Bailey sounded stoked, so I didn’t want to be a buzzkill and tell her that I wasn’t flying solo on this one, that Vanderhorn would make the final call on whether to file-and that his approval was by no means a foregone conclusion. “I’m on it.”
Of course, this meant I’d have to go back to Vanderhorn immediately. Two meetings in one day. Talk about cruel and unusual punishment.
43
I called Eric and gave him the news. His response?
“Told you so.” I had a feeling there were a lot more “told you so’s” in my near future. “Call me back when you have the reports in hand. I’ll set up the meeting with Vanderhorn.”
I couldn’t sit still, so I went down the hall to see Melia. I had a question for her, and I wanted to ask it in person. I moved back up the hallway and found her chattering excitedly on the phone. When she saw me in the doorway, she quickly said, “Call you later,” and hung up.
“Hi, Rachel!”
“Hi, Melia!” Another secretary might’ve caught the note of sarcasm, but that secretary would not be Melia. “I was just wondering, who’ve you given my cell phone number to? I just need to know what to expect.” I’d deliberately framed the question to assume she’d given out my number in the hope that it’d lull her into admitting it.
“No one.” She stared off for a moment, mouth partially open, as she considered the question further. “Nuh-uh, I’m sure I didn’t give it out to anyone. Why, is there someone you want me to give it to?”
No nervousness, no embarrassment. She was telling the truth.
“No, not that I can think of right now. But I expect there’ll be calls from the press and the tabs if we file the case, and I don’t want them to be able to reach me on my cell. You know how much I hate the press-”
“I’d never give your number to the press. Eric told me never to give out deputies’ cell phone numbers a long time ago.”
Then how did that tabloid reporter, Andrew Chatham, get my cell phone number?
“Uh, excuse me, I have something to deliver to Ms. Knight,” said a male voice behind me. I turned to see a uni holding a manila envelope. The reports from Bailey.
I told him I was the one he was looking for and he started to ask me for ID, but Melia interceded.
“It’s her.”
Why that was sufficient to allay his concern I have no idea, but he handed me the envelope and I thanked him. As I walked back to my office, I noticed it was taped closed. It was unusual to seal reports this way-let alone have them hand-delivered, but this case required extraordinary measures. I reviewed all the reports, just to make sure there were no hidden surprises. I didn’t see any, but I was about to go in and do battle with the Meathead, so I decided to call Dorian and make sure there were no caveats to be wary of.
“Dorian, I read everything, but I have to go and sell this case to Vanderhorn. Is there anything I should know that isn’t in these reports?”
“Such as?”
“Such as the DNA result on the trunk that shows the mixture between Hayley and Ian. Is that solid? Are there any possible contamination issues the defense can raise? Did anything weird happen during the testing?”
Dorian snorted. “No, nothing ‘weird’ happened. And I’m not going to make Gelfer write a report saying ‘nothing weird’ happened, so don’t ask.”
“Okay, thanks, Dorian-”
“You have to sell this to Vanderhorn? What’s he want, a videotape of the guy doing it?”
“You got one?”
She hung up.
I called Eric and braced myself for round two with middleweight chump William Vanderhorn.
Francine raised an eyebrow when Eric and I walked into the anteroom.
“Back again so soon?” She looked at me pointedly. “Already starting, isn’t it? Guess I don’t need to say it, do I?”
“You already did.” I sighed.
We had to wait a little longer this time even though the lights on Francine’s telephone indicated he wasn’t on the line. My bet was that he just didn’t want to see us. The feeling was more than mutual.
When we were finally allowed in, Eric handed him the reports. “It’s all here. They’ve got prints, hair, even blood, tying Ian Powers to these murders.”
Vanderhorn took the reports. I could see his eyes moving across the page, but I didn’t believe he understood a word. Especially since his lips weren’t moving. He set the reports down on his desk and cleared his throat. “Of course, this doesn’t resolve the weakness in our proof of motive.”
“No,” Eric replied.
I silently hoped he wouldn’t remind Vanderhorn that we might never know the true motive behind the murders. It was the logical, intelligent-legal-answer. Therefore, it would be entirely unpersuasive for the district attorney of the largest prosecutorial agency in the world.
“I think we should try to come up with more before we put this case into the system,” Vanderhorn said. “You know what they say: ‘Act in haste, repent at leisure.’ What’s the harm in taking a little more time?”
I’d never admit it, but I wouldn’t have minded waiting. The problem was, it was too late for that. I started to answer, but Eric jumped in first.
“The harm lies in the likelihood that this information won’t stay on ice forever. We’ve already got tabloid reporters running around with checkbooks who have more information than they should-”
“The public will know what we have pretty quick, I agree. But so what? If we explain that we’re still investigating, don’t you think-”
“It’ll calm the waters? No, I don’t. But even if it did, that’s a minor upside you’ll be trading for a much bigger downside. If we let this drag on, important witnesses will have time to cave in and sell their stories-a credibility killer-and some may decide they don’t want the limelight and disappear. Others might be…encouraged to take a long vacation.”
Eric fixed Vanderhorn with a meaningful look. Heavyweights like Ian Powers could find many ways of suggesting to potential witnesses that it’d be advantageous to get gone for a while. I’m not talking about threats that they might sleep with the fishes. Ian and company didn’t need to get that heavy-handed. Simple implied promises of future reward-or threats of future unemployment-would be more than enough.
Eric continued, “But that’s not your only problem. You also run the risk of losing Ian Powers to a country that won’t extradite. Do you want to be the DA who let another Roman Polanski happen on his watch?”
The reminder of the decades-old rape case involving the famous director-defendant who fled to France to avoid imprisonment set Vanderhorn back in his chair. He shifted to stare out the window, his chin in his hand. Somehow he always managed to look as though he were posing for a photo op.
The wheels turned slowly, but eventually Vanderhorn cranked out a decision in a voice that was filled with regret. “I guess we’ll have to file.” He handed the reports back to Eric. “But I’m going to assign a second chair.”
I usually preferred to work alone, but given the way this case was shaping up, I didn’t entirely mind the idea of having a subordinate lawyer to help me with the scut work. I knew of a young deputy who’d be perfect.
“What about Amy Stolnitz?” I asked. “She’s been tearing it up in court.” Plus, I knew she was champing at the bit to get into Special Trials. If I got her on this case, she’d be a shoo-in.
Vanderhorn didn’t even look at me. “I’m assigning Declan Shackner to act as second chair.”
I looked at Eric. Who was this?
“I’ll fill you in later,” he said. “Thanks, Bill. We’ll keep you posted.”
Vanderhorn gave us both a look of thunder. “Damn right you will. Every day.”
Oh, joy.
As we walked back to our wing of the floor, Eric gave me the skinny on Declan Shackner.
“Are you kidding me?” I sputtered under my breath as Eric and I walked into his office. “A baby Grade Two! What the hell good is he going to be to me? He’s probably never even done a preliminary hearing on a murder case, let alone a trial this big. What the hell is Vanderhorn thinking?”