Defense for the Devil (21 page)

Judge Waldman nodded, then turned to Stover. “And your concerns?”

“She’s been pulling strings behind the scenes for months,” he said angrily. “I’ve done all the work, and she wants to step in and grab headlines. I agree with Roxbury that Arno’s desperate, but the defense hasn’t had its chance to tell the rest of the story yet. And she’s using his desperation for her own purposes. She and Maggie Folsum cooked up this plot months ago, and she planted McGinnis in court to act as her spy, so she would know exactly when to step forward and make the power play.” More belligerently, he said to Barbara, “If you have information concerning my client, it’s your duty to let me in on it. You could even come aboard as part of my team. You don’t have to grab him.”

“You have the same information I have,” she said coolly. “I just intend to use it, since you don’t seem to grasp its importance.”

Judge Waldman gazed at Barbara without expression. “Did you discuss this case with Ms. Folsum months ago?”

“Yes, I did. Maggie Folsum was already my client when she asked if I would defend him. I had to tell her no, that it might result in a conflict of interest. I didn’t know at that time how either case would develop. She asked me again today, and since I will fulfill my obligation to her on Monday and I now see that no conflict could arise, I told her that if Ray Arno wanted me, I would talk to him about it.”

Without pausing she continued, “Ms. Folsum has two major concerns. In August she and I met with Mr. Roxbury to inform him that Mitch Arno had brought a large sum of money in cash to the state, but his office apparently has chosen not to follow up that line of inquiry, and this alarmed her. She also said that since certain fingerprints she had given to the district attorney’s office as well as to Mr. Stover appeared to have been overlooked or even deliberately put aside, she was even more alarmed. Today Ray Arno asked me personally to take his case, and I said I would if the change was approved by the court.”

“Is Ms. McGinnis your employee?”

“No, your honor. She is a friend and she was a colleague in the past. She has applied to a number of firms for a position; she asked me for a job. I started my own firm only recently, and I had nothing on hand that required a second attorney as yet. I suggested she might fill in her time by observing as many trials as she could.”

Careful, she told herself, aware of the judge’s close scrutiny. “I shall hire Ms. McGinnis the minute I leave here. I know how intelligent and what an excellent observer she is. I think she will be invaluable to me in defending Ray Arno.”

“You mentioned fingerprints,” Judge Waldman said. “What fingerprints are you talking about?”

“Ms. Folsum told me she asked a detective to fingerprint Ray Arno’s house last summer and that when the report came back, she gave it to the district attorney and to Mr. Stover. She said the detective had recovered prints of two ex-convicts in Ray Arno’s house, but no one has brought them up at the trial.”

“They’re a red herring!” Roxbury said angrily. “They go nowhere! We investigated them, and they mean nothing!”

“Mr. Stover, did you intend to use the evidence of the fingerprints?”

“Yes, of course. Next week, when we have our turn.”

“And which witness would have introduced them?” she asked politely.

“The detective,” he said. His face had turned a darker shade of red.

“Have you subpoenaed him?”

“Not yet. I was waiting for the state to rest.”

“Is his name on your witness list?”

“Not yet.”

“I see.” She leaned in toward the table. “Perhaps we should have coffee. I have a few more questions.” No one moved or spoke as she played hostess, and although no one wanted coffee, they all accepted and murmured their thanks.

She asked about the money then, and Barbara gave her a very abbreviated account, aware of Roxbury’s increasing fury as she spoke.

“Your honor,” he said harshly, “that’s a simple red herring. We looked into it. Mitch Arno didn’t even have it, his lawyer did. It has nothing to do with the murder.”

Judge Waldman regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, then turned to Stover and directed her remarks to him. “Since Mr. Arno has requested a change of attorney, I shall grant his wish. That is his constitutional right, of course, even if it delays the trial somewhat. And, Ms. Holloway, I shall not allow this trial to be delayed unduly. The jurors have every expectation of being through here before Christmas.”

“What am I supposed to do, just bow out and let her take the stage?” Stover demanded.

“I expect you to cooperate fully with Ms. Holloway, to furnish her with all the information provided by the state, and to be of any other assistance possible. Ms. Holloway, I charge you with the duty to inform me if there has not been complete cooperation. Mr. Roxbury, your office will also cooperate with Ms. Holloway and provide any materials to which she is entitled without delay.”

She asked Roxbury how much longer he intended to take. He said bitterly that he had planned to rest the following day, but the delay meant he would need at least two more days. She consulted a calendar, then said with a sigh, “Very well. Mr. Roxbury will finish on Tuesday or Wednesday. On Monday, December sixteenth, I expect you to present the case for the defense, Ms. Holloway. That does not give you a great deal of time, but as I said, I want this jury to be finished with its work before Christmas. And as you said, Ms. McGinnis is an excellent observer. I shall instruct Mr. Dawkins to provide you with a complete transcript of the trial to date as soon as he can.”

“Your honor,” Barbara said, “if I find it necessary to ask additional questions of witnesses who have already testified, may I have them recalled, or must I subpoena them as defense witnesses?”

Judge Waldman considered for a moment, then said, “After you have gone over the transcript, show me the list of witnesses you want to recall on Monday morning. At what time on Monday will you be prepared to start your defense?”

“I can prepare my list for you by eight that morning and I can be in court by eleven.”

“Very well. Monday morning at eight in here,” Judge Waldman said. “I’ll talk to the jurors and explain the new development, and we shall delay the start of Monday’s proceedings until eleven o’clock.” She looked at them severely and added, “This meeting is to be kept confidential. If any of you gives out a hint, I shall hold you in contempt and put you in jail.”

By five Barbara was back at the county jail, back in one of the conference rooms, this time with her notebook and pen.

“I should have gone with one of the people you suggested at the start,” Ray said unhappily when they were both seated. “You saw the condition I was in, still disbelieving, going along. I thought since I knew Stover—he’s gone fishing with me, for God’s sake! I thought he would work for me.”

“It’s done, Mr. Arno,” she said. “No point in fretting about it now.”

He seemed oblivious of her attempt to derail him, to start working. “At first you think it can’t happen, not really,” he said, looking over her head, at the wall, at the past, at nothing. “Then you think, well, it happens, but to other people, not you. Then, in the middle of the night one night, you think, why me? Why, God, what did I do to deserve this? You know? You warned me, and I simply didn’t understand what you meant, as if you had been speaking a foreign language or something—”

“Mr. Arno—Ray! Please, there’s no point in this. We have a little more than a week to prepare your defense. You have to help me; I can’t do it alone.”

“Just one more thing,” he said; he gazed at her for a moment, then rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry, but you see, my family… I can’t say things like this to them. They’re still in the opening phase—it can’t happen, not here, not to us—and I can’t seem to talk to them. They come in and say things like, It’s just a big mistake, they’ll see it’s a mistake and turn you loose. But I’ve had my nights of asking God why it’s happening, and that puts me in a different place from the family. It’s as if I’ve finally seen into the pit, but they keep closing their eyes or turning away their heads. Today, when you showed up earlier, I knew you understood what I’m facing, you and the judge, a few others in court, but not my family. And, Barbara, I have to say this before you take over, today for the first time I felt like maybe I won’t be tossed overboard into that pit. I’m grateful to you for coming, for taking me on. I just had to tell you that.”

“Save your thanks for after the case is over with,” she said; her effort to sound kidding and lighthearted fell a bit flat, but it was the best she could do at the moment. She patted his hands, folded on the table. “For now, please bear with me if I seem demanding and abrupt; tell me if you want a break. I really don’t want this to become a new torment for you. It’s just that the pressure of time is very much a factor.”

“Shoot,” he said.

At eight, going up the apartment stairs, she was overwhelmed by the fragrance of chicken and green chilies, one of John’s specialties. He met her at the top landing and for a time he held her, his face pressed into her hair. Then he drew back slightly and said, “Dinner is being served at this very moment, madam.”

She held on another second, until he took her by the shoulders and turned her toward the living room, where the table was ready. “Dinner,” he said. “Did you have any lunch today?”

She had to think, then she shook her head.

“Dinner,” he repeated. She thought the yearning look on his face must have matched her own, but they went in to eat.

When the first ravenous hunger pangs had been satisfied, she said, “On Monday we’ll have the closing agreement and I’ll be done with the Maggie Folsum business.”

“Then what?”

“Tonight I have to collect Shelley and go to Dad’s to consult. We’ll all be dashing around for the next ten days. All the stuff I couldn’t do in the past few months will have to be crammed into a little more than a week. It will take all of us, full-time, and then some.”

“I meant what about the Palmer affair? You’re not letting it go, I can tell.”

A week after moving into the apartments, relaxed, with breathing space, she had decided that if they were to live together, there could be no secrets between them, and she had told him everything she knew and suspected about the case. She shook her head. “I’m not letting it go. I intend to force Trassi and Palmer to hand over Mitch Arno’s killers.”

He stared at her. “You’ll need a bodyguard.”

“Bailey’s taking care of that.”

“I’ll go to Frank’s with you tonight. I don’t want you out at night alone, or just with Shelley. Don’t even bother to try to talk me out of it.”

“All right,” she said. “But it’s not a threat for now. Please believe me. I still have papers they need, and Trassi doesn’t know the trap he’s in. Monday afternoon he will, but not now, not yet.”

Frank was relieved to see John arrive with Barbara and Shelley. “Go on in,” he said. “There’s Bailey driving up. I’ll just wait for him.”

They went into the living room, where Frank had a fire going, and both cats were on the couch, sprawled across most of it. “Beat it,” Frank growled at them when he entered with Bailey. Neither cat stirred until he moved them.

“First,” Barbara said as they were getting settled, “Judge Waldman gagged us all until the trial resumes on Monday. She doesn’t want the jury speculating over the weekend about news stories of the change. I don’t think the D.A. will find it to their advantage to leak anything yet. So we just might have the weekend without interference.”

Barbara began to outline the following week. She had been planning the defense for months; now they could openly implement the plans.

“Starting next week,” Frank said later, “no more restaurants. We’ll eat here and I’ll cook or we’ll order carry-out food. You, too, Shelley. No running around alone, no late hours driving by yourself.” She was wide-eyed, and nodded emphatically. “Now, how about a snack and something to drink?”

Bailey was on his feet almost instantly. “How about that.”

Barbara’s gaze came to rest on John, who might have been carved from cold, hard stone.

23

Barbara accepted that
she could never compete with the other professional women she met day after day, as far as clothes or hair or general appearance were concerned. She especially could never compete with Judge Jane Waldman, who that Monday morning was dressed in a mauve-colored sheer-wool knit dress with matching shoes. A simple gold chain and small gold hoop earrings finished her outfit; she looked more elegant than ever. Grumpily Barbara thought that she had tried; she had had her hair cut sometime in the fall. She couldn’t remember when, only that for a while her own hair had looked wonderful, until she shampooed, and magically it had turned into her usual style, which was to say no style at all.

Craig Roxbury and Barbara had been admitted into Judge Waldman’s chambers together, and this time the judge was sitting at her desk and motioned them to chairs across from her.

“You have your list?” she asked Barbara.

“Yes. It’s only four names.” She handed over the list.

“I have to warn you that I won’t allow you to recross-examine these witnesses. If there is anything new to bring up from their various reports, you may do that, but you have the transcript, and we will not reopen the cross-examination. Is that understood?”

“Yes, your honor. However, there are two missing reports, one concerning what was found in Ray Arno’s car when it was impounded, and the last page from the medical examiner’s report.”

“We turned over everything we have,” Roxbury said. “If Stover lost the stuff, we can’t help that.”

“You will make copies of those two reports and see that Ms.

Holloway receives them both this morning before court resumes,” Judge Waldman said. She put on gold-framed glasses and looked over the list Barbara had handed her. “For the sake of continuity, I suggest that these four witnesses all be recalled on Monday, December sixteen. After that, of course, you will conduct your defense without further suggestions from the court. Is that agreeable?”