The bailiff told everyone to rise. Declan and I were already standing, so we stayed that way. Judge Patrick Daley, a bird-thin, nervous man in bifocals, moved up the steps to the bench swiftly, his black robe flowing around his legs. His eyes landed briefly on the camera, then flicked away as he called the court to order. He spoke so rapidly, the sentence came out as one long word. “Everyone-be-seated-court-calls-the-case-of-People-versus-Powers-and-Averly.” The judge paused just long enough to take a breath. “Lawyers-please-state-your-names-for-the-record…People?”
Some judges are definitely not in love with the limelight, and Judge Daley seemed to be one of them, so he chose to get rid of us first-a very wise move. I hated it when judges put a high-profile appearance last on the calendar. It meant everyone had to suffer through a courtroom crowded with reporters that much longer. Declan and I gave our names, then the defense-with Wagmeister drawing out the opportunity for free advertising by announcing his name in a booming voice.
“Donald Wagmeister for Ian Powers, Your Honor.”
The next voice, low and husky but firm, took me by surprise. “Terry Fisk for Jack Averly.”
Terry Fisk? Unlike Wagmeister, Terry was easy to miss-at first. Barely five feet tall, with a pug nose and a square jaw that jutted out when she argued-which was often, and with vigor-she was one of the toughest in the business. Smart as they come and always prepared, she was a brawler of a lawyer who took her gloves off when she walked into court and never put them back on. If you were looking for a gentlemanly trial, you’d never get it with Terry. I’d counted myself lucky not to run into her before. Now, obviously, my luck had run out. It couldn’t have happened in a worse case.
“People, please arraign the defendants.”
I read the charges, then asked, “Mr. Powers, how do you plead, guilty or not guilty?”
Powers cleared his throat to declare in a voice he tried to pack with outrage, “Not guilty!”
“Mr. Averly, how do you plead?”
Jack Averly’s head had been down. Terry nudged him with her elbow and whispered to him. He glanced up briefly, then dipped his head and stuttered, “Not-uh-not guilty.”
Terry shot him a sidelong dark look. Notorious for demanding total control of her clients, she coached them to within an inch of their lives and expected them to repay her efforts by doing exactly as they were told. I knew that Averly would catch hell from her for that pathetic performance the moment they got back into lockup.
The judge accepted the pleas and I moved toward the defense side of counsel table as I spoke. “Your Honor, I’d like the record to reflect that I’m handing each defense counsel a copy of the discovery that we have to date.” I described the reports that were included in the packet.
“It will,” the judge said. “Counsel, please acknowledge receipt.”
“Acknowledged on behalf of Mr. Powers,” Wagmeister said as he took the packet from me.
Fisk took her packet without looking at it, or me. “I won’t acknowledge that’s what the prosecution gave me because I haven’t had time to look at it. All I’m prepared to say is that she handed me some papers.”
I walked back to my side of counsel table. “That’s fine, Your Honor.” I kept my voice calm but thought to myself, “Here we go.” Turning over the initial discovery was a routine thing-it was never a reason for even a minor skirmish. Even for Fisk this was an unusually testy start. “I’ve number-stamped all the pages and I’d like to lodge a copy of what I gave to counsel with the court at this time. Let the record reflect they’re numbered one through fifty-seven.”
I always made an extra copy of discovery to lodge with the court just in case of situations like this, though it’d been a long time since I’d needed to. Giving the court a copy of what I’d given the defense offered some proof that I hadn’t deprived them of anything. I handed the packet to the bailiff, who passed it up to the judge. He looked through the pages quickly. “The record will reflect I’ve received the pages and noted that they are numbered as you indicated. Now let’s pick a date for the preliminary hearing.”
“I’d like to go past the statutory ten days,” Wagmeister said, consulting his calendar and picking a date a few weeks out.
“That’s acceptable with the People,” I said.
“Ms. Fisk, is that acceptable to you?” the judge asked.
“No. We’re not waiving time. Mr. Averly wants his preliminary hearing within the statutory ten days.”
The judge, consulting the calendar on the wall, named a date barely over a week away. “People?”
“That’ll be fine, Your Honor,” I said. It wasn’t really so fine. Now I’d have to prepare two separate hearings. But since I intended to put on a bare bones preliminary hearing with just the physical evidence, it’d be a lot less painful than if I’d had to wrangle civilian witnesses.
“The case is assigned to Judge Daglian for preliminary hearing.” The judge banged his gavel and called the next case, the relief in his voice palpable.
Bailey shook her head. “I can’t believe it. Already.”
One measly arraignment and the ride was already getting bumpy.
48
The press was ecstatic. If there was blood in the water at the arraignment, they could expect Armageddon when this thing went to trial. They shoved microphones in my face and shouted questions: “Did Terry catch you by surprise?” And my favorite: “Is there bad blood between you two?”
I kept my head down and refused comment as Declan and I made our way through the mass of reporters. Not wanting to give them a chance to corner us by waiting for an elevator, I headed for the stairs. But the heat made the stairwell feel like a tomb. After two floors I was panting and it felt like the walls were closing in. I pushed open the door at the seventh floor and poked my head out. The coast was clear. I heard the ding of an arriving elevator. We ran for it, but there were people inside, so we didn’t speak until we got into our wing of the eighteenth floor.
“Is she always like that?” Declan asked.
“Pretty much. Though I didn’t expect her to bite this hard at an arraignment.” We stopped at my door, which I’d taken to locking, and I pulled out my key and let us in. “On the other hand, I’ve never seen a lawyer who doesn’t prance and strut when there’re cameras around. So my advice is to get used to it.”
“Can’t the judge stop them?”
“To a certain extent. But not all judges want to. Some are worse press panderers than the lawyers-”
I was about to launch into all the ills of high-profile cases when Melia practically skidded to a stop at my door. I’d forgotten to close it-my bad.
“Rachel, have you seen the news?” Her voice was breathless, her eyes wide.
“What’s up?”
“Come on, you can watch in Eric’s office. He’s at a meeting.”
I wanted to ask her to just tell me what the heck was going on, but she’d already trotted back up the hallway. I shrugged at Declan and he gestured to the door. “After you, Fearless Leader.”
“You may never call me that,” I said as I stepped out into the hallway. “I’ll explain why later.” It was our nickname for Vanderputz-well, one of them.
The television was tuned to a local news channel and Melia was holding the remote. She turned up the volume as we entered the office. A young blonde who looked like a Victoria’s Secret model-plunging neckline and all-was emoting into the microphone.
…the reaction in Hollywood has been one of disbelief and anger. The camera cut away to a scruffy-looking young guy I vaguely recognized as a television actor on one of the law shows. Well, she’s obviously looking for her fifteen minutes. I mean, it’s just a bogus case-The camera cut to a forty-something woman in a black suit and leopard-print blouse. Ian Powers and I have locked horns over many deals and many clients, so I’m not exactly his best friend, but even I have to say that this is simply outrageous. The DA’s office is going to crash and burn and they richly deserve to-The camera cut away, and this time it was a young actress I’d seen in ads for a recently released vampire movie. Ian Powers has been my manager for years and I know him very well. Believe me, there’s no way this could possibly be true and that DA, what’s her name? A voice off camera supplied my name, and she repeated it. Yeah, Rachel Knight. Everyone knows she only filed these outrageous charges because she thinks it’ll make her famous. I felt as though I’d been smacked in the face with a frying pan. It’s one thing for friends and relatives to protest a defendant’s innocence, but this kind of nasty, personal diatribe against a prosecutor was unheard of. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t.