CUTTING ROOM -THE- (12 page)

‘I thought you were from the Midwest.'

‘Ahhh,' Mike grumbled. ‘I'm a native New Yorker, Alvarez. Born and raised in Elmhurst. That's in Queens, you know. I worked with the Minneapolis PD for eight years before coming down here for some sun.'

‘Minnesota? Jesus, how the hell did you end up there? How does anyone end up there?'

Mike ignored the question. ‘One day it will all become clear. Listen, sorry about the titty comment. I didn't realize she was a victim. That was bad of me.'

‘Well, thanks for the tip,' Manny said with a nod.

‘What I would do if I was you is put her in NCIC, and mark it special attention to the tri-state area — see if the boys up there got something for you. Send the picture, but let them know there's a video available.'

‘That's a good idea.'

‘Your long shot ain't so long now,' Mike continued smugly. ‘And you got a date/time stamp on this, for whatever that's worth, assuming it's authentic. I'd put that on there, too. It'll help whoever is looking narrow down dates. I'd also send that video off to the Behavioral Analysis Unit at the FBI. Let the profilers take a peek. Could be they've seen the rest of your video. Or maybe they can tell you if it's for shits and giggles or if it's the real McCoy.'

‘Okay, okay, I got it. Now it's your turn to speak English, Pops. What the hell is a “shit and giggle”? And what's a “real McCoy”?'

Mike rolled his eyes. ‘Damn immigrants. Learn English.'

‘I left Havana on a twenty-two-foot fishing boat that was missing an engine with twenty other people when I was five. Been speaking English from the second I stepped on the sand at Key Biscayne. You're yapping in old fart, not English. I'll send it to BAU. You're right. It can't hurt none.'

‘Nope. It can't hurt,' Mike replied as he started across the room to his desk. Then he stopped, turned abruptly, walked back. ‘You know, I can work up that NCIC for ya. Maybe contact the cold case squads myself and see if I can shake some trees.'

‘You're not busy with your own load?'

‘Nah. I'm good. I got the time. And it looks like you need the help.'

Mike Dickerson wasn't the only one counting down days till his retirement party. Even though he still had about six months to go, Mike hadn't caught a new case in a long while, and he wasn't going to. He was in wind-down mode. The squad sergeant didn't want to hand out new cases to someone who'd have to be dragged out of retirement to be a witness for the next five years as those cases worked their way through the system. It was too much of a hassle. And if Mike was the lead on a case and he died — well, that would be terrible. And even more of a hassle. That was the danger of working cases when you were nearing seventy — your age became a liability and all that ‘invaluable experience' that used to look so great on a résumé now added to the argument that your shelf life had expired. Until he officially called it quits, Mike was on ‘light duty', which might seem like every government employee's dream, but Manny didn't think Mike saw it that way. The guy had been on the job for almost four decades, and he wore his pride the way he did his badge — right in the open for all to see. It might be hard to walk away, but Manny thought it was probably worse to stay and watch the world carry on without you.

Manny ran a hand over his smooth scalp. ‘You think you can help me out?' he asked hesitantly. ‘You know, this video is a fucking monkey wrench. I still have a shitload of crap to get done on Skole without this nipping at the back of my thoughts.'

‘Sure, Bear, sure. I know some faces in the NYPD. It'll give me something to do.'

Manny nodded. Partnering up in Homicide was not done at the City. There weren't enough bodies or enough resources. And that was fine by him — he didn't like partners. And if he had to pick a partner, it never in a million years would've been ornery, stubborn, conventional, conservative Mike Dickerson. But Manny himself was only seven years away from collecting a check, which seemed like a lifetime … a lifetime ago. Now it wasn't so far off. Just seven more wild Miami-Dade PD Homicide Christmas parties. So he could feel for the old man; he didn't think he'd want to leave when the time came, either. Plus, being nice to a guy on his way out of the job and maybe even out the door seemed like the right thing to do. Of course it was exactly that sort of charitable thinking that had led him down the aisle three times. Manny had a feeling this partnership might not fare any better …

‘I guess it's time for this young, handsome Jedi to learn from the master,' Manny said, handing his new partner the photo and the flash drive with a sigh. ‘Go shake a tree. Damn, you know, you even look like Yoda. Same football-shaped head.'

‘Oh you're a gag, is right. You're a fucking chuckle,' Mike groused as he returned to his desk. ‘Shits and giggles we're gonna have together,' he called over his shoulder.

Manny sighed again. As a wise man whose name he did not know once said: no good deed ever goes unpunished …

‘On for arraignment, page two:
State v. Talbot Lunders
,' announced the clerk.

It was half past nine on a Monday morning and Judge Virginia ‘Ginny' Becker's small, sixth-floor courtroom was standing-room only. Thanks to a heat wave outside and temperamental courthouse air conditioning that wasn't quite broken but definitely wasn't working, the air was thick and stale and stunk and tasted of BO. People charged with felonies were already tense and sweaty, as were their lawyers, who ran from courtroom to courtroom handling multiple clients. The broken AC made the room feel like a rush-hour NYC subway train in July.

‘Ms DeBianchi, is this one yours?' asked the judge impatiently, over the loud hum of the standing fan next to her bench.

‘Yes, Your Honor,' Daria answered, as she made her way up to the podium.

‘Joe Varlack for Talbot Lunders.' Justice Joe was back at the podium, refreshed and determined. A little too determined. As if he'd spent the weekend reading West's Florida Criminal Procedure. Daria hadn't spoken to either attorney since last week's Arthur, but based on the cool looks he kept throwing her way, and the inability of his colleague to glance up from her file, she didn't think a cordial relationship was gonna develop between the three of them. Some defense attorneys were like that — they took the adversarial process too literally and too personally. That was okay with Daria. She didn't need any more friends. She checked out Anne-Claire Simmons's tootsies and bit a knuckle. The distinctive red soles were gone, but the nude, platform, suede peep-toes were to die for.

‘I see Judge Steyn denied bond last week,' the judge remarked as she read through the indictment.

‘We'll be revisiting that, Your Honor,' replied Varlack authoritatively.

‘No we won't,' replied the judge without glancing up. ‘Unless you have some new evidence that was not known to you last Tuesday and as such was not presented to Judge Steyn — and I do mean new — there is no need for another hearing. This is not the Swap Shop. Your client will remain remanded.'

Ginny Becker was a relative newcomer to the courthouse, having been appointed by the governor last year to fill a vacancy in circuit court. In her early forties, she was a spring chicken compared to some judges who haunted the bench until they died off. On paper, the woman was certainly qualified to be a criminal court judge — having worked as both a prosecutor up in her native New Jersey and a public defender in Tampa — but the jury was still out on whether she was actually a good judge. That was because no one liked her. Known as ‘the Manicured Monster', in her nine months on the bench, Judge Becker had managed to alienate everyone, even her own support staff, and had earned a reputation on both sides of the courtroom for ruling with an iron fist and a sharp tongue.

‘Mr Lunders,' the judge began in a nasally Jersey twang. She peered down at the defense table over red-rimmed specs that sat precariously on the end of her nose. ‘You've been indicted by the grand jury on the charge of first-degree murder. How do you plead?'

‘Not guilty,' bellowed Varlack. ‘We'll be demanding discovery.'

‘Naturally,' replied the judge, studying Lunders's defense attorney for a long moment. ‘State, fifteen days.' She looked around her courtroom. ‘You seem to be quite the popular one, Mr Lunders. Are these cameras here for your pretty face?'

Daria turned around so fast she almost got whiplash. Sure enough, two cameramen stood behind the gallery gate, each sporting shoulder-mount professional television cameras. One was for WSVN7 and the other was WTVJ, NBC6. An impressed murmur ran through the gallery. They hadn't been there when she'd first walked in.

‘That seems to be the case, Judge,' Varlack replied a little too casually, which told Daria he was the one who had invited the vampires in for a pint.

‘How far out are we talking on a trial date, State?' the judge asked.

‘I'd say at least six months, Your Honor,' Daria replied.

‘I hope the prosecutor's not serious, Judge,' scoffed Varlack. He sounded completely flabbergasted, as if he was expecting a trial, say, next week. ‘My client has been denied bond, which you're telling me won't be reviewed. Now State's saying it will take them at least six months to get around to trying him?'

‘Well, the ball is in your court to some extent, Mr …' the judge hesitated for a moment, ‘Varlack,' she finished, finally finding his name again on the court file. Obviously she had no idea who he was and, even if she did, she wouldn't have cared anyway. She must've been fighting traffic in Trenton when he was in every South Floridian's living room at six. ‘You can file a speedy demand and Ms DeBianchi can give you the Jiffy Lube of trials this upcoming fall, if you want. You may find, however, that you need a little more time to prepare for a capital murder, sir. State, will you be seeking the death penalty?'

‘It's under consideration, Your Honor,' replied Daria.

‘Well, consider faster. Because I think that decision might just change opposing counsel's request to try this case before I dust off my Christmas decorations. Mr Lunders,' she began, looking straight at the defendant and speaking in a loud, slow voice, as if he were either deaf or mentally retarded. ‘You have a right to a speedy trial. That means the state has to bring you to trial within one hundred and seventy-five days after your arrest. That is assuming you don't cause a delay yourself. Because once you ask for a continuance or announce that you're not ready to proceed or otherwise engage in activity that delays the state in presenting their case against you, the hundred and seventy-five days disappears like Cinderella's magic coach. Poof. Do you understand that, Mr Lunders?'

‘Yes,' answered the defendant. Even his voice was handsome. Deep and throaty, like a sexy sports announcer. It was the first time Daria had heard him utter a word. He was dressed in that same bright orange jumpsuit, but he definitely looked better. His hair was brushed and pulled into a low pony that matched his attorney's and he was clean-shaven. He glanced in her direction and smiled. She felt the blood rush to her face.

‘I have already explained his rights to him, Judge,' Varlack replied testily.

The judge sat back in her chair. ‘Good. I'm really glad you have. And just so that you understand, Counsel, it is
my
business to make sure that the defendant knows his rights and understands them in
my
courtroom. Being a successful former defense attorney myself, I have found that sometimes either your clients don't hear you or they don't want to hear you on some very important matters. Since
you
raised a concern about trying this case quickly, it's good to get this all on the record now so that it does not become an issue later, say in a post-conviction motion for relief. Not that I am predicting a conviction, mind you, I'm simply making sure your client is informed. So, with all that in mind, Althea, get me a report date within the next two months so we can see how fast the case is progressing. If Mr Lunders is still on track for a holiday trial and wants to file a speedy demand, then we will give him an early Christmas present and everyone will be happy. Everyone except perhaps Ms DeBianchi, who will be far too busy to be happy.'

‘Mmm …' the clerk murmured while fanning herself with a manila folder. ‘We don't get many happy customers around here, Judge. August seventeenth for report.'

‘Thank you for the unsolicited commentary, Althea. I'll see you all back here then, unless we need to handle matters sooner than that. Ms DeBianchi, if you do decide to seek the death penalty, file your notice post-haste. I am sensing timing issues and I don't want to sit here listening to either side boo-hoo to me later on a capital murder, because I won't have any pity for your plight and I won't be distracted by your tears. If Mr Lunders truly wants a speedy trial, we can and will accommodate him, and not with ten minutes left to spare on the clock.'

‘Yes, Your Honor,' Daria replied quietly, swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat. The average murder took anywhere from thirteen to eighteen months to make it to trial. If she did decide to seek the death penalty, the judge was right, pushing this to go within the next few months meant that would be
all
she would be doing for the next few months. Ugh. No cruise to Mexico. There went the first summer vacation she'd booked in four years …

As Althea called up the next case, Daria gathered her file and stepped back to the state's table, watching as Justice Joe was followed out of the courtroom like the Pied Piper by the reporters and their cameramen.
Double damn.
It was obviously Varlack's firm who'd called in the press. So much for thinking the Palm Beach Lunders would want to keep Junior off the front page and out of the gossip columns. And while it was only local media showing an interest, you never knew how big a story could become. What might catch the public's fancy. With online news outlets, blogging, tweeting, YouTube, Facebook — everyone was on the hunt for the next big crime story, wanting to comment on it, be involved somehow. And since you never knew what might ignite that passion or curiosity, Daria knew it could very well be
this
case. The case she'd promised Vance Collier she would keep out of the press.