I really wanted to keep climbing so I could avoid any run-ins with the press, but I couldn’t face even one more flight of stairs, let alone make it up to the eighteenth floor. I punched the “Up” button and crossed my fingers. When I heard the ding of an arriving elevator on the far-right side, I ran to catch it. But as the doors opened, I saw that it was packed to the ceiling with reporters. One of them pulled up his camera, but I quickly stepped back and moved to the left, out of their field of vision. The next elevator that came was equally packed, but I didn’t notice any cameras. Not much better, but I had to get to the office at some point. I slid in and tried to squeeze myself into a corner where I could face away from everyone. Just as the car bounced to a stop on the fifth floor, one of the reporters said, “Hey, aren’t you-”
I scrunched back into a corner and, luckily, the push of the crowd forced him out before he could try again. By the time I got to the eighteenth floor, I was a nervous wreck. I dragged myself to Toni’s office. Please, oh, please be there, I prayed. Her door was closed, not a good sign. Ever the optimist, I knocked. “Hey, Tone, you there?”
Two seconds later Toni opened the door, holding an eyelash curler up to one eye. She quickly pulled me in and closed the door.
She released her eyelashes and looked me over. “Did you hitchhike from Iowa? What happened to you?”
I told her of my short but eventful trip to the office. “Jeez, Rachel. Why don’t you have a key to the freight elevator?”
Good question. The freight elevator had no public access. I should’ve thought of that long ago. Eric would be glad to get me a key. “I forgot, I’ll-”
“Never mind. I’ll take care of it for you.” Toni shook her head and walked to the mirror she kept on the wall behind her desk. She put on her mascara as she spoke. “You need a blowout and some real makeup. The light in that courtroom will make you look like Morticia.” I admitted I didn’t know that. “How do you not know that?” she asked. I shrugged. “Okay, what do you have with you? You obviously can’t use my base or concealer.”
I showed her what I had. A compact and lip gloss. “I’ve got foundation at home, but I don’t usually use it-”
Toni shook her head. “Well, you’re going to use it now. It’s not just a vanity thing, Rache. Looks and credibility go hand in hand, especially for women. And your prospective jurors are watching. I’ll do what I can now, but we’re going to have a little hair, makeup, and wardrobe session this weekend. And you’re going to buy extras to keep in your office, okay? And one other thing: stop perspiring.”
I nodded obediently and Toni went to work. Within fifteen minutes, she had me looking more polished than I’d ever have managed on my own. At eight twenty I called Declan and told him it was time to rock and roll.
“Wow, you look great,” he said.
“I can’t take any credit. It was all Toni.” He looked pretty great himself, in a single-breasted navy blue Hugo Boss suit and red-and-blue-striped tie. But his cheek was twitching and he was shifting from foot to foot. I started to warn him about the press, but he held up a hand to stop me. “I saw the picketers out front. I recognized the girl holding the NOT GUILTY sign from one of my dad’s films.”
I looked at Declan with renewed appreciation. Not that I hadn’t already been impressed with his intelligence and hard work, but his unique insider knowledge was invaluable. “It helps to hear that.”
“We’re playing the Hollywood game now, and that’s a game I’ve watched since birth. Nothing is real-and everything is real. What’s that line? ‘King Kong was only four feet tall-’”
“‘But he still scared the crap out of everyone.’”
“Only because they didn’t know. Once you know, it’s all over. So now you’re going to show them-”
“That Ian is only four feet tall?”
“Yes, exactly.”
When we walked down the hallway, I was grateful to see that the reporters were confined to a roped-off area, so we couldn’t be cornered or chased. The anchors and talking heads thrust out their microphones and shouted out questions: “What do you expect to happen today?” and “Who are your witnesses?” and “Have you heard any news on Jack Averly’s whereabouts?” I ignored them all.
Every seat in the courtroom was taken, every bench filled to bursting with civilians and reporters who were squeezed together like human sardines. Raynie was in the back row of the middle section. She nodded, but seemed distracted and uninterested in talking. I’d spoken to her on the telephone a few times since Ian’s arrest, and although she’d been polite, her voice was controlled, her manner distant. But I understood. Ian had been like a member of the family for many years. In fact, I’d learned that he was closer to them than Hayley’s real uncle-Sheldon, who was Raynie’s brother. Like Russell, Raynie couldn’t believe Ian had killed her daughter, but unlike Russell, she didn’t seem to want to ignore the truth-if that’s what it was. She just wasn’t sure. I hoped that after today, she would be.
Front and center on the defendant’s side of the courtroom sat Dani, Russell, and Ian’s girlfriend, Sacha. Dani looked sad and stressed, but Russell sat with a stiff-necked defiance that announced he was here to support his unjustly accused friend. They were surrounded by many others, who looked like Ian fans. The air was thick with the tension that builds before a prizefight. Terry and Don were conferring on their side of counsel table, and two young law clerks were nervously standing behind them. All of them moved with the self-conscious awareness of actors on a stage.
Bailey came in carrying poster board exhibits, blowups of the relevant phone records, and, most important, the texts between Hayley and Brian, and their killer-Ian. None of this would normally be done for a preliminary hearing. But I had a public to impress, and I needed to make my evidence dramatic enough to entice the news into spinning something for our side.
“Do you have the DVD?” I asked.
Bailey pulled it out of her pocket. “Good to go.”
The bailiff escorted Ian out of the lockup, and he emerged looking like he’d stepped out of a magazine. Expensive dark navy suit and tasteful tie, hair perfectly combed, he smiled and waved to Dani and Russell, Sacha, and his many supporters.
“We’ve got to persuade Janice to show up for trial,” I whispered to Bailey. “Someone has to be here to remind everyone that Brian was a real human being before this asshole slit his throat.”
“She’ll be here. This was just a little too last-minute for her to pull it off.”
Something about the way Bailey said it made me do a double take. “Is something up with her?”
Bailey looked around, then carefully turned her back to the spectators and whispered, “When I was trying to get hold of her so we could meet in New York, I spoke to her agent. He didn’t come right out and say it, but I think he was trying to tell me she’s agoraphobic.”
I pulled up the memory of Janice at the St. Regis-her strange reaction when I’d mentioned flying out here for the trial. Now it all made sense. It was probably hard enough for her to make it to Manhattan. But traveling to an airport, taking a flight to unfamiliar territory, and on top of that having to deal with the stress of coming to court-it would all be far too much. I fought the sinking feeling that even the few supporters we had would never show up.
At exactly eight thirty Judge Daglian took the bench. He called the case and asked us all to state our appearances for the record. After we’d given our names and the party we represented-Declan cleared his throat nervously before he was able to choke out his name-the judge got down to business.