The Victim (10 page)

Dennis picked up the baggies, visually examining the items. “Yeah, so long as there’s DNA transfer.”

“
I’m confident there is. Just one thing. After you’re done, can I get the lighter back?”

CHAPTER 10

January 14, 2014

Miami, Florida

Wrapped in her terrycloth bathrobe, Daniella Avery watched the Caribbean Princess motor out of its berth from the broad window of her thirty-sixth floor apartment at the Templeton. Twenty-five hundred square feet of white marble floors and vaulted ceilings. A breeze rippled the current, forming little white caps that popped and then disappeared. The mid-morning sun cut a swath of silver that shimmied on the surface.

She sipped her latte and fell into her chair. She waggled her mouse and her laptop screen came to life. She opened iTunes on her toolbar at the bottom of the screen and clicked on a previously saved playlist at random—“Crazy On You” by Heart. Nancy Wilson’s frantic acoustic lead-in poured out of the computer speakers.

She logged onto Facebook and searched for her page. Funny how small the world had become. They had four friends in common.

Curls of steam rose from her mug. She tucked a wayward strand of black hair behind her ear, furtively chewing her lip as she explored the familiar page.

There were no privacy settings on the page so she was able to access the photo albums without restriction.

Charlotte is growing so quickly; what is she? Nine months already? That smile, my God, she looks just like her father. Typical mom.
Any and all pictures taken during the last nine months were of the kid. A couple hundred at least. Images of the preceding nine months boasted an array of growing belly shots.

It seemed that was the trend on Facebook these days. But it made sense. The generation that had popularized social media was growing up. Drunken twenty-something snapshots that paid homage to being young and free of responsibility gave way to wedding and baby photos.

Charlotte. What a cutie. A serious baby, she had her father’s pensive stare, his green eyes that could emit a laser’s focus.

She had the soft features of her mother, full cheeks, wide nose. Pouty lips pursed like a rose ready to bloom. Wisps of sandy blonde hair capped her head.

The child was the center of their universe. Crawling on a plush rug amid a spread of toys. Seated in a high chair with pureed sweet potatoes on her face and in her hair. At Disney World, cradled in her father’s arms as he and her mother posed with Minnie Mouse.

Poor Gina. That baby weight never really came off, relegated to concealment beneath baggy sweatshirts. Her eyes were worn, dog-tired. Framed by black puffy circles like a mask of sleeplessness.

He was still handsome, although showing the signs of wear and tear that began to surface when a man hit his thirties. A thickening of the waistline, a few grays in his brown hair.

Daniella felt a closeness to him, as if she had watched him grow.

Ironic, it seemed, considering they had never met.

Not yet, at least.

She’d seen him through law school and in his early years as a prosecutor. She remembered how he looked in his tuxedo and his beautiful wife in that amazing Enzoani Dakota dress. She watched as they built a life together, bought a gorgeous house in the suburbs. She’d been there through the pregnancy and had adored those precious photos of that little bundle, baby Charlotte.

Sweet as it was, nothing tempered the rage inside of her.

It was his game to win or lose, she had decided. All depended on what he was willing to live without. His wife? His daughter? If he could live without them then she had no leverage.

She was beyond wanting justice. If that was her goal she could have achieved it eleven years earlier. But she didn’t want traditional justice. She wanted this to hurt.

The waiting was finally over.

He was settled. His life, at least on the surface, appeared complete. He had real responsibility now. He had people who loved him and he loved them in return.

Finally. He had something to lose.

“
Oh Anton,” she said, sipping her latte, easing her posture. Her lips spread in a tight smirk. “You have no idea how bad this is going to get.”

CHAPTER 11

Yessenia smiled as Anton walked into the lobby. She was on the phone with one of Jack’s clients but she held up a finger, halting his progress. She handed him a pink phone slip.

She placed her palm over the receiver.

“
Call her right away,” Yessenia mouthed, nodding along as the client rambled. “Uh huh, yes, Mr. Munoz, I’ll…uh huh…yes…yes, Mr. Savarese will call you as soon as he returns.” She rolled her eyes and palmed the receiver once more. “She said it was urgent.”

Anton studied the phone slip. Just a 305 number and a note that read
dv case, husband in custody
.

Anton folded the slip and walked down the hallway to his office. Most of his clients came to him by way of referral or through his website. He paid an SEO firm $2,500 a month to make sure he ranked high in Google searches for popular terms. With almost $300,000 in revenue last year, the investment was paying off.

Anton’s office was small, the same size as those used by Jack’s paralegals, but the view of Biscayne Bay from the window that stretched wall to wall and ceiling to floor behind his desk was enough to entice the clients to hire him if they were having any doubts. Surely a lawyer with that kind of view commanded serious bucks. His show-off wall was adorned with plaques and framed diplomas. His gold prosecutor’s badge was encased in plexiglass with a little engraving memorializing his years of service. A bookcase contained statute books and binders full of training materials that he had taken with him when he left the State Attorney’s Office. Photos of Charlotte and Gina decorated the top of his glass L-shaped desk.

He shook his mouse. His black computer screen came to life. He opened up a Word file and prepared to take down information. He unfolded the pink slip and dialed the number.

After three rings she answered, “Hello?”

“
Good afternoon. This is Anton Mackey, the defense attorney. I’m returning your call.”

“
Oh, thank you so much for the quick call back. You’d have no idea how many other lawyers haven’t been returning my calls.”

She was shopping around, which was common.

He pinned the phone between his ear and shoulder and prepared to type. “How can I help you?”

She let out a heavy exhale into the phone. “My husband was arrested early this morning. He’s being held at TGK. The website says he has no bond. I’ve been trying to call over there to get answers, but they’re so rude on the phone. Nobody wants to help.”

Anton went to the Miami-Dade Corrections website and opened the inmate locator tool.

“
What’s your husband’s name, ma’am?”

Anton entered the first and last name and searched, returning one inmate. He clicked on the booking photo and charge information. Young man, younger than Anton. His light-brown hair was caked with blood just above his forehead. His left eye was swollen shut. His bottom lip was split. Either his wife had adequately defended herself or the cops had done a number on him.

One count of burglary with an assault or battery. That was a non-bondable charge. Anton would have to set an Arthur Hearing. The other two charges were felonies although less serious. Aggravated battery, likely for the work he did to his wife. Resisting an officer with violence.
Ah, the reason for his appearance.
He’d been tuned up good and proper and the cops would call it self-defense.

“
My secretary said this was a domestic violence matter?”

“
I suppose. I mean, we’re still legally married but we’ve been separated for like two months.”

“
So you’re the victim?”

“
Yes.”

Anton calculated the difficulty of the case based on the little information he had. If the victim was the person calling to hire the lawyer, the chances of the charges being dropped increased exponentially.

“
I’d be happy to discuss representing your husband. He has to be the one to agree to hire me, despite your wishes, I’m afraid. But if you’re free this afternoon I have some time.”

“
Great,” she said, relieved. “Can I come now?”

“
Sure.” Waves of warmth ran through his body. He could feel it. A good fee was on the horizon. Criminal defense attorneys had a sixth sense about those things. “I’m located at—”

“
Oh, I know where you are.” He could hear the click of a keyboard. “I’m on your website now. Twelve hundred Brickell? Morton’s Steakhouse is on the first floor?”

“
That’s the one.”

“
Fabulous. I live right down the street so I should be there within fifteen minutes or so, depending on traffic. Well, Mr. Mackey, I can’t thank you enough. The past couple of hours have been absolute hell. I feel better just having spoken to you.”

“
You’re welcome, and I look forward to helping you and your husband. I’m afraid I never caught your name?”

“
Oh, it’s Daniella. Daniella Avery.”

CHAPTER 12

Anton shot off a quick text to Mandy down the hall. Armando Guerrero Investigations occupied a suite on the other end of the floor. Due to the fact that over a third of Mandy’s business came from Jack Savarese’s cases, he rented out an office that put him in close proximity.

Mandy walked in to Anton’s office and stood in the corner. He never sat. He was tall with broad, rolling shoulders. He wore dark jeans and a patterned dress shirt with the cuffs folded back to his mid forearms, revealing, in part, his full-sleeve tats—a bright array of orange koi fish, elaborate detail and shading in their scales. A fire-breathing dragon wrapped around his right arm, its tail spiraling all the way down to his wrist. Mandy had been a Miami Beach police officer for seventeen years before retiring under circumstances that still remained unclear.

Mandy folded his arms across his chest. Anton could see the outline of his concealed Glock 30 underneath his shirt. He was bald and wore a trimmed salt-and-pepper goatee. Seventeen years of police work were etched into his dark Cuban-American skin like erosion on a canyon wall.

“
A DV victim’s coming in,” Anton said from behind his desk. His eyes reflected the light of the computer screen. He clicked on a Word document—his Agreement for Legal Services template. “You didn’t need to arm yourself. I keep mine in the car.”

“
Oye
, you should never go anywhere unarmed. I get up at night to take a piss, I go to the bathroom armed.”

Anton shook his head. “You were a cop way too damn long.”

“
Yeah I was.”

Seven years as a private investigator had earned him more than he had made during his seventeen years in law enforcement. Unmarried, he lived on South Beach, frequenting the clubs and doing the bachelor thing in a fifteenth-story ocean-view apartment at the Flamingo.

“
How’s that girl you were dating? What was her name? Katya?”

Mandy grimaced. “Nah, that was like last month, bro.”

“
What happened to her?”

“
Eh, modeling jobs dried up. Visa expired; she went back to Ukraine.
Pero
that ain’t nothing. Got this new girl, met her at Mansion.”

Anton nodded, following along as he put the finishing touches on the Agreement. He would charge $15,000 for the case with an additional $5,000 for Mandy’s investigative services.

“
She old enough to drink?”