“I mean the screen went blank. I understand they believe someone erased it.” Pacini looked toward Malik Montgomery as he said the last part.
Hellstrom slowly turned his head following the imaginary dotted line from Pacini’s eyes to his client. “So, Malik Montgomery, a Georgetown Law graduate, a Rhodes Scholar, a Supreme Court law clerk, had the wherewithal to sneak into the Supreme Court police station, somehow access the video recording of the night Abby Serrat was murdered, and erase the video, yet he somehow deleted everything except the footage incriminating himself? He took Abby Serrat’s phone, wiped it clean, yet was foolish enough to hide the phone in his own home and leave the device on so it could be traced there? Is that what you think?”
They were similar to the points Hellstrom had made the day he visited Sean’s office—questions that had rattled around in Sean’s head since.
Before Pacini could answer the question, Hellstrom turned to the spectators in the courtroom and said, “I’m done with this witness.”
CHAPTER 72
After some whispering between Fallon and her colleagues, she informed the judge that the prosecution had no further witnesses. She must have assumed that the word of a respected FBI official was enough. And it probably was. It was unlikely the judge would throw out key evidence in a high-profile case absent compelling proof of government misconduct. So, with that, Judge Chin turned it over to Blake Hellstrom, who called Malik Montgomery to the stand, causing the spectator section to stir.
Malik was a handsome kid, which was always good for a defendant. An accused taking the stand, usually not so good. But Patti Fallon had correctly predicted that Hellstrom might take the risk. Sean turned and looked at the gallery and realized that Malik’s testimony had nothing to do with suppressing evidence. Sure, Hellstrom wanted the phone, Malik’s statements, and the surveillance video thrown out of the case. But eyeing the reporters taking notes, Sean understood that Malik’s testimony wasn’t about this motion at all. It was about the court of public opinion, adding fuel to the racial controversy over the prosecution.
Blake Hellstrom’s suit jacket was tight over his belly and with a thumb and index finger he released the button. He stepped close to the witness box and gave his client a sympathetic nod. A fatherly gesture. “Malik, I want to ask you some questions about what happened the night the FBI and Mr. Serrat searched your home. But first, I have to ask: Did you murder Abby Serrat?”
Fallon stood, but before she got out a word, Malik definitively said, “No. I am one hundred percent innocent.”
“Your Honor,” Fallon said, a plea in her voice.
Judge Chin shot Hellstrom a look over the top of her glasses. “Don’t try my patience, Mr. Hellstrom.”
Hellstrom nodded, but his eyes didn’t stray from his client. “Let’s start with the search, tell the judge what happened.”
Malik swallowed and turned his head slightly toward the judge, a doe-eyed gaze at Her Honor. He told her about his visitors in the middle of the night, that Pacini had shown his FBI badge, that Malik hadn’t consented to the search.
“I felt compelled to let them in. I was kind of in shock and basically I just followed them around as they went room to room searching the place. I didn’t want to be accused of obstruction of justice, so I just stayed out of the way.”
Hellstrom nodded and started to ask his next question when Malik interrupted. “Besides, I had nothing to hide. I wanted to help.” For the first time during the hearing, Sean thought Hellstrom’s expression gave something away. Disapproval. His lips pressed tightly together and his eyes flashed for the briefest of moments. Malik had gone off script.
Hellstrom marched on. “And Mr. Serrat found his daughter’s cell phone in your home?”
“Yes. Stuffed under a mattress in my spare bedroom. I told him that I had no idea how it got there.”
“So, how do you think it got there?”
“Someone must have plant—”
“Your Honor,” Patti Fallon spat. “This is beyond inappropriate, and Mr. Hellstrom knows it. He has no evidence that the phone was planted. And his motion doesn’t argue the evidence was planted.”
The judge pulled off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Last warning, Mr. Hellstrom. One more time and…” she finished the thought with a hard look.
Hellstrom gave a quizzical expression as if he’d played no role in Malik’s suggestion of evidence tampering. “I apologize, Your Honor. And let me say, we’re not suggesting that the Deputy Director or Mr. Serrat planted the telephone.” A pause. “We’re suggesting the real killer did.”
“Your Honor!” Fallon bellowed.
Before the judge could react, Hellstrom said, “I’ll move on, Your Honor.” He turned back to Malik. “After they found the phone, what happened?”