Try Fear - By James Scott Bell Page 0,48

to have been shot through the mouth. There was blood on the wall behind him, and a gun on the floor by his right hand.”

“What did you do next?”

“I checked with my partner and supervisor, who determined there was no one else in the apartment. Then I unplugged the iPod dock from the wall to stop the music. I didn’t want to touch anything. My partner called for an ambulance, and Sergeant Leon and I secured the scene and began to canvass for witnesses. I believe Sergeant Leon called for backup and a detective.”

“Did you interview anyone at the scene?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Who did you interview?”

“May I refer to my report?” Officer Baron asked.

“Certainly.”

As he leafed through his pages, I leafed through my Motion Manual, a guide to procedure at prelims, because I knew what was coming. Hearsay. There’s a statute allowing hearsay from a qualified officer at a prelim. That’s the section I looked up.

“I have it,” Baron said. “I first interviewed a Ruth Marion. She lives in the apartment across the hall from the subject, who we had identified as one Carl Richess.”

“Can you give us the substance of the—”

“Objection,” I said. I stood up, holding open the Motion Manual.

“On what grounds?” the judge said.

“Inadmissible hearsay,” I said.

Radavich snorted. Actually snorted. “Your Honor, counsel is perhaps unfamiliar with the code on this point. Officer hearsay is admissible.”

Prakash looked at me, as if expecting me to melt into a little ball.

“Your Honor,” I said, “I believe Mr. Radavich is referring to Penal Code 872(b).”

“Of course I am,” he said.

“Then may I be permitted to take this witness on voir dire?”

“To what possible purpose, Mr. Buchanan?” the judge asked.

“If you’ll allow me just two questions?”

He thought a moment, then nodded.

“Officer Baron,” I said, “you are a patrol officer–two, correct?”

“Yes.”

“And when Mr. Radavich was qualifying you on direct, you stated that you had been with the Los Angeles Police Department for four years?”

“That’s right.”

“That’s two questions, Mr. Buchanan,” Judge Prakash said.

“Got me, Judge. Can I have one more?”

Prakash smiled. “I’m in a giving mood.”

“Officer Baron, have you ever been told how to testify at a preliminary hearing?”

He answered a bit too fast. “No.”

“Never been trained in preliminary hearing testimony?”

“Just normal talking to the prosecutor.”

“Officer Baron, have you ever completed a training course certified by the Commission on Peace Officer Standards and Training?”

“Yes, at the Academy I completed numerous POST courses.”

“But not one in testifying at preliminary hearings.”

“No.”

I looked to the judge. “Your Honor, PC 872(b) allows officer hearsay testimony only if the officer has been on the force for five years, or has completed a POST course specifically dealing with testifying at preliminary hearings. As this officer has only four years’ experience, and has not completed the required course, the hearsay testimony is inadmissible.”

“No way.” Radavich was on his feet. “Judge, he’s an officer with an impeccable record.”

Prakash tapped at his keyboard, then looked at his computer monitor. “Well, there it is, right there,” he said. “Penal Code section 872(b). Mr. Buchanan is absolutely right.”

Radavich turned his reddening face my way.

“Scary, isn’t it?” I said to him.

Prakash said, “I’m going to exclude all hearsay testimony from this witness, Mr. Radavich. Have you any further questions for him?”

“Not at this time.” He was silent as he lowered himself into his chair.

It was my turn to go into cross. The prosecutor only plays a minimal hand at the prelim. You do what you can with it, hoping to preserve something useful for trial. Now that a major portion of Baron’s testimony was being excluded by the judge, I had only one area to cover.

“Officer, inside the apartment, you did not see anything that would suggest foul play, did you?”

“Yes, I did. The dead man.”

The judge smiled at that. I was not in a smiling mood. “The gunshot could have been self-inflicted, could it not?”

“I was not asking myself those questions.”

“Never occurred to you?”

“No.”

“That part of your training, not to ask questions?”

“No, sir.”

“Then I have no further questions myself.”

69

RADAVICH CALLED A forensic expert from the LAPD lab, a Dr. Freeman Jenks. Unkempt, thinning gray hair over birdlike features. Like he was a giant crane carrying a small nest on his head. I knew exactly why he was going to testify, so before he was sworn I objected.

“Your Honor,” I said, “I would like an offer of proof on the relevance of this witness.”

Judge Prakash nodded. “Mr. Radavich?”

The prosecutor said, “He will be testifying about the blood found on the murder weapon.”

“Seems relevant to me,” Judge