Incriminating Evidence (39 page)

“Probably not,” I say. I recall Ed Molinari’s observation that Skipper will admit the truth only when he’s caught in a bald-faced lie. Then again, human nature being what it is, it doesn’t surprise me that he waited to see if the DNA tests would implicate him. Who knows? Maybe he used a condom and thought nothing would turn up.

“I’m exhausted,” Rosie says.

“So am I.”

As we pass through the Waldo Tunnel, she observes, “This case makes no sense. I can understand why they think Skipper put the GHB in Garcia’s glass, but there is no plausible explanation for the GHB in Skipper’s. I can’t believe he spiked his own drink.”

“There were a lot of people who had the opportunity.”

“Yes, but it would have been very risky. The people who were there aren’t reckless idiots. They’re very calculating.”

“Maybe it was an act of opportunity. It wouldn’t have been that difficult to put a few drops of GHB into the glasses.”

“Maybe, but it would have been impossible for somebody to have orchestrated everything else that happened. If Skipper really was set up, somebody had to have gotten Garcia upstairs or known he was coming, spiked the drinks, bound Garcia to the bed, planted semen from both of them and left the building without being caught—all in a crowded hotel right after a big campaign rally. It just doesn’t add up.”

“You’re assuming, of course, that the same person orchestrated everything. Maybe more than one person was involved.”

“I’ve thought about it,” she says. “If you start considering conspiracy theories, the permutations are endless.” She yawns and adds, “I’m too tired to try to work them out tonight.”

“So am I. Would you do me a favor in the morning? My God, that’s only six hours from now. Would you stop at Natalie’s house on your way in? I think she’s going to need a lot of support in the next few days. I’m not sure Ann is up to it.”

She says of course she will.

39
THE DAY OF RECKONING

“It is the policy of the district attorney’s office to treat all employees with dignity and respect regardless of their gender, race, religion or sexual orientation.”

—S
TANDARD CLAUSE IN LETTER FROM
S
AN
F
RANCISCO DISTRICT ATTORNEY’S OFFICE TO NEW EMPLOYEES
.

Molinari, Ann and I have just told Skipper about the DNA report. We’re in the consultation room behind Judge Kelly’s courtroom, and his initial reaction is stony silence. Then he says, “What are our options?”

“We can challenge the validity of the report’s findings,” I say. “I must tell you, however, that these tests are very reliable. You know that.”

He doesn’t respond.

“We can argue that the evidence was tampered with or planted,” Ed adds.

Skipper sighs. “That won’t work,” he says. “They won’t buy it.”

I’m glad he’s realistic about that. I tell him we can agree to stipulate that the semen found on the bed was, in fact, his.

Skipper puts his elbow on the table and rests his chin in his hand.

Ann breaks the silence. “Father,” she begins, then stops.
“Daddy,” she says, “is there something we need to talk about?”

Skipper sits up at last and looks her in the eye. “Yes, honey,” he says. “I’m afraid there is.”

His explanation takes only a few minutes and he never takes his eyes off Ann. He says he and Natalie had stopped sleeping together over twenty years ago. They agreed that they would not divorce, but that they were both free to see other people. Skipper did so. Natalie didn’t. He says he had affairs from time to time but mostly sought gratification from prostitutes. About ten years ago, he developed a bondage fetish. With the advent of the Internet, he was able to satisfy most of his needs.

Ann is looking down as she asks, “What does all of this have to do with a male prostitute?”

“About six months ago, I began an experimental phase. I became interested in young men. I started turning to male prostitutes.”

“And that’s how you found Johnny Garcia?”

“That’s how I found Andy Holton. He posted pictures of male prostitutes on his Web site, Boys of the Bay Area. Johnny Garcia was the second one he provided. I had a private phone number that I would call. He took care of everything.”

Molinari and I glance at each other. “Does Natalie know about this?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Does anyone else?”

“No.”

Ann is grim. She swallows and struggles to find the correct words. “Daddy,” she says, “were you … safe? Did you … use protection?” She finally blurts out, “Did you use a condom, for God’s sake?”

Skipper nods. He says he flushed it down the toilet.

Ann heaves a sigh of relief.

Molinari says, “You realize that this is now going to become a matter of public record?”

“I understand.”

“And you’re prepared for that?”

“No.” He pauses. “But I have no choice.”

He looks at Molinari, then turns to me. “I never hurt anybody,” he says. “I’m prepared to withdraw from the attorney general’s race. But I didn’t kill that kid. I hired him to come to my room. I had sex with him. I handcuffed him to the bed. I taped his eyes and mouth. But I didn’t drug him and I didn’t put the tape over his nose. No way.”

“What do you want us to do, Skipper?” I ask.

“Stipulate to the fact that I had consensual sex with Garcia.”

“I’ll go talk to Payne.”

Molinari and I sit in Payne’s office a few minutes later. “I trust you received the DNA reports last night?” she says.

“Yes, Hillary,” I reply.

“Is your client willing to reconsider a guilty plea?”

Keep the tone measured. “He didn’t do it, Hillary,” I say.

She lowers her voice and tries to sound conciliatory. “Come on, Mike. Let’s stop the posturing. Let’s put all the cards on the table. Notwithstanding your attempts to discredit Nick Hanson, the jury has already accepted the fact that Skipper invited Garcia into his room. His fingerprints are all over the handcuffs and the tape. His fingerprints are on the champagne flutes.”

“But, Hillary—”

“Be reasonable, Mike.”

“Hillary, he is now prepared to admit that he had consensual
sex with Garcia. He’s humiliated and his life is in ruins. He has nothing left to hide. If he killed Johnny Garcia, I’d be in here begging you to cut a deal. He didn’t do it.”

Her green eyes gleam. She looks like a panther. “Oh, come on,” she says. “His sexual escapades got out of hand. He handcuffed him. He taped his face. He killed him.”

So much for the conciliatory tone.

“It doesn’t make sense,” I say.

“How do you figure?”

“If he hired Garcia to have consensual sex, why would he have needed to drug him?”

“Maybe Garcia changed his mind.”

“So you think Skipper poured a glass of GHB-laced champagne down his throat?”

“Who knows what turned him on? Maybe he liked to have sex with people who were unconscious.”

“Why was there GHB in the other flute? Do you think Skipper drugged himself?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he made a mistake and put it in both of them.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Then prove it—put him on the stand to explain it.”

I don’t respond.

I reach Rosie on her cell phone a little while later. She’s gone to Natalie’s house. “Natalie won’t be coming to court today,” she says. “She isn’t feeling well.”

“Can you talk?” I ask.

“No,” she replies flatly.

“Is she there with you?”

“Yes.”

“I have to go see Judge Kelly in a few minutes,” I say. “Can you stay with Natalie? She shouldn’t be alone.”

“Sure.”

“We’re going to stipulate to the fact that Skipper had sex with Garcia.”

“Got it.”

“I’ll call you later.”

We’re meeting in Judge Kelly’s chambers. She delayed the proceedings when I requested a conference before the jury was brought in. “I’ve seen the DNA report,” the judge says. “Do you plan to contest it?”

“No.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You’re going to stipulate that your client had sex with Johnny Garcia that night?”

“Yes. And we want to do it as quickly as possible.”

We discuss the logistics of having a stipulation read into the record. We agree to have the DNA report entered into evidence.

Judge Kelly glares at me and says, “I would encourage you to discuss a plea bargain with the prosecution.”

“Judge Kelly,” Payne interjects, “we have attempted to do so.”

I say, “The prosecution has not offered anything that would be acceptable to Mr. Gates, Your Honor.”

Payne feigns exasperation. “We’ve told the defense from the beginning that we would agree to second degree with a recommendation of a lenient sentence,” she says. “It’s a very good deal.”

Judge Kelly looks thoughtful. “I may be speaking out of turn here, Mr. Daley, but if I were to persuade Ms. Payne to offer you a plea bargain for voluntary manslaughter, would you be prepared to recommend it to your client?”

Tough call. “I’m prepared to deliver such a proposal to my client,” I say.

“You have to deliver the proposal to your client,” Judge
Kelly says. “The critical question is whether you are prepared to recommend it.”

I stop to consider for what seems like a long time. The chambers are completely silent. The minimum sentence for first-degree murder is twenty-five years to life; second degree is fifteen to life. The minimum sentence for voluntary manslaughter can be as short as three years but could be as long as eleven. In any event, it’s a far better deal than I ever thought we might get. I look at Molinari, who purses his lips. “I will deliver it to my client,” I say, “but I won’t recommend it.”

Payne’s narrow shoulders droop.

Judge Kelly sighs. “You seem determined to proceed with this trial, Mr. Daley. I guess we’ll see you in court at one o’clock. I’ll expect to see a draft of your stipulation by noon.”

Molinari pulls me aside in the corridor. “What were you thinking in there?” he asks.

“About what?”

“About the plea bargain. Why won’t you recommend voluntary manslaughter? He could be out in three years.”

I look into his eyes. “I don’t think he did it, Ed.”

He takes a half-step back. “You believe him?”

“Yes.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“He’s already lost everything, Ed. He’s been confronted with the truth about his relationship with Garcia. He’s given up on the election. If he killed him, he would be trying to cut a deal for a plea bargain now.”

“Do you really think you can win this case?”

“I do.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, I am. There was far too much at stake. He took a
huge risk to invite Garcia to the hotel. It would have been suicidal for him to have drugged Garcia and killed him. There were too many other people around. And we know that Morris, Parnelli, Holton, Anderson and Turner were at the hotel after Garcia arrived. It isn’t a big leap for the jury to blame somebody else, or at least get to reasonable doubt.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“I hope to hell you’re right.”

Natalie is sitting in the armchair in her living room, a faraway look in her eyes. Rosie leans forward as she says to her, “So you knew about Skipper’s relationships with the male prostitutes?”

“Yes. I tried to get him to agree to counseling. He refused.”

“How long have you known?”

“About female prostitutes, at least ten years. He started seeing males only a short time ago, however. He used to make all the arrangements from pay phones. He never used the phone in the house or his cellular. He was very concerned about privacy.”

I’ll bet.

“I didn’t know what to do,” she says. “I couldn’t leave him. For all of his faults, I still love him very much—I simply could not destroy him or what’s left of our family.” She turns back to me and asks, “What would you have done?”

I look at Rosie and I say, “I don’t know, Natalie.” I can’t begin to imagine the magnitude of the pain she has suffered.

Rosie asks who else knew about this.

Her lips quiver. “As far as I know, just Prentice and me.” She pauses for a moment. “And Andy Holton, who made the arrangements, and of course Johnny Garcia. He was Prentice’s choice.”

“What about Turner?” I ask.

“No,” she says. Then she adds quickly, “Why should he?”

Indeed. It’s none of his business and Skipper said he didn’t know, yet I sense she’s defensive. That’s strange. Turner has been close to her, but why would she protect him? “Did you know that Skipper was going to invite Garcia up to his room that night?” I ask.

“Not until I saw the bottle of champagne. Then I knew. He always started with a bottle of champagne.”

This is curious, too. When I asked Turner who had ordered the champagne, he said he did. And he also said that room service was supposed to bring more glasses but had made a mistake. “Did he ever drug any of the prostitutes with whom he had relations?”

“Not as far as I know.”

Rosie asks, “Do you know how the handcuffs and dirty magazines got into his study?”

“He brought them, I presume.”

“And you knew they were there?”

“Yes.”

Great.

“Did you know about the materials they found in the storage locker?”

She hesitates before she says, “I didn’t know.”

Rosie folds her hands. “Mike has to be in court now, Natalie, but I’d like to stay here with you. It’s been a rough day.”

“Thank you,” she says.

The afternoon session doesn’t take long. Judge Kelly explains to the jury that DNA tests have been conducted on the semen found on the bed in Room 1504 at the Fairmont. She asks Payne to read the stipulation into the record. It says that the defense stipulates that it will not challenge the results of
the tests, which concluded that Skipper’s semen was found as well as Garcia’s. It also says that the defense does not contest the prosecution’s contention that Skipper engaged in consensual sex with Johnny Garcia.