Testimony of Rival Gang Could Make or Break Case : Trial: Women break the ‘code of silence’ on county’s worst drive-by shooting. Defense says they have every reason to lie.

Would you fight for your gang?

“Yes.”

Would you die for your gang?

“If I had to.”

Would you lie for your gang?

Silence. . . . Then almost a whisper: “Yes.”

The prosecution witness who gave those answers was Irene Fernandez, who had been a member of the 17th Street gang most of her young life.

She’s one of three key eyewitnesses to testify against three members of the rival 5th Street gang, now on trial for double murder in Superior Court in Newport Beach. They are accused of the most vicious drive-by shooting to ever take place in Orange County, in which two people were killed and six wounded on La Bonita Avenue in Garden Grove last September.

But when Deputy Dist. Atty. Thomas Avdeef rested last week, the strength of his case lay with the credibility of the three young women, tattooed and street-wise, who first told the police they saw nothing, then came forward to name the defendants. The women, all in their early 20s, all of whom have left the 17th Street gang, said they finally cooperated with police and broke the “code of silence” because this wasn’t just another drive-by shooting. One of those left dead was a 4-year-old boy.

“It was no longer gang against gang,” testified Jenny Hernandez, a cousin of the dead boy. “It was them against the family.”

The La Bonita shooting has helped focus the public’s attention on the increasing gang violence in Orange County. A record number of people--18--have died in gang-related violence so far this year, with five months left.

Yet most gang violence goes unsolved. A major problem for prosecutors is the code of silence among potential witnesses: You don’t talk to the police.

“A gang case is extremely difficult to prosecute in court,” said Deputy Dist. Atty. Brent V. Romney, head of the district attorney’s gang unit. “The witnesses are either hostile to the police or too scared to come forward.”

One known gang leader, Eleazor Gonzales, was recently acquitted, despite an eyewitness to the shooting who testified. One problem with the case was that others witnessed the killing but refused to cooperate with the authorities. Just a few weeks after Gonzales’ acquittal, he was arrested and charged with murder in a subsequent gang-related death.

At first, Garden Grove police worried that the same difficulties with witnesses might hurt the investigation into the La Bonita shooting.

Nearly a dozen people were in cars or milling about in the 13000 block of La Bonita Avenue in Garden Grove--17th Street gang turf--when gunmen from the back of a pickup truck driving by opened fire the night of Sept. 16, 1989.

One of the fatalities was an 18-year-old 17th Street gang member, Miguel (Smokey) Navarro. The other was a 4-year-old boy, Frank Fernandez Jr., sitting in the back seat of a car, about to go to the movies with his family.

Hours of interviews after the shooting provided little of value: No one had seen any of the shooters.

But a few days later, the three women at the scene changed their stories. Irene Fernandez identified Louis P. Valadez, 28, as the driver of the truck; Roman G. Menchaca, 19, as one of the shooters, and Robert Figueroa, 20, as a passenger in the truck cab. Jenny Hernandez, her cousin, identified Menchaca and Figueroa. Close friend Rebecca Mercado pointed the finger at Menchaca. Also identified was a juvenile, who will be tried separately.

But defense lawyers argue that it doesn’t help the justice system if witnesses get in front of a jury only to lie about what happened.

And that’s what the defense claims is happening in the case of the La Bonita Avenue shooting--that the young women are lying.

“There is a hatred between these gangs that goes back a long time,” Menchaca’s attorney, C. Thomas McDonald, told the jury in his opening statement.

“These girls saw nothing, “ Valadez attorney David A. Zimmerman emphasized to jurors. He claimed it was too dark and the victims were too busy dodging bullets.

The defense even put on an astronomer to testify how dark it was that day at 7:40 p.m., when the shootings occurred.

But prosecutor Avdeef has beseeched the jury to understand why they did not cooperate at first. It took courage to finally break the code they had lived by.

It was Julian W. Bailey, attorney for Figueroa, who asked each of the young women if she would fight, die and lie for the 17th Street gang. Only Irene, after much thought, said she would lie.

Prosecutor Avdeef came right back at her when it was his turn: “Does that mean you are lying now about what you saw?” No, she answered. She knew who she saw in that truck.

Avdeef has another critical witness. He’s a 12-year-old boy who told jurors he saw a truck come by his grandmother’s house in Santa Ana, with someone from the back shouting: “We got ‘em.” The boy said he didn’t know who said it. But he identified Figueroa and Menchaca as two of the people in the truck.

The defense attorneys claim the boy’s testimony is as hard to believe as the versions of the three women. The boy is the son of Ralph Rodriguez, a cousin to the family with the 4-year-old victim. It was Ralph Rodriguez who first screamed at the young women that they should break the code of silence.

What a coincidence, the defense lawyers claim, that it’s Rodriguez screaming for vengeance, and his own son provides the key, independent corroboration.

Avdeef has other evidence: The longtime rivalry between the gangs has been spelled out as part of the motive. To strengthen that, the prosecutor has testimony from the young women that they saw Figueroa and Menchaca at a stoplight the day before the shootings. The women told jurors the young men’s message: “Where are your home boys? Tell them we’ll come pay them a visit.”

And then, there is the truck itself. The Valadez truck was unique, with a row of amber lights on a rack along the top. The defense has tried to tear to shreds the witnesses’ descriptions of the truck they saw. Most of them said it was dark, but the descriptions ran everywhere from dark blue to reddish to gray. The Valadez truck was red.

But the witnesses all agreed: The truck used by the drive-by shooters had unique lights. Just like Valadez’s.

Valadez has a history of gang violence. But his attorney, Zimmerman, argues that Valadez is married now, and too old to be in the gang any more.

None of the defendants testified. And only one, Menchaca, put on an aggressive defense. His attorney, McDonald, told jurors in his opening statement that he would name the real killers. And when he put on his case, that’s what he tried to do.

McDonald found a witness who said it was a nephew of Valadez who had Valadez’s truck that night. Valadez’s nephew and the two friends with him were responsible for the La Bonita drive-by shootings, McDonald contends.

But because of a unique feature to this trial, the jury deciding Figueroa and Valadez’s fate did not hear that witness’s testimony.

Menchaca joined the trial late because of a conflict in his lawyer’s schedule, ironed out at the last minute. The Figueroa and Valadez jury had already been seated. Superior Court Judge Tully H. Seymour then ordered a second jury to sit in the same courtroom to hear the trial, to decide only Menchaca’s guilt or innocence.

It was a deliberate decision by attorneys for Figueroa and Valadez not to let their jury hear McDonald’s “nephew theory.” Bailey said he didn’t want to muddy the case.

“This case rests on whether the jury believes those women,” Bailey said. “I just don’t see how they can.”

Closing arguments before Figueroa and Valadez’s jury is scheduled for Monday; the Menchaca jury will hear arguments Tuesday.

The trial has been intense, with heavy security. When Irene Fernandez left the witness stand last week, she took a swipe with her right hand at Valadez’s wife, who was sitting on the aisle. She missed, but the bailiff gave her a stern warning about her behavior if she came back to court.

Some of the testimony has been confusing. Lawyers have repeatedly pointed out to witnesses discrepancies between their courtroom testimony and their earlier testimony at a preliminary hearing, or with their stories to police after the shootings.

But there was no confusion over the guileless, chilling testimony of one witness. Jurors appeared transfixed as they listened to one of prosecutor Avdeef’s final witnesses: the 6-year-old sister of little Frankie Jr.

She described the horror of the moment. The flashing of the rifle fire. The panic in her family’s car. She did not see the shooters, or anyone in the truck. But she was certain of one thing: The truck was red.