by Laura Snider
911 Main Street.
Where did you search?
911 Main Street.
So, you searched Victor Petrovsky’s residence without a valid search warrant, didn’t you?
No. Exhibit 2 is the search warrant.
Wrong, Officer Mickey. Exhibit 2 is the search warrant for 910 Main Street. Not 911 Main Street. Are you telling me that there is a separate search warrant issued for 911 Main Street?
No.
Then there was no valid search warrant.
It was a typo. One that Katie had failed to notice. A serious mistake that had cost most of the evidence in the case, including video recordings of the assault and diaries illustrating Petrovsky’s history of deviant thinking.
“The purpose of today’s hearing is to sentence the defendant.”
Judge Ahrenson’s voice broke through Katie’s thoughts, bringing her back to the moment.
“I see no pending motions. Are the parties ready to proceed?” The judge’s eyes shifted toward the defense table.
“Yes, Your Honor,” Ashley Montgomery said. The defense attorney exuded her characteristic smugness, her swagger. It wasn’t in the way she spoke; it was in the set of her shoulders. In the way she drummed her nails against the table.
The judge turned toward the prosecutor.
“Yes,” Elizabeth Clement said with a nod.
Elizabeth’s posture was rigid, her lips dipped into a deep scowl. It was clear she did not want to be there. If she had her way, the judge would lock Victor up and throw away the key. But that wasn’t a possibility, thanks to Katie’s mistake.
“Very well. Then we shall proceed. Today is the day set for sentencing, the jury, having found Victor Petrovsky guilty of the lesser included offense of assault with intent to commit sexual abuse.”
Katie would never forget that verdict. They were called back into the courtroom after two days of deliberation. She’d sat next to George, chewing her nails and tapping her foot. She’d tried to catch each of the juror’s eyes as they filed back into the courtroom, but nobody would meet her gaze.
It had been a bad sign. She’d thought that perhaps they’d settled on a lesser felony, but she’d never expected a misdemeanor. For the life of her, she couldn’t work out how they’d come to such a decision. The only option was a compromise. Meaning the jury couldn’t agree, so they chose an offense that landed somewhere between acquittal and conviction. She wished they wouldn’t have settled. That they had hung. Then, at least, Elizabeth could refile the charges and keep Victor in jail through his second trial.
“The offense carries up to one year in jail.” Here Judge Ahrenson paused. He looked at the prosecutor over the top of his bifocals. “Is there any evidence on behalf of the State?”
Elizabeth rose to her feet. “Yes, Your Honor. Ms. Erica Elsberry, the victim’s mother, is prepared to deliver a victim impact speech.”
Katie’s stomach twisted at the sight of Erica. Her son, James Elsberry, was six years old when Petrovsky assaulted him. The poor boy was forever changed. And thanks to Katie’s typo, Petrovsky would suffer little to no punishment. Katie had failed James, and she’d failed Erica.
“Very well,” the judge said.
The prosecutor turned and motioned toward the gallery. Erica rose and shuffled past several people to get to the aisle. She straightened her dress, then headed toward the witness stand. Erica wore heavy makeup and looked to be in her late thirties. She wore a bright red dress that was far too tight for her figure. It was a loud outfit, entirely inappropriate for court.
“Step up and have a seat at the witness stand,” Judge Ahrenson said.
The room was so silent that Katie could hear herself breathe. Her breaths came too quickly, too harshly. She was hyperventilating. A darkness crept in from the edges of her vision. She was going to faint, which was something she couldn’t allow. She’d never live it down at the station. She needed to get control of herself. To do that, she focused on George next to her. He was calm, steady. Breathing in and out. In and out. She tried to match his cadence and willed her heart to quit pounding.
Erica moved slowly and paused next to the defense table. She turned her gaze to Ashley and Victor, casting them a dark scowl, born of pure hatred. It was an expression built and cultivated by a woman who had lost everything she held dear.
That was when Victor started laughing. It was a dangerous cackle that held no humor. A threat of sorts. The sound reverberated off the walls, bouncing around the shocked room. The crowd broke out into hushed whispers. Katie could hear tidbits from several conversations around her.
I’d like to smash his head against that table.
Does Judge Ahrenson have a gun back there? He should shoot him dead between the eyes.
I wish Von Reich’s killer were here. He could finish Petrovsky off, and nobody would say they seen a thing.
Katie’s heart skipped a beat. Was Von Reich’s killer in the courtroom? It was possible. Even probable. She turned to look at the rows of people behind her. Her eyes skipped over the faces of her neighbors, her friends. Were any of them capable of killing? But of course they were. Anyone can become a killer if pushed over the line. The question was, whose line had Von Reich crossed—and was Petrovsky next?
6
Ashley
December 10th – 3:30 p.m.
“For the love of God, shut your fucking mouth,” Ashley growled into Victor’s ear.
She leaned over. As she did, her palm pressed against one of the rough carvings in the defense table. She lifted her hand and looked at it. It was one simple word, or rather un-word.
Unfreedom.
Ashley had sat at that table hundreds of times before, and that bit of graffiti always caught her attention. It wasn’t a word identified in Webster’s Dictionary, and for that reason, Ashley thought it gave a glimpse into the soul of the person who had carved it. The idea that he or she believed that true freedom was as real as that word. Unfreedom.
Victor didn’t stop laughing. It made Ashley think of another un-word. Unbelievable.
“The judge is going to throw you back in jail for contempt,” Ashley said. She stomped on his foot while simultaneously jabbing him in the side with her elbow.
Victor grunted, then whispered, “Stop.”
“No. You stop.”
Shockingly, he did, and the room fell back into silence.
The judge glared at Victor for two additional beats, then settled back into his seat. He nodded toward the witness stand and motioned to Erica. “Come on up,” he said.
When Erica reached the front of the courtroom, she slowly sank into the witness seat. She scanned the room, traveling from one face to the next. Her gaze met Ashley’s, holding it for a long, tense moment. A shiver ran up Ashley’s spine. She was acutely aware of the hate surrounding her. It hung in the air. Dense and heavy.
Erica closed her eyes and cleared her throat. The silence deepened.
“You may begin,” Judge Ahrenson said.
Erica’s eyes popped open, and she produced a small piece of paper by reaching between her breasts and pulling it from her bra. She carefully unfolded it and smoothed it out.
Nobody moved. The silence of the room pressed into Ashley’s eardrums. Beating against her skull with a deafening emptiness.
“My son,” Erica began, “was innocent.” She blinked hard, fighting tears. “My son was a normal, happy child. He loved to play games; he loved to read books. Now…” Her voice grew stronger, darker. “Now he takes no joy in anything. Why?” she asked, her eyes flashing with fury. “Because that man,” she pointed an accusatory finger at Victor Petrovsky, “stole his innocence. That man,” her voice rose to a shout, “raped my son.”
Ashley agreed that Victor held 90 percent of the cake when it came to blame, but his assault hadn’t occurred in a vacuum. Erica had played her own role. It was she who had befriended Victor, not the other way around. Victor was a neighbor of Erica’s most recent boyfriend. He’d offered to babysit
James, and it was Erica who’d said yes. It was Erica who had allowed James to spend the night at an adult man’s home three nights a week.
She wasn’t paying Victor as a babysitter, so she should have wondered what he was getting out of it. As a mother, she should have researched Victor’s background or, at the very least, investigated his home. He lived in a one-bedroom house, and he already had a criminal history including several minor stalking and peeping charges. But Erica hadn’t done any research. She’d chosen to bury her head in the sand. To exchange her son’s safety for her own freedom. And for that, Ashley felt Erica deserved at least 10 percent of the blame.
Erica’s arm remained outstretched, and she paused. She looked straight at Petrovsky with unmitigated hate. Her gaze was frigid and biting, like the howling winds of a late-winter storm. Ashley had seen that look before. It was in the same courtroom, a little over a year earlier. The reading of Von Reich’s verdict.
All the same parties were involved. The same judge, prosecutor, and defense attorney. Erica had been in the gallery, sitting directly behind Elizabeth Clement. Everyone waited in tense silence as the bailiff retrieved the verdict form from the foreperson and placed it in Judge Ahrenson’s hands.
The judge had stared at the verdict form for a long moment before uttering two earth-shattering words. “Not. Guilty.”
Ashley hadn’t thought she’d heard correctly. She’d been prepared for the second word, but not the first. Sometimes she didn’t realize just how convincing she could be when in her element. Arnold must have felt the same way, because his knees buckled when he heard the verdict. Ashley caught him before he crashed to the floor, and carefully lowered him into his seat. She’d looked up to see the same searing gaze from Erica. It had been directed at Arnold back then, and now Arnold was dead.
Erica slammed a fist on the podium, pulling Ashley out of her memories. Erica was no longer looking at Victor; she had moved on to Ashley. “This is your fault,” Erica growled, leaning forward and gripping the edge of the witness box. “Your fault,” she repeated. “I never thought I would be in this position with you again.”
Ashley pursed her lips.
“If you hadn’t represented Petrovsky, if you hadn’t represented Von Reich, if you hadn’t fought so hard, they’d be in prison.” Erica slammed her fist down again.
Ashley flinched. Erica was always hot-tempered. It was part of what fueled her popularity as a girl. People liked to watch her drama. To see her seethe and rage. Kids back then wanted a show, and Erica wasn’t one to disappoint.
“You hear me?” Erica’s voice had risen several octaves, becoming a shriek. “He’d be where he belongs. Now, after all you’ve done, he’s going to walk free.”
Erica focused on Ashley for what felt like forever, slowly wearing her down. Ashley almost reached the point of breaking, cracking her calm, cool, and collected façade. But then it was over, and Erica turned her attention back to Victor.
“You dare smile at me? After what you have done?”
Ashley looked at Victor. He wore a maniacal, Joker-like grin. It was the craziest expression she had ever seen outside horror films and Halloween costumes.
“Mark my words,” Erica hissed, “you will be sorry. I will make sure that you get yours.” Her eyes skipped up to meet Ashley’s once again. “And you, too.”
“Easy,” Judge Ahrenson said, eyeing Erica irritably. As a victim, he would allow her some leeway, but she was stepping over the line.
Erica nodded and lowered her head, cowed. It didn’t make much difference to Ashley. The words could not be unsaid.
Ashley swallowed hard, her mind skipping back to that letter. You’re next, it said. That was exactly what Erica was saying to her here in the courtroom in front of all these people. It seemed as though she had found her letter writer.
7
Katie
December 10th – 4:00 p.m.
Erica’s victim impact speech ended, and the judge delivered his sentence. He sentenced Victor to one year in jail, as expected, with credit for time already served. Victor had already completed his full sentence while awaiting trial. He was getting out.
After delivering his sentence, the judge left the courtroom, his silky black robe flashing in the fluorescent lighting with the same flourish and fanfare as when he had entered. Once he was gone, Ashley patted her client on the back and rose to her feet. She walked up to the prosecutor’s table, stopping inches away from Elizabeth Clement. Elizabeth stood up, but she didn’t look at Ashley. She kept her gaze down as she packed her laptop in its case.
What is Ashley doing? Katie wondered. The defense attorney was practically breathing down Elizabeth’s neck. Why was she standing so close?
Ashley stood there silently for a few moments. She clasped her hands together, then rocked from her heels to her toes. Elizabeth was deliberately ignoring her. There was no way she didn’t notice the defense attorney.
“Ahem.” Ashley cleared her throat and offered her hand to shake.
Elizabeth looked at Ashley’s hand. She did not offer her own. Without a word, she slung the strap of her laptop bag over her shoulder and stormed out of the courtroom. It was unprofessional but unsurprising. Elizabeth was an emotional prosecutor. She took her cases personally. The release of a dangerous person like Victor back into the community, her community, was unthinkable and a gloating defense attorney unbearable.
Ashley shook her head and returned to the defense table. The jail administrator, Tom Archie, removed Victor’s wrist and ankle chains. He would lead him back to the jail and release him from there. Katie hadn’t had more than a passing conversation with Tom, but the guy was always smiling. It was impossible to dislike him. Even though his infectious grin was currently directed at Ashley.
A few moments later, Tom left with Victor, and Ashley sat back down at the defense table.
“There’s something wrong with her,” Katie mumbled.
George stood and stretched. “What was that?”
Katie shook her head. Ashley remained at the defense table, facing the front of the courtroom. She hadn’t begun to pick up the documents strewn across her table or to shut down her old, clunky laptop. She didn’t look like she intended to leave anytime soon.
“Why is she still here? She should have left with her dirtbag client.”
George looked from Katie to Ashley, then back to Katie. He sighed. “Don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“It’s over. There isn’t anything you can do.”
“There’s something off about that woman,” Katie said, more to herself than to George. “I don’t know what it is, but I intend to find out.”
“Oh, no, you don’t.” George grabbed Katie’s elbow and began pulling her toward the back door.
Katie twisted her arm, but George’s grip only tightened. “Let me go,” she demanded.
“Not until we are out of here.”
“Why?”
George kept pulling her arm, following the tail end of the crowd. They exited behind the few stragglers that had waited to watch Petrovsky leave the courtroom.
“Because,” George said through gritted teeth. “You are going to make a fool out of yourself. And the police department. I’m saving you from that inevitability. You can thank me later.”
“Let me go.”
“Not until you promise not to go back in there,” George said, nodding to the courtroom.
They were out in the hallway, where many of those that had attended Petrovsky’s sentencing had stalled. The group was fairly quiet, but the air was thick with gossiping whispers. Something was afoot.
Katie snorted. “Fine.”
“Fine, what?”
“I promise not to go back into the courtroom.”
“Okay.”
George loosened his grip, and Katie yanked her arm away. “There’s probably going to be a bruise.”
“That’s your fault, not mine. Now, are you coming back to the station with me?”
&
nbsp; Katie narrowed her eyes. “Are you going to stop bossing me around?”
“I will as soon as you come to your senses about that defense attorney.”
“I already said I wouldn’t go back in there.”
George frowned. It was not an expression he usually wore, at least not with Katie.
Katie sighed. “I promise I’ll behave myself. I was just hoping to find…err…” She tried to think of some excuse to stay. “Erica. I wanted to talk to her to, you know, to get more background on the Von Reich murder.”
It wasn’t a lie, per se. Katie really did need to get in touch with Erica. Her victim impact speech was moving, but it also referenced Arnold Von Reich. It meant that Erica wasn’t quite over his acquittal of his wife’s murder. It was nothing more than a hunch, but hunches could turn into a lead. And they needed a break before the Von Reich murder investigation went cold.
George nodded slowly, but he didn’t look convinced. “Speaking of Von Reich, we got a match for the fingerprints on the BIC lighter.”
“Seriously?” Katie’s eyebrows rose in shock.
“You’re not going to believe this, but they belong to Petrovsky.”
“What?” Katie shook her head. He was right; she didn’t believe it. Petrovsky was incarcerated during the murder. He still was. It would be another two or three hours before the jail could process him out. “That makes no sense.”
George shrugged. “Maybe the lighter is unrelated to the murder. Maybe it just happened to be there.”
That still didn’t explain Petrovsky’s fingerprints. He’d been in jail for a year. How did his fingerprints get on anything outside the jail? “Maybe he had an accomplice.”
George laughed humorlessly. “No way. The only person in this town hated more than Von Reich is Petrovsky. That guy has no friends.”
“Still,” Katie said. “His fingerprints had to find their way to that lighter, out of the jail, and to a murder scene.” She chewed on her lip, thinking. Then an idea came to her, snapping to the forefront of her mind. “What about Ashley?”