Killer Ambition

68

I would’ve preferred to take our end-of-day confab back to the Biltmore bar, where we could plot our next moves in comfort. But we couldn’t talk in public. The only safe place, other than my room, was in my office with the door closed. And Eric had even questioned the security of that option. He’d offered to have our offices swept for bugs. So far, I hadn’t felt the need. There was nothing we talked about that the defense didn’t already know.

Bailey perched on a chair in front of my desk. “So who’s next?”

“Have you heard from Janice?” She could give us some information on the feud between her brother Tommy and Russell, and just through her presence remind the jury that Brian had been a real person.

“She’s still waffling,” Bailey said. “She wants to show her support, but…it’s a double whammy for her.”

I nodded. Bad enough having to deal with agoraphobia, but she’d also have to be in the same room with one man who’d driven her brother to suicide and another who’d murdered her nephew. That didn’t mean it was a lost cause, but I couldn’t count on her.

“Have you taken a temperature check on Raynie lately?” I asked. I still wasn’t sure what side she was on, and I couldn’t afford to have the mother of the victim become a hostile witness. Better to do without her testimony than have the jury see that.

“Haven’t had the chance,” Bailey said.

“Why don’t you let me give her a call?” Declan asked.

Why not? I didn’t want to set him up to take any hits for being my “stooge,” but I couldn’t imagine Raynie getting ugly with Declan. Russell would, but not Raynie.

“If you’re okay with it, I have no objection.”

“You want to put her on Monday if she’s…in the right frame of mind?”

I nodded.

“Then I’ll take care of it right now.” Declan stood to go.

“Hang on a sec. What’s Vanderhorn been saying lately?”

Declan gave a little conspiratorial smile. “Not much. He’s doing more listening than talking-”

“I hope you’re recording this rare event-”

“It’s going into my earth capsule. He keeps asking me how Russell’s doing, what he’s saying, that kind of thing.”

“And since Russell isn’t speaking to any of us, you tell him…?”

“That Russell’s in a holding pattern and he’ll be grateful when it’s all over and done.”

“If I had a daughter, I’d want her to marry you. Go make the call.”

Declan laughed and headed for his office.

“We’ve got to put someone on to talk about Hayley’s last days and hours. If it’s not going to be Raynie, it might have to be Mackenzie,” I said.

Bailey looked pained.

“What? She’s pretty articulate, and she’s likeable.”

“It’s not that I don’t like the kid. It’s just that she’s not going to give us as much bang for our buck as the mom.”

I nodded. No argument there. “But we’re moving fast. Even if we don’t put Raynie on Monday, we might very well be at the end of our case the day after. So, basically, we’re out of time. If we can’t use her, we go with Mackenzie…and someone from the studio for the screenplay issue.”

“I’ll line ’em up.” Bailey stood. “And I’ve confirmed everyone for Monday. They’ll be on deck at eight sharp.” She left, and I started reviewing my notes on Mackenzie.

By eight forty-five Monday morning, I had all my witnesses lined up on the benches outside the courtroom. Declan hadn’t been able to reach Raynie, which meant I’d have to use Mackenzie. When I said good morning to the jury, I got a couple of real smiles. Much more than the perfunctory nods I’d gotten up till now. Cheered (maybe more than I should’ve been) by that small sign of goodwill, I called Hayley’s best friend.

Mackenzie, in a light gray skirt and white blouse that tied at the neck, looked like she was about twelve years old. As Bailey guided her into the courtroom, she darted a nervous look at the crowd that packed every square inch of seating, then cast her eyes back down and watched her feet all the way up to the witness stand. Even when Tricia administered the oath, she only glanced up briefly to say, “I do.”

In as gentle a voice as possible, I told her not to be afraid to ask me to clarify any question she didn’t understand. She nodded, and I took her through a description of her friendship with Hayley, how she was a new girl in school, lonely and friendless, how Hayley had taken her in, and how they’d become inseparable. Then I had to get into the less lovely part-information I’d learned only after the news of both Brian’s and Hayley’s murders broke.

Every witness, every single piece of evidence, is a double-edged sword. There’s no such thing as a witness who doesn’t have a downside. So the issue is whether the benefit is worth the cost. Mackenzie helped me humanize both Hayley and Brian. A big benefit. And I needed her to show that Hayley and Brian had cooked up the kidnapping scam-if only so I could prove that Ian Powers had stepped in and turned their amateur scheme into a double homicide. Proof that the victims had tried to pull a kidnapping scam was a necessary cost. But unfortunately, it wasn’t the only downside to Mackenzie, so I’d thought long and hard about whether I really needed her. I’d decided I did. Now I hoped I wouldn’t regret that decision.

If I have negative information about my witnesses, I bring it out myself. I don’t want the jury to think I’m trying to hide anything, and if I’m the one who brings it out, I can sometimes cushion, or at least minimize, the impact.

“How did Hayley and Brian meet?”

Mackenzie swallowed and licked her lips. “He, uh, Brian worked as a manager at a jewelry store in the Galleria near our school. I went in one day…”

“So you met him first?”

“Yeah…yes. The salesgirl had taken out some bracelets for someone and she left them on the counter.” Mackenzie fidgeted with her skirt and looked down as she spoke. “I…uh, took one.”

“You mean you stole it?”

She nodded. “I put it in my bra. But the security guard caught me at the doorway and brought me back.” Suddenly she looked up. “I don’t steal. It wasn’t for me. I just wanted to give Hayley a present for her birthday. But I didn’t have the money. At least, not enough to get her something really nice…”

Mackenzie dropped her head again and I waited a moment before asking the next question.

“Mackenzie? What happened after the guard caught you?”

She reluctantly looked up at me. “He brought me to the back room, to Brian’s office, and told Brian. I gave him back the bracelet right away and I begged him not to call the cops. It would’ve killed my dad.”

“And did he call the cops?”

“No. He said he’d seen me with Hayley and asked if we were friends. When I said we were, he said if I’d introduce him to Hayley, he’d let me off.”

“And did Brian and Hayley become good friends?”

Mackenzie nodded. “At first just, like, friend-friends. But then they were, like, really tight. After that, I almost never saw Hayley alone anymore.”

“Did you hang out with them when they were together?”

“Yes.”

“Did Brian have a laptop?”

I needed to establish this, because the ransom note likely came from Brian’s computer, though we’d never found it.

“Yes. He kept it in his car. He always had it with him.”

“When was the last time you saw Hayley?”

“The night we went to Teddy’s.”

I had her describe their night out at Teddy’s. It was a Thursday night. The “kidnapping” happened the following Monday.

“You spent Thursday night at Mr. Antonovich’s house in the Hollywood Hills?”

“Yes.”

“Was anyone else in the house? Any adult?”

“No. It was just Hayley and me.”

“And did you see Hayley the next morning?”

“Yes.”

“So actually that was the last time you saw her?”

“Yes.”

“What did Hayley say to you?”

“That I wouldn’t see her around or hear from her for a while, but not to worry about her. She said she’d be fine, that everything would be okay. And that I couldn’t tell anyone she’d told me that. She made me promise.” Mackenzie’s face crumpled on those last words, and she delivered the rest between tears that fell like raindrops into her lap. “And I didn’t! I should’ve told someone, but I didn’t want to let her down! Now she’s dead, and it’s all my fault!” Overcome, she covered her face with her hands, and her sobs filled the courtroom.

I know some lawyers prep their witnesses to get emotional, even cry. I never do. Mackenzie’s outburst was one hundred percent genuine, and the jury knew it. Several looked at her with pity.

I’d hoped Terry would leave her alone. No such luck.

“So you and Hayley stayed at her father’s house all by yourselves?”

“Yes.”

“And you did that quite a lot, didn’t you?”

Mackenzie shrugged. “We did it sometimes.”

“And sometimes you’d throw parties there, isn’t that right?”

“Just a few times.”

“But of those few times, the cops were called at least once, isn’t that true?”

Mackenzie fidgeted with her skirt. “It was just because it was a little noisy. No one, like, did anything bad.”

“But you had older boys at those parties, didn’t you?”

“I-I don’t know.”

Terry pulled out a handful of photographs and passed them to me. I looked them over with a sinking heart. I wanted to object but knew it was pointless. The defense would claim that those older boys were potential suspects who might have used their access to frame Ian.

Terry had the photos marked as defense exhibits and placed the first one on the monitor.

“That girl in the skinny jeans and heels, is that you?”

Mackenzie visibly gulped at the sight and I saw her scan the audience nervously. I’d bet she was looking for her father. “Y-yes.”

“And who’s that boy-or, rather, man-standing with his arm around you?”

“I don’t know. Just a guy.”

“Isn’t he a bouncer at the Viper Room?”

“I-I guess so.”

Terry put another photograph on the monitor. “That blonde girl in the leopard tube top and sequined miniskirt, is that Hayley?” Between the hair, the makeup, and the getup, she looked at least twenty. A very experienced twenty.

At the sight of her friend, Mackenzie’s lips trembled. “Y-yes.”

“And who is this man standing behind her with his arms around her waist?”

“That’s-that was her boyfriend. Before Brian.”

“He worked for a casting director, and he was about twenty-five years old, right?”

“Yeah-yes.”

Mackenzie looked down at her lap and blinked quickly. I hoped that Terry had pushed it too far, that this cross was starting to alienate the jury, but a fast glance in their direction told me otherwise. Nearly all of their expressions had hardened.

“Now, when Hayley told you she’d be gone for a little while and not to tell anyone, you didn’t know what she was planning?”

“No.”

“But now you know she and Brian were setting up a fake kidnapping to get money from her father, right?”

“I-yes.”

“And when Detective Keller first questioned you, you didn’t tell her about your last conversation with Hayley, did you?”

Mackenzie shook her head.

“You have to answer out loud.”

“No.”

“You told the detective that you had no idea what had happened to Hayley after you left Friday morning, isn’t that right?”

“Yes.”

“But that wasn’t exactly true, was it?”

“No.”

“Thank you. Nothing further.”

“-but I didn’t know what to do!” Mackenzie continued, her voice trembling with grief. “I promised Hayley…I promised her…” Mackenzie’s voice trailed off.

Terry went back to her seat and Bailey escorted Mackenzie out of the courtroom. I clenched my fists as a hard ball of anger burned in my stomach. Mackenzie didn’t deserve this, but there was nothing I could do about it right now. It was on to the physical evidence and my next witness, hacker-or rather “sniffer”-Legs Roscoe.

He’d cleaned up considerably for his television debut. No spikes, no piercings-though I could see the telltale holes on his nose and ears. He even managed to look embarrassed about “cyber-sniffing” Brian’s ransom note at the coffee shop.

“I’m not proud of this. It’s just a game, you know? I do it because I can. I’ve never harmed anyone, blackmailed anyone, or anything sleazy like that.”

“And you’re sure the person you ‘sniffed’ was Brian Maher?”

“One hundred percent.”

“And the girl with him was Hayley?”

“No doubt about it at all.”

“Thank you, Mr. Roscoe. Nothing further.”

And of course, no cross for Legs. Terry loved this testimony. It was further proof that our two victims were extortionists trying to squeeze a cool million out of Hayley’s father.

The next witness was brief and easy: the LAPD computer expert who confirmed that the ransom note sent to Russell had indeed been sent from a laptop or desktop. No cross. No reason for it. And then it was on to our soil expert.

You know how voices can give you a sense of what a person looks like? Sterling Numan’s deep, almost operatic-sounding baritone painted a picture of a large man, or at least a medium-sized man with a big barrel chest. Since I’d never met him in person, that was the mental image I’d been working with. So when a wiry little guy-five feet seven inches, tops-came bouncing into my office, tie swinging, schoolboy hair slicked to one side, and introduced himself, I’d had to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

I’d given him my standard advice for testifying, otherwise known as the KISS principle: Keep It Simple, Stupid. He’d assured me he was very comfortable with juries. My bad. I neglected to ask whether the feeling was mutual.

“Dr. Numan, please give us your credentials.”

He swiveled in his chair to face the jury-which I hate-and proceeded to rattle off a list of degrees, accomplishments, and publications in a tone so condescending and self-congratulatory, I’d have thought it was a sketch right out of Saturday Night Live. I hoped things would improve when we got to the meat of the matter.

“Did you examine the soil samples removed from Brian Maher’s car, Jack Averly’s car, and Hayley’s body?”

This time he turned to face the jury before I’d even finished the question. I was tempted to grab the baseball off the bailiff’s desk and throw it at him-but I was afraid I might miss and hit a juror. My arm is a little unpredictable.

“First of all, the correct name for these ‘soil samples,’ as you call them, is particulates. It’s important to use the correct terminology because each technical appellation has its own specific meaning…”

“Technical appellation.” Kill me, just kill me. He started to roll through a list of all of these magic words. When he came up for air, I jumped in.

“Thank you, Dr. Numan. Did you determine the general location where those particulates came from?”

He shot me a look of annoyance at the interruption, then turned back to the jury. “Yes. I am able to determine the origin of particulates to a somewhat specific degree, though of course I cannot pinpoint the origin to a source within a small circumference…”

Blah, blah, blah. Incomprehensible. I badly needed this answer to be in English. It was the whole point of his testimony. I sliced in when he took a breath.

“Dr. Numan, forgive me. Those are a lot of big words. Could you help me out and give the Soil-or rather Particulates-for Dummies version?”

He shot me an imperious glance, then swiveled back to the jury. “Of course. I was able to determine that the origin of these particulates was limited to a somewhat specific locale…”

And off he went once again, if anything, even less comprehensible than before. I gave up. There was just no way to make him juror-or human-friendly. Eventually, though painfully, I dragged him to his conclusion-I think: that both cars and Hayley’s body showed signs of having been in the locale of Boney Mountain.

But by that time I thought I could hear jurors snoring. I hoped to wake them up with one last piece of evidence I hadn’t mentioned during opening statements.

“I want to shift gears now and ask about another location: Fryman Canyon, the location of the ransom drop. Were you able to tell whether Jack Averly’s car had been in Fryman Canyon recently?”

“I examined samples taken from that location using a variety of testing methods…”

Incredibly, he got more long-winded with every answer. I imagined calendar pages turning before he finally gave his conclusion: that he could not find soil or plant evidence to indicate that Averly’s car had ever been in that location.

Translation: if Averly’s car hadn’t been in Fryman Canyon, Averly hadn’t picked up the ransom money. Ian Powers had retrieved it.

By the time I was done, I suspected the jurors hated me for putting this guy on. I passed the witness to the defense, hoping they’d spend enough time with Numan to get their fair share of juror wrath.

Wagmeister did the cross this time-a clear sign that Terry knew she didn’t have to worry about this evidence. Unfortunately, Wagmeister kept it short and sweet. He had Numan admit again that soil analysis can’t pinpoint exactly where in a given area the cars had been, then wrapped it up succinctly.

“And you cannot say, Dr. Numan, exactly when those particulates got on the cars, can you?”

Numan turned back to the jury. “No. I can only say it was recent enough that it had not worn off yet. But of course, cars run on wheels and wheels turn and when those wheels turn, they of course shed any material they may have picked up from any given area. And so the fact that I was still able to find the particulates that I did indicated to me that it couldn’t have been very long-less than a year, certainly-since the cars were in that area…”

Seriously. What was so wrong with a simple “No”?

Wagmeister’s expression went from amazed to amused, and when Numan finally wound down, he wisely threw in the towel. “Nothing further.”

When the judge asked me if I had anything further, I wondered could there possibly be anything further? The soil should’ve been a nice piece of evidence to add to the big picture. But in the hands of “I’m comfortable with juries” Numan, all it did was confuse them and piss them off. The commentators would be dumping on us all night.

I had no time to dwell on the loss. The next witness would be Declan’s inaugural run. I’d decided to let him take the print expert, Leo Relinsky. Relinsky had been telling juries about fingerprints for over thirty years, so I figured this was a foolproof witness to give a newbie who was getting his first taste of a high-profile case.

Declan had been studying his notes and getting ready half the night, though it surely wasn’t the first time he’d put on a print expert. But this morning, in my office, he’d been a nervous wreck. He couldn’t stand still. He was straightening his tie, adjusting his jacket, and fidgeting nonstop. I’d had to tell him to sit down three times. “If you don’t relax, you’ll pass out in front of the jury. Take some slow, deep breaths, and don’t drink any more coffee. I’m getting the shakes just looking at you.”

Now, as Numan left the courtroom, I sat down and whispered, “Go get ’em, slugger.”

Declan stood, straightened his tie for the millionth time, and buttoned his jacket. He cleared his throat and barely managed to choke out, “The People call Leo Relinsky.”

Declan started by having Relinsky state his credentials. It was a good way to warm up, because Leo’s CV went on for a solid ten minutes. He’d won awards, published papers, taught classes-you name it, Leo had excelled at it. I could see that Declan was starting to relax. Excellent. Then Declan had Leo give his spiel about the uniqueness of fingerprints.

That out of the way, they moved on to the results: Jack Averly’s prints on the interior driver’s door handle of Brian’s car, Ian Powers’s prints on several areas inside Averly’s car, and last, Powers’s thumb and index fingerprints on the trunk of Brian’s car, half an inch from the bloodstain.

It all went smoothly until Declan asked him about his findings on the nine-millimeter Ruger that’d been seized from Ian’s house.

“Did you find any prints on that gun?”

“No, I did not.”

“Did you think it unusual that someone would have a gun in his house that didn’t have his prints on it?”

“Well, not necessarily.”

“But doesn’t the absence of prints indicate to you that the gun had been wiped down for some reason?”

“It could. I didn’t particularly notice evidence that the gun had been wiped down, but then again, I wouldn’t have thought much of it if I had. People frequently do clean their guns. Or they should.”

“Did you find gun-cleaning fluid on the handle, or the trigger guard?”

Wagmeister stood up. “Objection! Assumes facts not in evidence-that he was looking for cleaning fluid.”

The judge had been watching Declan with a mixture of pity and irritation. The questions about wiping the gun were a very bad idea for exactly the reason the witness had just explained. Declan had painted himself into a corner; now he was desperately trying to make something good come of it. A classic example of bad money after bad.

“Well, I’ll allow it,” the judge said. “But please move it along, Mr. Shackner.”

Declan swallowed and his ears reddened. My heart ached for him. We’d all been there at some point-just not on national television.

“Shall I ask the question again?”

“No,” Leo replied. “I remember it. The answer is that I always note the presence of cleaning fluid if it’s there, but I did not notice any such fluid on the Ruger.”

“Then, just to recap, you found Mr. Powers’s prints on-”

Wagmeister was on his feet again. “Objection! Asked and answered.”

“So it would seem from the way that question started,” Judge Osterman said. “Are we going anywhere new, Mr. Shackner?”

Declan cleared his throat. Poor guy, I knew he’d just been trying to end on a strong note. “No, Your Honor, I guess not.”

A brief scan of the jury showed a couple of mildly puzzled expressions, and our single black mom was suppressing a little smile. No harm done. In fact, we might’ve gained a few sympathy points. Nothing wrong with that.

Wagmeister did the standard cross. “With regard to the prints you found on the cars, you can’t tell when the prints were put there, can you?”

Leo amiably agreed he could not.

As Wagmeister beat that dead horse for another ten minutes, I passed Declan a note for his redirect. He nodded, and when Wagmeister was finished, he asked that one question.

“You testified that you found Ian Powers’s thumb and index prints on the trunk of Brian’s car. Here’s a hypothetical: Assume that those prints were found less than an inch away from a bloodstain that also matched Ian Powers. Assume further that the car was left in an outdoor parking lot near the airport for at least two days. With that information in mind, what if anything could you say about when those prints were deposited on that trunk?”

“Objection! Improper hypothetical!” Wagmeister shouted as though he’d been stung by a hornet.

“I assume there will be testimony to that effect regarding the blood?” the judge asked.

“There will,” Declan said.

“Overruled.”

“The short answer is that it means the prints were probably left fairly recently. Reason being, weather will break down blood evidence, and though prints are a little more durable, it can destroy prints too. So when you put it all together, the fact that you found identifiable prints near the blood indicates that both were most likely deposited recently. I can’t be more precise than that, though.”

“Thank you. Nothing further.”

Declan had been pale after his earlier snafu, but when he sat down, I noticed there was a little more color in his cheeks now. A nice finish cures so many ills.