“So, Mr. Walker,” the judge says, “you’ve established that, one, Thomas McFarland is biased, and two, he should be ashamed of himself. How much farther do we have to go with this?”
Before Devlin can answer, I hear a commotion behind me. I turn to see that the reporters are all facing the back doors. Detective John Tredesco, Edwin Hanson, and Kevin Kratz, along with two men and two women I’ve never seen before, have entered the courtroom. With them is Caroline Robb, an assistant district attorney with the DA’s financial-crimes unit.
David Hanson leans into me and asks, “What the hell is this?”
I tell him I have no idea, although I now understand what this hearing was really all about. Inwardly, I smile.
Very clever, Devlin.
This is actually what I was hoping for.
“Your Honor,” Devlin Walker addresses the judge, “I apologize and ask the court’s indulgence for one minute. This could be very important.”
Bill Henry is now officially pissed off. “One minute, counselor. And it better be important.”
Devlin and Christina Wesley confer with Caroline Robb, who hands Devlin some papers. Every now and then, Devlin or Christina looks to the back of the courtroom at Edwin, the two men, or the two women. This is an act—the whole thing. Devlin Walker knows exactly who everyone is and what they’re there for.
“Your Honor,” Devlin begins, “in light of the testimony by defense counsel’s secretary and brother, the people are willing to withdraw, for now, our petition to remove Mr. McFarland as defense counsel.”
“The motion is withdrawn—and not just for now.” Judge Henry leans forward. “Now, who are all these people?”
Devlin takes a deep breath, as though he’s upset by what he has to tell the court. “Your Honor, I didn’t want to raise it with the court until I was absolutely certain, but now I am. The people have received strong evidence that Mr. Hanson is planning to flee the jurisdiction.”
This stops everyone in the courtroom cold.
“This is bullshit,” I say, shooting to my feet.
“Your Honor,” Devlin continues, his voice soft and matter-of-fact, “the people have learned that Mr. Hanson has been siphoning cash from personal and corporate accounts, and—”
“How much money?” William Henry interrupts.
Devlin waits before answering, allowing the drama to build. “Four. Million. Dollars.”
I hear several of the reporters gasp. The court stenographer’s eyes bulge, and the judge’s courtroom deputy does a double take. David slumps in his seat. He’s screwed, and he knows it. Judge Henry stares down at me, then looks at David. We have nothing, so the judge looks back at Walker, who resumes.
“I have the CEO and the general counsel of Hanson World Industries, who will testify to the defendant’s embezzlement of two million dollars from HWI. Also here is Detective Caroline Robb, from our financial-crimes unit, to testify that the defendant withdrew an equal amount from a personal account in the Cayman Islands.”
“And how did you know to go to Hanson World Industries?” asks the judge.
Walker pauses before answering. “We received an anonymous call,” he says, causing Bill Henry to narrow his eyes. “I know, Your Honor. I know. At first, we didn’t give the call any credence. It seemed too far-fetched to believe that the defendant would do something so transparent as withdrawing vast sums of money on the eve of his trial. Still, we had to follow up the lead. So I called our financial-crimes unit and asked Ms. Robb to call HWI and see if there was anything to it. She reached Mr. Kratz, who said the claim was insane but that he’d check into it. He got back to us two days later and said that, in fact, Mr. Hanson had personally taken two million dollars in cash from the vault of a corporate subsidiary near Mexico City. We also learned that, from Mexico, the defendant had the company jet fly him to the city of George Town on Grand Cayman Island, where he withdrew two million more from a numbered account in a private bank.”
I know already how this is going to turn out for David. The Philadelphia criminal-court system has been plagued by defendants failing to appear for trial since the 1960s, when the court abolished commercial bail as a result of scandals involving private bail bondsmen, leaving it to the court itself to handle pretrial releases. In 2010, the Inquirer presented an investigative series showing that massive numbers of arrestees ducked hearings after posting 10 percent of the bail amount. Philadelphia’s FTA, or failure-to-appear rate, was the highest in the nation. Forty-seven thousand defendants were long-term fugitives from the court, which was owed more than $1 billion in forfeited bail. To address this problem, the state supreme court enacted changes in 2012 to help private bail firms finance bail, based on studies showing that defendants are more likely to show up for hearings if bail is posted through private bail bondsmen as opposed to being posted by the defendants themselves. Taking their cue from the state supreme court, the Philly trial judges have taken a hard line on defendants who skip out before trial.
Devlin’s first witness is Brad Collins, an HWI pilot. Collins testifies that he and a copilot flew David on a company Gulfstream V from Philadelphia International Airport to a small private airstrip outside of Mexico City.
“Excuse me?” It’s Judge Henry. He’s fully engaged now. “Are you telling the court that the defendant has recently left the country? Since the time of his arrest and arraignment?”
David had to surrender his passport and agree not to leave the country as a condition of bail.
The pilot looks up at the judge. “Well, sure. Mr. Hanson had us fly him abroad a few times, but that was to Japan. This was the first time he had us go to Mexico.”
The judge glares at me and David both, then tells the witness to continue.
Moving forward with his tale, Collins explains that David boarded the plane with two suitcases. “He took one of the suitcases with him, when he left the plane in Mexico, while we refueled and waited for him.” Two hours later, when Hanson returned, “he carried the suitcase like it was heavy.” The pilots then flew David to George Town on Grand Cayman Island. “This time he took the second suitcase. When he left, it looked empty. When he came back, it was definitely full.”
Then Devlin gives us the money shot. “Do you know what was in the suitcases?”
Collins hesitates, then lays it out. “Well, Jake the copilot and I got to talking about what was in that first suitcase while we were waiting for Mr. Hanson in George Town. We didn’t want to be a part of anything illegal, like drugs or who knows what. So we decided to check and see what was in that suitcase. There was no lock on it,” he adds. “So we went back onto the plane, and we unzipped the suitcase. And it was filled with money. Hundred-dollar bills.”
Devlin pauses for this to sink in, then sits.