Killer Ambition

64

I called Bailey to tell her we had our jury. “And it ain’t pretty.” I’d been filling her in all along, giving her the highlights-or rather the lowlights-of each day’s proceedings. Bailey was still angry and incredulous about Terry’s opening salvo.

“Rampart Division? Has she lost her mind?” Bailey said nothing for a few moments. “So they’re definitely going for the conspiracy tack.”

“Oh yeah. Terry’s definitely going there, and she’s taking the jurors with her.” I’d told Bailey all about the alarmingly receptive audience Terry had found in our jury pool.

Though Terry had produced nothing to back up her conspiracy claim, the press had run with it as though proof were a foregone conclusion. “The only question,” one commentator said, “is whether the prosecution can overcome this incendiary defense. And on that score, most agree, all bets are off.”

It was, in large part, hype that was meant to make it a close race. I couldn’t afford to get down about it; opening statements would begin before we knew it. Personally, I never do lengthy openings. I prefer to promise less than I plan to deliver. It gives the unheralded evidence an added zing, and it keeps the defense from claiming we made promises we couldn’t keep. I knew the defense wouldn’t say much, if anything. They didn’t want to tip their hand.

Over the next few days Bailey and I put in the finishing touches. Our most important being the ordering of our witness list. I usually like to call a victim’s friend or family member first. It humanizes my victim-always a challenge in a murder case, since the victim can never appear, while the defendant, all cleaned up and pretty, is ever-present. And, if well coached, crying on cue. But I wouldn’t be able to do it this time. Not with Russell dead set against me and Raynie still ambivalent. The night before opening arguments, I was still unsure about who to put on first. Bailey read my thoughts.

“We could start with Mackenzie,” she said.

“But she’s awfully young. We don’t know how she’ll bear up. And I don’t know that I want to open our case by admitting our victims were extorting Russell. We’ll have to get there eventually, but I’d like to at least start strong, put this case on solid ground before I get into problem areas. How’s Raynie sounding?”

“I only really talk to her about scheduling, but from what I can tell, she’s still pretty wishy-washy.”

I’d never before been in the position of having the victim’s family at odds with us in a murder case. “Maybe once Raynie and Russell see it all put together, they’ll come around.”

Bailey gave me a skeptical look. I knew she was right, hard as it was to swallow. “Then I’ll start with the physical evidence.

“How about Dorian?” Bailey suggested.

It made sense to start with our criminalist. She collected nearly all of the evidence, so I’d need her testimony before I could call the fingerprint and blood analysts-plus, she was a strong witness. But this time, since I couldn’t call any friends or family for a while, I had a different plan of attack.

“Is Dr. Vendi good to go for tomorrow?”

“Yep. And I’ve got all her photos on disc.”

We don’t get to pick our coroners. It’s always luck of the draw, and this time, we’d lucked out. Dr. Graciela Vendi was one of those rare pathologists who did fantastic work and knew how to talk to a jury. Her testimony would bring home the brutality of the attacks on Hayley and Brian in vivid detail. The defense could blab all they wanted about unnamed dark forces. Here was reality-two young people hideously slaughtered on a lonely mountain. Hopefully it would sober the jury up, get their minds right.

Bailey added, “Your guy Declan checked out the discs, said they looked good. I have to say, I really like that kid.”

“Me too. But that’s a total accident. Vanderputz only put Declan on so he could suck up to his Hollywood contributors-”

“And spy for him.”

“Yeah. Didn’t quite work out the way Vanderputz planned.”

We both laughed. I raised a phantom toast in honor of my second chair.

With all the constant stress and worry about the crazy circus this case was turning into, I hadn’t been getting much more than four hours of sleep a night, and jury selection and trial preparation had left me feeling like I’d been through a meat grinder. All I wanted to do was put it behind me and go to sleep. I hoped that with a solid eight hours under my belt, I’d wake up feeling better about the twelve select citizens we’d wound up with-or at least be able to pretend I did.

I dragged myself to the gym to work out the kinks and make sure I’d be tired enough to get into bed by ten o’clock. Then I ordered a light dinner-seared ahi tuna and a green salad-and polished off what was left of a bottle of pinot grigio. I’d just gotten into bed when Graden called to wish me luck.

“Thanks, I’ll need plenty of it,” I said.

“That bad?”

“I can’t remember when I’ve felt worse about my chances this early in the game.”

Graden tried to cheer me up by reminding me that anything can happen in trial-and even played back one of my own stories to make the point. “Remember? Your eyewitness fell apart on cross and the defense had a great alibi witness-solid citizen with no priors-who swore the defendant was working with him all day on the day of the murder. Even brought in the time card to prove it-”

“Except the time card showed it was the day after the murder.” It was one of those great courtroom moments. The memory still made me smile. “I’m not going to get that kind of lucky this time, Gray. Not with Terry Fisk on the case.”

We said good night and I took a health magazine-a free sample-to bed. Nothing like reading about gluten-free, fat-free, sugar-free to bore myself to sleep. In less than five minutes, the magazine slipped out of my hands and onto the floor.

The next morning, feeling rested if no less anxious, I pulled on my robe and stepped onto the balcony. I could already feel the heat building. At just seven a.m. My stomach was clenched too tightly for food, so I decided not to force the issue. I was out the door by seven forty-five and in my office by eight fifteen, a snack bar bagel and cream cheese and large coffee in hand.

“You really ought to let me do that,” Declan said, nodding at my purchases, as he sat down in front of my desk.

“You’re a lawyer, not a gofer.”

“They’re not mutually exclusive.”

“Especially at the big corporate firms.” I looked at Declan with curiosity. “I’ve seen your résumé. Law Review, moot court finalist, dean’s list. You could’ve had your pick of white shoe law firms. How’d you wind up here?”

“I interned here when I was in law school and I loved it. After that, I never wanted to be anywhere else.”

Maybe that was the problem he had with his father: daddy had more high-profile commercial prospects in mind for his son than the low-paid position of a county prosecutor. I was curious, because the more I got to know Declan, the less I could understand his father being anything but enormously proud to have such a great guy for a son. But being rabid about my own privacy, I couldn’t bring myself to encroach on his.

“You’ve got the DVD for opening?” I asked.

“Right here.” He patted his briefcase.

I looked at the clock on the Times Building. It was eight thirty-five. “May as well get down there and set up.” Judge Osterman had issued an e-mail to all parties reminding us that tardiness would not be tolerated and sanctions would be imposed for any party not ready to proceed at precisely nine a.m.

Now that jurors would be coming to court, reporters were on orders to take their assigned seats in the courtroom. No loitering or interviewing in the hallways allowed. The judge had reserved two rows of benches for the public, who had to show up and take numbers. As Declan and I headed out of the office, Melia said they’d begun queuing up at five thirty that morning. When we got off the elevator, I saw Jimmy, the bailiff, taking the numbers from the line of lucky winners as he admitted them into the courtroom one by one.

At five minutes to nine the courtroom was packed, not even one square inch of space visible on the benches in the gallery. A loud buzz filled the air as reporters chatted and waved to each other. Raynie was waiting out in the hallway with the rest of the family and friends, at my suggestion. There was no reason for them to suffer through the grisly details of my opening statement. But Russell defiantly sat proud and tall on the “groom’s” side with all the rest of the Ian Powers supporters. I hadn’t spoken to Russell since the day he’d thrown me off the lot. I’d hoped he’d come around by the time trial started. I put the depressing thought out of my mind and looked through my notes while Declan finished setting up the monitors that would display our photographs to the jury.

Judge Osterman took the bench at nine o’clock on the dot and Jimmy faced the gallery. In a strong, stern voice he announced, “Come to order. Department One Fourteen is now in session. Judge Osterman presiding.”

The buzz stopped abruptly and a silent tension spread through the courtroom. Judge Osterman looked down at us. “Both sides ready? Anything we need to take up before we begin?”

We all agreed we were ready to go. “Then let’s have the jury.”

The twelve chosen jurors and five alternates filed in. My librarian darted a quick glance at the packed gallery, then cast her eyes down nervously as she found her seat. But the black single mom seemed unfazed. She took her time moving through the jury box and relaxed into her chair, then surveyed the courtroom with an amused expression. The young man with the ailing mother moved to his seat quickly, picked up his notebook, and stared straight ahead. Some of the jurors briefly looked my way, but none of them made eye contact. The judge commended them on their promptness, made sure they had no problems or issues to address, and told them now was the time for opening statements. He reread the introductory instructions he’d given at the start of voir dire, “just to refresh your memory,” then reminded them that opening statements weren’t evidence but only “a brief preview of what each lawyer believes the evidence will show.” Then he looked down at me. “Are the People ready to proceed with an opening statement?”

I took a deep cleansing breath that nearly choked in my throat and stood. “Yes, Your Honor.”

“You may proceed.”

I turned to face the jury.

Let the games begin.