Resurrection Walk

“The court received the request for a courtroom artist on Friday,” Morris said. “We were all copied. At that time this matter was still under seal and yet the media was somehow alerted to it. The State asks for sanctions against plaintiff’s counsel for violating the court order sealing the petition.”

I stood once again but did not interrupt. I just wanted the judge to know I was ready to respond. But she held out a hand and patted the air, a signal for me to sit down again. I did.

“Mr. Morris, you are doing what two minutes ago you accused Mr. Haller of,” Coelho said. “Playing to the media. I am sure that if I asked Mr. Haller whether he alerted the media to this hearing before the seal was lifted, he would say he did not and that there is no evidence to the contrary. Frankly, I think he is too smart to have done such a thing himself. So, Mr. Morris, unless you can provide such evidence, then all you are doing here is grandstanding. I would rather you did not. I would rather get to what we are actually here to do. There will be no sanctions. Now, Mr. Haller, are you ready to proceed?”

I stood up, this time buttoning my jacket as though it were a shield and I was going into battle.

“We are ready,” I said.

“Very well,” the judge said. “Call your first witness.”

25

I had turned down an offer from Judge Coelho to allow Lucinda Sanz to dress in street clothes supplied by her mother. I didn’t want to agree to anything that would distract from the fact that this woman had been in prison for five years for a crime she did not commit. I wanted her appearance to be a constant reminder to the judge of how a wrongful prosecution had taken everything away from her — her son, her family, her freedom, and her livelihood — and left her with a blue jumpsuit with CDC INMATE stenciled on it, front and back.

Sitting in the witness chair, Lucinda seemed small, her face barely rising above the ornate wooden railing in front of her. Her hair was pulled back in a short ponytail; the line of her jaw was sharp. She looked scared but resolute. I would question her first. That would be the easy part. Morris’s cross-examination was where the danger lay. He had the transcripts from the first interview she’d given investigators almost six years ago and the deposition taken at Chino two months ago. While I had avoided using the deposition option that came with a civil action, Morris had elected to depose Lucinda, a clear sign of his strategy. If he could catch her in a single lie, he could discredit her and the whole claim that she was innocent.

“Is it all right if I call you Cindi?” I asked.

“Uh, yes,” she said.

“Cindi, please tell the court where you live and how long you have lived there.”

Before Lucinda could speak, Morris cut in.

“Your Honor, the aspects of Ms. Sanz’s incarceration for a crime she confessed to are well known to all parties and the court,” he said. “Can we just move to matters germane to the petition?”

“Is that an objection, Mr. Morris?” Coelho asked.

“Yes, Your Honor, it is.”

“Very well. Sustained. Mr. Haller, move on and get to the reason we are here today.”

I nodded. So it was going to be like that.

“Yes, Your Honor,” I said. “Cindi, did you kill your ex-husband, Roberto Sanz?”

“I did not,” Lucinda said.

“But you pleaded no contest to manslaughter in the case. Why would you plead to something you now say you didn’t do?”

“I’m not saying it just now. I have said it all along. I told the sheriffs. I told my family. I told my lawyer. I did not shoot Roberto. But Mr. Silver told me the evidence was too much, that a jury would find me guilty if we had a trial. I have a son. I wanted to see my son again. I wanted to hug him and be part of his life. I didn’t think I would get so many years.”

It was said in such a heartfelt manner that I paused and looked at the legal pad in front of me on the lectern so I could let Lucinda’s words hang in the courtroom like a ghost. But the judge, who had been appointed for life more than a quarter of a century ago, had witnessed every trick in the book and wasn’t having it.

“No further questions, Mr. Haller?” she said.

“No, Your Honor, I have more,” I said. “Cindi, why don’t you tell the court what happened that night nearly six years ago.”

This was the dangerous part. Lucinda could not stray from what was already repeatedly on the record. We could add to it, which I intended to do, but we could not deviate from what was there. To do so would give Morris all he needed to send her back to Chino to finish her sentence.

“Roberto had our son for the weekend,” Lucinda began. “He was supposed to bring him home at six so we could go to my mother’s house for dinner. But he didn’t bring him till almost eight o’clock and he’d had dinner already at Chuck E. Cheese.”

“Did that upset you?” I asked.

“Yes, I was very upset and we had an argument. Me and Robbie. And he—”

“Before we get to that, did Roberto tell you why he was late?”