01x03 - Harbor City

[bunniefuu]

In the criminal justice system

the people are represented by two
separate yet equally important groups,

the police
who investigate crime

and the district attorneys
who prosecute the offenders.

These are their stories.

Make it last, Boss.

Cool, man.

How were the waves?

Could be better.
Could be worse.

Get your deliveries done?

Record time.

You brought one back?

Yeah, it's Brampton.

The family said her white count
flat-lined, she went in her sleep.

Nobody beats
Stage Four, Trevor.

Hey, I told you,
you can't buy weed here.

Doing you a favor, bro. There's a narc
in a lowrider eyeballing your door.

Go away.

Come on, man.

Trouble?

Nothing I can't handle.

We've got spatter out
front and in here,

and at least three different
sets of footprints.

b*at him down,
dragged him to the safe,

pressed his print to
the biometric lock here.

There's blood on
the scanner pad.

If this is the same four-man crew
that hit the other dispensaries,

it's a big escalation.

Maybe he didn't want to
give up the safe.

A g*ng of heavily strapped guys shove
g*ns in your face, you give up a safe.

Not if you're Trevor Knight.

He's a pro surfer out of Hawaii.
Huge talent.

Apparently he had a hot temper,
with a rep for hitting the bottle.

A real laidback surfer dude.

What's more laidback
than dead?

When did you find the body?

Uh, just before 6:00.

Trevor has me come in early to
pick up deliveries for shut-ins.

Door to door service.

Yeah. It's cut throat
competition, man.

Some of the grow-ops are offering facials
and foot rubs, all kinds of stuff.

These gouge marks on the side of your
boss's truck, any idea who did that?

Probably one of the neighbors.
They don't really like having a dispensary next door.

Any of them dislike it
more than others?

I couldn't say, man.

You know some kid stopped in
yesterday and claimed there was a...

Narc in a blue lowrider
casing the place.

But I don't know, man.

Do you know how much
was in the safe?

Trevor handled the cash.
I took care of dope and deliveries.

Yeah, we'll need to see
the books.

Trevor's wife Deena's
got the books.

Uh, Trevor kept them at home
to protect the customers.

From what?

Zealot cops looking to
pad arrests.

Oh, like that doesn't happen?

Why don't you just
give us her address.

It's legal dope.

So you want to see my prescription
card or head scarf speak for itself?

It's okay. I saw your son
win the Open at Huntington.

He and Deena should have been back in
Hawaii where he could train properly.

But me and my little
friend melanoma.

We need to see the financial
records of the grow-op.

I have it upstairs.

How long has the storefront
been open?

Nine months.

He was using it to pay for my chemo,
while he restarted his surfing career.

I know this is difficult, but
can you think of anyone at all

who might have had
a dispute with your son?

I know my son's reputation.

He gave up fighting when he quit
drinking and married Deena.

He was thinking of
starting a family.

You're good at that.

A misspent youth.

And three years in vice.

They didn't have to k*ll him.

It wasn't my choice to come
back to the mainland.

It wasn't my choice
to sell weed.

But once Trevor
made up his mind...

Bank statements
and vendor accounts.

You happen to know the weekly
take at the grow-op?

Uh, around $20,000.

I mean it was peanuts compared
to other storefronts, but...

Trevor never viewed
it as a permanent business.

About the safe, do you have any
idea how much was in there?

A little over a $100,000.

The armored car company was supposed to
collect the money every week, but...

Trevor kept missing the pickups every time
he had to take his mom to the hospital.

The company warned us about
keeping too much cash on hand.

That's why they insisted we
install that safe last month.

Not that it made a damn
bit of difference.

Munchies?

I checked with Narcotics.
The blue lowrider was definitely not surveillance.

So maybe it was
a robbery crew.

Okay, we got five jobs
over a two month period,

hit and split pros, until they drop a body
making it open season on drug dealers.

State sanctioned dealers.

The robberies were spread across
LAPD, and Sheriffs' jurisdiction.

The dispensaries all used
different armored car companies,

all varied their
pickup schedules.

Okay, let's restart
from the freshest case,

$100,000 taken
from a newly installed safe.

Who knew how much
would be in that safe?

The victim, the wife and the armored
car company, Security Arms.

All of my people have been
vetted printed, and polygraphed,

including the secretaries.
Any recent hires?

Anyone suddenly leave?
Nope.

Your client was k*lled with
$100,000 in his safe,

which you installed.

Knight's security was a mess.

He was missing deposits
every other week.

The safe was better
than nothing.

That green truck,
isn't that your competition's?

It used to be. Our parent company
went on a buying spree last year,

bought up a bunch
of the smaller players.

We're still
consolidating operations.

Are Wellfort and TWZ Securities
two of those smaller players?

Yeah.

In other words, all the dispensaries
are being serviced by one company.

These operations you consolidated,
is one of them the dispatch office?

Yeah.

Am I in some kind of trouble?

We're just reviewing
everyone's paperwork.

We noticed you used your maiden
name in your job application.

Getting a divorce.
Oh.

Was that your idea or his?

Mine. My ex is
not a good guy.

When was the last time
you saw him?

Not long enough ago.

I'll tell you that right now.

That's like, what,
10 days ago?

This is your signature on the visitor's log
from Vacaville from 10 days ago, yeah?

Husband's a prisoner there.
Armed robbery.

I told you he's a bad guy.

Not so bad that he didn't
rate a conjugal visit.

That's what it says in the visitor's log.
"One-hour conjugal visit."

Here's what we think.

You used your maiden name to conceal
the fact that you're married to

an armed robber so you
could get a job here.

We also think that your husband, the
armed robber, has something to do

with stickups at five dope dispensaries
serviced by your company's armed cars.

I want a deal.

You want it, earn it.

My husband owed a guy
a favor he met inside.

Chuck Roker.

I gave him a list of
10 dispensaries.

Was Trevor Knight in
Harbor City on the list?

Right at the top.

Knight kept missing pickups,
cash was piling up in his safe.

Where do we find Roker?

I just got a phone number.

We're going to give you one
chance to help yourself.

You're going to call...
Look at me.

You're going to call Roker and you're going
to tell him that you have another target.

Look at those
little red hairs.

Must be from the DEA.
The Feds always got the best dope.

Keep talking like that, the bosses are
going to have you peeing in a cup.

You surfed but never smoked?

Surfing was rebellion enough
in my house.

Got a tan panel van
heading in.

All right.

Hold, hold, hold.

We got a civilian bogie.

Hey, you guys got that
bubble gum?

We got all the flavors.
You pick.

I don't want anything too sleepy
, you know what I'm saying?

Just want a nice mellow.

Anytime, kid.

I'll take that bubble gum and that
Afghani Black. A quarter each.

JRA, man,
juvenile rheumatoid.

Yeah, right.

No, it's a condition.

You got to go out the back.

What?

Don't fight me, kid.

You guys are...

We're compromised!

They're narcs, man! They're narcs in there!
There are cops in there!

What the hell are you doing?

I told you they were
all cops.

Badge number
8238 at your service.

Show them now! Out!
Get them up! Get out here!

Let's go! Let's go!
Hands up!

Cheeseburger for
your thoughts?

You can't talk to me.

Mr. Roker invoked.
Mmm.

Looks like he made good use of the prison
library system during his last visit.

Yo, I know my rights.

You, you got nothing. Nothing.
Except maybe a two-bit g*n charge.

We got a story.

Two handsome detectives
were chasing this crew.

Real pros, had control
the second they breached

a door until at a storefront in
Harbor City, someone dropped a body,

sticking the whole crew with a m*rder
beef and a ticket for a hot sh*t

from the state of California.

The end.

Whoa, what?

Eat up.

Wait, wait, no, no,
get back here.

No, you know your rights.
You invoked.

Well, so give me a damn waiver.
I'm not going to let you pin a m*rder on me.

What happened in Harbor City?

Nothing happened in Harbor City.
We were never in Harbor City.

Okay, yeah, we did the other ones, okay?
Inglewood, Commerce,

but Harbor City was not us.

We heard it was
top of your list.

I staked it out.

Yeah, but I got chased off.

Chased off?
A big bad boy like you?

You'd bail too if a big ass Samoan shoved
a sawed-off Mossberg in your face.

Paint us a picture
of this Samoan.

Big. Really big.
g*ng tats.

He told me that Harbor City
belongs to SOS.

Sons of Samoa.
You catch a name?

No, the dude drove off
before I could ask.

Describe the Samoan's car.

It's a lowrider Impala.

Light blue,
early '60s maybe.

I think you're looking at Joey Fatu.
Thirty-five, old school SOS.

Pinched for robbery then again for
manslaughter, currently out on parole.

Fatu own a blue Impala?

Nothing listed.
What's your interest?

A robbery crew was casing
a Harbor City weed store.

We think he ran them off so he
could rob the place himself.

SID found three sets of shoe prints on the scene.
Any idea who he'd be working with?

Fatu's kind of low man
on the pecking order.

Could be SOS, could be he
branched out on his own.

Any emergency contacts
on the booking reports?

The contact he gave his parole officer
was a Deena Peeko-Knight, Rolling Hills.

Trevor Knight's wife.

It's not what you think.

Really? Because right now it
looks like you and Joey Fatu

conspired to
k*ll your husband.

You didn't want to move here,
you didn't want to sell weed.

And $100,000, that would get you
a nice start back in Hawaii.

Are you telling me that
Joey k*lled Trevor?

Do you know different?

Joey and I used to be
married, okay?

It didn't last long.
It was a mistake.

I'd say he still has feelings for
you if he gave your name to his PO.

Joey was Trevor's
silent partner.

He lent Trevor the money
to start the grow-op.

It was $30,000.

Joey was the only one we knew
with that kind of cash.

Trevor gave him
a cut every week.

Dealing with your ex
didn't bother Trevor?

Pro surfers don't make
anything unless they win.

That's why Trevor
was training so hard,

so he can get back on the circuit and
we could walk away from the grow-op.

What did Joey think
of your exit plan?

I don't know. I mean Trevor
dealt with him, not me.

I wouldn't even know
how to find him.

She spins a good story.
Mmm-hmm.

Assuming it's true, maybe Joey tried
to squeeze a bigger cut out of Trevor.

Why settle for 10%
when you can get 100?

That old hippy who worked for Trevor,
he might know something about Joey.

God damn.

You okay, Mr. Toomey?

Yeah. Yeah. I just, I came
home and found this mess.

I guess I got robbed.

Why don't you
come on out here?

Come on.
Come to me. Come here.

It used to be you could park at the beach
and leave your door wide open for days.

Now it's all...

Punk ass kids and 30 people
fighting for the same bit of sand.

That's a nasty looking
cut on your cheek.

And the way you're holding those two
fingers, I'd say they're broke.

Tripped on something
in the parking lot.

That thing you tripped on, didn't
happen to look like him, did it?

You know who
that is, though?

Yeah.

Did you know Joey Fatu was
partners with Trevor?

Is that who paid you a visit?

I mean he came in,
he tore my place apart.

He thought I k*lled Trevor
and took the money.

Joey told you that?

Funny thing, I said I thought
he might have done it.

He just said, if he wanted to k*ll Trevor,
he'd done it clean back at the beach.

Which beach?

Uh, Lunada Bay.

There's Knight.

Look what we have here.
The big blue bomber. Blow that up.

Registered to a Tracy
Mathers, Hermosa Beach.

Still warm.

Tracy Mathers!

It's the police!

We have a warrant!

Police!

Baby, you're too much!

Yo, Joey, get your hands up!

No! Don't hurt him!

Ma'am, get out of the way! Do it!
We have a warrant for you.

Get out of my house!

Joey, step away
from the girl!

Bastards! Get out!
Give me your tazer.

No, no, no, no, no!

You bastards!

No, don't sh**t him!

Help! Get him off me!
I can't breathe!

I can't breathe!
Get him off!

Another quiet night
in the hotel California.

I didn't do Knight.

Knight took your woman.

I was long done with her and
jealousy ain't my stripe.

Deena didn't play up to you to get
the $30,000 to open the grow-op,

make you think
she still cared?

Maybe she did.
Maybe you and her k*lled Knight.

Knight was my meal ticket.

Knight was planning to
close the grow-op.

The grow-op was nothing compared
to what I was going to make off

of Knight's surfing.

What do you mean?

Endorsements, surfing gear,
clothing, boards.

Once Knight got back on tour, I was
going to front all his expenses

in return for 40%
of everything.

And he agreed to that?

We were negotiating.

You mean you were
muscling him?

I was looking
to help the guy.

How were you
going to help him?

Knight was going to surf
this tourney next month.

I put a hand on the one guy
who could have b*at him.

Del Broadleaf.

I told him not to show up.

Real sorry about Trevor.
Man had all the talent in the world.

How did you two get along?

About as well as he got
along with anybody.

You make a nice stick.

You see him around
much lately?

A couple weeks ago this big
Samoan tried to scare me off

from surfing against
Trevor in the tourney.

Didn't sound like Trevor so I went
by his house to check it out.

What did he say?

He said the Samoan
was out of line.

Said I should come out and surf so he
could kick my ass fair and square.

A week later he comes by,
apologized again.

Said he wanted to buy
a new competition board.

His favorite was all bashed up like
somebody had taken a hammer to it.

The Samoan?

Some dudes up at Lunada Bay.

Any dudes in particular?

Trevor didn't say.
It's surfing, you know?

Too many bodies,
only so many waves.

Most of these look like variations
of the same tag, MBC or MBG.

I can't quite tell.

The waves are all closed up.

That's bad, right?

Check out the Rambo Kn*fe.

Looks like you're
expecting trouble.

Sharks.

Sharks put those dings
in your board?

Hey, can't you people read the signs?
You're trespassing.

Go back inside, Sir.

When you get off my land.

The beach is public property from
San Ysidro all the way to Oregon.

Or do you need me to come up
there and draw you a map?

It's only public
to the high tide line.

You know this idiot's out here
shaking his fist every day.

Thinks if he makes it hard enough to use
the beach, people will stop trying.

Those sharks, they have anything
to do with those tags over there?

You know sharks can't write.

We're trying to help.

Guy's got to carry
a Kn*fe to go surfing?

If it's such a hassle,
why bother?

Grab a board and catch
one good wave.

Come on, let's see if
we can ID these sharks.

MBC. Moon Bay Crew.

I worked a call four months ago
where those mutts b*at down

a 17 year old
kid from Torrance.

Three on one.
Real predators.

What happened with the case?

Disappeared into thin air.

The kid decided he fell.

So the MBC put
a scare into the kid?

Bought him off
is more likely.

Now the Moon Bay Crew are a bunch
rich-boy surfers with surplus attitude.

Even got their own web page.

Moon Bay Crew. Carlton Campbell,
Logan Rudman, Patrick Scott.

Nothing on their sheets, but all
three have sealed juvie records.

I'm seeing luxury vehicles

and high-end sports equipment.
Who's got the deep pockets?

DMV shows a Land Rover registered
to Campbell, Rudman has a Lexus.

And Patrick's got?

Patrick drives
a '98 POS.

Well, there's your
target then.

Because he's poor, that makes
him the softest touch?

No. But it makes him
the one with the worst lawyer.

Patrick Scott?

Whoa, you should see
the other guy, huh?

I wiped out on the rocks.

That's funny. When I go over the falls,
I'm busted up all over the place,

not just my hands.

Maybe you're not
as good as me.

Yeah, skill doesn't matter when
the washing machine takes you.

You're just along
for the ride.

I wasn't fighting.

Yeah? Those cuts...

Those are teeth marks and what
do you want to bet they match

the dental records
of a very dead man.

Kid lawyered up.
Won't budge.

I'll talk to him.

Alone.

Turn the camera off.

How are you, Jimmy?

Jimmy and I have tried, what,
eight cases against each other?

My client invoked his
right to remain silent.

Yeah, don't worry, Jimmy, one of
these days, I'll let you win one.

Don't push it.
All right, all right.

I'm here to offer your client a deal
if he'll testify against his friends.

No.

You're not OJ, kid.

You're not Robert Blake.

Those guys had money for
big-time lawyers.

No offense, Jimmy.

See, that's the difference
between you and your friends.

They have money,

you tag along.

And no matter how
hard you try,

they know you're
not one of them,

and you know it too.

You're all alone here.

What do I have to do?

Just tell me what happened.

This is all off the record
until we have a signed deal.

Of course.

And the camera?

It's already off.

We just wanted to teach
Knight a lesson.

For weeks he'd cut us off, taking swell
after swell, claimed he was training.

Well, apparently he was.

Still.

It was Logan's idea we
should bang on him, you know,

bust his board,
key his ride,

but Knight wouldn't back down.

Who suggested you visit
Knight at his storefront?

Carlton.

Carlton Campbell.

He punched Knight, he knocked him
down, he kicked him in the head.

There was all this blood.

We panicked.

Logan saw the safe.
Says his dad has one just like it.

Said we should make it
look like a robbery.

Where's all the money now?

With Carlton.

He took it.

Guess we were expected.

I'm Gray Campbell.
This is my house.

You have arrest warrants
to show us?

That's right, for Carlton
Campbell and Logan Rudman.

We also have a search
warrant for your house.

I need you boys
to stand up. Now.

You're going to be fine, Carlton.
I'll be right behind you.

Don't answer any questions.
Are we clear?

Yeah.

Our sons have invoked
their rights.

Video has been taken to document
their physical condition

so don't even think of
getting rough with them.

Don't worry, Mr. Campbell, we leave the
rough stuff to choir boys like your son.

You people almost done
ripping our home apart?

Just your son's room
and the communal areas.

Don't worry.

We're taking video to show we
haven't roughed up your decor.

Did I do something to earn
your resentment?

With all due respect, Mr.
Campbell, you're not being victimized.

Neither is your son.

My son is innocent.

His only crime is befriending a
borderline sociopath like Pat Scott.

It's a petition.

To limit beach access?

Homeowners have the right to feel
safe in their own backyards.

The beach
belongs to everyone.

Spare me the greater
public good.

Public good ends when I catch
you pissing on my hydrangeas.

Maybe you should be petitioning
for more public toilets.

You know back in the day,
my dad used to

pack me and my brothers
up in the camper,

drive to the beach all
the way from Boyle Heights,

spend all day
swimming in the surf.

Fall asleep
listening to the waves.

Made the rest of
the week bearable.

The California promise.

That promise didn't
come free, Mr. Morales.

And now the bills are due.

If you'll excuse me,

I don't believe
your warrant covers this room.

People v.
Carlton Campbell and Logan Rudman.

Count one, m*rder with g*ng enhancement
and the special circumstance of robbery.

How do you plead?
Not guilty.

Not guilty.
People on bail?

Given the severity of the charges, the
People request the defendant be held

without bail, Your Honor.

Your Honor, my clients
have no priors,

they also have deep family
and community ties.

They face counts that carry the death
penalty, they have the financial means

to flee the jurisdiction.

I'm with Miss Price.

Defendants will be
remanded without bail.

My clients had nothing to
do with Knight's m*rder.

Pat Scott acted alone.

And you're going to convince a jury
he somehow used three pairs of shoes?

The footprint sizes
match your clients'.

Lots of people wear
sizes nine and 11

and your star witness

is a sociopathic liar.

What's this?

Sworn affidavit stating
that Pat Scott r*ped a girl

at Carlton Campbell's house.

It's always good to
see you, Ricardo.

She was drunk. We all were.
I mean she was halfway passed out.

Meaning she couldn't legally
consent, meaning you r*ped her.

Logan and Carlton were
the ones pushing me to do it.

They cheered me on.

And when the girl sobered up
and realized what happened?

Carlton's dad
covered it up.

Just like he did with the kid
we b*at up outside Paco-Paco's.

Gray Campbell
paid off the victim?

It was just like the thing with Knight.
We were in it together and...

Things got out of control.

If our only witness
is an admitted r*pist,

our case just went
from thin to translucent.

Three dumb kids did not
commit the perfect crime.

SID couldn't find anything at
Campbell's or Rudman's house

to link them to
Knight's m*rder.

No bloody clothes
or shoes, no money.

Look at this.

Gray Campbell's study.

There's a bottle of lighter fluid next
to the fireplace. It's a gas fireplace.

Something must have been
hard to burn if they needed

a boost from lighter fluid.

Carlton b*rned evidence
in Daddy's fireplace.

Or Daddy b*rned it for him.

The study wasn't covered
under the search warrant.

The lighter fluid's
in plain sight.

Talk to the judge.

Maybe we can get
a second bite at the apple.

Lab tests on the chimney and fireplace in Mr.
Campbell's study.

Traces consistent with the
burning of a neoprene wetsuit.

Just like the one his son and his friends
wore when they k*lled Trevor Knight.

Lots of things are
made out of neoprene.

The police also found
traces of rag paper.

25% cotton,
75% percent linen,

used exclusively by the
Bureau of Engraving.

Nobody burns money unless
you're ridiculously rich.

Or it's stained
with blood. Or both.

Here's the good part.
We found the same evidence on the fire tools,

along with your fingerprints.

You don't need to
respond to that.

Your son's the k*ller,
Mr. Campbell.

He's the one we want.

If there's nothing else...

My family and I
have done nothing wrong.

Tell the detectives
I'm filing on Mr. Campbell.

I want him booked
and processed by tonight.

We can't prove he
destroyed evidence.

I'm not charging him
with destroying evidence.

I'm charging him with willful
promotion of felony g*ng activity.

You're just doing this
because he's arrogant.

I'm doing it because
he's guilty under the law.

Isn't that what you
always say?

I actually mean it.

You only say it when
you're pissed off.

I'm charging him.

Felony g*ng activity?

Your Honor, these charges are
simply an attempt by Mr. Morales

to bully my client into
testifying against his own son.

Mr. Morales, if you're wasting this
court's time on frivolous charges...

Your Honor, under the legal definition, Mr.
Campbell is a member of the Moon Bay Crew,

and the People are perfectly willing to
offer proof of his criminal liability.

A g*ng member?
Gray Campbell?

The People kindly refer
defense counsel to 18622...

We know the statute, Ricardo.

Good.

Then we can settle this with a
preliminary hearing and sort out

whether the People's
charges warrant a trial.

Under California law,
a criminal street g*ng is

any ongoing association or group
of three or more persons,

formal or informal, that commit crimes
as one of its primary activities.

A g*ng has a common name,
identifying sign,

and members that have engaged in an ongoing
pattern of criminal g*ng activity.

So would defending
your territory

through intimidation,
as*ault and vandalism,

would that qualify
as criminal g*ng activity?

Yes.

How about m*rder? r*pe?

Yes. No doubt.

Detective Rivas, in your
opinion as a 14 year veteran

of the LAPD
anti-g*ng unit,

does the Moon Bay Crew qualify
as a criminal street g*ng?

Yes. Absolutely.

So tell me, Detective, aside
from defending their turf,

what is the primary activity of the
gangs you've battled in your 14 years?

Is it drug dealing?

Yes.

g*n running?

Yes.

Prostitution.
Yes.

All criminal activities.

And what is the Moon Bay
Crew's primary activity?

It's surfing, is it not?

Correct me if I'm wrong, but surfing is
still legal in the state of California.

Yes.
Thank you.

It was a Thursday afternoon.
I was at the beach.

I'd only moved out
from Tucson six weeks before.

These three boys came up.

They were surfers.

They said that this was their
beach and I was trespassing.

One of them,

his name was Carlton,

he said that they were having a party at
his house with a bunch of other kids.

It was this big house
up on the hill.

What did you do then?

I went with them to the house.

We all started drinking.

What happened next?

I remember someone
on top of me.

And people chanting like,
"Go, go!"

When I woke up, my panties were
gone and I knew that I had sex.

That I had been r*ped.

Did you or anyone
call the police?

No.

This man...

Him.

He came into the room.

I was crying.

He said he was Carlton's dad.

He said that I should
protect myself.

He told me how calling the police
would destroy the rest of my life.

How r*pe victims
get humiliated

and nobody ever
believes them.

What did
Mr. Campbell do next?

He offered me money.

$5,000.

Then he drove
me to a bus stop,

so I could wait for the bus
back to Long Beach.

Carlton told me what Pat Scott
did to that poor girl.

So I went in to talk to her,
to offer some comfort.

I did offer to pay for her medical cost,
after all, it happened in my house,

but I did not
bribe or thr*aten her.

Well, now, Mr. Campbell,

how often do you go out with your son
and his friends to commit a robbery?

I don't.

What about sell dr*gs
or b*at people up?

I don't do any of those things
and neither does my son.

You must recognize this.

That's gibberish.

Thank you, Mr. Campbell.

Your witness.

Mr. Campbell, if you knew that Amy
Reynolds had been r*ped in your home,

why didn't you report it?

I had no
firsthand knowledge.

Truthfully it would be up to
the girl to report it

since she's the one who'd have
to endure the investigation.

And your $5,000
convinced her not to.

Spare us the editorial,
Mr. Morales.

Mr. Campbell, do you recall paying $10,000
to a young man named Peter Markham?

I'll refresh your memory.

This is from the statement given
to the police by Peter Markham.

He was assaulted by your son and
his friends four months ago

outside a beach cantina
in Palos Verdes.

Mr. Markham is
from Torrance,

he made the mistake
of surfing in Lunada Bay.

That was a misunderstanding.

My son and his friends apologized and
the money was for medical expenses.

And again, criminal charges
never materialized.

One has nothing to do
with the other.

Except that you were aware that your
son and his friends were involved

in felonious conduct such as
r*pe and as*ault, weren't you?

I... I don't...

And thanks to your checkbook you
facilitated such conduct, didn't you?

No. No, that's not true.

Isn't it a fact that
your son is 100%

financially dependent on you?

He's enrolled in college.

You pay for his food, his housing,
his car, his surfing equipment,

you pay his credit card charges,
including charges for spray paint.

I don't keep track
of what he buys.

Hmm, but when it comes to keeping
strangers out of Lunada Bay,

when it comes to
defending your turf,

you and your son's g*ng friends
are all of one mind, are you not?

I don't know what
you're talking about.

You formed a group called Palos
Verdes Concerned Citizens,

am I correct?

To organize
a neighborhood watch.

To petition county government
to limit beach access.

That's the prime focus
of your group,

to keep non-residents of
Palos Verdes off the beach?

Off the public beach?

To keep them off our property.

The truth is you don't
really want anybody

who can't buy into your neighborhood
anywhere near your beach.

You don't want them
spoiling that view

with their campers
and their screaming babies

and their $5 beach chairs.

You're just trying to make me
look like a terrible person.

I'm describing what you are,

a thug defending his turf.

Objection.
Withdrawn.

Your Honor, the State has failed to
show that Gray Campbell participated

in any illegal activity.
They failed to show

that he is a member
of the MBC,

failed to show how 18622 might
even possibly apply to him.

And why is that?
Because it doesn't.

The Prosecution's case
is simply

an insulting attempt to stretch
the boundaries of this statute

to ensnare an innocent man.

Thank you.

Van Ness Gangsters, Eight-Tray
Crips, Rolling 60's.

Street gangs are known by
the territory they claim.

The territory they defend
through force and intimidation.

It's no different for
the Moon Bay Crew.

No matter that the turf
they defend

is a crescent of water bordered
by multi-million-dollar homes.

In our state the beach is
the great leveler.

Everybody's the same.

Shorts, cooler, floppy hat.

No kings, no princes.

But Mr. Campbell
doesn't agree.

He believes that the beach
should belong to an elite.

He drilled that belief
into his son.

He then materially
supported his son

as his friends harassed those who
would venture into their turf.

When the MBC turned to as*ault,
he helped cover it up.

When they turned to r*pe,
he helped cover that up.

He is up to his elbows
in their bloody activity.

Thank you.

Never a dull moment with you,
is there, Mr. Morales?

All right.

It is the view of this court that the
People have met the minimum standard

and shown there is sufficient
evidence to take this case to trial.

Mr. Campbell will remain
free on bond.

We are adjourned.

How can you ask me to
turn on my own child?

Because if you don't you'll be
going to jail with him.

Or maybe I should just cut a
deal with him against you.

His co-conspirator in
the m*rder of Trevor Knight.

After all, you filled him
with so much entitlement,

he stomped another man
to death for riding a wave.

Can he do this?

You're already part of
the g*ng Mr. Campbell.

It's a very short jump
to m*rder conspiracy.

I came home.
There was smoke.

Carlton was in my study,

trying to burn some things
in the fireplace.

There was all this money,
covered in blood.

I couldn't understand how
this could've happened.

I just knew I had to fix it.

That's what fathers do.

We fix it.

Are the People satisfied?

We are, Your Honor.

Pursuant to a plea agreement,

with respect to the charge of
second degree m*rder,

I hereby sentence
Carlton Campbell

and Logan Rudman to a term of
15-to-life in the state penitentiary.

With respect to the amended
charge of voluntary manslaughter,

I sentence Patrick Scott to six
years in the state penitentiary.

We are adjourned.

Should've known there was a catch
when you offered to buy lunch.

You don't like the beach?

Gritty sandwiches, lousy
parking and skin cancer?

Not really my thing.

You don't know
what you're missing.