CUTTING ROOM -THE- (16 page)

‘Listen, Counselor,' Manny continued, ‘I'm not saying we have the wrong killer behind bars here. Talbot Lunders is guilty of Holly Skole's murder as sure as the day is long. I know it. And I'm not saying Bill Bantling is not Cupid. What I am saying is that as far as
our
case is concerned,
we
have a problem that can't be ignored. There are scary similarities between these new murders and the Cupid murders. Maybe it's time we looked into Bantling's claim that he was part of this snuff club.'

‘If it exists.'

‘If it exists,' he conceded. ‘And if he was in it, when and if it did exist. Maybe his fellow members get together to share tips or war stories or something, and somebody got an idea to relive the great ones. All I know for sure is that the murder of Gabby Vechio in New York is somehow related to Holly Skole's murder down here. The brandings prove it. And whether you like it or not, at the very least, you're gonna have to disclose that to the defense. It's Brady. And these new murders I just found — they're Brady, too.'

That got her attention. Brady referred to
Brady v. State of Maryland
, a US Supreme Court decision that required the state to disclose any evidence that was known to be favorable to a defendant's case and material to the issue of guilt and/or punishment that would tend to exculpate the defendant. Basically, anything that could prove the defendant wasn't guilty. Manny was no lawyer, but any detective worth his salt knew Brady, and knew the decision was pretty broad in its interpretation. To guess wrong and not comply could mean severe penalties, including, in extreme circumstances, the exclusion of evidence and even post-conviction reversal. There was little doubt in his mind that the existence of the murder video and identity of Gabriella Vechio, and now three more potential victims, would be considered Brady.

‘The hell I do!' Daria cried. ‘We don't
know
they're related. Only your gut knows.'

‘Try out that twisted lawyer thinking on Judge Becker and see if she doesn't throw your cute ass in jail for willfully failing to disclose. Don't forget, Hot Mami Lunders came to
us
with this video.'

‘Stop calling her that.'

‘Joe Varlack supposedly knows of its existence,' Manny continued. ‘It's not like you can hide it. The inevitable question the judge is eventually gonna be asking you is, “What did you discover about the video and the girl in it after Abby Lunders gave it to you?” I'm not gonna tell her, “nothing” when I know it's something. You have to disclose the Vechio murder. And the others, too.'

As much as she didn't want to agree, Manny had a point. At least as to Gabriella Vechio's murder. And she knew the detective would sell her out on the stand later if she didn't disclose.
Damn, damn, damn.
Things were starting to unravel at the seams after barely coming together at the Arthur, grand jury and arraignment. She bit her lip and swiveled toward the window so he couldn't watch her think.

Jesus Christ … a serial killer?
Daria had never worked a serial murder before. And she wouldn't if Vance Collier and the administration found out that was the new direction
The State of Florida v. Talbot Lunders
was heading in. They would put a much more seasoned prosecutor on it, maybe even Collier himself. There went Chief of Sex Batt. There went an opportunity to prove herself and move out of neutral. To become a lifer with a future.
Fuck that.
She wasn't giving up that easy. She wasn't handing over the case of a career just because she didn't have the experience. If Manny was right, and Holly Skole's murder was one of several serial murders that in some way related to Bill Bantling and an underground snuff club, then she would ready the case to the point that there would be no alternative but for her to try it. No one else would be qualified, especially seeing as there was likely going to be a speedy issue.

She swiveled around. ‘I say we talk to Lunders. If he has a partner, or if he was recruited by a partner, maybe even a serial, or — and I'm not saying I buy into any of this yet —
if
he was a member of this club you're talking about, then we consider some kind of deal to get the other names. But let's not go looking for some psycho club membership with him just yet, Manny; Holly's murder could be the work of him and a demented unsub. I don't want to go planting ideas in his head. Or his lawyer's.'

Manny rubbed his temple. ‘I don't think the kid's gonna talk, Counselor. He hasn't before. You saw him in court — he's about as fucked-up and unpredictable as Bantling. I think he actually enjoys the attention, in a warped way. This is his moment in the sun; his turn to create some chaos.'

‘Well, give it the old college-try. I'm not releasing anything as Brady till I find out what the hell's going on.'

‘After what happened with you and him at the Arthur,
I'll
handle talking to him and his attorney,' Manny replied, taking a pack of Marlboros out of his pocket. ‘He might be less distracted. You, too.'

She nodded and reached for the cup of cold coffee so as to hide the rush of color that had flooded her cheeks. ‘You can't smoke in here.'

‘You've told me that before. But I can be ready the second I get downstairs,' he answered, sticking a cigarette behind his ear. ‘Tomorrow's Wednesday, right? Damn, the week is flying by. I have an Arthur Thursday afternoon, so I think I'll arrange a visit with Pretty Boy that morning. Regardless, I'm gonna take a drive to Florida State next week to talk to Bantling,' he said, scooping up his file from her desk.

‘I'm going,' she declared.

‘Let me do the investigating here. You stick to prosecuting.'

‘I'm still going. I never met a serial killer before.'

Manny frowned.

That sounded real dumb. ‘I won't interfere,' she offered quickly. ‘But I want to be there. I want to see him.'

‘I'll take a picture.'

‘Very funny. I want to hear what he has to say about this snuff club. You keep insisting that it's related to my case. I have a right.'

Manny sighed. Despite the smart part of his brain that was screaming ‘Bad idea!' his mouth didn't get the message. ‘Oh, the things you can get me to agree to when you're nice, Counselor. 'Cause I'm telling ya, I ain't driving five hours in the car with you if those fangs are bared.'

‘I'll be nice. Promise. You know, I went to UF.'

Manny looked over at the framed law degree from the University of Florida that hung on the pale gray wall above the file cabinet. ‘I see that.'

Her eyes followed his. ‘They don't tell you on the admissions tour that your dorm room's gonna be located within a thirty-mile radius of eight different correctional facilities — including two maximum-security prisons that house death-row inmates. My mom was so pissed,' Daria continued thoughtfully. ‘She ripped my room apart 'cause she thought I hid that detail about the prisons from her. I came home that first Christmas to find what remained of my books, pictures, curtains and comforter carpeting my bedroom floor in two-inch strips.'

‘That's extreme.'

‘Yeah, well, she's extreme. She wanted me to stay home and go to UM so I could take care of her. The bunch of crap about how worried she was for me because of all those bad boys in the state pens next town over was just that — a bunch of crap. She was being vindictive, is all.'

‘Did you?'

‘Huh?'

‘Did you lie to your momma about UF being located in the epicenter of Florida's prisons?'

‘Hell, yeah. No way was I staying home another three years. I didn't have the healthiest home life, as you can imagine. Unlike the rest of my class, I couldn't wait to go to law school. I did it on student loans too, so don't think I'm ungrateful. Once Mommy Dearest got over her temper tantrum, she warmed to the idea that she could brag to all her friends that her daughter was gonna be some high-paid, hot-shot lawyer.'

Manny smiled. ‘And out of all the legal careers to pick from, you chose to be a prosecutor — hanging with the bad boys all day long and bringing home shit for pay — knowing that would probably piss her off even more, huh?'

‘We eke out a few sentences at Sunday dinners.'

‘So you're passive-aggressive. I think I should remember that.'

There was a long and awkward pause. She'd said way, way too much. ‘I've never been to death row before,' she offered. ‘Anything I should know or be worried about?'

That sounded so green. But all she could think of was the creepy scene in
The
Silence of the Lambs
when Clarice Starling is warned about Hannibal Lecter:
Don't get too close to the glass. Slide all papers through the drawer. Don't tell him anything about yourself.
It was only a movie, but still …

Manny stood up and headed for the door. He was already regretting his decision. ‘Monday's the Fourth of July holiday, so I'm thinking Tuesday. I'm gonna get on the road by eight. I guess I'll pick you up here.'

‘I'll be ready,' Daria said with a smile.

‘I hope so,' he replied before he walked out the door. Based on the last question she'd asked, he already knew how wrong she was about that.

The corrections officer buzzed the door to the interview room at Dade County Jail and the steel door slid open. When Manny had cleared the doorway, it slid back in place with another loud clang, and a second steel door slid open. When he'd cleared that one, it, too, slid into place with a bang, locking him into the mint-green interrogation room that smelled of mildew and urine, even though it lacked both a toilet and a water source.

Anne-Claire Simmons and her client were already seated at a metal table that was bolted to the floor. The three metal chairs set around the table were chained to the table's legs. The one thing that was not chained or locked to anything was Talbot Lunders. No cuffs, no shackles, no restraints. The accused murderer was free to walk around the cabin. He might not be able to steal the furniture, but he
could
throttle his attorney with his bare hands if he really wanted to. Manny had interviewed scores of defendants in this very room, and he couldn't recall one other who hadn't been dressed up in at least cuffs. It irked him. The rules must be different for good-looking, privileged, white murderers.

‘Good afternoon, Detective,' Anne-Claire began somberly. ‘Is Ms DeBianchi joining us?'

‘Nope. How about Mr Varlack?'

‘Unfortunately, Joe had a prior commitment in Palm Beach. He knew this must be very important, so I'm here and Mr Lunders and I are both listening.'

Listening, but not authorized to actually do shit.
Clever. Each team had sent their second string. Manny took a seat across from the two of them. He could spend a few minutes chitchatting about how Talbot was enjoying prison life, but life was too short and Manny didn't like to waste time on matters he truly didn't give a shit about. ‘Let me get right to the point, Ms Simmons: I want to talk to your client about the night Holly Skole disappeared.'

‘I've instructed Talbot not to say anything, Detective.'

‘Bully for you, Ms Simmons. You're here and I'm sure, if he needs counsel, you can give it to him. And if he wants to give answers to some of my questions, he can.' He looked directly at Talbot. ‘You were on the phone within minutes after you left Menace, Talbot. We have the records. We know the number: 305-697-9980. We also know it was a throwaway. What we don't know yet is who you were talking to. So, would you like to share?'

Anne-Claire looked at her client and shook her head.

Talbot said nothing.

‘Okay.' Manny pulled out his notepad. ‘You made five phone calls to that same number between 4:12 and 5:30 in the morning. You made them while you were in Miami and you transferred cell towers on the last two calls to the tower located in Turkey Point, indicating you were travelling southbound. Who were you talking to, Talbot? And why were you talking to them?'

Anne-Claire held her hand up, just in case Talbot was thinking of answering. ‘You're the detective, you tell us.'

‘Let's not play games, Ms Simmons. Please. I'll be honest here: I'm thinking Talbot had a partner, someone who might've participated in Holly's murder. I wanna know who that person is and what that role was.'

‘You're making an offer?' Anne-Claire asked.

‘I've spoken with the prosecutor. Depending upon the information you provide, a deal could definitely be worked out. A substantial deal, like maybe the death penalty goes off the table type of deal. But of course I need to know the information before I can tell you what it's selling for.'

Talbot leaned into the table. ‘You don't have shit,' he whispered.

Manny frowned and leaned in himself. ‘You're here, aren't you? Are you liking the accommodations, son?'

Talbot grinned. ‘This case has gotten a lot of press. My attorney here tells me that Court TV is interested in broadcasting the trial. Live, this fall. Can you believe that shit? That's really exciting. Move over all you housewives! There's a new
Bachelor
in town!'

‘What?' Manny asked, looking at Anne-Claire incredulously.

Anne-Claire stared down at her papers. ‘I only mentioned to him that they'd called …'

‘Live TV. Very exciting. Think about it, Detective. And
48 Hours
, too. She's even trying to fix up a
Dateline
special, my hard-working attorney,' Talbot continued. ‘You gotta love an attorney with Hollywood connections. Maybe a made-for-TV movie, Mr Varlack tells me. How about a continuous series on FX? That one's my idea.'

‘Talbot, please …' Anne-Claire said quietly. ‘None of this was agreed—'

‘Maybe they'll call it
Framed!
That's catchy, isn't it, Detective? We might have a role in it for you. Like on that old TV show my dad told me about,
The Fugitive
. You can play the hot-headed, bumbling detective who never gets his man. Week after week, he's always two steps behind the killer.'