Killer Ambition

54

That evening, as I headed down Broadway toward the Biltmore, my cell phone rang. I thought it might be my soil expert, so I answered.

A fast-talking, excited voice said, “Rachel, it’s Benjamin at KRFT radio-can I put you on the air to answer a few questions about today’s proceedings?”

My face grew hot with anger. I tried to rein it in as I answered, “No, Benjamin. How did you get this number?”

“Rachel, everyone has the number. We just haven’t used it until now.”

Furious, I ended the call on as polite a note as I could muster. My cell rang another five times before I got to my room and turned it off. If I changed my number, would they just get it again? Probably. The only thing I could do was to screen my calls and let every unknown number go to voice mail. Feeling hounded, I went to take a shower. But before going to sleep, I made sure all my friends and witnesses had assigned ringtones.

Graden and I settled on Drago Centro, a fantastic place just a few minutes from my hotel, for dinner that Saturday night. I told him about the siege I’d undergone with the press. “Matter of fact, I just had an idea. Would you record the outgoing message on my cell? Maybe it’ll cool their jets if they hear a male voice when they call.”

“You sure you want me to?” Graden asked, smiling. “It might start a rumor.”

Preoccupied with the case, I needed a minute to understand what he meant. “Why would they know the male voice belongs to someone I’m…uh, seeing?”

Graden held up my phone and clicked the “Record” button. “Hello, you’ve reached Rachel Knight’s phone and this is her boyfriend, LIEUTENANT Graden Hales. You can run, but you cannot hide. If you harass her, I will find you.” He clicked off, then clicked it on again and added, “Thank you. Have a nice day. And don’t leave a message. I wouldn’t if I were you.”

I didn’t know how badly I’d needed to laugh until that moment.

Over the next few days, I checked in with Bailey and talked to Declan about trial strategies in general. But otherwise, I kept my head down and worked.

By the day of the preliminary hearing, I was as prepared as I could possibly be. Clouds had moved in during the night, and the morning air was heavy with the promise of a summer shower. With no appetite for breakfast, I left early, hoping to beat the rain, and took an umbrella just to be on the safe side.

My phone started ringing as I crossed First Street and didn’t stop the entire trip. This time I knew better than to answer. But I noticed no one left a message. Thank you, Graden. I ducked into the courthouse just as the first few drops of rain began to fall, and was early enough to avoid running into the press.

I don’t usually like to wait in court, and whenever possible, I get the DDA who regularly works the calendar in that courtroom to give me a call when my case is almost up. But it’s not a foolproof strategy, and I have found myself in the hot seat for being late more than once. So today I decided to take no chances. I was front and center when the bailiff opened the courtroom doors. Surprisingly, I was the only one. There wasn’t a reporter in sight. Weird. The clerk, Manny Washburn, looked at me with surprise when I walked in.

“Rachel Knight, the first one in court?” He put his hand to his forehead. “I think I feel faint.”

I walked over to his desk. “Must be all that Wite-Out you use on your minute orders. I’m here on the Averly case. Can I get first call?”

“No one’s used Wite-Out since 1980, Rachel. And since you’re the first one in, who else would I give first call to? My mother?” Clerks are often smartasses like this. It’s the natural evolutionary adaptation to being around so many lawyers. “And I know what case you’re here on. I’ve had about fifty calls from the press in the past hour.”

“But I didn’t see-”

“Because the judge banned ’em all. Said he wasn’t going to have a circus in his courtroom. So no cameras.” I let out an exasperated sigh. “Sorry, Rachel, but it’s not like you’re having that good a hair day.”

I ignored the gibe and sat down at counsel table. I’d wanted the public to see the evidence so they’d know that, contrary to what they’d heard from the televised ass-kissers, this case was no sham. Just this once, press coverage would’ve been a good thing. We’d probably still get some print coverage-the judge couldn’t keep the reporters out. But nothing gets the public’s attention like television.

Terry strode in a few minutes later and, with a curt nod to me, started to unpack her briefcase. Lawyers, witnesses, and the friends and family of defendants and victims began to arrive after that, and within half an hour, the courtroom was full.

Judge Daglian took the bench and began to call his calendar. When he got to our case, Terry stood. “Your Honor, my client bailed out last night. As you requested, I gave his passport to your clerk this morning. But Mr. Averly had some matters to take care of before court and told me that he’d be just a few minutes late. If the court could please put us on second call.”

“I will. But he’d better be here by second call or he’s going right back into lockup.”

Bailey came in, murder book in hand, and sat down next to me in the attorney section. “How much longer?” she asked.

I told her what Terry’d said. “Did your guys tell you he’d bailed out?”

“No. Be right back.” She hurried out of court.

Twenty minutes later, the judge called our case again.

Terry stood, her expression stony. “Your Honor, I haven’t heard from my client, but I can assure you he’ll be here shortly.”

“Have you tried to reach him, Counsel?”

“Yes, I’ve left several messages. I believe he must be on his way.”

Bailey rushed back in and came over to me. “Ask for a sidebar,” she whispered. “I’ll go with you.”

When we gathered at sidebar, I told the judge that Bailey had information for him. He motioned for her to speak and she leaned in.

“Your Honor, I had Mr. Averly under surveillance. I just found out that there was a triple homicide in the area last night, so the detail was pulled off to help secure the scene. Patrol officers went to his apartment just now and knocked on the door. They got no answer. So they contacted the manager and got him to check inside-”

“I object to any search-” Terry barked.

“Doesn’t matter, Counsel,” Bailey said. “There was nothing to see. The apartment’s empty. He’s gone.”