Final Judgment

by Marcia Clark

  Dale shook his head. “It’s a pretty dumb move. Typical O’Malley.”

  “Agree,” I said.

  He put an arm around my shoulder—which surprised me. We almost never touched. “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but I’m sure Niko will come around. He’s going through a tough time, between his mother’s condition and the murder case. You’ve got to cut him a little slack.”

  “I’d be happy to cut him all the slack he wants.” I swallowed hard and blinked back the tears that were threatening to fall. “Why couldn’t I just leave well enough alone? Why did I have to go snooping around behind his back?”

  Dale had a look of understanding. “Because you need to know the truth, and because you realized he wasn’t inclined to give it to you.”

  That was only partly true. “The thing is, I already had my doubts before I found out about the bar fight in Chicago.”

  “I’d probably have had a few myself if I were you,” he said.

  “Really?” I asked. “If what’s her name—your girlfriend, the criminalist—was a murder suspect, you’d be thinking she might’ve done it?”

  He hesitated for a moment. “Well . . . maybe not quite as much as you are. You’re a little further out on the spectrum.”

  I shot him a look. “If that was supposed to make me feel better—”

  “Sorry. But that’s hardly news.”

  I reluctantly nodded. “True.”

  Dale gave my shoulder a squeeze. “I just have a feeling it’s going to be okay. You’re a lot to lose, Sam. He’ll figure it out.”

  It was as close to a normal father-daughter moment as we’d ever had. And I was stunned by how good it felt. “I don’t know. You didn’t see the way he looked at me.” As much as I was enjoying this new intimacy, it was making me a little uncomfortable. I stood up. “But I guess we’ll find out.”

  He tilted his head toward the underground garage. “You park down there?”

  I nodded, and we headed for the elevator. “So what about the Ivan issue? Can you find out why they’re talking to him?”

  “I’m pretty sure I can,” he said. “Especially if it was O’Malley’s play.”

  We reached the elevator, and I pushed the button. “It has to be. And it’d be great if you could find out what Ivan told them.”

  The elevator dinged, and he put out a hand to hold the doors for me. “That’s the plan. I’ll be in touch.” He gave me a reassuring smile. “In the meantime, don’t worry about Niko. He’ll be back. Trust me. I’m a guy. I know how guys think.”

  I managed to give Dale a half smile. But as the doors closed, I leaned my head back against the wall to keep the tears that’d filled my eyes from falling. It was over for Niko and me, and it was all my fault.

  The parking garage was dark and strangely isolated for a weekday. The echo of my footsteps felt like every clichéd story where the lone female gets raped / murdered / beaten / robbed. I hurried to my car, jumped in, and hit the gas. It didn’t occur to me that I had a much more specific threat to worry about until I was flying down the freeway. Since Ivan knew where I lived, he could certainly follow me and wait for me to land in an ideal assault-friendly locale—like that parking garage. But Niko had given him a good ass kicking. I felt pretty sure Ivan wouldn’t want to risk facing him in round two.

  I had to hustle to make it to court on time for Angelo’s case. The last thing he needed was for me to show up late. I managed to make it by 10:25 and checked in with the clerk, who said the judge was running right on time. And she was dead-on. The judge called our case at ten thirty on the dot. I moved up to counsel table as the bailiff went to bring Angelo out of lockup. I’d expected him to be scared, worried, maybe even angry. But he walked out with a calm expression and a confident step. When the bailiff seated him, I leaned down and whispered, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  He nodded. “A hundred percent. I gotta take care of my family.”

  What the hell had Tito promised him? It had to be more than just protection for Angelo and his wife and kids. Tito must be paying him off—enough to ensure that Angelo’s family would keep a roof over their heads. That he was willing to face a stiff prison sentence to make that happen was kind of noble.

  The D.A. took the guilty plea, and true to his word, he left the sentencing “to the court’s discretion.” I gave him a nod of thanks, then made an impassioned plea for leniency based on the lack of violent crime in Angelo’s history and the fact that he’d saved the court a lot of time and money by pleading guilty. I then veered into total fantasy. “My client has tremendous remorse for what he’s done, and he fully intends to make time to counsel young adults on the perils of owning firearms when he gets paroled.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the prosecutor cover his mouth to hide a smile.

  Judge Thomsky asked, “Is there anything else, Counsel?”

  I decided to lay it on even thicker. I mean, why not? What did we have to lose? “Just one more thing, Your Honor. Angelo Lopez is a devoted family man, and I can promise the court he’ll not only be a model prisoner, but he’ll turn over a new leaf when he gets out. He’s got a real entrepreneurial gift that he intends to use to create a legal business so he can give others like himself—who made a few mistakes—a chance to start over. So all I ask is that you give Angelo Lopez a sentence that lets him begin that good work sooner rather than later—and lets him rejoin his family, who love him and will miss him terribly.” I gestured to the gallery, where his tearful wife and two adorable young sons were sitting. I always make it a point to have the family in court—and hopefully in tears—for sentencing.

  I sat down and watched the judge flip through the probation report. Angelo gave me a look of appreciation. He whispered out of the side of his mouth, “You done good. But did I really say all that about remorse and starting a business and shit?”

  I turned toward him so the judge wouldn’t see my face. “Shut up.”

  Judge Thomsky finally looked up. “While I do appreciate the fact that Mr. Lopez has saved the court the expense of a trial, I cannot ignore the fact that this was not his first rodeo. And I take a very dim view of the possession or sale of illegal firearms. They’re the scourge of our society, where mass shootings have become an everyday occurrence. Accordingly, I’m imposing the sentence of six years in state prison.” The judge turned to me. “Counsel, I believe you’ve said your client wants a forthwith?”

  Meaning, immediate transfer to state prison. “Yes, Your Honor.”

  Judge Thomsky made the forthwith order, calculated Angelo’s time credits, and we were done. I signaled the bailiff to give me a second with him. “I’m sorry. I was hoping for midterm.”

  Angelo shrugged. “Four years would’ve been better. But it could’ve been eight, so . . . I’ll get good time, work time. Pro’lly get out in three.”

  I wasn’t sure about that calculation, but it’d be what it’d be. And he was right: it could’ve been worse. I appreciated his philosophical take. The bailiff stepped in. It was time to go. I wished Angelo luck, and as the bailiff took him into lockup, he waved to his wife and sons. They all waved back, his wife now openly crying. I could only hope Angelo meant what he’d said about keeping it together so he could get paroled as soon as possible. I walked out with the family, gave them the most optimistic version of what to expect, then headed to my car.

  Angelo’s hearing had distracted me from the wreckage that was my life. But now, alone in the car, the misery settled over me like a shroud. As I neared the office, I thought about what I’d say to Alex and Michy. I dreaded having to retell the story and get a giant I told you so from Michy. I parked and moved toward the elevator with leaden feet.

  The moment I walked into the reception area, Michy saw that something was wrong. “What happened?”

  I tilted my head toward Alex’s door. “Is he in?”

  She had a worried look as she nodded. “He’s been in since seven thirty.”

  I went to his office and knocke
d. I spoke through the door. “Got a minute?”

  Alex appeared, his expression confused. “No lame joke? What’s going on? Are you sick?”

  I sighed. “Kind of.” I gestured to my office. “Come on in, guys. I need to tell you about last night.”

  I saw Alex and Michy exchange an uh-oh look. We settled in—Michy and me on the couch, Alex on a chair—and I told them the whole sorry tale. When I finished, I swept a hand toward Michy. “Have at it.” I sat back and waited for the I told you so.

  She frowned. “Have at what? I love Niko almost as much as you do, but fuck him.”

  I sat up, stunned. “Why?”

  She looked at me with disbelief. “Because you never would’ve gone digging into his past if he’d been up-front with you to begin with.”

  I told her what I’d admitted to Dale. “But I was suspicious before that.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re suspicious of that stapler.” She tilted her head at the one on my desk. “It’s just who you are. But you didn’t do anything until you found out about that attempted murder charge in Chicago. So I repeat: fuck him.”

  Alex nodded. “Same. Stop beating yourself up. He needs to start thinking about secrets and what they do to a relationship. I know I said that I understood why he’d want to hide a past he wasn’t proud of. But then I got to thinking. I remembered that I’d told Paul about getting convicted for stealing those BMWs on our third date.”

  This was not at all the reaction I’d expected. “Thanks, guys.”

  Michy continued. “Sure. And here’s another thing. I’ll bet you gave him the spiel you always give your clients about telling you everything.” I nodded. “Well, he didn’t listen. I never expected to say this, but if he doesn’t get his head straight about this, you should move on. You can do better.”

  Alex said, “I think so, too. Matter of fact, I remember getting that spiel from you myself. You were just trying to do the best job you could for him.”

  I shook my head. “Hold off on my sainthood. It wasn’t just that. It was for myself, too. I had to know the truth.”

  Alex’s tone was sarcastic. “Yeah, and no one ever has mixed motives. Enough with the self-hatred. If he doesn’t come around, I say good riddance.”

  I appreciated this support from the troops, but the pain of losing Niko was too sharp—and maybe it always would be. “I wish I could feel that way.”

  The room fell silent. Alex peered at me. “You know what you need?”

  “A bullet in the head?” I said flatly.

  He gave me one of his classic exasperated looks. “A distraction. And I have just the thing. Remember Angelina said there were three guys at the party she totally trusted?” I nodded. “I lined up interviews with them.”

  Smart move. That way we could decide for ourselves how trustworthy they were. “Great. But we’ll need a cover story for this situation.” Angelina didn’t want anyone to know about Eliza’s rape, so we needed a good excuse to ask questions about the night of the party.

  Michy stretched her legs under the coffee table. “How about telling them someone stole something from Angelina’s house during the party? Something valuable but small enough to slip into a pocket. Like jewelry or some little art thingy.”

  I gave her a thumbs-up. “Nice. That works.”

  Alex gave her an appreciative smile. “You’re good.”

  She lifted her chin. “I’m great.”

  He said, “At lying, I mean.”

  She picked up one of the pillows on the couch and threw it at him. I had to admit, Alex was right. The distraction was helping. “Alex, check with Angelina so she can give you an idea of the kind of thing she’d have. But tell her it can’t be anything she really has.” In case someone from the party had seen it in her house since then.

  He gave me a salute and stood up. “I’ll go call her now.” He paused at the door. “And we’re set to meet with the guys tomorrow. Starting at nine thirty a.m. sharp. You can pick me up at nine.”

  “Thank you for the privilege,” I said.

  Michy stood up and stretched. “Speaking of driving. You two need to hand in your mileage and gas for the month.” She saw me roll my eyes. “Unless you don’t care about the tax write-off.”

  Oh, well, there was that. “I’m all over it.” Michy and Alex headed for the door. But a question occurred to me. “Do you think Niko will even want me to keep representing him?”

  Alex narrowed his eyes. “Only if he wants the best.”

  Michy lifted her palms. “He’s right, but I see your point. It could get pretty awkward.” She saw my face fall. “Let’s not borrow trouble, okay? The story with you two hasn’t ended yet.”

  I wanted to agree. But I just couldn’t. They left, and I pulled out my travel expense sheet, glad to have something mundane to keep me busy. I’d been at it for a couple of hours when Michy came back in. She picked up the remote and turned on my television. “Someone leaked to the tabloids about Bryan’s death.”

  I sat back and watched. Sure enough, the five o’clock news anchor was saying, “Police have played it very close to the vest on this case, but multiple sources have confirmed that Bryan Posner was the victim of a homicide. And the cause of death is one of the most bizarre we’ve ever heard: internal decapitation. When asked if there were any suspects, the LAPD spokesman declined to comment. We’ll update you on this breaking news story as more information becomes available.”

  The police were being pretty tight-lipped about it. For now. But I knew that wouldn’t last. Those leaks from “multiple sources” would force their hand. “The cops are going to have to get out in front of this now.”

  Michy turned off the television. “Yeah, I bet they hold a press conference by tomorrow.”

  And that meant it wouldn’t be long before Niko’s name surfaced as a “person of interest.” When that happened, he’d need a full-time lawyer on hand—if only to deal with the press. If he intended to fire me and get someone else, he’d have to do it soon. The thought sent a lead weight into the pit of my stomach.

  Because then there’d be no more doubt about it. We’d be through.

  FORTY-TWO

  I forced myself to finish my monthly travel expense report, but once I had, I was totally depleted. There was no point even trying to get anything else done. But the thought of going home and sitting alone where I’d have nothing to distract me from the endless replay of what I’d done and why I’d done it and how it’d probably ended any chance I had for a relationship was so depressing, I couldn’t make myself turn off the computer.

  I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes. I don’t know how long I sat there before Michy said something—I didn’t catch the words—and made me lift my head. “What?”

  “I said, you should call it a day.” She gave me a long look. “How about I come over and hang with you for a while?”

  As always, she knew exactly what I needed. “Thanks, Michy. But I can’t let you ruin a perfectly good evening with the Mistress of Doom.”

  “That’s funny, I see your mouth moving but I don’t hear any words.” She waved a hand toward the door. “Come on. Get up. We’re outta here.”

  I picked up my purse and followed her out. Alex met us in the reception area. “You’re leaving? Good. Get some sleep. We need to charm the hell out of those party animals tomorrow.”

  “You should pack it in, too.” I knew he’d been putting in very long hours for the past couple of weeks.

  “I am,” he said. “In fact, I was just about to ask if you wanted to come over for dinner.”

  I gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks, Alex. But I’m going to take my droopy ass home.”

  Alex glanced at Michy. “Are you going with her?” She nodded. “Perfect.”

  We all headed out, and as we walked to our cars, Alex said, “Why don’t I pick you up tomorrow? You can sleep in a little longer.”

  It was a kind offer, but I knew sleep wouldn’t be on the agenda tonight. Letting Alex pick
me up would only make a long night longer. “That’s okay. I want to bank some driving credits. So gas up and get ready. It’s going to be your turn for a while after tomorrow.”

  Alex shook his head. “Well played.” He opened the car door. “But enjoy it while you can. I’m planning to get a motorcycle.”

  I couldn’t picture perfectly coiffed Alex jamming a helmet on his head. “No you’re not.”

  He got into his car. “I guess you’ll see soon enough.”

  Michy looked from Alex to me. “You two. Honestly.” She turned to me. “Get in and get going.”

  It was pretty silly, this game we played about who had to drive. But I wouldn’t have been surprised if Alex did show up with a motorcycle just to spite me. We all drove out, and as I steered toward home, I reminded myself how lucky I was to have such great friends. And how much worse I’d be feeling if I had to go through a time like this alone.

  Michy made a command decision on the way to my house and picked up a pizza—the perfect no-fuss comfort food—and we had a real girls’ night. We talked a little about Niko and my fear that there’d never be another man in my life. But for the most part, we watched movies on Netflix and chilled out. It was all I could manage and exactly what I needed.

  When Michy left a little after midnight, I didn’t want to go to bed—where I knew I’d just lie awake or, worse, have my usual nightmare. So I found another movie—some lame rom-com—and fell asleep on the couch. That gave me a few hours of rest. But at four a.m., I rolled over and landed on the floor. I conceded defeat and dragged myself into bed. I was so tired, my whole body hurt, but I couldn’t stop thinking about how—and why—I’d lost Niko and what the future did—and didn’t—hold for me. At six o’clock, I gave up trying and headed for the shower.

  I was dressed and ready to go by seven a.m., which gave me plenty of time to power through my mega-size travel mug of coffee. I needed every drop of that four-cup monster to get my brain in gear. And I was hungry, but all I had in the fridge was leftover pizza. Not an option. Not after eating six slices last night.