Ties That Bind

Chapter Twenty-Six.

When the Multnomah County Courthouse was completed in 1914, it occupied the entire block of downtown Portland between Main and Salmon and Fourth and Fifth, and was the largest courthouse on the West Coast. The exterior of the concrete building was brutish and foreboding, but the lobby had a majestic elegance until it became cluttered with metal detectors and guard stations.

Amanda and Kate had to fight their way past the TV cameras and through the throng of reporters who started to shout questions at Amanda as soon as they entered the lobby. They hurried up the wide marble stairway toward Judge Robard's courtroom on the fourth floor, hoping that the uphill run would discourage the heavily loaded cameramen and the sedentary reporters, but a few hearty souls jogged after them, panting questions, which Amanda ignored.

The corridor outside the courtroom was packed with people who were trying to get a seat. They had to wait in line and go through another metal detector to get inside. Amanda flashed her ID, and she and Kate were waved through. Judge Robard had seniority and one of the older courtrooms. Amanda couldn't help thinking how the high ceiling, marble Corinthian columns, and ornate molding made the setting ideal for a judge with such an exaggerated sense of his own importance.

The spectator benches were almost full, and Tim Kerrigan was already at the prosecution counsel table; his second chair was a young Hispanic woman whom Amanda had never met. Kerrigan heard the stir in the courtroom when Amanda came in, and turned his head toward the doorway. The prosecutor whispered something to his colleague and they both stood.

"Hi, Amanda, Kate," Kerrigan said. "This is my second chair, Maria Lopez."

The women nodded at Maria then Kate took the end seat at the defense table.

"You're not really asking for a full-blown bail hearing, are you?" Kerrigan asked Amanda.

"Yup."

"Robard will never grant bail."

"Then I'll be wasting my time."

The prosecutor laughed. "I knew you'd be a pain in the neck."

"Hey, it's my job."

Kerrigan was about to say something else, when Jon Dupre was led into court in manacles and leg chains. With a look of deep satisfaction, Maria Lopez watched Dupre struggle forward. Amanda remembered that Lopez had prosecuted the prostitution case, which had been dismissed.

"Sit down with your attorney," ordered Larry McKenzie, one of Dupre's guards.

"Aren't you going to take his chains off?" Amanda asked when McKenzie made no move to unshackle her client.

"Orders. He's supposed to have them on during the hearing."

"We'll see about that."

"Don't get mad at me. I'm just following orders."

"Sorry, Mac," Amanda told the guard.

"No problem, Ms. Jaffe, but I wouldn't argue too hard to have them taken off, if I was you. I was on the admitting desk when Wendell Hayes came to the jail the day he was killed. I wish I'd told him to be more careful."

Amanda pulled out Dupre's chair and helped him sit down before sitting next to him. The bailiff rapped his gavel and Ivan Robard walked briskly through a door behind his dais.

"Be seated," he ordered. "Call the case."

"This is the time set for a bail hearing in the case of State of Oregon versus Jonathan Edward Dupre."

As soon as the bailiff finished reading the case number into the record, Tim Kerrigan stood and told the judge that he was ready to proceed.

"Amanda Jaffe for Mr. Dupre, Your Honor. Before we start the bail hearing, I would like to have my client unshackled. He . . ."

Robard held up his hand. "I'm not going to do it, Ms. Jaffe. Feel free to file a motion with authorities so you can make your record for the appellate courts, but I've talked to the jail commander and he believes that Mr. Dupre is too dangerous to leave unshackled."

"Your Honor, this is a bail hearing. You are going to have to decide whether Mr. Dupre should be released from custody. Your ruling to have him kept in chains shows that you have prejudged his case, and I'd ask you to recuse yourself."

Robard cracked a humorless smile. "Nice try, but it won't work. I'm keeping the shackles on for security reasons, and so would any other judge in this courthouse. I haven't heard any evidence yet. If Mr. Kerrigan doesn't make a case for holding your client, we'll talk about bail. So let's get to it."

Judge Robard shifted his attention to the prosecutor.

"Mr. Kerrigan, Mr. Dupre is charged with, among other things, two counts of aggravated murder. ORS 135.240(2)(a) says that I have to grant release unless you can convince me that the proof is evident or the presumption strong that Mr. Dupre is guilty. What's your proof?"

"Your Honor, I'm planning on calling one witness in the case against Mr. Dupre for murdering Wendell Hayes. That should be sufficient to convince the court that there is a strong presumption that Mr. Dupre is guilty in that murder case. The state calls Adam Buckley, Your Honor."

Like most of the jail guards, Adam Buckley was a big man, but he had lost weight since witnessing the death of Wendell Hayes. He was dressed in an ill-fitting sports coat that hung loosely on his slumped shoulders; he kept his eyes low to the ground as he walked to the witness stand. Amanda had read the report of his interview and she knew that he was on administrative leave as a result of his trauma. She felt sorry for Buckley because she knew what he was going through.

"Officer Buckley," Kerrigan asked after the guard had been sworn and testified to his occupation, "did you know Wendell Hayes?"

"Yes, sir."

"How did you know him?"

"He came up to the jail to talk to prisoners from time to time. I let him in and out."

"On the day of his death, did you let Mr. Hayes into a contact visiting room at the Justice Center?"

"Yes, sir."

"What prisoner was he meeting?"

"Jon Dupre."

"Do you see Mr. Dupre in this room?"

Buckley cast a quick look at Dupre, then looked away. "Yes, sir."

"Can you identify him for the judge."

"He's the man sitting with the two women," Buckley said without looking at the defense table.

"Was Mr. Dupre in the visiting room when you let Mr. Hayes into it?"

"Yes, sir."

"You saw him?"

"I went into the room with Mr. Hayes. Dupre was sitting in a chair in the room. I told Mr. Hayes to press the call button if he needed help, then I locked them in."

"Was anyone else in the contact room?"

"No. Just Mr. Hayes and the defendant."

"Was Mr. Dupre shackled as he is today?"

"No, his hands and feet were free."

"Thank you. Now, Officer Buckley, shortly after you locked the two men in together, did you see them again?"

Buckley paled. "Yes, sir," he answered in a shaky voice.

"Tell the judge what you saw."

"Mr . . . Mr. Hayes . . . He was pressed up against the glass window." He paused. "It was awful," he said, shaking his head as if to clear it of his memory of the event. "There was blood all over the window. It was coming from his eye."

"What did you see next?"

Buckley pointed at Dupre. "He was stabbing him."

"Could you see what Mr. Dupre was using?"

"No. He was moving it back and forth too fast."

"Your Honor," Kerrigan said as he picked up an evidence bag containing the shiv, "Ms. Jaffe has agreed to stipulate, for purposes of this hearing, that Exhibit One is the weapon that was used to stab Mr. Hayes."

"Is that right?" Robard asked.

"Yes, Your Honor," Amanda answered.

"Officer Buckley, did you see what happened to Mr. Hayes as a result of Mr. Dupre's attack?'

"Yes, sir. He was bleeding badly from several places."

"Did Mr. Dupre try to attack you?"

"I was pressed up against the glass trying to see how bad Mr. Hayes was hurt, and he made stabbing motions at me."

"Where was Mr. Hayes at that time?"

"On the floor."

"Your Honor, for purposes of this hearing, Ms. Jaffe has agreed to stipulate that Mr. Hayes died as a result of wounds inflicted by Mr. Dupre with Exhibit One."

"So noted. Any further questions, Mr. Kerrigan?"

"No."

"Ms. Jaffe?" Judge Robard asked.

"A few, Your Honor," she said, standing and walking toward the guard. "Officer Buckley, where did you first encounter Mr. Hayes?"

"When he came off the elevator he rang me to get into the hall with the interview rooms."

"And you took him to the interview room where Mr. Dupre was waiting?"

"Yes."

"Did you search Mr. Hayes before you let him into the interview room?"

Buckley looked surprised by the question. "I don't ever do that. They search the lawyers downstairs before they send them up."

"So your answer is that you did not search Mr. Hayes?"

"Right. Yes."

"Did you have Mr. Hayes and Mr. Dupre in your sight continuously after you locked Mr. Hayes in?"

"No."

"Why not?'

"Another lawyer came up on the elevator and I let him in to see a prisoner."

"How long were Mr. Dupre and Mr. Hayes out of your sight from the time you locked in Mr. Hayes until you saw the two of them fighting?"

"I don't know. Probably a minute, maybe two."

"So you have no idea what happened in the interview room between the time you locked Mr. Hayes in and the time you saw the men in the middle of their fight?"

"No, ma'am."

"No further questions."

"No further questions," Kerrigan said, "and no other witnesses, Your Honor."

"Ms. Jaffe?" Robard asked.

"One witness, Your Honor. Mr. Dupre calls Larry McKenzie."

"What?" the startled jail guard said.

Kerrigan and the judge also looked surprised but Robard recovered quickly and beckoned the redheaded bodybuilder to the stand. McKenzie glowered at Amanda as he walked past her, but Amanda was concentrating on her notes and didn't notice.

"Officer McKenzie," Amanda asked when the guard was sworn, "you were manning the reception desk at the jail on the day that Wendell Hayes was killed, were you not?"

"Yeah."

"Please describe the reception area and the process you go through when an attorney comes to the jail for a contact visit with a client."

"Reception is on Third Avenue off the Justice Center lobby. When you come in, we're behind a desk. To the side of the desk, between the reception area where you can sit down and the elevators that go up to the jail, is a metal detector."

"Okay, so say I come into the jail to visit a prisoner and I come up to your desk, what happens then?"

"I ask for your Bar card and I check your ID."

"Then what?"

"You empty your pockets of any metal objects and you give me your briefcase to search, if you've got one. Then you go through the metal detector."

"What time did Mr. Hayes come into the reception area?"

"Around one, I think."

"Was he alone?"

McKenzie snorted. "He had a circus with him--TV cameras, reporters shouting questions."

"Did Mr. Hayes hold a press conference?"

"He answered a few questions. The reporters had him backed up against the reception desk. When it got too bad, he asked me to rescue him."

"By letting him into the jail?"

"Right."

"What did you do?"

"What I always do. I checked his ID and passed him through the metal detector."

"Did Mr. Hayes have a briefcase?"

"Yeah, but I checked that, too."

"Did you send the briefcase through the metal detector?"

McKenzie started to answer, then stopped.

"No, I don't think so. I think I just went through it."

"What was Mr. Hayes doing while you were going through this procedure?"

"He was . . . Let me think. Yeah, we were talking."

"About what?"

"The Blazers."

"While you searched the briefcase?"

"Yeah."

"So your full attention wasn't on the search?"

"Are you saying I didn't do my job?"

"No, Officer McKenzie. I know you tried to do your job correctly, but you had no reason to think that Wendell Hayes would try and smuggle anything into the jail, did you?"

"Hayes didn't smuggle anything in."

"Did he go through the detector with all of his clothes?"

McKenzie gazed upward, trying to recall everything that had happened. When he looked back at Amanda, he was worried.

"He took off his jacket and . . . and he folded it up and handed it to me with his briefcase and the metal stuff in his pockets, like his keys and a Swiss Army knife. I kept the knife."

"Did you search the jacket thoroughly?"

"I patted it down before I handed it back," McKenzie said, but he did not look as sure of himself now.

"Were the reporters still milling around your desk?"

"Yeah."

"Were they talking?"

"Yeah."

"I was watching a TV news story about Mr. Hayes's death. The station had pictures of him going through the metal detector. Were they filming Mr. Hayes during the search?"

"I guess so."

"So those bright lights were still on and there were a lot of other distractions?"

"Yeah, but I was thorough."

"Think hard about this, Officer McKenzie, please. Did you hand back Mr. Hayes's jacket and briefcase before or after he was through the metal detector?"

McKenzie hesitated for a moment. "After."

"Is it possible, then, that Mr. Hayes could have slipped something by you in his jacket or briefcase while he was talking to you about the Blazers and the reporters were distracting you with their bright lights and chatter?"

"Something like what?"

"Something like Exhibit One."

McKenzie's mouth gaped open, Kerrigan shot Amanda an incredulous look, and a low rumble erupted in the spectator section. Judge Robard rapped his gavel.

"It didn't happen like that," McKenzie insisted.

"But it could have?"

"Anything is possible. But Hayes didn't smuggle in a knife, and even if he did, your boy committed murder."

"Move to strike that last response, Your Honor," Amanda said. "And I'm through with the witness."

"I'll strike it, Miss Jaffe," Judge Robard said, "but I'm having trouble seeing where you're going with this. I assume you'll clear up my confusion when you make your argument."

"I don't have any questions for Officer McKenzie," said Tim Kerrigan, who looked amused.

"Any other evidence for either side?"

"No," Amanda and Kerrigan said.

"Argument, Mr. Kerrigan, since you've got the burden."

"The question before the court is whether the state has met the burden imposed by ORS 135.240(2)(a) of proving that Mr. Dupre's guilt in the murder of Wendell Hayes is evident and that the presumption of that guilt is strong. If we do, the court must deny release. Officer Buckley testified that there were only two people in the contact visiting room--the victim, Wendell Hayes, and the defendant--and they were locked in. He also testified that he saw Mr. Dupre stab Mr. Hayes, and it is stipulated that Exhibit One is the weapon that was used to kill Mr. Hayes. I don't think I've ever heard more convincing evidence of guilt, Your Honor."

Kerrigan sat down and Amanda stood.

"Let's cut to the chase here, Ms. Jaffe," Robard said. "Are you going to argue that Wendell Hayes smuggled Exhibit One into the jail?"

"There's no evidence that contradicts that position."

Robard smiled and shook his head. "I have always considered you to be one of the brightest and most creative attorneys in the Oregon Bar, and you have not disappointed me, today. Why don't you tell me the next logical step in your argument."

"If Wendell Hayes smuggled the knife into the jail, my client acted in self-defense, negating Mr. Kerrigan's proof of guilt."

"Well, that's right, if there was any evidence that Mr. Hayes attacked your client, but the only thing I heard was that Mr. Dupre was wielding the knife. He even threatened Officer Buckley."

"Officer Buckley didn't see everything that happened in the interview room during the crucial time between locking Mr. Hayes and Mr. Dupre in together and seeing my client stab Mr. Hayes."

Robard chuckled and wagged his head. "You get an A--no, an A-plus--for effort, but no cigar. I'm denying release in the case involving Wendell Hayes, and setting bail of one million dollars in the case involving the murder of Senator Travis. Unless there's something else, this hearing is adjourned."

"He didn't listen to a thing you said," Dupre said bitterly.

"I didn't expect him to, Jon."

"So you're saying I'm dead?"

"Not at all. I told you that our forensic expert will testify that your cuts are defense wounds that you could only have gotten if you were being attacked by a knife."

"Why didn't you tell that to the judge?"

"I don't think it would have swayed a hardnose like Robard, and I want to save some surprises for trial. We're working on other leads, too, so don't give up."

Amanda and Dupre spoke for a few more minutes before she signaled Larry McKenzie that her client was ready to go back to the jail.

"I hate to see this cockroach jerking you around," McKenzie said as he tugged on Dupre's chains to get him to stand.

"I'm sorry if I surprised you, but I didn't think of calling you until Officer Buckley testified."

"No hard feelings," McKenzie told her, but Amanda wasn't certain that he meant it.

"I appreciate the preview of coming attractions, Amanda," Tim Kerrigan said when Dupre was out of earshot.

"We aim to please."

"You're not really going to argue that Dupre killed Wendell Hayes in self-defense, are you?"

"We'll see."

"Good luck."

Amanda was stuffing her file into her attache case when Grace Reynolds, a reporter from the Oregonian , walked up to the low fence that separated the front row of the spectator section from the counsel tables. Grace was a slender brunette in her late twenties. She'd interviewed Amanda on two occasions for feature stories and had once double-dated with Amanda when they were both going out with attorneys from the same firm.

"Hi," Grace said. "You certainly wowed the judge. I haven't seen Ivan the Terrible smile that much since he imposed his last death sentence."

"Are we off the record, Grace?"

"You're not going to be Amanda 'No Comment' Jaffe with your old drinking buddy, are you?"

"Afraid so."

"I was hoping you'd give me an exclusive on the homicidal pimp."

Amanda winced. "You're not going to call him that, are you?"

"We're taking it up at the editorial meeting. Of course I might argue against it if you gave me some reason to believe that I'd be committing libel. And don't try to sell me on the cockamamie story you gave the judge."

"I must be losing my debating skills."

"Or your mind. That was the most outrageous argument I've heard since the Twinkie Defense."

"Didn't that win?"

"I don't remember. So, do I get my exclusive?"

"No can do, right now. But I'll promise to think of you when the time is right, if you'll answer a question for me."

"Ask."

"You were at the jail when Hayes was killed, right?"

"Down in Reception." She shook her head. "What a bummer."

"I checked with Harvey Grant's clerk. Grant appointed Wendell Hayes to represent Jon Dupre a little before one on the day that Hayes was killed. He made the appointment in his chambers, not in open court, and the press wasn't invited. Hayes walked over to the Justice Center half an hour after he was appointed. How did you and the other reporters know that Hayes was going to be at the jail?"

"We got a tip."

"From who?"

"Mr. Anonymous."

"Do you know if the tip was anonymous for everyone?"

"I didn't ask."

"Okay, thanks."

"What's going on, Amanda?"

"I promise you'll be the first to know when I figure it out."

"Lets get together for a beer or a movie sometime," Grace said. "No business."

"Sounds good."

Kate had watched the exchange. "Why the question?" she asked once Grace left the courtroom.

"Only Judge Grant, Wendell Hayes, and Grant's clerk knew that the judge was going to appoint Hayes. If Hayes wanted to distract the guard at the desk so he could smuggle in the shiv, it would help to have a pack of howling journalists flashing lights in Larry McKenzie's eyes and causing their usual havoc."

twenty- Seven

The reporters were waiting when Tim Kerrigan and Maria Lopez left the courtroom. Most of the spectators were gone, but Kerrigan noticed a young blond woman with sunglasses, dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and a leather jacket, leaning against a marble pillar and studying him with intense concentration. A cameraman moved and blocked his view. When the cameraman moved again, she was gone.

As soon as the press conference was over, Stan Gregaros and Sean McCarthy joined the prosecutors.

"What did you think about the hearing?" Kerrigan asked the detectives.

"Slam dunk," Gregaros answered. "You're gonna have a ball at the trial if Jaffe sticks with her bullshit theory that Dupre acted in self-defense."

"We've got some more evidence to use against Dupre," McCarthy said. "Remember Rittenhouse telling us that Travis said that 'Jon' was going to make everything okay on the night of the murder?"

Kerrigan nodded.

"I had Dupre's phone records sent over. A call was made from his house to Travis's place in Dunthorpe on the evening Travis was killed."

"Another nail in Johnny boy's coffin," Gregaros said.

The detectives and the prosecutors conferred for a few more minutes before Tim and Maria took the elevator to the district attorney's office.

"I've actually got some work to do in another case, Maria," Kerrigan said. "Why don't you do some research on the evidentiary issues we talked about and we'll touch base tomorrow."

"I'll get right on it."

Maria walked away and Kerrigan entered his office. He dumped his files onto his desk and hung his jacket on a hook, closing the door behind him. As he was loosening his tie, he found himself remembering the blonde he'd seen briefly in the courthouse. Something about her seemed familiar.

Kerrigan's intercom buzzed.

"There's a Miss Jasmine on line two," his secretary said.

Kerrigan froze, and in that second he pictured the blonde again and knew for a fact that she was Ally Bennett.

Kerrigan lifted the receiver.

"Hello, Frank," a husky and familiar voice said.

"I think you've got the wrong person," he said carefully.

"Do I, Frank ? Should I go to the press and let them sort it out?"

"I don't think you'd get very far."

"You don't think they'd be interested in a story about a DA who is prosecuting a pimp while having very raunchy sex with one of his whores?"

Tim closed his eyes and forced himself to stay calm. "What do you want?"

"Let's meet where we did the last time and I'll tell you in person. Eight o'clock. Don't be late, Frank, or Jasmine will be very angry."

Kerrigan felt himself begin to grow hard as an image from their last meeting was triggered by her words. An insane desire to have sex with Jasmine again welled up in Kerrigan, despite the knowledge that meeting with her could only lead to his destruction.

Then he thought about Cindy. Something was going on between them that he hadn't anticipated. They had grown closer since she'd comforted him after his return from Senator Travis's crime scene. When he made love to his wife, there was none of the energy he'd felt with Bennett, when lust and shame had combined to produce a cocktail of illicit pleasure, but he'd felt dirty when he left the motel and he'd felt at peace when he was in Cindy's arms.

For a moment, Kerrigan thought about defying Ally, but he didn't have the courage. There were so many things she could do to hurt him; she could go to the press, to Jack Stamm, or, worst of all, she could go to Cindy. Tim felt defeated. Ally Bennett had ordered him to return to the motel and he was too weak and afraid to disobey.