Authors: Jilliane Hoffman
22
‘Are we done now, Ms Seminara?’ Judge Farley asked with an impatient sigh, slapping his hand hard on the bench and spinning his throne in the direction of the nearest exit.
‘I think so, Judge,’ Karyn replied, as she quickly thumbed through the thick calendar, the division’s brand-new bewildered C attorney at her side. The courtroom was all but empty; only court personnel remained.
‘Good. Then we’re in recess.’ The judge capped his pen and stood up, turning his attention to the court reporter. ‘Off the record, now,’ he said sternly, and obediently the soft clicking of the stenography machine stopped. ‘Word to the wise, Ms Gleeson,’ he continued sharply, shaking his finger in the frightened direction of the new C, his brow buried so deep in wrinkles that it looked like his scalp was slipping off his head. ‘Stop objecting so much. It’s irritating me and it’s certainly not getting you anywhere. Let’s not get off on the wrong foot, now.’ With that, he shot a dark look across the courtroom at Julia, who stood on the State side of the gallery against the wall, watching the minutes tick slowly by on the clock over the judge’s head. Then he quickly flew off the bench, disappearing like the Wicked Witch of the West in a black puff down the judge’s back hallway before Jefferson the bailiff could even yell, ‘All rise!’
‘Court is now in recess,’ Jefferson managed weakly when the door slammed shut.
Finally
. Julia grabbed her stack of files off the State’s table and hurried past Karyn and Janet, up the gallery. She pushed open the doors and walked smack into Rick.
‘Just the person I was coming to see,’ he said with a frown. ‘You missed all the fireworks. What happened to you this morning?’
‘Damn. I’m sorry, I was just coming up,’ Julia started.
‘I happened,’ said her DC, as she stepped out into the hallway, a glum and shell-shocked Janet Gleeson trailing behind with a pull cart full of file boxes. ‘Good morning, Rick,’ Karyn said rather brightly, but with a tired, woe-is-me smile. ‘Look, don’t get mad at Julia here, but mornings with Farley are just completely crazy. Even when it’s not their trial week, I need all my attorneys in court. If something comes up on calendar, I can’t be hunting them down all over the courthouse. I know Julia’s been helping you out on this doctor case of yours, but I’m afraid I just can’t spare the bodies around here. Especially on a Monday morning.’
‘She’s second-seating me on a first-degree murder case, Karyn, not helping me photocopy,’ Ricksnapped back. ‘And a first-degree murder takes precedence over babysitting your crazy Monday-morning calendar, anytime and all the time. Call me in the future if there’s gonna be a conflict, but let’s get this straight, right here, right now – this bullshit’s not going to happen again. Ever. Or it won’t be Leonard Farley you’ll be worried about babysitting.’
Karyn’s face tightened up so hard and so fast, Julia thought it might crack if she ever did smile again. She also thought it might be a good long while before her division spent another Friday night sipping two-for-one mojitos together. ‘Right,’ Karyn replied coolly after a long moment, ‘I understand.’ She looked over at Julia, and, with some difficulty, added, ‘I’ll see you back at the office, then. You know, I’m still waiting on those dispos you owe me.’
‘This case, Marquette, is your priority, Julia,’ Rick said, turning to her after Janet and Karyn had finally disappeared down the hall, defeated. ‘Word to the wise – a lot of people will be wishing it were theirs. Don’t take their disappointment too personally.’ He nodded toward the escalator. ‘Come on, let’s get some coffee,’ he said, glancing at his watch. ‘I think I’m having withdrawal. I haven’t had a cup since eight.’
‘So how’d it go?’ she asked as they walked.
‘A lot of media, which I expected. No bond, of course. Levenson was yapping about how unfair life is. Marquette’s dad showed up, without his wife this time, thankfully. Latarrino and Brill were there, but apparently they’re still ticked off at everyone but themselves over last week’s fuck-up at Jackson.’
Julia said nothing. She’d watched the news Thursday night, too, and it wasn’t pretty. She felt bad; circumstance had forced an early arrest. And she knew the media could distort absolutely anything.
‘As for our defendant, be sure to tune into the news at noon for a peek. Corrections wheeled him over from Jackson early this morning, but he still looks like death warmed over. Good,’ he scoffed, stepping onto the escalator. ‘Hope he feels like shit, too. It’s a damn pity that he’s gonna be just fine. Anyway, Yars is taking Marquette to the Grand Jury on the second.’
Martin Yars was one of the State Attorney’s Chief Felony Assistants. Besides handling administrative staffing matters, he was solely responsible for all of the office’s Grand Jury presentations. In Florida, only first-degree capital murders and juveniles being sent over to adult court were indicted by the Grand Jury. Formal charges had to be filed within twenty-one days after an arrest or the court could ROR the defendant – release him on his own recognizance. That meant no bail, no bond, no house arrest, no ankle bracelet – nothing but a heartfelt promise to come back to court.
Julia counted off the days in her head. ‘His arraignment’s—’
‘November third. The Grand Jury only meets on Wednesdays. That gives us a little time to prepare. I’ve got this protracted motion to suppress before Judge Gilbert this week, and I’m starting a murder trial next week, so I’m going to have you handling most of the pre-files. It’s good for you to get familiar with all the witnesses anyway, and the experts, too. Jump right in. Who knows who you might end up directing at trial …’ he added with a sly smile.
As a B second-seating her first Major Crimes murder trial, Julia figured that would probably be the Coral Gables PD records custodian, if she were lucky. Just sitting at the State’s table was invaluable experience; directing or crossing a witness was a bone. And doing all the exhausting prep work to get there was the price of admission.
‘Does this mean you’re definitely going to seek the death penalty?’ she asked. She suddenly, uncomfortably, recalled one of Charley Rifkin’s overbearing, dire predictions from last week.
If Dr David Marquette becomes the next Scott Peterson du jour … the press will be camping out in both your backyards until Corrections finally sticks the needle in.
A conservative Republican some days, Julia’s staunch opinion on the death penalty had always been an eye for an eye, but, then again, her opinion, until now, hadn’t really mattered much. And now it would. Now if this case went that far, now she’d actually be a participant in the process that took a human life. And she wasn’t as sure of her opinion as she once used to be.
He paused for a moment, studying her. ‘It leaves the option open. Of course, the official decision will be made after we sit down and examine what aggravators we have.’
To convict someone of first-degree premeditated murder in Florida you had to prove a conscious intent to kill; to put him to death you had to have more statutory aggravating factors than mitigating ones. Julia already knew the answer to her own question – thirty-seven stab wounds and a bashed-in skull pretty much spelled out the words ‘heinous, atrocious and cruel’ on a verdict form. So did hunting down your crying six-year-old with a kitchen knife in the middle of the night.
The escalator opened up onto the courthouse’s busy, noisy lobby as it descended from the second floor. She looked down at the two long, restless lines of people that waited to pass through the metal detectors. Bored, indifferent correction officers shouted warnings that all bags would be searched and all weapons confiscated. Mixed in with the crowd below were the cops, who were waved in through a different wait-free door, and the lawyers, who stood out from everyone else with their dark suits and overloaded briefcases. In front of the courthouse directory, the dazed and confused gathered to find out where it was they needed to be in the nine-storied maze of courtrooms and administrative offices, while the more experienced casually strutted over to the right elevator or escalator, dressed in their courthouse best of wife-beater tees and baggy, underwear-showing jeans, laughing and joking with their friends, as if a day in court was just another fun day in the park.
‘Will the prints be a problem for the Grand Jury?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘The Grand Jury won’t even hear about them. And they shouldn’t. It’s not evidence that tends to exonerate the defendant; we have no obligation to address it. Right now, smeared footprints and unidentified fingerprints are just nuisance facts that a defense attorney will try to make more out of than he should at trial. Levenson can try it then as part of a last-ditch defense that the one-armed man did it, ’cause he’s not bringing it up to the Grand Jury.’
Rick was right. For all its pomp and circumstance, Julia knew an indictment really wasn’t all that hard to get. Especially since the facts in a first-degree murder were always brutal, and the juveniles bound-over for adult court beyond redemption. Cloaked in secrecy and masked by formality, the reality was that the Grand Jury only got to hear one side when determining whether to indict someone – the State’s side. And it was all State. There was no judge overseeing the proceedings, no defense attorney screaming objections. The legal standard of proof was still only probable cause, and hearsay was admissible, so, of course, the facts tended to be a bit more slanted in favor of the prosecution. A criminal law professor of hers at Georgetown had once bragged that as a Cook County ADA in Chicago, he could have indicted a ham sandwich if he’d wanted to. That statement was probably not too far from the truth.
They’d reached Au Bon Pain, the courthouse sandwich shop that had replaced the old Pickle Barrel, which was slowly filling with people as the courtrooms broke for lunch. Rick ordered two coffees and walked Julia over to a quiet table in the back corner. She felt the eyes of several prosecutors and defense attorneys glance over, watching them as they passed. She felt a little self-conscious, strangely aware that her nails needed a manicure and her heels were a bit chewed. Two things she hadn’t thought to think about until this very second.
‘I’ve already arranged for Marisol, my secretary, to set the pre-files of the responding officers and Crime Scene techs with you. Just get with her on times,’ he said, sliding into a booth seat. Then he paused and smiled at something or some thought. ‘Have you met Marisol yet?’
She shookher head. ‘I haven’t met many Major Crimes secretaries. They don’t get out much, I suppose.’
Well you can’t miss Mari,’ he chuckled. ‘Trust me. Oh, and as a warning, she can be a bit testy. Not with me, but I inherited her from C.J. Townsend when she left the office. C.J. swore she was the devil incarnate.’
‘Wasn’t C.J. Townsend the woman who tried the Cupid murders a few years back?’
He nodded. ‘That was her. Were you in the office then?’
‘No, law school. But it was all over the DC papers. I even caught a bit of the trial on Court TV. When did she leave?’
‘Damn, do I feel old,’ he said, shaking his head with a smile. ‘You do know who the Rolling Stones are, right?’
‘Very funny.’
‘Just checking. C.J. left the office about a year or so back. Got married, tooksome kind of sabbatical. She had a rough time with Bantling, after everything that happened. She was always a pretty tough lady, but that bastard seemed to break her in the end.’
‘He won a new trial, didn’t he?’
‘Yeah. Now she’s supposed to come backhome and try him all over again. It keeps getting put off, though. Judge Chaskel died in a nasty motorcycle accident on the 195 flyover and his docket was reassigned, which backed everything up. Then Bantling changed lawyers a couple of times. There were more appeals. I think Judge Stalder is supposed to hear it this spring. Anyway, to say Mari and C.J. didn’t get along would be …’ His voice trailed off. ‘Well, just don’t take Marisol’s shit, if she tries to give you any. I’ve already told her you’ll be calling. And I told her to be nice. I hope you don’t feel dumped on, but that is why I have a second seat. Latarrino and Brill’s pre-files are set for next week, after they get backfrom Philly. We’ll try and do those together if my trial doesn’t go.’
‘Philly?’
‘Jennifer was from Cherry Hill, New Jersey, a suburb outside of Philadelphia. The ME is finally releasing the bodies. They’re being flown backtomorrow. Lat and Brill will interview the family up there.’
‘Alright. I’d better get with Marisol, then,’ she said, finishing the last of her coffee. ‘Wish me luck.’ She reached for her files.
‘How was your weekend?’ he finally asked.
‘Great,’ she said with a smile. She hoped she didn’t sound too enthusiastic. That would be a telltale sign she was lying. ‘Busy running around. You know before you realize it, it’s Monday and you’re nursing a hangover.’
‘Ouch. Sorry to hear that. I was going to call you Saturday, but I got caught up.’
‘No problem. I told you, I was crazy all weekend. And this, you know,
this
,’ she said, looking right at him but not actually saying the word most men didn’t want to hear anyway, ‘it is what it is. I’m not expecting anything, is what I’m saying, so you don’t have to explain anything.’
It had been more than a weeksince that Friday-night wine-soaked lapse in judgment, and Julia was still no closer to figuring out what they were or where they were headed, either as a couple or even as trial partners. Any other man, and she would definitely have written him off by now. She didn’t believe in one-night stands, she didn’t want a friend-with-benefits. Or a trial partner-with-benefits, for that matter. She hated mind games and she hated herself even more for playing them just now with that stupid, juvenile hangover comment. But Rick Bellido was not most men, and this case … well, it had changed everything. There was no way she could just write him off as a bad experience and never see him again. So her ‘crazy weekend’ had her and Moose hitting the vet and then the Bark Park. Then there were the trips to Publix, the gym and the dry-cleaner’s, wrapped up by an exciting trekto the Galleria Mall Saturday night for an anniversary present for Aunt Nora and Uncle Jimmy. By Sunday she’d polished off the rest of the Halloween candy she’d bought three weeks too early, and spent the final remaining two hours of the day pedaling all over Hollywood trying to burn it off. Although she’d punched Rick’s cell number into her phone a dozen times, she’d never actually hit send. It was pretty obvious to her by now, that hot and heavy one night didn’t guarantee a steady Saturday-night date. Maybe the rules changed when you hit forty. Maybe it was a casual screw and then it’s everybody backto workin the morning.