A Killer's Wife (Desert Plains)

by Victor Methos

  Yardley whispered, “Object, damn it.”

  “Um,” Tim said, standing up, “objection.”

  “Sustained,” Aggbi said quickly, seemingly waiting for the objection.

  “Of course,” Wesley said. “Forgive me. It is my life on the line, Your Honor, and my passion may get away from me occasionally.” He turned back to the jury. “The point is she became unstable. So unstable that I informed her that I couldn’t bring children into so unstable a relationship, and my goal has always been to have children. Lots of them.”

  He sighed, as though thinking about a painful memory. “When I told her this, she grew furious, throwing things, hitting me, destroying my possessions. She swore that she would get back at me somehow. And now here we are. I’m charged with killing a woman I didn’t know, and the police happened to find a ring and hair that allegedly belong to her among possessions that Ms. Yardley had put into storage.”

  Both hands leaned on the banister in front of them. “I don’t want to hurt Jessica; I really don’t. I still care for her, and I can’t imagine the trauma she went through being married to a mass murderer. But I also don’t want to die in a cell for a crime I did not commit. She can’t take revenge on Eddie Cal, so she is taking it out on me.”

  The sound of his fist hitting the banister made her flinch.

  “I did not kill Jordan Russo,” he said forcefully. “I have never met Jordan Russo. I am innocent. Please, please, do not let an innocent man suffer for the maliciousness of one unstable, damaged woman who happens to have the power to destroy people’s lives. Please.”

  He looked each juror in the eyes and then sat down.

  65

  “Damn it!” Tim bellowed as he kicked over the wastebasket in Lieu’s office.

  He paced the room as Lieu sat in his chair and Yardley leaned against the wall with her arms folded.

  “I told you not to let her anywhere near this case!” he shouted.

  “Easy, Tim,” Lieu said.

  “If I lose this case, Roy, if I lose this, it will be in all the media. My name will be on the news as having lost my first case to that piece of shit representing himself.”

  She said, “They’ll also mention the little fact that a serial murderer went free to kill again, if you care about that sort of thing.”

  “Screw you, you crazy bitch.”

  “Hey!” Lieu said. “That’s crossing the line.”

  Tim sighed and shook his head, his hands on his hips. “I know,” he said to Yardley. “Sorry.” Then to Lieu: “Look, I’m just upset. We shouldn’t have let her near this, and now she’s going to tank the case. I want her off. Now.”

  “It’ll be worse,” Yardley said.

  “How so?” Lieu asked.

  “Wesley would’ve argued what he did regardless of whether I was on the case or not. I work in this office; you can’t change that. The fact that I’m sitting there shows we have nothing to hide. It’s better this way than if I hadn’t been there. But if you were to take me off now, after he told them there’s a conspiracy out to get him, the jury would believe him.”

  Lieu nodded. “She’s right, Tim.”

  He shook his head and then pointed to her. “Fine. You stay. But keep your mouth shut and don’t even look at that jury, you understand me?”

  He stormed out of the office.

  Yardley turned to the glass walls and looked out over the Strip. She heard Lieu tapping his pencil against the desk.

  “Is what he said true? About the hallucinations?”

  “No,” she said dispassionately, “but I was emotionally broken after Eddie. I couldn’t get out of bed most days. I stopped caring about things like eating and hygiene. The only thing that pulled me out of it was having to take care of a new daughter. She saved my life.”

  Lieu stayed silent a moment. “Are you better now?”

  “I am. Therapy and pharmacology are arts, not sciences. It takes some testing with different strategies to find the right one.” She turned to him. “Why did you let me second chair? You could’ve put me on paid leave while the trial resolved, and I wouldn’t be anywhere near the case.”

  He inhaled through his nose and then said, “Agent Baldwin said if you weren’t involved in the case, the next time we needed a favor from the Bureau, or if we needed him here for an emergency hearing on a case, his phone might just happen to be turned off.”

  She grinned. “Cason said that?”

  “He did.” Lieu leaned forward and dropped the pencil back in the holder. “I know you’re right—it would appear terrible to the jury to take you off now—but you also can’t do anything. Just let Tim handle it. We’ve got the evidence, and all Mr. Paul has is conjecture.”

  “The jury likes Wesley. They don’t like Tim. Don’t underestimate how powerful that is. You have to find a way to make him unlikable.”

  “How do we do that?”

  “Let me use Cason to find something from his past. A man like this has a trail of broken bodies and hearts behind him. You have to make sure the jury sees that, or else they’re going to let him go.”

  The next morning, Yardley spoke on the phone to Tara for twenty minutes. She had excitement in her voice, a sense of optimism Yardley hadn’t heard in a long time. Tara had been learning to ride and could already jump a horse on the minor course they had at the ranch. She’d learned rifle, and today her grandfather would be introducing her to the bow.

  It was a radical transformation from the moody teenager to a young woman sounding more and more like she was ready to stand on her own. And though Tara had always been brilliant, always had school and painting come easily to her, it sounded like she was being challenged with physical skills and was enjoying the change.

  From the moment Tara was born, Yardley had worried about what would happen if she met her father. If she would fall under his spell. Or hate her mother more. Instead, it seemed to have freed her from whatever shadow had clung to her soul. The moment she and Steven had raised the possibility of Tara staying with her grandparents, she’d agreed.

  “Forget Wesley, forget this whole shit place,” Tara said to her now. “Just come here and let’s live on the ranch. You’re so smart—you could be a prosecutor here in a second.”

  Yardley grinned. “I’ll join you soon, sweetheart. You listen to your grandparents and be good.”

  Steven came on the phone briefly. “Come out as soon as you can. There’s always a place for you here. It’s your home.”

  “Thank you. And thank you for watching her. If this case goes wrong . . . if Wesley gets out . . . I can’t have Tara anywhere near here.”

  Steven said, “You do what you have to do. We’ll be there when you need us.”

  They hung up, and Yardley showered and changed before going down to the courthouse.

  Baldwin stood in the hallway waiting for her. A mob of paparazzi circled her, shouting questions and shoving digital recorders in her face. One man asked if she was a serial killer groupie, which got chuckles from a few others. She pushed her way through them without saying anything.

  “You okay?” Baldwin said after they entered the first set of double doors to the courtroom.

  “I’m fine.”

  “I almost jumped up and bashed Wesley in the face when he was saying that bullshit in opening.”

  She gently touched his hand, letting him know she appreciated him. “Don’t waste energy worrying about it. Let’s just do our jobs.”

  The first witness was retired detective Thomas Shelley with the LVPD. A bigger man in a suit that didn’t fit well, he carried himself with a straight back and the air of a professional witness. As Tim questioned him, he laid out the circumstances of the discovery of Jordan Russo’s body, from the coordinates to the state of the remains to the timeline of when Jordan had last been seen on the day she’d disappeared.

  Occasionally, Yardley glanced over at Wesley without moving her head. Wesley had his fingers steepled in front of him as his eyes focused unblinkingly on the de
tective. He hadn’t raised any objections to Tim’s questions or the detective’s responses, but he had a folder with loose papers in front of him on the table. Yardley had no doubt whatever was in there wouldn’t be good for their case.

  When Tim announced he had no more questions and sat down, Wesley rose. He went to the lectern and watched the detective a moment.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  “Morning.”

  “Detective, you left out a little bit of your résumé, did you not? You did a stint with the Nevada Highway Patrol.”

  “Yes, just eight months before being hired by LVPD.”

  “Why did you quit the highway patrol?”

  “I wanted career advancement. I have a degree in criminal justice and knew that I wanted to be a detective, and the NHP doesn’t provide that type of advancement.”

  “Was it amicable? Your quitting?”

  The detective swallowed. Yardley’s eyes narrowed as she realized what was coming. Tim was taking notes on a legal pad, adding and taking away questions he was going to ask the next witness.

  “Yes, it was amicable.”

  “Interesting,” Wesley said, going to the folder on the defense table. “I have here a transcript from a case you handled while at the highway patrol, State v. Myler. Do you recall it?”

  Shelley didn’t say anything. Wesley put one copy of the transcript, less than ten pages, on the prosecution table. Tim put his pen down and flipped through it. Yardley tried to read over his shoulder.

  “Myler was a suspected drunk driver you pulled over, correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “You pulled him out of the car and had him perform field sobriety tests and a breath test, which provided evidence of impairment?”

  “Correct.”

  “Your Honor, may I approach the witness?”

  The judge hesitated and looked to the marshals, who, as casually as they could, stepped closer to the witness box.

  “You may, Counsel.”

  Wesley put on his spectacles and took the portion of the transcript over to the detective. “During the trial, Mr. Myler’s attorney filed a motion to suppress evidence based on lack of reasonable suspicion, correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “Now you say, in your police reports and under oath at Mr. Myler’s motion hearing, that the reason you pulled him over is a blinker that wasn’t working. Correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Shelley, this transcript is only nine pages. Will you please explain to this jury why the transcript is so short?”

  He glanced at Tim, clearly looking for help. “I, um . . . I was advised by the judge of my Fifth Amendment right to not incriminate myself under oath. I exercised that right and said nothing further.”

  “And the defense’s motion was granted, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  He wouldn’t answer, so Wesley said, “Because unbeknownst to you, the defense had acquired a video that they did not hand over to the State, correct? Mr. Myler’s sister was behind the two of you and began recording the incident on the family’s camcorder when she noticed you following Mr. Myler’s car, right?”

  The detective stared at him.

  “Your Honor, could you please instruct the witness to answer my questions?”

  “Detective Shelley, answer the question, please.”

  “Yes,” he said, his face turning red. “There was a video.”

  “And this video showed that his blinker was working just fine and he used it correctly when he changed lanes before you pulled him over, correct?” Silence again. “Your Honor?”

  “Detective Shelley, I have asked you once to answer Counsel’s questions. Please do not make me ask again.”

  “Yes, his blinker was working fine. I just missed it.”

  “Just missed it?” Wesley said mockingly. “How interesting. Now, in your time with the NHP, when you testified in court, you got paid time and a half, did you not, Detective? Overtime pay, since you still had to put in a full day on patrol.”

  “Yes, we did.”

  “So the more people you arrested for drunk driving and the more times you had to appear in court, the more money you made. Correct?”

  “It’s not like that. You—”

  “Did you or did you not make more money if you testified in court more, Mr. Shelley? Please answer my question.”

  “Yes, I would.”

  “Now, you got fired after this, didn’t you? As part of a deal you made with your superiors, you would be allowed to quit and find other employment, but they asked you to leave the NHP, correct?”

  “It wasn’t like that. You’re making it sound much worse than—”

  “Were you asked to leave the NHP or not?”

  “Yes. I was asked to leave.”

  “You were fired.”

  He bit his lip. “Yes.”

  “Excellent, thank you.” Wesley went back to the folder and took out a document. He placed a copy on the prosecution table. It was Detective Shelley’s application to the LVPD.

  “Did you know about this?” Tim whispered to Yardley.

  “No. I’m not supposed to do anything, remember?”

  Tim’s face turned pink, and he looked away. She could just imagine the expletives flying at her in his mind.

  Wesley said, “Mr. Shelley, please show where on your application to the Las Vegas Police Department you list your firing from the Nevada Highway Patrol.”

  Shelley’s jaw moved to the side, and he was sweating. “I think at this point, Counsel, I have to stop talking.”

  “The judge already informed you—”

  “I have to invoke my Fifth Amendment rights, Counsel.”

  Wesley lowered the application. “You lied on the application, didn’t you?”

  “I must invoke my Fifth Amendment right to remain silent.”

  “You lied when you were on the NHP under oath, and you lied on this application, and you just lied again about this case, didn’t you?”

  “I must invoke my Fifth Amendment right to remain silent.”

  Yardley could see he was panicking. Though retired, he must’ve had some other employment that would be at risk if he were charged with perjury.

  Once invoked, the Fifth Amendment right against self-incrimination in federal court was all or nothing. He could not answer any other questions, or else he would have to answer all of them. Wesley could now say anything he wanted, and Shelley couldn’t respond.

  “Ms. Yardley came to you, didn’t she, Mr. Shelley? Assistant US attorney is a powerful position. She asked you for a favor, didn’t she? ‘Get me some evidence in this homicide I can use.’”

  “Again, I must invoke my Fifth Amendment right to remain silent.”

  “Did she threaten you to get her that ring and the hair on this case, or did you just hand it over to curry favor later?”

  Tim finally rose and said, “Objection, Your Honor. Mr. Paul is mischaracterizing the evidence and the detective’s testimony, and he’s badgering the witness, along with five other objections.”

  Wesley took a step back. “The witness will not answer my questions, Your Honor. Under Smith v. Gebell, I’m allowed to ask each individual question and have him assert his Fifth Amendment rights on each question separately.”

  Wesley went back to the table, took out another document, and put a copy down on the prosecution table: a copy of the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals case Smith v. Gebell. The relevant portions had been highlighted.

  “May I approach the bench?” he said meekly.

  “Certainly.”

  Wesley handed the judge a copy. Yardley had not actually read the case before. It looked to be an obscure case from 1977, but Wesley had included research that found it had not been overturned by any court and was still good law.

  The highlighted portions made clear that he was allowed to ask his questions and that a witness asserting the Fifth Amendment had to invoke it on each individual question.
Tim, she was certain, had never read the case either.

  “Mr. Jeffries, anything to say?” Judge Aggbi said.

  “I’d like a chance to brief this.” The judge, probably despite herself, grinned slightly. “To be frank, I’ve never heard of this case, so please allow me a moment.”

  The judge turned to her computer. Yardley watched Wesley, who was leaning against the lectern. Detective Shelley drank water from a plastic cup and kept dabbing at the sweat on his neck with tissues. Tim bit down on a pen so hard it was leaving grooves.

  After about five minutes, Judge Aggbi said, “It does appear to be current law. I’m going to allow this line of questioning. You may continue with this witness, Mr. Paul.”

  Shelley looked white as a ghost. The sweat that had formed on his forehead in huge droplets now ran down his face and dappled his sport jacket with small circles. He pulled more tissues from a box on the witness stand and patted his neck.

  “What did you get for giving Ms. Yardley evidence to plant among my things?”

  “I must invoke my Fifth Amendment right to remain silent, Counselor.”

  “Did she threaten you?”

  “I must invoke my Fifth Amendment right to remain silent.”

  “Did she have something over you? Have you lied in other cases, and she’s found out?”

  “I must invoke my Fifth Amendment right to remain silent.”

  Wesley went on like that for ten minutes. Yardley glanced at the jury; they eventually stopped paying attention. They’d made up their minds about something: they either believed Wesley that Shelley was a liar who’d worked with her to railroad him, or they believed they should just disregard everything the detective said but that he hadn’t gone so far as to engage in a conspiracy. The only thing she knew for certain about juries was that you could never be sure what they were thinking.

  66

  By the time court ended that day, Wesley had made a fool of every witness Tim had put up. A homicide detective couldn’t explain what a false positive was or why eyewitness testimony was flawed, so Wesley explained it to him in painstaking detail in a way Tim couldn’t object to, essentially giving a lesson on the defects of eyewitness testimony to the jury.