job, so why should I try and convince him?’
Arthur Webster leaned forward to speak again. But a frail-looking man, who must have been pushing eighty, held up his hand to silence him. This was Aaron Levine, the senior partner in the firm. Webster slumped back into his seat and left it to his lifelong friend to address Alex.
‘Could I ask you a question, Mr Sedaka? Please don’t take this the wrong way, but is it a matter of professional pride? Because, if so, you needn’t worry. Your reputation precedes you. We all remember your remarkable achievement in the Sanchez case.’
Alex was no longer angry. But neither was he assuaged by the flattery. In truth he was simply relieved that their real concerns were finally coming out into the open. He noted that this man was tactful enough not to mention the Clayton Burrow case.
‘It has nothing to do with professional pride. But I’m not just Elias Claymore’s lawyer, I’m also his friend. I’m not going to abandon him or do anything to give him the impression that I want to unload the case onto someone else.’
‘We’re not asking you to do that, all we’re ask—’
‘I know what you’re asking. But the fact of the matter is I’m not convinced that anyone in your criminal law department is in a better position to help him than me.’
Webster leaned forward again, unable to contain himself any longer.
‘But we have the resources to—’
‘Then let’s pool our resources,’ said Alex.
This silenced them for a few seconds.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Levine, the only man in the room with the gravitas to break the silence, or the moral courage to meet Alex’s eyes.
‘I’m offering you second seat.’
Webster’s intensity flared up again.
‘We’re not asking for second seat. We want you to—’
Again, Levine’s hand silenced his partner.
‘Could you elaborate?’
‘Yes. Let’s work on this case together, with me as point man and your formidable resources to back me up. You pick your best man – or woman – to take second seat to report back to you.’
‘But you lead?’ said Levine, half-question, half-statement.
‘I take first seat,’ Alex confirmed in a tone of finality that made it clear that this position was not open to debate.
A cheerful smile graced Aaron Levine’s face, changing the mood for almost everyone.
‘I think we can live with that,’ he said, looking at Webster in a way that demanded his agreement. Webster nodded, his face taut to maintain its neutrality.
‘Good. Then I guess we can roll up our sleeves and get on with it.’
The tension was collectively released from the lungs of those present and the awkward smiles spread like a contagion round the table.
‘I think it stinks,’ said Joanne Gale, a woman in her late thirties, sitting forward to meet Webster’s eyes. She was the only women partner in the firm.
‘Why?’ asked Webster.
‘You know why. The man is a rapist.’
‘A rape suspect!’ Webster corrected. And it’s never bothered you before.’