Violent Crimes (5 page)

Carol White's apartment was a real shithole. Peeling wallpaper, mold growing on a pee-colored carpet encrusted with food she'd dropped and never bothered to pick up, all topped off by a terrific view of a brick wall and Dumpsters. Carol lay on her side on her bed. Its mattress sagged and the stained and sweat-soaked sheets stank, but she was hurting and she didn't have the energy to think about her apartment, her bottom-feeder life, or anything beyond how she was going to get a fix.

Carol needed a fix bad, and she'd already burned through the money she'd been paid to lie about this Beatty guy. She had to think, but thinking was hard when the craving was on her.

The TV was on. It was her only companion and she kept it running every minute of the day whether she was awake or asleep. The programs distracted her and the sound was comforting. Carol rolled onto her side and stared at the screen. A lacquer-haired broadcaster was talking about a lawyer at a big law firm who had been beaten to death. A man named Tom Beatty was under arrest.

Carol started to hyperventilate. She had not signed on for this. This was fucked. Carol sat up and gulped down air until she was calmer. Then she forced herself to think. The adrenaline generated by the news story had sharpened her senses, and a plan flashed into her suddenly alert brain. These people were not people you fucked with, but she was desperate, and it occurred to Carol that this could be the opportunity of a lifetime if she played her cards right.

Carol made a decision. She found her phone and punched in a number. Moments later, she heard a familiar voice.

“What are you doing calling me?” the man asked. Carol could tell he was furious. She willed herself to stay businesslike.

“It was on TV. You never told me someone was going to be killed.”

“I'm not going to get into this on the phone.”

“Then we should meet, and when we do you're going to give me ten thousand dollars.”

There was silence on the other end. Then the man said, “Tonight. We'll meet, we'll talk.”

“There's nothing to talk about. Give me what I asked for and you'll never see me again. I'll move far away. Otherwise, I'm sure the DA would love to hear about your little plan.”

When the man spoke again he sounded contrite. “Okay, you hold all the cards. Pick a place. It should be private—we don't want to be seen.”

Carol had started to say something when warning bells went off. A lot of things could happen to her in a private place.

“We meet downtown in Pioneer Courthouse Square.”

“Someone could see us there.”

“So wear a disguise. We won't be together very long anyway. We walk past each other and you hand me the bag with the money. After that, I'm gone.”

“Okay. What time?”

“Five o'clock,” she said, picking an hour when there would be plenty of people around.

Carol hung up. She was scared but she also felt proud of herself. She'd been in control, in charge. And she'd soon be rich. Ten thousand fucking dollars. She'd never possessed anything near that sum. Carol paused. Maybe she should have asked for more. Then she shook her head. No, that was a lot of money, and there was no need to be greedy.

Carol left her apartment at four thirty. She was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt with a hoodie, and she was carrying her worldly possessions in a backpack. Pioneer Courthouse Square was on the other side of the river and too far to walk, so she headed for the bus stop. The thought that she was going to be rich energized her. She was so pumped that she didn't pay attention to what was going on around her until a black van pulled to the curb. Its side door slid open and the man who had been following her shoved her into the opening. Carol started to scream but a cloth was pressed over her mouth. Seconds later, Carol and her dreams died.

Two days after Tom Beatty's arrest, Kate Ross told her boss that the scuttlebutt around the courthouse was that Larry Frederick had begged for Tom's case. When his wish was granted, he quickly convened a grand jury that returned a true bill charging aggravated murder. One of the potential penalties for aggravated murder was death.

That afternoon a messenger delivered a thick manila envelope with a copy of the indictment and several hundred pages of police, forensic, and autopsy reports. After receiving the discovery, Amanda placed a call to Larry Frederick. His secretary told Amanda that the DA was unavailable, and he remained unavailable every time Amanda called. That was odd, because Larry Frederick was one of the most accessible prosecutors in the Multnomah County District Attorney's Office.

The day after she received the discovery package, Amanda went to the courthouse for Tom Beatty's arraignment. The case had been assigned to the Honorable David Chang, a former pros
ecutor who had shown no favoritism to the prosecution or the defense since taking the bench five years before. Cathy Prieto-Smith was the only lawyer seated at the prosecution table. She was tall and slim, had auburn hair cut in a pixie style, and was wearing a severe black business suit and an open-neck, cream-colored blouse. Amanda wondered if Larry Frederick was going to skip the arraignment.

Amanda took her seat at counsel table and set up her laptop while she waited for the deputies to bring in her client. Moments later, the courtroom door opened and Frederick entered. He did not look at Amanda when he walked to his seat or after he sat down, so Amanda took the initiative.

“Hi, Larry,” she said when she was standing next to the DA. When he turned toward her, she was shocked. Frederick had the washed-out appearance of a man who was having trouble sleeping.

“Amanda,” Frederick answered tersely.

“You know I've been calling since I heard you got Tom's case.”

“I do. And I haven't returned the calls because we have nothing to talk about. I blame myself for Christine Larson's death, and I'm going to set things right by putting your client on death row.”

“You're not serious? You have a duty to see that justice is done in every case you handle. Tom acted in self-defense—your own investigation showed that. If you hadn't dropped the case, you would have been violating your oath.”

“I'm in no mood to discuss legal philosophy and ethics. Christine Larson is dead because I didn't prosecute Beatty and I'm not making the same mistake twice. So let me make myself clear:
There will be no plea-bargaining in this case; no life without parole, no plea to manslaughter. Your client is going to die for what he's done.”

“Jesus, Larry.”

“I assume you received the discovery.”

“Yes. Thank you for being so prompt.”

“I intend to follow the letter of the law in this case. You will receive everything you are entitled to when you are entitled to receive it. If you have any problem with the way I'm conducting this case let me know. I am going to cross every
t
and dot every
i
, and when you go through the transcript during your preparation for your client's appeal of his sentence of death, you will discover no errors. Your client will go from our jail to death row and stay there, thinking about what he did to Miss Larson until his miserable life ends in the death chamber.”

Neither Amanda nor Mike was a decent cook and their jobs often kept them in their offices well past five o'clock, so they ate out a lot. On the day of Tom Beatty's arraignment, the couple met for dinner at an Italian restaurant on Morrison. Amanda was a hearty eater, so Mike knew something was up when she spent the first ten minutes picking at her food and staring at the table.

“What's wrong?” Mike asked when he couldn't stand it anymore.

“Off limits,” she answered.

“I want to help.”

Amanda looked up, and Mike could see she was in distress. “I can't, Mike. When we started dating we agreed that we would
never discuss our cases if the discussion might create an ethical conflict. If I told you what's bothering me it would put you in a bind. You could be accused of helping me.”

“Let me guess. It's the Beatty case.”

“I told you, I can't discuss it.”

“Larry is stonewalling you. No plea bargaining, right?”

“Goddamn it, Mike.”

Mike didn't let Amanda's anger faze him. “Larry has a hard-on about this case. It's a vendetta. I didn't want him to prosecute it because he's too involved personally but I was overruled. You are going to have to live with the fact that this one is to the death, literally. So stop worrying about how unfair Larry's attitude is and fight for your client.”

Amanda stayed angry for a few seconds more. Then she looked embarrassed.

“You're right, Mike. Thanks for giving me a stiff kick in the butt.”

“Well, it's a very nice butt so it's my pleasure.”

Amanda laughed. “You know what I like best about you? You've always been there for me, even when I treated you like shit.”

Mike smiled. “It's worth the abuse. You're very special.”

Then Mike stopped smiling and looked uncomfortable.

“There's something we need to discuss,” he said. Amanda heard a slight tremor in Mike's voice, which surprised her. If there was one thing she knew for certain about her boyfriend, it was that he was always self-confident.

“What's on your mind?” Amanda asked.

“You know I went through a bad divorce.”

Amanda nodded.

“That's the reason I moved to Oregon from California.”

Amanda nodded again, not sure where this was going.

“So trusting someone—a woman—isn't easy for me.”

Mike paused and took a deep breath. “Look, I'll just say it. I love you and I want to be with you and having two apartments, well, it doesn't make sense because we each have clothes in the other person's place and we're one place or the other almost every weekend.”

Mike paused again and took another breath. “We should move in together. You can choose the place; I don't care as long as we're together.”

Amanda hesitated. Her romance with Mike had been rocky at times, especially when she had been traumatized by the events in the Cardoni case, but any of their problems had always been her fault. Despite that and a lot of other things, he was always in her corner and never judged her. Amanda's problem was that she valued her independence, and moving in together was a big step.

“This is sudden,” she said to stall for time.

“Not for me. I've been thinking about it for a while. I just had to work up the courage to talk about it. If you don't want to I'll understand,” he added quickly.

“No, it's not that. It's just . . . Well, it's a big move and . . . Can you give me some time to think?”

“Sure, take all the time you want,” Mike said with a smile, but Amanda could see that the smile was forced, and that he was hurt that she hadn't accepted immediately.

Amanda reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “I really care about you, Mike, you know that.”

“I shouldn't have just dropped this on you,” he said, backtracking.

Amanda squeezed his hand again. “No, don't think that way. You are the best thing in my life. You've been my rock through good times and bad. This is just a lot to get my head around. So give me some time, okay?”

“Okay.”

Amanda leaned back. The moment was awkward, and she could see that Mike was struggling to think of something to say. So she smiled and asked, “So, how about those Blazers?”

Mike burst out laughing, and Amanda joined him.

Now it was Mike's turn to squeeze Amanda's hand.

“You're the best,” he said.

The morning after the arraignment, Amanda walked across town to meet Kate Ross at Dale Masterson's law office. Thinking about her conversation with Mike had kept her up most of the night and she was exhausted. Did she love him? If she did, moving in would be the right thing to do. She tried to analyze his proposal the way she worked through a problem on one of her cases, but lawyers were trained to be unemotional and objective when analyzing the issues in a case, and love was all emotion.

Amanda kept thinking about the move during her crosstown walk, and she was still conflicted when she saw Kate in Masterson, Hamilton's waiting room.

“We may have caught a break,” Kate said as soon as Amanda was seated next to her.

“What makes you say that?” Amanda asked, grateful for a chance to think about something other than her personal situation.

“I went through the discovery. Have you read the affidavit for the search warrant carefully?”

“I skimmed it, but I was too busy to give it a hard read.”

“Okay. Well, two things stand out. First, Carol White told Nowicki that Beatty took her to his house. No drug dealer with an ounce of brains would take a junkie to his house. And then there are the dates when Carol White claims that she bought heroin from our client.”

“What about the dates?” Amanda asked.

Before Kate could answer her question, an attractive woman entered the waiting room.

“Ms. Jaffe?”

“Yes?”

“I'm Julie Birnbaum, Mr. Masterson's legal assistant. He can see you now.”

Amanda and Kate followed Birnbaum down a long hall to a corner office. When his assistant opened the door, Dale Masterson walked around his desk and crossed the room.

“Thank you for seeing me and my investigator, Mr. Masterson,” Amanda said.

“Dale, please. This has been terrible. Christine was a valued member of our firm and a very decent person. And Tom . . . I don't know him that well but . . . Well I know about his assault charge. Still, that was self-defense.”

Masterson shook his head, and Amanda noticed that every one of his silver gray hairs stayed perfectly in place. The law firm's managing partner was a little over six feet tall and looked fit and muscular. Amanda had researched his background and knew he'd played football and wrestled at Arizona before going to law school at the University of Washington. Masterson sported a perfect tan and was wearing a suit that Amanda guessed had
been hand-tailored. If she didn't know what the lawyer did for a living, Amanda would have guessed that he was an actor or a TV news anchor.

Masterson indicated two client chairs and returned to his seat behind the desk.

“How can I help you?” Masterson asked after they were all seated.

“I've read the police reports. Several witnesses said that Christine and Tom Beatty had an argument a few days before Christine was murdered. There are other witnesses who told the police that shortly before Tom and Christine argued, Christine had left your office and appeared to be upset. Can you tell me what upset her?”

“Yes, I can. How well do you know Christine?”

“We were classmates in law school. She was in my study group.”

Masterson flashed a sad smile. “Then you know your friend was strong-minded.”

Amanda nodded.

Masterson sighed. “Christine was assisting me with a case. I can't go into details—the case involves a negotiation we were conducting for a client, so the details are privileged. I can tell you that we had diametrically opposed views on how a certain matter should be handled and she argued very strongly that I should adopt her approach. When I declined to do so, she became upset.” Masterson shrugged. “That's all there was to it.”

“Do you have anyone named Albert Roth working at your firm in any capacity: contract work, a security guard?”

“Not that I know of. I can ask HR to check our records. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“I'd like Kate to talk to the people who told the police about
the argument between Christine and Tom and other people at the firm who might be character or fact witnesses. Would that be okay?”

“Certainly, with the proviso that there be no discussion about specific cases.”

“Naturally,” Amanda agreed. “I'd especially like to talk to Brittney Vandervelden, Christine's secretary. Can we see her now?”

“I'll have my secretary ask Brittney to go to one of our conference rooms. And, if there's nothing else, I have a meeting for which I need to prepare.”

“What did you think?” Amanda asked Kate as they walked to the conference room where Brittney Vandervelden was waiting.

“He's very smooth,” Kate said, “and, to be honest, I couldn't get a read on him.”

“Me either. If he was lying about why Christine was upset, I couldn't tell.”

They arrived at the conference room to find an attractive, very nervous redhead waiting for them.

“Thanks for meeting with us,” Amanda said after she'd introduced Kate and they'd taken seats at one end of a long conference table. “How are you holding up?”

“I'm not great,” Brittney answered quietly. “I really liked Christine and Tom. I . . . It's hard to believe he could . . .”

“If it helps any, Tom vehemently denies hurting Christine, and I believe him.”

Brittney nodded.

“Have you ever seen anything that would lead you to be
lieve that Tom would do something like this?” Amanda asked.

“No, never. They really got along, and Christine helped him when he got arrested. Tom was very grateful.”

“In the police reports, several people said they'd heard an argument between Tom and Christine. Do you know what that was about?”

Suddenly Brittney looked nervous. The conference room had a glass wall through which she could see the hall. Brittney took a quick look through the glass before shaking her head.

“I heard them talking in loud voices but I couldn't hear what they said.”

“So you don't know why they argued?”

Brittney broke eye contact with Amanda and shook her head.

“Shortly before the argument, I understand Christine came back from a meeting with Mr. Masterson and was upset. Do you know why?”

“No.”

Amanda studied Brittney for a moment. She was certain that Christine's secretary was holding something back but decided not to press her. She could always have Kate contact Brittney later.

“The police are going to say that Tom killed Christine in a lovers' quarrel. Have you ever seen anything that would make you believe Tom and Christine were romantically involved?”

This time Brittney looked directly at Amanda. “Absolutely not! A detective came to the firm. He interviewed me and several other people. He knew about the argument Tom had with Christine. Someone else heard them. Probably one of the people in the cubicles on either side of mine. He wanted me to say it was a lov
ers' quarrel but I told him I was certain that Tom and Christine only had a working relationship.” She paused. “I don't think he believed me. I don't think he wanted to believe me. He kept asking me why Christine would be in Tom's bedroom if they weren't romantically involved.”

“Tom assures me that he and Christine were coworkers and nothing more,” Amanda said.

“You should believe him, and if anyone says they were lovers, well, that would be a lie.”

Kate and Amanda spent another twenty minutes talking to Brittney before excusing her so they could interview some of the others who had heard the quarrel.

“What do you think?” Amanda asked Kate.

“There's something she's not telling us,” Kate said. “I'd like to give her a day or two to think, then take another shot at her.”

“I agree.”