One problem may have been that the case was never given the attention it deserved. As Leonard notes, no fewer than 14 lawyers worked on the case at one time or another during its four years of litigation.
At trial, it became clear: The large number of lawyers on the case wasn't a show of manpower so much as benign neglect.
Jamie Peachey
Jeff Finley (top) and David Leonard, Miriam Hayengas attorneys.
David Leonard
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Suddenly, at trial, assistant city planner Steven Muenker was testifying to things that somehow he'd never previously explained. His boss, city planner David Richert, was equally expansive.
Through their testimony, it became clear that Gosnell hadn't misled Hayenga. That's because the city didn't even determine that the units were gone until 2000 — three years after Gosnell had sold her the property.
As it turns out, in 1995, another developer with a piece of the Pointe Tapatio project, Evans-Withycombe, had asked city planners to allow them to build 120 apartments on a piece of the property zoned commercial.
Suffice it to say, Evans-Withycombe is also a well-connected player in development circles. The city granted the request.
It wasn't until Hayenga showed up five years later that the city realized they'd messed up the Evans-Withycombe deal. City planners found no evidence in their files that they'd notified the neighbors, as required by law, that the Tapatio area was getting an increase in density.
How to get around that?
Instead of counting the Evans-Withycombe apartments as an increase of the cap, the planners decided to take the units allotted to other parts of the development (read: the acreage Gosnell had sold to Hayenga) and give them to the apartments instead.
That's why there'd been no units left for Hayenga. After the fact, city planners arbitrarily had decided how to count the Evans-Withycombe units.
Not normal procedure. But certainly enough to convince the jury that Gosnell was an innocent bystander.
The real kicker came when Gosnell himself testified.
The developer explained that, after Hayenga sued him, he'd gone down to look at city files and see what had happened.
It became clear to Gosnell in just 45 minutes that his units were transferred to Evans-Withycombe.
The question was implicit: Why didn't Hayenga give similar due diligence and research the city's files? More to the point, why wouldn't her lawyers do it before dragging everyone through years of litigation?
In any trial, no matter how badly things are going, it's easy to trick yourself into thinking you're winning. You know your story so well, and you truly believe it. It tends to make sense to you, even if the jury is lost.
Halfway through the trial, though, Miriam Hayenga knew she was in trouble. This was no quiet tinge of worry. This was a sense of utter disaster.
Hayenga recalls her attorney, Williams, turning to her and whispering, "Has anybody ever said anything like this to you?" Stunned, she replied that the testimony was news to her, too.
"At that point," Hayenga recalls, "he just put his head in his hands." (Williams says that never happened.)
The end came quickly — too quickly. As any good lawyer will tell you, a jury that's done deliberating in minutes is a jury that's going to rule for the defense. Even if the plaintiffs do an excellent job showing guilt, juries rarely like to convict without taking hours to go over the evidence and make sure their condemnation is correct.
Acquittal can happen in minutes.
And so it was for Bob Gosnell. Hayenga's partner, Mary Slaughter, recalls that after the jury had been sent to deliberate, Hayenga and Slaughter hopped in their car to make the 15-minute drive home to north central Phoenix, thinking they'd sit around for hours, or even days, waiting for a verdict.
They were still on the road home when Hayenga's phone rang. The jury was back.
Back in court that very hour, the two women sat in shock as the jury unanimously found in favor of Gosnell.
If the verdict stung, what came next was even worse.
Because she'd brought the suit, the judge socked her with Gosnell's attorney fees.
Instead of getting a payday, Miriam Hayenga owed Gosnell's attorney $600,000, plus $15,000 in court costs.
Hayenga made good on her debt. Her lawyers negotiated to get the bill down to $313,000 — still awful, but something she could pay.
She paid.
By this point, though, there's no way she is giving up the fight. "She's tenacious," Slaughter says. "She is just such a fighter."
She's hired two lawyers: One, Jeff Finley, to sue the city, and the other, David Leonard, to look into suing Beus Gilbert for malpractice.
Because the statute of limitations passed years ago, any claim against the city will be a difficult one. In order to win, Hayenga and her attorney must show "fraudulent concealment" on the part of the city — that staffers not only didn't play fair but actively covered up their wrongdoing before finally admitting the truth in trial.
But that begs an important question: Did the city actively withhold information? Or did Hayenga's attorneys (including the best zoning attorney in town) let her down by failing to ask the right questions?