Violent Crimes (12 page)

“That doesn't make a lot of sense, Brandon. If you went to your father's house to kill someone much bigger and stronger than you, why didn't you bring a weapon?”

“What is this? Why are you interrogating me?”

“I'm not. I'm just trying to get answers to questions raised by the discovery.”

“Well, it sounds like I'm being cross-examined.”

Before Amanda could answer, the door opened and Judge Chastain's bailiff told Amanda that the judge wanted to know if Brandon was ready to resume the arraignment.

“Can I tell the judge you're going to act in a civilized manner?” Amanda asked.

Brandon didn't look happy but he nodded.

“We're good to go,” Amanda said as she stood up.

Moments later, the guards led Brandon into the courtroom and the arraignment continued without incident. Amanda had been through hundreds of these proceedings, so she was on automatic pilot, with only a portion of her brain focused on what was going on in court. The other part of her brain was trying to figure out the answers to several questions the discovery and Brandon's evasive answers had raised.

Amanda was experienced in death penalty litigation, so the Oregon Criminal Defense Lawyers Association frequently asked her to speak at specialized death penalty seminars. Amanda knew that lawyers who were trying their first death cases would be in the audience. She had tried criminally negligent homicide, manslaughter, and non–death penalty murder cases before she tried her first death case, and she always made the point that the difference between a death case and other types of homicide cases was the same as the difference between an ordinary murder case and a shoplifting case.

Amanda always explained that the approach to a death case had to be different from the approach to any other type of criminal case. Of course, when death was a possible outcome there was no margin for error: If you failed to dot one
i
or cross one
t,
the state ate your client. But there was also a procedural difference in death cases that lawyers new to capital cases had to know about.

In all other criminal cases that went to trial the defense attor
ney did not think about sentencing unless his client was convicted, because time passed between a conviction and the date that the judge decided the defendant's sentence. A lawyer for a convicted client usually had a month or more to gather evidence she hoped would lead to leniency for her client. What made death penalty cases different was the law that required a jury that convicted a defendant of aggravated murder to also decide if the defendant lived or died. The attorney for a client convicted in a death case did not have the luxury of having a month or more to prepare for the sentencing hearing, because a new trial that focused on the sentence started almost immediately after the jury found the defendant guilty. Regardless of her chances for acquittal, a lawyer handling a death case had to assume her client would be convicted and had to start preparing for the sentencing phase at the same time she prepared for the trial on the murder charge so she would be able to go forward immediately if there was a conviction.

As soon as Amanda returned from the arraignment, she called Kate Ross into her office to discuss the penalty phase investigation.

“You look frazzled,” Kate said. “What happened?”

Amanda told Kate about Brandon's antics, and Kate started to laugh.

“It's not funny,” Amanda said.

“Yes it is,” Kate said. “I can see Judge Chastain's face turning scarlet as she banged her gavel. That woman has no sense of humor.”

Kate laughed again. Then she said, “So is our client a nut? Are you going to have him shrunk?”

“The answer to both questions is I don't know. I've thought about having a psychiatrist talk to Brandon but I'm afraid he'd go ballistic if I suggested it. And I'm not sure if he's crazy or just a fanatic environmentalist. A lot of what he says about global warming and the effects of greenhouse gases on the environment makes perfect sense and is supported by scientific evidence. It's the way he makes his points that upsets people. What I'm more concerned about is whether he really murdered his father.”

Kate stopped smiling. “You have some doubts?”

Amanda told Kate about the similarity in the way Dale Masterson and Christine Larson were killed.

“And Brandon's story doesn't make any sense. You were with me when we met with Dale Masterson. He was a big guy, muscular, in shape. He was a college wrestler. Brandon looks like a stiff wind would blow him over. Yet he says that he went to his father's house to kill him but didn't bring a weapon. He also says that he wanted to reason with his father but his father attacked him and he beat him to death in self-defense. There's no way Brandon would win a fair fight with his father, but let's say we buy his story about the lucky punch. A guy like Brandon would be terrified if he was in a fight. He'd run like hell after he knocked down his father. I just can't see Brandon sitting astride Dale Masterson and beating him to death.”

“What do you think is going on?” Kate asked.

“I think there is a possibility that someone else—maybe the person who killed Christine—beat Dale to death and that Brandon came to Dale's house to confront him about Global Mining and discovered the body.”

“And he's taking credit for the murder to get a platform to tell
the world about his views on the environment, how evil his father and his father's horrible corporate clients are, even though he might die?” Kate said.

“As nutty as that sounds, I think it's a real possibility.”

“What do you want me to do?” Kate asked.

“What you'd do in any death case. The jurors are going to be horrified when they see the crime scene photographs. If Brandon goes crazy when he's on the stand or has outbursts during the trial, they're going to believe that he's a dangerous lunatic. We're going to have to show the jury that Brandon is not a monster. If we don't make the jurors see he's a human being they'll sentence him to death. Let's build a biography of Brandon from the day he was born to the day of the trial. His mother says that Dale abused him physically and mentally. Ask her for the names of people who can testify to the abuse so we can paint Dale as the real monster. And talk to the people in his environmental groups: people who can tell the jury about Brandon's devotion to saving the Earth and can paint him as a caring human being. His mother will be a good starting point. She may know the groups in which he was involved, and friends and teachers who can tell the jury what Brandon was like as a child and teenager.”

“Gotcha,” Kate said. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, why don't you talk to Billie Brewster and see if she's heard anything about Masterson, Hamilton's financial situation—you know, are the Feds looking at them. And I'd like to know anything you can find out about the break-in at Dale Masterson's office on the evening he was killed.”

Over the years, Mark had politely listened while Dale complained about his son. Reading an account of the outburst at Brandon Masterson's arraignment made Mark grateful that he didn't have children. Hamilton was almost through the article when his secretary buzzed to tell him that Veronica Masterson was in the waiting room. Mark arranged his face so he looked sympathetic and somber before walking down the hall to the reception area. Veronica was sitting on a sofa, her hands demurely clasped in her lap, the picture of a grieving widow. She stood when she saw him. She was wearing a black designer dress that must have cost a fortune and molded perfectly to every one of her curves. Mark took her hands in his.

“How are you holding up?” he asked with great concern for the benefit of anyone who was listening. He knew she was holding up very well because she'd shown him how much Dale's death had affected her when they had screwed during Mark's condolence call two days before.

“I'm still numb,” Veronica answered for public consumption.

“Come on back,” Mark told Veronica. Then he told the receptionist to hold his calls.

As soon as the door to his office closed, Veronica pressed her body against Mark and groped him hard between his legs. Veronica's touch was electric, and Mark wondered if this was what it was like to be stunned by a Taser. Then he remembered that they were in a law office peopled by several hundred lawyers and support personnel, and he pulled away.

“Not here,” he gasped.

“Oh, Markey, don't be a spoilsport.”

“We both know a weakling like Brandon would never be able to beat Dale to death. As soon as the cops figure that out, you're going to be a prime suspect. The last thing we need is a witness who can tell a jury they saw us fucking on my desk.”

Veronica pouted. “You used to be fun.”

“And I will be again when we can be certain we're not the subject of a police investigation. We have to be very careful.”

“I don't know why you're worried. Neither one of us could have killed Dale like that.” She shivered. “I have nightmares every time I think about Dale's face.”

“No one is going to think we beat Dale to death, but an accessory is just as guilty as the person who commits the crime.”

Veronica shrugged. “Well, I have nothing to worry about.” Then she smiled coquettishly. “Can you say the same?”

“This is not a subject I want to discuss. So, why are you here?”

“Miles Horvath wrote Dale's will. He asked me to come in to discuss it.”

“Ah.”

“Do you know what he was worth?” Veronica asked, and Mark couldn't help but notice how callous her inquiry was. When other people were around, Veronica was weepy and needy, but she had not shown the slightest hint of emotion over her loss when they were alone.

“I'd just be guessing, but I'm sure you'll do just fine.”

Mark escorted Veronica down the hall to Horvath's office and left them to discuss the will. On the return trip he decided that screwing Veronica was a lot more exciting when Dale was alive. In bed Veronica was fantastic, but he would have to spend time with her out of bed if he continued their affair, and he had no interest in doing that.

Mark laughed. He was certain that Veronica wouldn't be broken up if he ended their relationship. He had no illusions about her feelings for him. He knew she didn't have any.

Brandon's mother had given Kate a list of environmental organizations to which Brandon belonged, and Earth Now was the first place she visited. Its headquarters were on the second floor of an old, six-story office building on Front Street across from the Willamette River. Kate opened the door and walked into organized chaos. Men and women were talking animatedly on phones, making notations on wall charts, stuffing envelopes, and striding purposefully back and forth across a large open space decorated with posters concerning the environment. With a few exceptions, they were young, dressed in jeans, and wearing T-shirts decorated with colorful phrases that either condemned polluters or supported saving the Earth.

No one appeared to be in charge, so Kate waited until the harried-looking young woman seated at the desk closest to the door hung up her phone.

“Hi,” Kate said, “is Bruce Nakamura in?”

“Bruce, yeah,” she answered as she threw her thumb over her shoulder toward a door in the corner of the room.

“Could you please tell him that Kate Ross would like to talk to him?”

“Just knock and go in,” the woman said before looking down at a list and dialing another number.

Kate crossed the room and knocked on a frame door with a frosted-glass pane in the upper half. Gold lettering on the pane informed her that the occupant of the office was Earth Now's executive director.

“Come,” shouted a voice from behind the door. Kate entered and found herself in the presence of a stocky Japanese-American with long black hair who was typing away on a laptop.

“Mr. Nakamura?” Kate asked.

The man looked up.

“I wonder if I can have a few minutes of your time?”

“If you're selling something I'm not interested.”

Kate held out her identification. “I'm an investigator working for the attorney who's representing Brandon Masterson on a charge of aggravated murder.”

Nakamura stopped typing, leaned back in his chair, and gave Kate his full attention.

“I read Brandon was arrested.” He shook his head. Then he pointed to a chair on the other side of his desk. “Sit down, please. How can I help you?”

“This is early days in our investigation so I'm just trying to find out as much as I can about Brandon. I understand he was a member of Earth Now.”

“I don't know if I'd say he was a member. His participation
with us was erratic. I'm not even sure if he ever paid his dues.”

“Did he work in the office?”

“Not really. He did show up for some of our protests, but mostly he'd just drop in when the spirit moved him and rant about something or other.”

“Were you surprised when you read that he'd beaten his father to death with his bare hands?” Kate asked.

“That did surprise me. Brandon is irrational about pollution and the environment, really rabid, a screamer and a yeller at a protest, but he's not a violent guy, and beating someone to death . . . No, I can't see him doing that.”

“Tell me what Brandon is like.”

“He's accurate on his science most of the time, but he's not as smart as he thinks he is. He's also an egomaniac and he's always got to be right. He won't listen to dissenting views. He lectures and he's disruptive if he doesn't get his way. For example, he's bought into some ultra-bullshit environmental theories he's gotten off the Internet, and if you don't buy in too he goes off. And you can't always trust him to tell the truth.”

“What do you mean?” Kate asked.

“He makes stuff up. For example, Brandon told me that he graduated summa cum laude. I told that to someone who knew him at Portland State and he said that Brandon was a C student, not some academic whiz. Also, he once claimed he had a master's degree, which he doesn't.”

“Did Brandon have a job?”

“I heard he was a clerk at a store that sells TVs and home stereo equipment but I'm not sure. Why don't you ask his mother?”

“She and Brandon are estranged.”

“I'm not surprised. He's a tough guy to get along with.”

What Kate learned at the other environmental groups on Mrs. Hartmann's list was similar to what Bruce Nakamura had told her. Brandon never put in time stuffing envelopes or making calls, but he did annoy almost everyone he talked to by distracting them from their work with rants about his pet theories on how to save the planet. Kate found the TV store where Brandon had worked, but the owner told her that he'd fired Brandon after a month because of repeated absences, late arrivals, and customer complaints.

Brandon's apartment was on the second floor of a two-story garden apartment complex on the east side of the river in a run-down part of town. There was garbage overflowing from a Dumpster in the parking lot and beer cans littering the asphalt. When Kate got out of her car she heard the sounds of a domestic quarrel coming from one apartment and loud music blasting from another.

Kate opened the door with a key Amanda had given her. The shades were down and the apartment was dark and smelled of sweat and stale food. Kate flipped a switch, and weak light cast a dull glow over half-empty Chinese take-out boxes that stood on a low coffee table. The table sat in front of a sofa that was showing its stuffing and across from an inexpensive TV without a cable box. The type of posters she'd seen at Earth Now were tacked up on the walls. A stained, cheap pea green carpet covered the floor, and it didn't look like Brandon had ever vacuumed it.

The bedroom was no cleaner than the rest of the apartment. Dirty clothes were piled in a corner next to an unmade bed. There were few clothes in the closet and the chest of drawers. But there were books stacked on the floor in the bedroom and living room or lined up on cheap bookshelves. Kate looked at the titles. The subject of most of the books was environmental science, but science fiction and fantasy novels were scattered among them.

It took a moment for Kate to figure out what was missing. When she did, she felt sad. There were no family photographs or photographs of a girlfriend, or any friend for that matter. Kate took one final look around and concluded that Brandon Masterson's apartment was a depressing cave inhabited by a bitter, lonely man.