Cross Examination Read online

  She carried a black binder.

  At the sergeant's car, she asked: "Who's in charge here...," she glanced at the one-month-old chevrons sewn to the upper arms of his uniform shirt and the name plate above his right breast pocket, "Sergeant... Gold?"

  Add resourceful, direct, and formal to the description, he thought.

  "I guess I still am, ma'am," he said as he pushed his right hand to her. "Jerrod Gold. I don't think we've met before."

  "Lorena Delgado," she said as she shook his hand. "DA's Office."

  Brent Rozman reemerged from the garage with the three other investigators. All four men had changed expressions from how they appeared ten minutes earlier when they entered the condo.

  There was no conversation among them as they walked to their vehicles, gathered the equipment they would need, and mentally armed themselves for the gruesome tasks their profession and assignments had prepared them.

  Brent walked over to the sergeant's patrol car.

  "Ms. Delgado," Brent said. He made no attempt to shake hands.

  "Sergeant," she said as she flashed a glance at him.

  Add "cold" to the description, Jerrod thought.

  "I understand there are four deceased persons in this condo?" she asked. "All victims of gunshot wounds?"

  "Yes, ma'am," Jerrod said.

  To no one in particular, she said, "We need to get a Mincey warrant before anyone searches that condominium." She turned to Brent. "I need to talk to you."

  Brent and Lorena walked a short distance away and held a quiet conversation.

  "Hey, Sarge. I have a question." Mandy said.

  "What's that?"

  "They covered search warrants at the academy, but why would we need a warrant to search the scene of a murder-suicide? There aren't going to be any charges, right?"

  "You're right," Jerrod said. "We really wouldn't need a warrant if there wasn't ever going to be a prosecution. The Mincey warrant Ms. Delgado mentioned is used to do a search on a crime scene -- just in case this isn't what we think it is. If this scene turns out to actually be a quadruple murder with a suspect at-large -- particularly if the killer lived at the house -- we would be in bad shape legally. This warrant probably isn't necessary, but why take the risk."

  "Okay," the trainee said.

  Jerrod looked over to the private meeting between Brent and Lorena near the garage door. He couldn't make out any words, but their animated gestures showed an increasing level of aggression.

  Lorena left Brent and walked back to the patrol car. Brent pulled out his cell phone and punched in some numbers.

  "Sergeant Rozman and I disagree on this, she said. "He feels we don't need a warrant for this scene and he doesn't want to waste the time it will take for him to get one."

  Jerrod shrugged.

  "The sergeant tells me," Lorena continued, "you were involved in this case from the very first radio call and were the one who found the bodies."

  "That's correct, ma'am," Jerrod said.

  Brent joined the group.

  "I'm going to have Sergeant Rozman interview you so he can be the affiant for the warrant."

  Brent covered the mouthpiece of his phone with his hand and said, "We don't need a fucking warrant."

  The "affiant" is the law enforcement officer who swears under oath to a set of facts contained in the affidavit establishing probable cause for a search warrant. The affidavit and search warrant are delivered to a judge who reviews the facts presented. The judge can either authorize the warrant, reject it outright, or ask for more facts before issuing the warrant. Once the affidavit and warrant are sworn and signed, the search can proceed and evidence can be collected.

  "I can be your affiant," Jerrod interrupted. "I've done warrants before. We can just write it here and I'll take you to go see a judge."

  "That's a little unusual," she said as she looked at Brent and shrugged. "But, okay."

  "That's settled," Brent Rozman said as he closed his phone. "I'll take over the scene from here while you two scratch the warrant out. It'll save us a lot of time."

  "I'd like to view the scene for myself before we begin," Lorena announced as she looked at the front of the condo.

  Jerrod glanced at Brent and back to Lorena. "I wouldn't advise that, ma'am."

  "Are you saying I can't go into the scene... Sergeant?" she challenged. "Believe it or not, I've seen dead bodies before."

  "Sorry, ma'am," Jerrod said as he lifted his palms in surrender and added "confrontational" to his personal description of her. "We can let you into the scene. No problem. But what you'll see up there you'll never be able to unsee. That's all."

  Lorena Delgado appeared to be at a loss for words. She started to say something, then changed her mind. She studied Jerrod's face for a few moments.

  "We can just start the affidavit," she said. "I'll skip going inside."

  Jerrod nodded.

  "And stop calling me 'ma'am,'" she added. "You're making me feel old."

  CHAPTER 7

  Jerrod sat in the driver's seat of the sergeant's car as Lorena Delgado made herself comfortable in the passenger seat.

  The black binder she had carried into the scene was the District Attorney call-out book. It contained a list of phone numbers and addresses for all of the DA's Office personnel and the forms required for the preparation of a search warrant. She selected one form with the heading: "State of California, County of Mesa, Search Warrant Affidavit" and a second which read "Search Warrant."

  "Tell me your experience and training, Sergeant Gold," Lorena asked.

  She wrote in black ink as Jerrod recounted his ten years as a full-time California peace officer, his experience in both Patrol and as a Detective, and the number of death scene investigations he had handled.

  "You've been around a little," she said.

  "A little."

  "How come we've never met?"

  "I've kept a low profile for a few years. All in Patrol."

  "Would you like to be a detective again? Patrol can get pretty dangerous."

  Jerrod thought for a second. "I have no interest in being a detective again. I like Patrol. You may not understand this... but Patrol's the safest place I could possibly be."

  Lorena watched Jerrod for a few moments. She would learn several years later what his comment meant.

  Jerrod looked at Lorena. "We gonna do this warrant, or what?"

  She wrote the "legal description" of the condo: 1755 Cardinal Ln., Mesa, California #B-7. Two-story, tan stucco exterior, white two-car garage door, and a white front door with "B-7" in three-inches black letters and numbers affixed to it.

  "How many bedrooms?" she asked. "All upstairs?"

  "Three. All upstairs."

  "Describe the scene for me," she said.

  Jerrod rewound the events of the evening scene in his head and started from the beginning: Radio call. Searching. The focus on B-7. Ceiling bullet hole. Ladder. And the grisly scene.

  Jerrod stopped to clear his throat as he started to describe the dead boy.

  "Are you okay?" she asked.

  "Something in my throat. Hang on a second," he said as the visual impact of the scene struck him again. He turned his head away from her and looked out the open driver's door window at nothing in particular as he fought the emotions welling inside him. He stared out the window for ten seconds until it passed.

  "Let's get this over with," he said as he turned back and he started describing the boy again. He noticed Lorena glance up at his face several times as she documented his description of the scene.

  She checked the small box on the form requesting authorization for "night search" -- a special finding for the judge to consider to allow the search to be conducted other than the "normal" service hours of 7:00 AM to 10:00 PM.

  "Now this I find absolutely ridiculous," she said.

  "What's that?"

  "This county uses two forms -- the affidavit and the search warrant. You have to repeat all the places to be searched, item
s to be seized and all the other crap, verbatim, on both forms."

  "It's always been that way," Jerrod said.

  "We had a combined form at the LA DA's Office that acted as both the affidavit and search warrant. You only have to write the information once."

  "Makes sense. When did you come here from LA?"

  "About a year ago," She stopped writing and looked straight out the windshield. "I lived my whole life in LA and was just ready to go somewhere else."

  "I can understand that," he said.

  "Done," she said as she signed the "reviewed by" line on both forms.

  She thumbed the various sections of the back binder and found a current list for on-call judges. "It appears to be Judge Alexander Kohnke's turn to get out of bed this morning."

  "Where is his house?" he asked.

  She read the address as she punched in the judge's number into her cellphone.

  He said, "Mesa foothills. Ten minutes from here."

  "Hello. Judge Kohnke...," she said, "we have a warrant for a residence... yes, sir... a murder crime scene... four people, sir... ten minutes... marked SO car... thank you, sir."

  She turned to Jerrod, "Let's go."

  Jerrod drove the green-and-white from the driveway at B-7 and stopped at the crime scene ribbon at the mouth of the condo complex.

  Roger Collins and Mandy Levine lifted the tape to allow the car pass under.

  "Roger," Jerrod said from his open door window, "stay here until I get back--"

  A single blinding light shined into Jerrod's eyes from across the street. The light bobbed and became larger and brighter as it got closer to the car. Jerrod shifted into "park" and bolted out of the car -- his hand was on the grip of his Glock.

  "What the hell are you doing?" Roger yelled at whoever was behind the light source. "Cut that fucking light."

  "Sorry," the male voice behind the light said as he reached up and snapped the switch to shut off the powerful light -- which was attached to a large news camera.

  As Jerrod and Roger's eyes adjusted back to the darkness -- the image of the man holding the camera became clearer. The voice sounded familiar to Jerrod.

  "Sorry to have startled you, gentlemen," the voice said. "Bruce Witt, I'm a news photojournalist."

  "Bruce Witt... you used to report for the Valle Verde Sun?" Jerrod asked.

  "That's me. I take freelance video now and sell it to the news stations around here."

  "Holy shit," Jerrod said. "I didn't even recognize you. You look... different."

  "I lost over 100 pounds since I was with the Sun."

  "How'd you find this scene?" Roger asked.

  "Scanner," Bruce Witt said. "I scan all the PDs, SO, CHP, and Fire channels. I go to scenes and try to get some video I can make a few bucks on."

  "Nothing for you here, I'm afraid," Jerrod said. "Detectives have the scene now and it's all shut down. I'm sure they'll do a press release at some point."

  Bruce looked at Jerrod's name plate and up at his face. "I recognize you. You're Jerrod Gold... from the Valle Verde PD... you were involved in that dope ring bust and shooting a few years ago."

  "Nice seeing you again, Bruce," Jerrod said as he turned without waiting for a response and getting back into his car.

  "Let's get the hell out of here," Jerrod said to Lorena as he turned right off Cardinal Lane and gunned the powerful patrol car motor to take them to the Mesa Foothills.

  "What was that all about?" Lorena asked after thirty seconds of silence.

  "Nothing. Well... something that happened a long time ago," he said. "Let's go see the judge."

  It took eight minutes and was nearly one o'clock when they parked in front of Judge Kohnke's home -- a modest California ranch-style house, long and narrow, cedar shake roof, with a nice lawn and landscape. The porch light near the front door was on.

  Judge Kohnke answered Jerrod's subtle knock and invited them in. The judge -- mid-fifties, average height, slim, with short "salt-and-pepper" hair and a matching close cropped beard -- sat on the front edge of a large leather chair at the end of a heavy wooden coffee table. He steeped a cup of steaming dark tea, the string and label hanging to the side, resting on a cork coaster.

  "Can I get you anything?" the judge asked.

  "No, sir. Thank you," Lorena said.

  "I'm fine, sir. Thank you," Jerrod said.

  The judge picked a pair of black-framed "readers" and put them on. "What did you bring me?"

  "Mincey warrant for a crime scene, sir," Lorena said as she handed him the handwritten affidavit and search warrant forms. "Four dead in a condo in mid-county."

  The judge leaned back in his chair as he read the documents. Jerrod was able to follow his progress as his facial expressions changed from neutral to surprise to shock. After about a minute, the judge glanced over the top of the pages at Jerrod and shook his head.

  "Two kids and the wife," he said.

  "Yes, sir," Jerrod said.

  The judge finished reading the documents and placed them on the table. He sipped his tea and placed the cup back on the center of the coaster.

  "Everything's fine," the judge said as he looked at Jerrod. "Please raise your right hand, Sergeant."

  Jerrod raised his hand.

  "Do you swear everything in this affidavit and warrant is true and correct to the best of your knowledge?"

  "Yes, sir. I do."

  "I need you to sign both documents, please," the judge said to Jerrod.

  Jerrod took a pen from his breast pocket and signed the pages.

  "Can I borrow your pen?" the judge asked.

  "Sure... sir."

  The judge signed the affidavit and warrant and placed his initials on the bottom right corner of each page. His capped the pen and reached to hand it back to Jerrod.

  "Night service, sir," Lorena asked. "The investigators are standing by to start processing the scene."

  "Night service, sure," the judge said as he pulled his hand back, uncapped the pen, and signed the special night service endorsement.

  "All done," he said as he handed the pen back to Jerrod. "I'm sorry you had to see something like that, son."

  "Me too, sir. Me too."

  "That went pretty smooth, Ms. Delgado," Jerrod said as he drove away from the judge's home.

  "It did. Indeed. And please call me Lorena."

  "Lorena... okay."

  "Here you go," Lorena said as she handed Brent Rozman the Mincey warrant.

  "One hour and twenty minutes," Brent said. "Some kind of new record for getting one done in the middle of the night."

  "You'll handle the 'Return?'" Jerrod asked him.

  "Sure. No problem," Brent said.

  The "Return" was a document inventorying the items seized during the course of the search. The items seized had to be within the scope of the search listed in the warrant and affidavit. After the search was completed, any peace officer, not necessarily the affiant, takes the Return to the original signing judge and be sworn to the contents of the Return.

  "I guess I'm out-of-here," Jerrod said.

  "Thanks for your help," Brent said.

  Jerrod turned to Lorena and extended his right hand. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Del-- uh... Lorena."

  She shook took his hand and placed her left hand over his. She held his hand for a few moments before saying: "It was a pleasure meeting you as well, Jerrod."

  "It just occurred to me," she said as she let go of his hand, looked down, and pinched the sleeve of her USC sweatshirt, "How ironic this is?"

  "What is?" Jerrod asked.

  "The colors... our colors at USC," she said as she turned to look at Jerrod. "Cardinal and Gold. Our school colors are 'Cardinal' and 'Gold.'"

  CHAPTER 8

  "Decaf, please," Jerrod Gold said to the friendly late-night server at Sophie's Diner -- the 24-hour family restaurant that served as the "cop shop" for the Willowmere Police, Sheriff's Office deputies, and California Highway Patrol officers assigned to mid-count
y beats.

  It was after three o'clock when he radioed Scott Jackson to meet him at the restaurant. The service calls had finally slowed down and most of the drunk drivers had made it home after closing-time.

  Scott walked in and sat with Jerrod in the "Hot Tub" -- a double-wide brown-vinyl half-circle booth -- located nearest the fire exit with quick access to the parking lot. The Hot Tub was unofficially reserved for the many on-duty officers who frequented the place.

  "Just water. Please," Scott mumbled to the server – his eyes remaining focused on the table.

  "Scott, I'm new at this sergeant-thing," Jerrod said as he stirred half-and-half and sugar into his coffee. "Maybe someday I'll have a prepared supervisor shtick for something like this, but for now I can only talk with you as a brother. Okay?"

  Scott nodded and mouthed a "thank you" to the server when she placed a glass of water on the table.

  "The way I see it, no normal human could walk away unaffected from that scene tonight. I know I certainly didn't. You, me, and Tyler are going to be forever bonded by that call and the things we saw tonight. I feel sorry for the guys from Investigations who are out there now. They'll have to deal with it too."

  "I don't know how to explain it, Sarge," Scott said. "I just went numb on the ladder. I saw... it... and my mind just... disconnected. I can't explain it." He sighed. "And I can't stop thinking about it."