Plea of Insanity (10 page)

‘I liked it better when you called me your Sleeping Beauty,’ Brill replied.

‘I never said
my
Sleeping Beauty.’

‘That’s how I tookit. Now I’m sad.’

‘It’s your turn to drive,’ Lat replied with another yawn, digging the keys to the Impala out of his pocket. For a person who normally paced the floors at night with insomnia he was dog-tired.

‘Is this new?’ Brill asked, running his hand over the hood.

‘Yeah. 2006. I just got it. It tookme three years to get on the top of the new-car list. I had a piece-of-shit nine-year-old Taurus before this.’ He tossed Brill the keys over the car. ‘Don’t fuckit up. Besides liking my life, I don’t thinkother drivers are covered.’

‘Wow,’ Brill said, catching them in one hand. ‘Since the accident, I can’t take home anymore. So I always get the crap drug cars seized by IMPACT. You know, the Fred Flintstone piece-of-shits with the holes in the floorboards? They never looklike the dealer cars in
Miami Vice,
man. I’ve yet to see a fucking Lamborghini.’

‘What accident?’

‘You didn’t know?’

Lat sighed and walked back around to the driver’s side, his hand out. ‘You’re a fuck. Give me my keys and get in the car.’

‘I would have driven, Lat. I’m a team player,’ Brill laughed, tossing the keys back and heading back around the car, his hands in the air.

‘You fall asleep and I will personally beat your ass,’ Lat growled, climbing in the car. ‘I’ll play fucking John Denver tunes the whole way home if I have to.’

‘Now I know you’re fucking with me. Ain’t nobody got John Denver tapes in their car, except maybe the man’s own momma,’ Brill said with a yawn, taking off his jacket and rolling it into a ball. ‘I guess I can live with hot-headed and difficult. And coming from that nutcase, asshole is quite a compliment.’ He pressed the jacket up against the window.

‘I’m glad you feel that way,’ Lat said, reaching for the radio dial.

Brill closed his eyes and smiled. ‘It’s still better than what I heard about you …’

17

Julia watched Judge Farley climb down off the bench and hurry out of the courtroom, his swollen robe trailing behind him in a big blackpuff, like an enormous dark cloud. The door to the judge’s back hallway slammed shut behind him – probably on purpose – leaving the courtroom in stunned silence. She stared at the empty bench in disbelief from her seat at the State’s table, ignoring the fiery whispers of court personnel that suddenly erupted all around her.

Letray Powers whooped when Scott Andrews, the PD, explained to him that he was now free to go. Since nobody had shown up in court on his behalf, he hugged and high-fived Scott instead. Then, after a few more minutes of celebratory hollering, he walked up to the State’s table and stood there for a long moment. ‘Whoo, no, this can’t be good now,’ said one of the corrections officers from somewhere in the room, with the excitement of a kid about to watch a schoolyard fight go down, but no one moved to stop it.

Julia could feel Letray’s icy stare as he waited for her to lookup at him. ‘Tough break, bitch,’ he said when she finally did. His smile revealed a mouth full of shiny, gold teeth, but it was n’t at all friendly. She was acutely aware that he was no longer wearing handcuffs or leg shackles.

‘I’m sure I’ll get another shot,’ she replied coldly, her eyes meeting Letray’s and not so much as blinking. ‘I don’t expect you’ll last too long on the outside, Mr Powers.’

‘Come on, Letray, don’t talkto her. Let’s go. You don’t need any more trouble,’ Scott cautioned, as he firmly tugged on the elbow of the oversized sports jacket that the Public Defender’s Office had lent his client for trial, leading him backover to the defense table. A few minutes later, a couple of corrections officers finally walked a whistling Letray through the empty jury room.

‘I’ll be seeing ya,’ Julia heard him call out to her with a laugh. ‘Tell Shorty, you know, I’ll be seeing her, soon, too.’ The door closed with a thud behind him.

She couldn’t believe it. Just could not believe it. It had taken her a full day to pick a six-person jury, another to do openings and present her witnesses. But it had taken Judge Leonard Farley just five short minutes to JOA her.

A JOA was a Judgment of Acquittal. Normally only a jury could acquit a defendant, but in the event a reasonable jury with common sense could not be found, the Florida legislature had built a safety valve into the law, and that was the almost-never-used JOA. If, after the State had presented its case, the trial judge felt in his learned opinion that no reasonable jury could find the defendant guilty, he could save
his
jury the time and trouble and acquit the defendant himself. In this instance, Julia knew it was n’t so much Farley’s learned opinion as it was his vindictive personality that had sent Letray Powers back home to Pamela Johnson whistling ‘Dixie’. And the worst part about a JOA was there was no right to appeal, and hence, nothing either she or the State could do except hold open the door and wave Letray goodbye as he skipped merrily off into the pretty Miami sunset.

She continued to sit there for a few minutes in stunned silence. On his way out of the courtroom, Scott Andrews came up to shake her hand and offer the standard post-verdict condolences of ‘Good job’ and ‘Nice working with you’. When he added, ‘You know, I would n’t have JOA’d you,’ in a quiet voice, she bit her lip. It didn’t make her feel any better.

In a jealous attempt to stop other men from looking at her, Letray Powers had taken a razor blade to his girlfriend’s face and tried to rearrange it. The same man who had a record as long as her arm for violent offenses, including three prior domestics, and no one but Julia seemed to care. She’d proven her case even without her victim and she knew it, Farley knew it, Scott Andrews knew it – hell, even Letray Powers knew it. But it didn’t matter anymore. And that’s what left her feeling so incredibly empty and incredibly bitter right about now.

Julia quietly packed her two boxes of case law, statute books and rulebooks onto the pull cart and headed for the door herself. That’s when she first noticed John Latarrino standing in the rear of the courtroom.

‘Boy, don’t you look happy,’ he said as she made her way down the aisle.

‘Hello yourself. What are you doing here?’ she asked, looking around the empty courtroom to see who else he might be waiting for.

‘I just came from the ME’s,’ he replied. ‘I stopped up at Bellido’s office and his secretary tells me he’s out of town.’ He reached for her pull cart. ‘Can I help you with that?’

‘Sure, if you want,’ she said, handing over the reins. ‘He’s up in Atlanta teaching at a National Prosecuting Attorneys’ conference. I think he’s coming backtomorrow.’ They walked out into the hallway, which was as deserted as the courtroom. It was almost five and no one was around.

The thick peanut butter feeling was back. This drop-by was obviously intentional and it was obviously about the Marquette case. Distancing herself from Monday’s crime scene and diving into a difficult trial for the past couple of days had helped clear her head of ghosts somewhat, but she still found herself taken a little off guard. She hadn’t expected to see Lat here, now. The house had spooked her Monday, no doubt – rushing backvivid, painful memories she thought she’d long ago shuttered away – but she could deal with those memories. She knew she could. She knew she had to. Julia wanted this case. She needed to succeed here, to make a name for herself as a prosecutor. To defeat your fears, didn’t you have to face them first? Was n’t that a classic, tried and true, psychological cliché? Isn’t that why abused children grew up to be guidance counselors and leukemia survivors to be doctors? Isn’t that what some shrink would probably say about why she was here, doing what she did in court, day in and day out, slaying dragons that just kept coming backto life in different, more terrifying forms? Time over the past couple of days had given her distance, and distance had given her backthe perspective she told herself she needed to continue. And if she was going to go forward on this case, if she was going to try and leave the past behind her, now more than ever, it was important that she look confident and prepared and in control. Because she definitely didn’t want Detective John Latarrino thinking of her weak-kneed and retching over a toilet bowl whenever he saw her in court or her name came up in conversation.

‘That’s what Marisol said,’ he replied as they walked toward the elevator bay. ‘So I stopped up to your office and your secretary said you were in trial.’

‘Was. It’s over now.’

‘I can see that.’ He hit the button down.

‘Were you here—’ she started to ask.

‘When Farley JOA’d you? Yup. I caught the tail end. You had a nice argument, but he was n’t listening. No offense,’ he said, stepping into the elevator and holding the door open for her, ‘but I don’t think he likes you much.’

‘You think?’

‘Don’t take it personal. I don’t think he likes women.’

‘I figured that out.’

‘Your victim didn’t show up for trial?’

‘Nope. So I was trying it without her. And that’s wherein the problem lies.’ She looked around the elevator car and didn’t offer any more information, so he didn’t askany more questions.

‘Well,’ he said after a moment, ‘I need to run some things by you, then. We’ve got a couple of decisions to make and you’re the “it” girl.’

Uh-oh. New-found perspective and self-proclaimed confidence aside, decisions were something she was n’t sure she wanted her name on making in this case just yet. She also was n’t too sure Rick would want her making them. She frowned. ‘Have you talked to Rick today?’

‘Nope. Beeped him, but he doesn’t seem to want to call me back. You’re still second seat, right?’

She nodded.

‘Then you’re the “it” girl as far as I’m concerned.’

‘Alright. What’s up?’

‘We got some of the lab workbackfrom the house. The footprints in the upstairs hall – one set was made by a size-eleven loafer that belonged to the Gables uniform who responded. The other set, well, we don’t know. They’re unidentifiable.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘The prints are too distorted for a comp. Not just smeared, but distorted. There’s no tread base. Best guess, based upon size and what appears to be weight distribution, is a size twelve, which would match Marquette. Greg Cowsert is our print and tread specialist. He’s the best and he’s thinking that our bad guy might have worn something over his foot, like a surgical bootie or something, although he found no fibers in the print, which would be consistent with a bootie. That would account for the distortion and smearing.’

‘But there were no bloody booties found at the scene, right? Okay. I’m guessing this is not good news,’ she said walking out of the elevator.

‘No, I got good news. A nurse anesthetist at Sinai who works with Marquette’s practice for the last couple of years ID’d his voice on the enhanced nine-eleven tape. It’s not a forensic comparison, but it’ll do for PC. Sure as she’s breathing, she says it’s him.’

PC stood for probable cause, which was the legal threshold necessary to cross over and arrest a defendant. Was it more probable than not that a crime was committed and that the defendant was the one who had committed it? ‘Okay, that’s good,’ she said.

‘Now, back to the not so good. So far, we’ve got sixteen different sets of fingerprints around the house that have yet to be identified,’ he continued. ‘Three of those are by and around the window sills. Now it could be the Terminix guy or a shitty cleaning lady who doesn’t dust right for all we know, and in the long run, it probably won’t matter a damn, but a defense attorney’s gonna pickup on that and play the fingerprint game, so I just wanted to give you a heads-up.’

‘DNA’s not backyet on that semen stain, right?’

‘Won’t be for at least a week. The oral swab we took yesterday from Marquette for DNA won’t be backtill then either.’

‘Do you thinkthe semen’s going to be an issue?’

‘You’re asking me? If it’s not hubby’s, hell yeah, it’ll be an issue, although it shouldn’t affect PC for his arrest.’

‘I think Rick wanted to workup a warrant by the end of this week, before Marquette gets released from the hospital,’ she said, starting toward the doors that led out to the back of the courthouse.

Latarrino stopped walking. ‘We don’t have that long, Counselor,’ he said.

‘What?’ she asked, turning backto lookat him.

‘That’s why I’m here. He’s being released today,’ Lat replied. ‘In about three hours, give or take. His father’s having him transported to Chicago’s Northwestern Memorial tonight.’

18

‘You’re kidding me,’ Julia said, staring at him in disbelief. The clockin the courthouse hall hung right above the detective’s head. The numbers seemed to pop out at her, like a cartoon sketch in a Dr Seuss book.
BOING
! 4: 58!

‘Found out when I was at the ME’s. A nurse over at Ryder called my Lieutenant and gave him the heads-up. Once Marquette’s out of our jurisdiction it’s gonna be that much harder to get him back. And we’ll have lengthy extradition issues to contend with, not to mention a damn high flight risk. In addition to being the Chief of Neurology over at Northwestern, we’ve heard Dad’s also pretty heavy-handed with a checkbook.’

‘So he’s got pull.’

‘And money. We need to pick him up.’

‘Alright,’ she said. ‘Hold on. I can’t give you the go-ahead until I try to reach Rick.’ The day just couldn’t get any shittier, but there you go. ‘Let’s head backto the office and let me try his cell. If I can’t get him, we’ll go from there.’ She speed-dialed while quickly walking across the street, praying like a nun for him to pick up.

A lot of legal clocks started ticking once a person was arrested. First and foremost was the right to a speedy trial, which, absent a defense continuance or a waiver by the defendant, ran out permanently after just 180 days. And there were no second bites at the apple if you screwed up and made the wrong call the first time, but subsequently found that murder weapon or that missing witness on the 181 st day. Double jeopardy prevented that. In criminal law, the stakes were high for a prosecutor to make the right call at the right time all the time. Although Julia had made the decision to arrest someone before, she’d never done it in a homicide.

‘What’s up, Julia?’

There was a God. ‘Hi,’ she said into the phone, slowing down to catch her breath. ‘I’m just heading backfrom court.’

We’re on a break. I was going back in myself in a second,’ Rick said.

‘I’ve got Detective Latarrino with me. There’s a problem. I’m going to let the detective tell you.’ She hit the speaker button.

‘Thanks for calling me back,’ Lat said.

‘My beeper’s off when I’m lecturing. So’s my cell. We just broke not five minutes ago and you were next on the list, Lat.’ He sounded irritated.

‘Alright, I’ll buy that. Look, I’ll let your second seat fill you in on the gritty details, but the shoe prints are a bust. We also have sixteen unidentified fingerprints, three on and around the windows. DNA is still pending and won’t be backtill next week.’

‘Great. Got any good news for me, Lat?’ Rick said with what sounded like a sigh.

‘Marquette’s set for release tonight,’ Latarrino said.

‘No fucking way.’

‘That’s not the bad news,’ Lat said.

‘It’s not?’

‘Nope. He’s hopping a private medical transport plane for Chicago in three hours.’

The silence lasted a long time. Only the crackle of cellphone static told them Rick was still on the line. She and Lat had reached the Graham Building, but she didn’t want to lose the signal, so they stood outside. On the floor over in the corner by the concrete benches and planters she spotted a bunch of crushed cigarette butts scattered about. This was where the smokers met and chatted every day on their breaks, or on their way back from court as they stopped to finish the last puffs before heading inside. Julia herself hadn’t touched a cigarette since college, but she couldn’t help thinking how good one would taste right about now.

‘The hell he is,’ Rick finally said. ‘I guess the state of Florida will be picking up the tab for those medical bills after all. Screw the warrant; we’ve got enough. Go pick him up, Lat.’