by Laura Snider
The radio was attached to his shirt, perched just below his shoulder. It had a wire coiling down toward his waistline, like a snake slithering down his body. She vaguely wondered where, exactly, that cord ended.
The lock clicked, and she was grateful for the distraction. The door swung open, and Ashley stepped inside. “Thank you,” she said, giving Tom a tight smile.
The attorney-client room was sparsely furnished. Two blue plastic chairs sat across from one another. A small, round table sat between the chairs, pressed against the wall, its legs bolted to the floor. Ashley chose one of the two chairs and sat down.
“I’ll be back with Victor in a minute,” Tom said.
The door slammed behind him hard enough to make Ashley’s teeth chatter. The sudden absence of Tom’s presence left her feeling emptier than she had before arriving. There was a coldness to the jail, but it didn’t come from temperature. It came from a lack. A lack of anything sensory. There were no vibrant colors or the sound of music. No happiness, no joy. Only bland nothingness.
A few moments later, the heavy steel door at the other end of the room opened, and Victor Petrovsky shuffled inside. Shackles wound their way around ankles and up to his hands. They jingled as he walked. He kept his head down, and his long, stringy hair hung over his face like Spanish moss hanging from a tree. He looked eerily like the dead girl from the movie The Ring.
“How are you today, Victor?”
Victor’s gaze rose, but his head did not follow. He glared at her through a small part in his straggly hair. His shoulders were hunched forward in an almost Gollum-like fashion. “Fine.”
“You know what to expect today?”
Ashley tried to find compassion for Victor, but the sentiment was difficult to maintain. Empathy wasn’t a problem for her when it came to most criminal defendants, because most criminals were decent people who made poor decisions. That, or they were born into circumstances that didn’t give them many options. But Victor Petrovsky was different. She’d already probed into his past in preparation for his sentencing. She’d tried to find something, anything, she could argue to mitigate his sentence but came up empty handed.
For example, most sex offenders were also abused when they were children. It didn’t excuse the behavior, but it did build some sympathy. Mostly because the defendant wouldn’t be like that but for his traumatic childhood. Unfortunately, that didn’t apply to Victor. He grew up in an average family. Had normal opportunities. And suffered no abuse. He was just a weird sexual deviant. Which, unsurprisingly, wouldn’t go over well with the judge.
“I am getting out today, right?”
“Presumably.”
“That’s all I care about.”
“You have to stay out of trouble.” Ashley said. “The cops will be watching you closely. You need to make sure you aren’t doing anything wrong. Not even jaywalking.”
Victor nodded, but he wasn’t listening. He was staring off into the distance, like he didn’t care about what she was saying.
“Your sentencing is at three o’clock. Erica Elsberry will be there.” Erica was the victim’s mother. She was another high school classmate of Ashley’s. Like Christopher, Ashley dreaded seeing Erica again but for a very different reason.
Victor snorted. “Erica can suck my dick.”
“Erica would sooner bite your dick off, Lorena Bobbitt style.”
The sudden, violent thought brought Von Reich’s murder to the forefront of Ashley’s mind. It too was a violent crime. One that Erica conveniently discovered. That was no coincidence. Erica had motive and opportunity. The cops were fools if they thought otherwise. But who was she kidding? She’d been dealing with the Brine police force for ten years. They were fools. Ashley shook her head and forced her thoughts back to the task at hand.
“You need to behave at your sentencing hearing. Do you understand me?”
Victor grunted. It was not an agreement.
“I’m serious, Victor. The judge will find you in contempt and throw you back in jail. I’m sure he’ll be looking for reasons to do it. He can give you up to a hundred and eighty days for contempt, so keep that in mind when you’re considering pulling a stunt in there.”
Ashley studied Victor’s face for a reaction, but there was none. She hoped he would listen to her. For once. She needed to get through this hearing with no hiccups. Partially for Victor’s benefit, but mostly for that poor little boy. James Elsberry would be there.
“All right, well.” She clapped her hands together. “I’ll see you at three. And then this will all be over.”
Victor nodded, and Ashley rose from her seat. She pressed the silver intercom button. A clear indication that the meeting was done. As she stood there waiting for Tom to come retrieve Victor, she wondered at the truth of her statement. Would it really be over after today? She very much doubted that. Especially after hearing about Arnold Von Reich’s death. It felt like the beginning of something. And it wasn’t good. Not for her. Not for her clients.
4
Ashley
December 10th – 2:55 p.m.
Ashley drummed her fingers on the table. She looked at her watch, then sighed. She waited another couple of minutes, drummed her fingers, then looked at the clock mounted above the judge’s bench. It was massive, taking up most of the space on the wall. Its hands pointed to elaborately carved roman numerals, the secondhand tick, tick, ticking like a countdown.
Ashley glanced at the table next to hers. It was reserved for the prosecutor. Identical in size and shape, it gave a sense of fairness, but that was just for show. It was false, a lie that only she could see. For the prosecutor’s table was the better table. It was closer to the jury, and closer to the judge. It was newer, fresher.
Ashley looked down at the surface of her table. Someone had carved a stick figure. A man hanging from a noose with X’s for eyes. I feel you, buddy, Ashley thought. Most of Brine’s residents would love to string her up if given the opportunity. She wondered who had made the drawing. It could have been Arnold Von Reich during his trial for his wife’s homicide a year earlier. It was an omen. Von Reich had escaped the criminal justice system but not death.
Ashley shook her head and glanced over at the prosecution table. It was still empty. Elizabeth Clement, the county attorney and lead prosecutor, wasn’t there yet. She was always late. It was intentional. A declaration that she was the superior attorney, Ashley the inferior. Not that it had made any difference when it came to Victor’s verdict. Victor’s near acquittal was an embarrassment to Elizabeth, regardless of where she sat. At least Ashley could find solace in that.
Whispered voices from behind Ashley caught her attention. They came from the gallery, the section reserved for the general public. The area contained thirty rows of benches, each a deep brown with Lady Justice carved into the endcaps. They were similar to church pews. And like church, the ceilings to the courtroom towered overhead, vast and covered with intricate paintings and crown molding. A display of immense power looking down upon her. Judging her. The room was packed like Christmas Mass. Standing room only.
“Did you hear about Arnold Von Reich,” someone whispered.
“Yes. I’m a Christian woman, but it’s hard not to say he didn’t deserve it.”
“Oh, he deserved it. He strutted around town like he done nothing wrong. If I were him, I’d never show my face again.”
“Me either.”
“If you ask me, someone has done us a service, getting rid of him.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far.”
“I would. And if they want to go ahead and take care of Ms. Montgomery and Victor Petrovsky, too, well, I’d be just fine with that.”
Ashley couldn’t help thinking about the letter she’d received in the mail that morning. It was sent to her office and read, You’re next. It was bizarre, but not out of the ordinary. Strange letters were part of her job. Sometimes they came from clients, sometimes from angry victims, so she hadn’t connected it to Arnold’s death
. She’d tossed it in the trash, like she did with all other unsigned letters. She honestly hadn’t thought of it since opening it. At least not until now.
Ashley shook her head, dispelling the thoughts. She refused to turn around and look at the gallery, at their accusations. These were people she had known once upon a time. Her former teachers, coaches, and friends. They were her community. One that had once loved her but long since changed its mind. They didn’t know her anymore. Few people did. And she wouldn’t allow them to hurt her. She wasn’t the criminal here. She hadn’t done anything wrong.
The back doors swung open with a whoosh, and Ashley heard the familiar click, click, click of Elizabeth’s heels against the gleaming marble floor. The prosecutor passed in front of Ashley’s table, and the heavy scent of Cool Water perfume engulfed the entire front of the courtroom. Ashley’s eyes watered and she coughed. She hated perfume, which was probably why Elizabeth had worn so much of it. Elizabeth didn’t look at Ashley as she drifted past. She kept her eyes trained ahead, her nose in the air.
Sore loser, Ashley thought.
Elizabeth’s seat creaked as she settled into her chair.
“Nice of you to join us,” Ashley said.
Elizabeth snorted and whipped a small, expensive-looking computer out of a soft-brown leather case. Ashley gazed at her state-issued laptop. It was large and clunky. Far older and junkier than Elizabeth’s.
The difference between prosecutors and public defenders, Ashley thought. They have money. We do not.
“Where is the defendant?” Elizabeth said, eyeing Ashley suspiciously. To Ashley, Elizabeth looked a little like Miss Piggy. She had a broad bone structure and curly blond hair. The arrogance wasn’t all that far off the mark, either.
“Where do you think? In jail. Your jailers haven’t brought him out yet.”
“They aren’t my jailers. They don’t work for me. They work for the sheriff’s department.”
Ashley rolled her eyes. Sure, Elizabeth was technically right. But the sheriff’s department was law enforcement, and as county attorney, Elizabeth Clement was the chief law enforcement officer in Brine County.
Ashley flashed an overly toothy grin. “Well, I’m sure they will be happy to bring him if you bother to ask.”
As though in response, the back door swung open.
Elizabeth smiled tightly. “I guess I don’t have to.”
The audience stilled as the familiar rattle of chains made their way up the aisle. Ashley turned on instinct and tried not to wince. Old Mrs. Toddlier, Ashley’s kindergarten teacher, crossed her arms and glared at Ashley. Mr. Banks, Ashley’s neighbor to the south, sneered with open resentment. Mikey Money, the owner of Mikey’s Tavern, shook his head and scowled deeply. Ashley was not on trial, yet she was surrounded by judgment. Expressions that burned their way into her soul. Wounds that would heal, but not without jagged scars.
Ashley tore her gaze from the accusatory crowd, focusing on the one kind face in the courtroom. Tom Archie. His blue eyes locked onto hers. They sparkled and danced as he led her client toward her.
“Hey, Ashley,” Tom whispered when he and Victor reached the defense table.
Ashley nodded, but she didn’t smile. She wouldn’t in front of Victor. She was a defense attorney. Her job was to show solidarity with her client. They were a team, no matter how much she disliked his actions. She was his advocate. The only one on his side. She would stay in her lane, play her role, even though it stoked the anger of the crowd and placed a target on her back.
“Have a seat, Victor,” Ashley said, pulling the chair out for him.
Victor narrowed his eyes. “Don’t tell me what to do. I’ll sit when I wanna sit.”
Ashley sighed. So, this was how the hearing was going to go. Ashley had been working with Victor for a year, and his moods could only be described as inconsistent.
“And do you want to sit?”
“Yeah.” Victor’s chains rattled as he slowly and deliberately lowered himself into his seat. “I thought I said no cameras.” Victor nodded toward the back corner where two reporters stood next to a camera with Channel 8 News prominently displayed on its side.
“But you look so handsome.”
Ashley had begged Victor to cut his hair. When he’d refused, she’d requested that he wash it. When that was denied, she’d asked him to pull it back into a ponytail. He hadn’t. So much for listening to his attorney.
Victor’s wild gray eyes met hers. He maintained eye contact for far too long. It was a challenge. Something he had done throughout the trial. It was meant to unnerve her, place him on the Ted Bundy level of creepiness, but she’d learned there was only one way to beat his challenge. And that was to win.
Ashley spoke slowly, deliberately. She did not blink. She did not look away. “The judge granted the request for expanded media coverage. That includes cameras. I told you a week ago.”
“Fuck that.” Victor broke eye contact and leaned over, spitting on the floor.
Ashley groaned inwardly. The hearing was going to be a shit show. A train wreck that she couldn’t avoid.
A snort came from behind the prosecution bench.
Against her better judgment, Ashley turned to see Officer Katie Mickey staring directly at her. Officer Mickey also held Ashley’s gaze for far too long for comfort. Another challenge. A very different one, but a challenge all the same.
The day was shaping up to be a shitty day, indeed. Two encounters with Officer Self-Righteous. How did Ashley get so lucky? She pushed back her growing anxiety and forced a sardonic smile to her lips. She raised a hand and waggled her fingers in a mock wave.
Katie’s expression darkened. She looked from Victor to Ashley, then muttered, “You’re as guilty as he is.”
The statement didn’t come as a surprise, but the allegation bit Ashley like the howling winter winds. It wasn’t the words; it was the unfairness. She’d done her job, that was all. It didn’t mean she thought sexual assault was a good thing. It meant that she was ethical. That she’d done her duty to her client. Not that Katie Mickey would ever understand.
Ashley silently chided herself. She shouldn’t care what any officer thought of her. But she couldn’t control her emotions. The only thing she could control was how others perceived them. And she would not appear weak. Not to anyone. Especially not Katie Mickey. She steeled her heart and mouthed back, “As are you, my darling. As are you.”
Katie gripped the railing separating the attorneys from the gallery. Her fingernails dug into the wood and her knuckles turned white as her face flushed a fire-engine red.
“Calm down,” Ashley murmured. “Your face is almost as red as your hair.”
“You’re despicable,” Katie hissed through clenched teeth.
Shit, Ashley thought. She might have taken it a little too far this time. She wanted to turn away from Katie’s intense, murderous gaze. But their stares were already locked. She’d committed to the challenge. She couldn’t quit now. Then she’d lose, and she wouldn’t lose to Katie Mickey. The two women stared one another down for what felt like hours. Then a voice cut through their bullshit.
“All rise,” the bailiff shouted.
Ashley could kiss the bailiff for his timely interruption. But instead, she forced a smile. It was another outrageously toothy grin, meant to be grating. The flash of rage in Katie’s eyes said that she caught Ashley’s intent.
Ashley waved, then turned to face the front of the courtroom. It’s time, she thought. Victor’s sentencing hearing was about to begin. Soon it would all be over, and she could disappear into the background. No more TV cameras. No more hateful glares. No more threats. Or so she hoped.
5
Katie
December 10th – 3:15 p.m.
“All rise,” the bailiff shouted. His voice was deep and solemn. Like an undertaker delivering a eulogy.
The hair on Katie’s neck rose. It was time. She broke away from Ashley’s gaze, loosened her grip on the railing and stood. Ever
yone around her followed suit with almost robotic precision. Her heart raced. Her mind cleared. The rage dissipated.
A door behind the judge’s bench swung open. “The Honorable Judge Ahrenson presiding,” the bailiff said.
The judge was an older man, perhaps in his late sixties. He stood erect with his shoulders back and head held high. He had a thin, wiry build, the physique of a runner. He strutted into the courtroom, his black robe billowing behind him like a cape.
Judge Ahrenson took his time lowering himself into his seat. His bench was four or five steps above the rest of the courtroom, lending the judge a God-like quality as he looked down upon the masses and rendered judgment.
Judge Ahrenson cleared his throat, sifted through several papers at the bench, then looked up and said, “You may be seated.”
The room erupted with the sound of shuffling feet and creaking benches as the gallery of onlookers reclaimed their seats. Katie’s eyes darted from left to right, taking in those around her, wondering which gazes were accusatory and which were platonic. Nobody met her eye.
“We are convened today in Brine County, case number FECR012547, State of Iowa versus Victor Petrovsky,” Judge Ahrenson said. His voice was clear and crisp. The same as it had been when he’d rendered his ruling granting the defendant’s motion to suppress.
Katie’s mind flashed back to that day, back when the case changed from a slam dunk to flimsy. She’d been on the stand, under cross-examination by Ashley Montgomery.
Who drafted the search warrant? Ashley had asked.
I did.
Do you have a copy of Defendant’s Exhibit 2 up there at the stand, Officer Mickey?
Yes.
Please look at it. Is Exhibit 2 a copy of the search warrant you drafted?
Yes.
Tell me, what address is listed on that search warrant?
910 Main Street.
And where does Mr. Petrovsky live?