“I’ll be there. But tell the judge Terry’s going to make a pitch for bail, so-”
“She already warned us.”
No shock there. I spent the rest of the day catching up on my caseload. By seven o’clock, I decided to head for home. I wanted to make sure I got to bed at a reasonable hour. It was going to be a tough morning.
I woke up on time and tried to prepare myself for the butt-slamming I was about to get from the press. No matter how I tried to spin it, reducing the charges on Averly so dramatically was going to hurt us. We’d be accused of sloppy police work, sloppy lawyering, and overreaching. But it was better to get it over with now, and on our own terms, than lose the counts at prelim-or worse, in the middle of trial. I got in at eight thirty and reviewed my notes for the bail argument. Fifteen minutes later I started to head down to court, but got stuck on back-to-back phone calls from lawyers and witnesses on my other cases. By the time I finished, it was five minutes to nine. I raced out the door to the elevator and punched the button. I glanced down at my watch over and over again as precious minutes ticked by before an elevator finally arrived. By the time I made it to the courtroom, it was five minutes past nine. Judge Daglian was already on the bench-and fuming. Manny, the clerk, was shaking his head.
“Ms. Knight, what does nine sharp mean to you?”
“I’m so sorry, Your Honor. I got stuck on-”
“Not interested. If it happens again you can bring your checkbook. Now, please give the new charging papers to the clerk and counsel and arraign the defendant.”
As I handed out the copies, I noticed there were only two reporters in the audience and no cameras. Odd. I’d expected Terry to call every news outlet in town to witness this early victory. When I’d finished arraigning Averly on the new charges, Terry launched into her bail pitch.
“Your Honor, I remind the court that the defendant is entitled to reasonable bail now that the capital charges are gone. And these tremendously reduced charges prove that the People’s case against my client is unraveling by the minute.”
“So what do you suggest, Counsel? O.R.?” Judge Daglian’s raised eyebrow made it clear that Averly’s release on his own recognizance was not an option.
Terry lifted her chin, the “tell” that she was spoiling for a fight, but she reined in her baser instincts. “I’d say at most a bail of ten thousand would be appropriate.”
“People? You good with that?” the judge asked.
“No, Your Honor, we’re not. Jack Averly has already given us ample cause to believe he’d be a flight risk.” I outlined his trip to New York, how he’d been apprehended at LaGuardia Airport, his possession of Brian’s ID, and his drug history. “I’d ask for five hundred thousand dollars bail.”
Terry sputtered about the “outrageousness” of my request. The judge split the baby.
“I’ll set bail at two hundred and fifty thousand.”
I’d figured we’d land somewhere in this ballpark, and ordinarily I wouldn’t have worried that a defendant like Averly would be able to make bail. But Averly had deeper pockets floating around him than most other defendants. I scooted up to my office and called Bailey immediately.
“I’ll put a tail on him,” she said. “Don’t sweat it, Knight.”
I didn’t have time to sweat it. The press had missed this development on the first bounce, but they more than made up for it now. I got an avalanche of calls demanding information. Sandi, the media relations director, decided it would be best to handle this in a press conference. The conference room off Vanderhorn’s office was so crowded, reporters were sitting on the floor. For a change, I was glad Vanderhorn had asked me to stand next to him at the podium. He’d be within arm’s reach if I needed to throttle him.
But he started well enough. “As I’ve said before, this investigation is ongoing. It is not uncommon to amend charges as new information comes in-”
A reporter shouted out, “But this is a big drop. Why didn’t you know about this phone call between Powers and Averly sooner?”
Vanderhorn cleared his throat-a typical stalling tactic of his-and said, “It is our duty to be ever vigilant to the possibility that new information will change the complexion of a case, and to be willing to make any necessary alterations, as we have done-”
Another reporter, smelling blood, chimed in. “Yeah, but he’s asking why you didn’t know about that call-isn’t checking the defendant’s phone records one of the first things you do?”
Vanderhorn drew himself up with a deep breath, and I could tell he was getting ready to bury them in more PR blather-which would only piss them off. I stepped in. “Yes, but the call came from Brian’s phone-not Ian Powers’s.”
There was a moment of complete silence as they all absorbed the new information. Then the questions started flying hot and heavy. “Does that mean Averly wasn’t there?” and “So where was Averly when the murders went down?”
Vanderputz had barely moved to let me reach the mike-heaven forbid he step out of frame-so I was practically standing on his feet as I fielded every question for the next fifteen minutes. And even though he really had no information to give, he didn’t let that stop him from flapping his gums. Every other question, he interceded with brilliant observations like “Investigations are always ongoing” and “Information comes in continuously.” By the time Sandi finally ended the conference, I wanted to grab him by his tie and slap him until my arm fell off. But I was too tired.
54
That evening, as I headed down Broadway toward the Biltmore, my cell phone rang. I thought it might be my soil expert, so I answered.
A fast-talking, excited voice said, “Rachel, it’s Benjamin at KRFT radio-can I put you on the air to answer a few questions about today’s proceedings?”
My face grew hot with anger. I tried to rein it in as I answered, “No, Benjamin. How did you get this number?”
“Rachel, everyone has the number. We just haven’t used it until now.”
Furious, I ended the call on as polite a note as I could muster. My cell rang another five times before I got to my room and turned it off. If I changed my number, would they just get it again? Probably. The only thing I could do was to screen my calls and let every unknown number go to voice mail. Feeling hounded, I went to take a shower. But before going to sleep, I made sure all my friends and witnesses had assigned ringtones.
Graden and I settled on Drago Centro, a fantastic place just a few minutes from my hotel, for dinner that Saturday night. I told him about the siege I’d undergone with the press. “Matter of fact, I just had an idea. Would you record the outgoing message on my cell? Maybe it’ll cool their jets if they hear a male voice when they call.”
“You sure you want me to?” Graden asked, smiling. “It might start a rumor.”
Preoccupied with the case, I needed a minute to understand what he meant. “Why would they know the male voice belongs to someone I’m…uh, seeing?”
Graden held up my phone and clicked the “Record” button. “Hello, you’ve reached Rachel Knight’s phone and this is her boyfriend, LIEUTENANT Graden Hales. You can run, but you cannot hide. If you harass her, I will find you.” He clicked off, then clicked it on again and added, “Thank you. Have a nice day. And don’t leave a message. I wouldn’t if I were you.”
I didn’t know how badly I’d needed to laugh until that moment.
Over the next few days, I checked in with Bailey and talked to Declan about trial strategies in general. But otherwise, I kept my head down and worked.
By the day of the preliminary hearing, I was as prepared as I could possibly be. Clouds had moved in during the night, and the morning air was heavy with the promise of a summer shower. With no appetite for breakfast, I left early, hoping to beat the rain, and took an umbrella just to be on the safe side.