Killer Ambition

49

I put my head down and tried to bury myself in case preparation. Work is always my refuge when I need an escape from misery. And since this time the source of misery was the case, I told myself it was doubly helpful. I could distract myself from the prospect of doom while devoting every ounce of energy to making the case as solid as possible. Win-win. Well, it was something anyway.

But it didn’t work. Every five seconds my phone rang with calls from the press: Did I see the public reactions outside the courthouse? Did I realize what I was up against when I’d filed the case? Did I regret my decision to file it? I wanted to let them all go to voice mail-then erase them. But I was already losing the battle for the hearts and minds of the public, judging by that last newscast, so I needed every bit of goodwill I could muster. I answered every last stupid question and hoped I was building some kind of rapport that would get me favorable coverage.

I bounced from call to call all afternoon and completely forgot about Declan until it was almost five o’clock. It was only the sound of footsteps stampeding for the door that brought me back to earth long enough to realize I’d neglected to give him an assignment. I’d never had a second chair before, so I wasn’t used to delegating.

I had to admit that the more I saw of him, the more I liked him. I was starting to think that Vanderhorn might seriously have miscalculated in thinking Declan would act as his spy. But what I didn’t yet know was whether he was a decent lawyer. I pondered what I could let him do that wouldn’t jeopardize anything. I had an idea and picked up the phone. Only in that moment did it occur to me that he might’ve left. He certainly would have been well within his rights to decide he wasn’t needed. He hadn’t heard from me all day. But he picked up on the first ring. Score another one for the kid, I thought. Very smart to hang out and show his dedication to duty.

“Hey, Rachel. I was hoping you’d call. Got something for me?”

“Yeah. Come on down.”

Twenty seconds later he walked into my office, buttoning his jacket.

“Declan, lesson one: no formal attire requested here. Take off your jacket, roll up your sleeves. Get comfortable.”

“How do you feel about my shoes?”

“Don’t push it.”

He smiled and sat down.

“Here’s lesson number two: you don’t have to wait for me to call. If you’re looking for work, just come tell me. Okay?”

Declan saluted.

“Here’s what I’ve got for you: I wrote the search warrant pretty broadly and I think it should cover Ian’s laptop-”

“You find anything on it?”

“No. And we probably won’t, but I gave it to Cliff Meisner to check for anything that might’ve been encrypted.”

“So you want me to get in touch with Cliff and find out if he’s got anything so far?”

“Yes, and I’d like you to do some research. Make sure we’re on firm ground with the seizure of the laptop and that there aren’t any limitations to what we can use if we do find anything.”

“Should be pretty easy. You worried about privilege?”

“No.” I told him about having gotten a Special Master appointed to examine the files before we looked at it.

“I never would’ve thought of that.”

“You will now.”

That was the whole point of having a young up-and-comer act as second chair. The younger prosecutor got to learn how to play in the big leagues from someone who knew the ropes, instead of having to learn by getting knocked around-and losing. I still think of my mentor, Harvey Gish, with tremendous affection, and admiration. You couldn’t put a price on what I learned from him. He taught me to “never assume the other side knows what it’s doing” and “always be sure you know more about the case than anyone else.” He was referring to one of the most common mistakes prosecutors-or, really, any lawyers-make: automatically opposing what the other side wants. “Just because the defense wants it doesn’t mean you should object. Always think for yourself. Who does this help more?” And he was so right. You’d be surprised how many times the defense asks to put in evidence that’s much better for me than it is for them. Lessons like that showed me the world of difference between the way the run-of-the-mill cases are handled and the kind of lawyering required in the “big case.” It was the practice of law on a whole different level, one most lawyers never saw.

“So what’d you think of Jack Averly?” I asked. This would be the first of many conversations we’d have about how to watch and listen closely in court.

“He looked scared.”

“Scared of whom?”

Declan thought a moment. “His lawyer?”

“Well, he should’ve been, but no. He didn’t flinch when Terry gave him that hard look. I’d say first and foremost he was scared of Ian, and secondly of jail. So, assuming I’m right, what does that tell you?”

“That Ian was the mastermind?”

“We were pretty sure of that to begin with. What I’m getting at is, strategically, what does his attitude mean to us?”

Declan shook his head and leaned forward. “I give up. What?”

“He’s the one more likely to talk. Ian Powers is never going to give us the time of day-no loss, because we can’t give the puppet master a deal to testify against the puppet, anyway. But Averly’s a different story. He’s looking at a sentence of life without parole, all because he let Ian rope him into this mess-a mess he may really not have known involved murder until it was too late. So he’s a good candidate for a deal, and after seeing him in court, I have some hope that he’ll take it. The only real question is: Will he plead to something substantial enough to make the deal tenable for us?”

“What do you want to give him?”

I started to answer, then realized this was a great teachable moment about something that didn’t get talked about often enough. “I’ll tell you in a sec, but first, I want to say this: dealing out a defendant in return for his testimony should always be your last choice. I’ve seen prosecutors make deals just to make their lives easier, when they could’ve proven the case without the testimony if they’d just put in a little more work. Never, ever do that. Before you make a deal, make sure you’ve done everything you can to prove your case without that defendant’s testimony. And if you’re sure you do need it, then make sure you get the defendant to plead to the right charges. Meaning charges that accurately depict what he did. You can’t let a possible murder accomplice plead to an illegal left turn. And trust me, the jury will throw out every word he says as a liar’s package that was bought and paid for. In this case, Bailey and I think there’s a good chance Averly didn’t know what he was getting into. That would make a plea to accessory after the fact not only a good deal for him but also a fair reflection of his involvement. And he’s got at least a few of the important missing pieces we can only get from him.”

My cell phone played “Killer Joe.” Bailey.

“I’ve got to take this, so-”

Declan stood quickly. “I’m on it, boss.”

“You can start Monday, Declan.”

“I’d rather not wait.” Declan waved to me and left.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“You’ve heard the news, right?”

I sighed heavily. I’d managed to forget about it all for the past few hours. Now the memory of the ugly accusations deflated me. “Yeah.”

“I’m coming to pick you up right now,” she said. “I could use a drink and you can watch me if you’re not in the mood.”

I smiled in spite of myself. “I should get some more work done. Fisk’s demanding her speedy prelim-”

“You were ready for that thing days ago. Come on, Knight.”

I looked at the murder book-the binder detectives prepare that contains all the reports. My concentration was broken, so I probably wouldn’t be all that productive even if I tried to get back into it. And getting some distance right now might be a good thing. Sometimes, a little breathing room gives me my best inspirations.

“Okay. But let’s stay out of Hollywood.”

“Gee, how will we survive? Be downstairs in ten.”

I called Declan to tell him I was leaving and made him promise to get out soon too. When I got downstairs, Bailey stepped halfway out of her car and waved to me. “Brought you a present,” she said, pointing to the front seat.

Toni rolled down the window and gave me a broad grin. “We’re hitting the Varnish, so hurry up. They’ve got a drink with my name on it and it’s getting warm.”

The Varnish was a speakeasy-style bar, tucked into the back room of Cole’s, a nineteen-twenties diner. Dark, intimate, with small booths and the best mixed drinks I’ve ever had, it was the perfect little hidey-hole for a persona non grata like me.

After we’d imbibed enough to let go of the day, Toni seconded Bailey’s sentiments about the public reaction we’d seen.

“First of all, you’ve got to remember that was just Hollywood. They’re probably all Ian’s clients or wannabe clients-”

I shook my head. “There were a couple of working-class guys stumping for him-”

“Who benefited from his charity, right?” I nodded. “My point stands: those were all people who got something or hope to get something from Powers. There’re a lot more folks who don’t fit into either of those categories than those who do. Folks who won’t find it so hard to believe that some manager-yes, even one who’s a charity sponsor-would kill someone-”

“But people like that, and especially actors, can sway public opinion, Tone,” I said. “There’re a lot of people out there who like the idea of being in league with the stars.”

“Yeah, but the fools who believe what these airhead actors say are not going to make it onto your jury. You’ll see to that.” She saw my skeptical look and held up her hand. “No, you can’t weed them all out, but you’re going to have a chance to push back very, very soon, thanks to Terry’s demand for a speedy prelim. When you start putting on evidence, it’s gonna be a brand-new day.”

I had to hope that Toni was right, that getting the evidence out there would balance the picture. In any case, it was better to hang on to that hope than to dwell on the way my jury pool was being poisoned by all this bad press.

“Speaking of a decent case,” I said. “What do you think of giving Averly a deal to testify?”

“Right now? Before the prelim?” Bailey asked.

“Yep. I’d like to get him on the record as soon as possible, while his memory’s still fresh.”

“You think Averly did either of the murders?” Toni asked.

“I can’t say for sure right now. But Ian’s the only one whose blood is anywhere to be found.”

Toni nodded and sipped her drink. “And you don’t know how Ian heard about the kidnapping, or how they all wound up on that mountain?”

“No. Averly could fill in the gaps for us. Maybe flesh out the motive too.”

“The only downside I see is that it’ll look like you’re piling up on Powers when Averly might be just as culpable,” Toni said. “Just because you didn’t find his blood anywhere doesn’t mean he didn’t kill Brian-or Hayley, for that matter.”

“But Powers has got to be the mastermind,” Bailey said. “No way this two-bit-dealer PA had any part in a plan this big until Ian dragged him in.”

“I agree with you there,” Toni said. “I’d say it’s at least worth an exploratory meeting to find out if he can give you something to make it worth your while.” Toni gave a wry smile. “Cutting a deal with Terry Fisk. What fun.”

I looked at my empty glass. “I think I need another drink.” We all got one, and then I broached the suspicion I’d been dreading, and needing, to air. “Remember that giant screaming match I got into with Russell when I told him about Ian’s arrest?”

“Like we could forget,” Bailey said.

“I got this bad feeling,” I said. “Like he knew Ian did it-”

“And was covering for him?” Bailey looked incredulous.

“You gotta be kidding, Rache,” Toni said. “Denial’s one thing, but deliberate cover-up-about the murder of his only child? Uh-uh. You know I’m always down with believing the worst, but that’s just…”

“A bridge too far,” Bailey filled in. “Even for me, I think. What gave you that idea?”

“We know Russell called Ian right after he got that first text from Hayley’s phone saying that Hayley’d been kidnapped. So when I went out there to tell him about Ian’s arrest, I’d planned to get Russell to confirm that he told Ian about the kidnapping during that call. No big deal, really. Ian’s his best friend; it made sense he’d have thought it was safe to tell Ian, right?”

Bailey nodded.

“Except that the minute I got the words out of my mouth, Russell denied it-”

“So?” Toni challenged. “Maybe it’s true. Maybe Russell didn’t tell him.”

“But he didn’t just deny it. He said, hollered actually, that I could never prove it. Why, of all things, would he say that?”

They both shook their heads. The table was silent for several long beats.

“Could just be guilt,” Bailey said. “Russell didn’t want to believe he’d set the wheels in motion…”

But there was a note of doubt in her voice. Toni stared down at her drink.

“Right,” I said. “See what I mean?”