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CityTalk

By Jeffrey Elliot

City officials are still trying to piece together how security procedures in the Hall of Justice could have gone so awry as to allow the series of events that last Friday resulted in the deaths of four people, including two law enforcement personnel and City Supervisor Harlen Fisk, and the wounding of another man in one of the city’s courtrooms.

This reporter was present during the events that transpired and can relate that even before court was called into session that morning, a palpable tension reigned in Department 25, the courtroom of Judge Marian Braun, scene of the murder trial of Maya Townshend. Both Mayor Kathryn West, Mrs. Townshend’s aunt, and Fisk, her brother, were present in evident support of the defendant, and the attendant media presence as well as rumors of surprise, last-minute witnesses for the defense had packed the gallery.

Mrs. Townshend had been charged with the murders of Dylan Vogler, the manager of the Bay Beans West coffee shop that she owns, and another past associate of hers, Levon Preslee. The trial to date had focused upon evidence of Mrs. Townshend’s apparent motive for these murders, and experts had opined that it was particularly light on physical evidence implicating the defendant. So when defense attorney Dismas Hardy’s first witness, a fingerprint specialist at the police laboratory, identified one of Hardy’s own investigating team, Craig Chiurco, as having been present at the scene of Preslee’s murder, and perhaps having left a partial fingerprint on the bullet casing at the Vogler murder scene, the gallery grew tense with anticipation of what was to come.

It didn’t have long to wait, as Mr. Hardy briefly questioned one other witness who established Mr. Chiurco’s earlier and previously undisclosed relationship to both Vogler and Preslee, then called Mr. Chiurco. Apparently, not knowing what was taking place in court, he had been waiting outside in the hallway to take the stand. Mr. Hardy’s questions, and Mr. Chiurco’s responses, grew increasingly heated as Hardy tried to tie his associate to these crimes.

In the end, with Chiurco invoking his Fifth Amendment right against self-incrimination, Mr. Hardy accused him point-blank of these murders, and pandemonium broke out in the courtroom. It took Judge Braun several minutes to restore order. Rather than having her bailiffs hold Chiurco for the police, Braun ordered him to consult an attorney and keep himself available for further examination if necessary. At that, the judge and the two lead attorneys left the room to confer in Judge Braun’s chambers, leaving Chiurco unguarded on the witness stand.

A few moments later the folly of Braun’s decision became apparent as Chiurco rose from the stand and started to make his way through the crowd that by now blocked the aisle of the gallery. He had nearly made it to the back door when Lieutenant Glitsky, chief of the city’s homicide department, called out and ordered one of the courtroom bailiffs, Linda Yang, to restrain Chiurco. But the desperate witness-now suddenly revealed as a murder suspect-struggled with the bailiff and managed not only to disarm her but to gain possession of her service weapon and to fire it into the ceiling.

As members of the gallery dropped to the floor or took shelter behind their chairs, homicide sergeant inspector Debra Schiff, who’d been seated at the prosecution table, fired a shot at Chiurco, which he returned, fatally wounding her. In the next few seconds another bailiff, Rolfe Hagen, fired at Chiurco again from inside the bar rail, and in response to that, Chiurco got off a flurry of shots that killed both Supervisor Fisk and bailiff Hagen before Lieutenant Glitsky saw an opening and fired one shot into Chiurco’s chest, killing him. Glitsky has been placed on the automatic administrative leave that follows any officer-involved shooting.

But the violence that could and did erupt with such tragic results even in a guarded courtroom leaves officials pondering a host of questions: Shouldn’t courtroom bailiffs in San Francisco be armed, as they are in every other jurisdiction in California? Or, on the other hand, should guns, even in the hands of police personnel, ever be allowed in courtrooms at all? Is there an adequate number of bailiffs in San Francisco courtrooms? Was Judge Braun negligent in affording a potential murder suspect the opportunity to escape and/or take hostages?

Above all, how was an innocent woman arrested and brought to trial for two murders in a San Francisco courtroom, based on an investigation that could be described, at best, as incompetent, and at worst, as grotesquely negligent?

The evidence of Maya Townshend’s innocence was right in front of the police and the prosecution during this entire investigation. Yet they chose to ignore it in what the unkind might describe as the pursuit of a political vendetta. In this reporter’s opinion it is a travesty that this case was ever allowed to be brought to trial at all.

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“Actually,” Glitsky said, “I’m enjoying the time off. Getting quality time with my little rat here.” Zachary, the rat in question, still wore his helmet but otherwise looked and acted as healthy as any normal kid as he played with his sister in the sandbox in Glitsky’s backyard. “Rebonding.”

“Don’t kid yourself. You never unbonded.”

“Maybe not, but it felt like it. Unbonded from the world.”

“Yeah, well…” They sat on the top step, their usual spot, looking down over the backyard and the greenery of the Presidio beyond. “You came back just in time, so I wouldn’t beat myself up over it.”

“I won’t. I thought I told you. I’m done with beating myself up.”

Hardy threw him a sideways glance. “If that’s true, how will I recognize you? You’ll find something else to beat yourself up over, you watch. It’s just who you are. Screwed up, but probably worth saving. Marginally. In the long run.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. But, in fact,” Hardy added, “not that I don’t have anything better to do on a Sunday afternoon, but you did call.”

“I did.”

“And you’re going to make me guess again?”

“If you want, or I could just tell you what we found at Chiurco’s.”

“You mean besides blood spatter on what… his shoes?”

“Shoes, check.”

“And a Glock.40 hexagonal-barrel semi?”

“Nope, but three live rounds and a cleaning kit that would fit that gun. Besides those?”

“I give up. No, wait. Weed.”

“You’re good. You want to guess how much?”

“Nope. I quit when I’m ahead. Weed is good enough. But what else?”

“You’re going to like it. You want another few seconds?”

“Okay.” A companionable silence settled for the better part of a minute, until finally Hardy said, “What else?”

“Newspaper clippings. Old ones.”

“Julio Gomez.”

“Right.”

“I could have got that if I’d have thought a little more.”

“Just like you got Chiurco knowing Preslee.”

“No. I should have seen that long before I did. I mean, Wyatt told me all about Dylan not being on Google until recently, so how could Craig have found Levon? The answer was that he couldn’t have. No way, no how. Especially when I realized that they’d gone to trial separately. So he must have known Levon before. And I even knew Craig had been at USF and knew Dylan and was on his weed list. I mean, flags everywhere and I couldn’t see them.”

“Yeah,” Glitsky said, “you’re a little slow. It’s amazing you keep getting clients.”

“I marvel at it myself. Still, though”-Hardy let out a sigh-“what a fiasco at the end there.”

“I hear you. Though that’s one of the things I’m not going to beat myself up over. I’ve made up my mind.”