Moral Defense (Samantha Brinkman Book 2)

by Marcia Clark

  She stepped aside, and a man strode up to the podium. “As vice president of Stop Assaults on Children, I just want to second what Nancy said and to add that no child acts out so violently for no reason. We must face the fact that tragedies like this do not occur in a healthy household with vigilant parents.”

  Reporters shouted out questions I couldn’t hear, but they declined to answer and left the podium.

  Michelle had a little smile of disbelief. “I’ve gotta admit, I did not see this coming. You?”

  “Yes, I predicted every word.” I’d spoken with sarcasm. “Hell no, I didn’t see this coming. But I love it. What are you seeing on the Internet?” In a high-profile case, you have to keep in touch with the zeitgeist.

  Michelle held out a hand and tilted it from side to side. “It’s mixed. Some are totally on Cassie’s side. Others think there had to be something weird going on in that house, but they’re on the fence. But there’s also a contingent that says she’s a monster, and the molestation is a bullshit story Cassie made up to get away with murder. Some even blame you for feeding her that story.”

  I gave a short laugh. “I’d have made up a much better lie than that. Any reaction to Paula?”

  Michelle’s face tightened. “That’s where most of the anti-Cassie votes are coming from. They totally believe Paula.”

  That figured. “What does the pro-Cassie team say about Paula?”

  Michelle glanced at her monitor. “Pretty much what you’d expect: that Paula’s lying to cover her own ass for not helping Cassie.”

  “Okay, we’ll see which way the wind is blowing when we get closer to trial.”

  We probably wouldn’t get to trial for at least another six months, and when it comes to public opinion, even one month can make a big difference. Especially if groups like Stop Assaults on Children kept the campaign going.

  Michelle nodded toward the TV. “I guess we just became a cause.”

  If so, Cassie was about to be the poster child for young sexual assault victims.

  And now there was no changing her story. Stephen was out of the picture.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  I looked at my watch. Almost noon. The fitness hearing, when the judge would decide whether Cassie should be tried as a minor or an adult, was scheduled for one thirty. I packed up my briefcase, told Michelle I’d call in after it was done, and headed out. This time I hadn’t had to dress for success. The hearing was held in juvenile court, which meant no press, no audience—just the necessary court personnel and the prosecutor who’d be handling the case.

  That prosecutor turned out to be Gideon Sitkoff—not so affectionately known as Gidiot Shitcough—a pompous ass whose only real talent was buying thousand-dollar suits on Daddy’s dime. He had a small, rectangular head—the effect amplified by his short haircut and long sideburns—a short, wide torso, and long, skinny legs. As always, he was a picture of sartorial splendor in a black pinstriped Hugo Boss suit and pearl-gray dress shirt. But his belt looked like it was three inches below his armpits. Further proof that big money has nothing to do with good taste.

  The fact that the DA’s office was letting him handle a case this big said nothing good about their managerial judgment. But I planned to hold my nose and give thanks to the trial gods that I got him. If ever a prosecutor could lose a case like this, it’d be him. I’d never seen anyone so perfectly in tune with all the ways to piss off a jury. In one case, he’d used a water bottle to demonstrate how a defendant hit the victim with a baseball bat but didn’t think to make sure the cap was screwed on tight. He sprayed the entire front row of jurors. And in another case, when a juror in the upper row said she couldn’t hear the witness, he suggested she turn up her hearing aid. She didn’t have a hearing aid—the juror next to her did. Another prosecutor would’ve apologized for the mistake. Not Gidiot. He suggested that perhaps she needed one.

  So really, although he was annoying as hell, he was a gift.

  The fitness hearing can take one hour or one week, depending on whether the defense wants to put up a fight. I wanted to put up a fight, but in this case, that’d mean putting Cassie on the stand—a very bad thing because it’d give Shitcough a preview of her testimony. Since the brutality of these murders and the fact that Cassie had done a somewhat sophisticated job of covering up her role in them made it virtually a foregone conclusion that she’d be found unfit for juvenile court, the wiser move was to hold our fire until trial. So the probation officer gave his spiel, I gave my spiel, and it was over in about an hour. Cassie was certified up to adult court.

  When the bailiff took Cassie away, I went over to Gideon. I needed to know whether he was going to do a preliminary hearing or take the case to the grand jury. A preliminary hearing would entail a public, though brief, showing of probable cause. The grand jury convened in secret. Since I’d already gone to the press with my defense, and there wasn’t much I could do to dent the DA’s case—it was just physical evidence and Paula’s statement—I didn’t need the chance to win over hearts and minds in a public hearing. “You going for a prelim or grand jury?”

  He leaned back, nostrils flared, as though I were carrying the black plague. Gideon was one of those prosecutors who thinks all defense lawyers are pond scum—but he took it to an extreme. “Why? Are you worried about how your murderous devil spawn will fare on camera?”

  I sighed. “I just want to know whether I need to prepare for a prelim.”

  “As of now, I’m planning on taking the case to the grand jury. I’ll let you know if that changes.” I held out my hand. He stared at it. “What?”

  I was tempted to rub my hand all over his face. He’d probably faint. “My discovery. Where is it?”

  “My assistant’s e-mailing it to you this afternoon.”

  “Gracias.” I headed for the door, then turned back and blew him a kiss. He turned away so fast he almost fell.

  The freeway was wide open for some mysterious reason. I got back to the office by three o’clock and found the discovery already waiting for me in Michelle’s inbox. Alex and Michelle joined me to look it over. “Seems like this is everything they’ve got to date.” We had crime-scene video footage and still shots, Cassie’s cell phone records, school records, medical records, Abel’s cell phone records, and Paula’s official statements accusing Cassie of the murders and denying that Cassie had made any prior claims of molestation. I scanned Paula’s statement. It was brief but certain. She’d been attacked from behind, so she hadn’t been able to see Cassie in the act. But after she’d gone down, she’d seen Cassie’s feet, recognized her socks and the pajama bottoms. Then she’d passed out. It was just a brief look, but Paula was adamant. That was Cassie. And of course, now we knew Paula was right.

  We scanned the video first. It was a bloodbath of a crime scene, one of the ugliest I’d ever seen. The camera first took in the busted-out window and the curtains that’d been pushed aside and soaked in the rain. Then, it moved down to the bed just below, where Abel lay on his back, his dead, milky eyes fixed on the ceiling, throat slashed from ear to ear like a huge, macabre smile. His chest was covered in blood. One arm was flung out, and the back of his hand rested on the nightstand, exposing a palm covered in blood. A lamp that’d probably been on that nightstand lay on the floor. The video camera moved in close to show the blood smears on the shade. I pointed. “Looks like he knocked it down after she stabbed him.”

  Michelle asked, “And they think she killed him first?” I nodded. Michelle flicked a finger at the monitor. “Keep going.”

  I hit play. The camera panned around the room to show the ransacking, the dresser drawers that’d been pulled out and rifled through, the nightstand drawer that was on the ground. It then moved across the floor to where Stephen lay facedown in a pool of blood, his head turned to the side. There was blood all over the back of his head and neck. A gloved hand pointed out the source: deep gashes at the base of his skull, in the middle of his neck, and three more in his back. The camera moved up to hi
s face. His eyes were vacant but wide open. The same gloved hand pointed to the side of his neck, where there was another penetrating stab wound—the source of the blood pooled underneath him.

  “Looks to me like she got him from behind at first.” Alex pointed to the frontal neck wound. “So she turned him over to finish him off?”

  I paused the video. “Or she did it when he turned around.” I stared at the monitor. Stephen had been stabbed quite a few times. Rage? Or just an effort to make sure he was dead? According to Cassie, she’d just panicked, gone “crazy.” I’d probably never know for sure. I hit play again.

  The paramedics had already taken Paula away when the video was shot. Only the blouse they’d cut off her body remained—that and the bloodstain on the carpet where she’d been found. “I’m sure they took still shots before they moved her. We’ll need to check out the DVD.”

  Michelle pushed away from my desk. “I’ll pass. I can’t look at that anymore. How come she didn’t slice up Paula like the others?”

  I stopped the video. I’d watch the rest later. “I’d guess because Paula went down fast and seemed to be dead.” But I could also argue that Paula was just a secondary target. That the main focus of Cassie’s rage was her abusers.

  As I’d watched the video, I’d imagined Cassie wielding the knife, slashing Abel, stabbing her father, then her mother. When I first heard about the murders, it seemed obvious that the killer had to be a man—a strong one. But now, with the benefit of the video and the knowledge that the killings had gone down one at a time and that each victim had been taken by surprise, I saw how it was physically possible for Cassie to do it. Unfortunately, so would the jury.

  And the gruesomeness of the crime scene would make any jury want to hang her from the nearest tree. I’d have to find a way to push those images out of their heads and get the jury to focus on the little girl who’d been abused. And it’d be Cassie’s job to make them love that little girl. One good thing about the hideousness of the scene: it might help convince the jury that this had to be one very messed-up family to have produced a child who could do something like that.

  We moved on to the police reports and witness statements—such as they were: primarily neighbors who spoke glowingly of the Sonnenbergs but didn’t see or hear anything. The only new addition was statements from a few students in Cassie’s school who said they thought Cassie was a liar.

  Alex frowned at the monitor. “Is that stuff even admissible in court?”

  “Can be. It depends. But we’ve got plenty of friends to knock that down. What I don’t see is a statement from Nathan.”

  Michelle toyed with the little jade “money tree” she’d bought for me in Chinatown. “I wonder if it’s because he believes Abel molested her. He gave you one hell of a statement.”

  He sure had. “And if I can get him to say even half of it on the witness stand, it’ll play really well for us.” I’d just had another thought. “You know, it’s probably a good thing Cassie left Stephen out of her story. I think if she’d talked about him, Nathan would’ve had to fight back.”

  But what I’d really wanted to see were the records that showed the cell towers accessed by Cassie’s cell phone and the burner listed under the fake name Earl Lee Riser. And I needed to find out who he was. I hadn’t had a good opportunity to get into it with her yet, but I made a mental note to do it at our next meeting. No more nice guy; I needed answers. I scrolled through the cell phone materials. “I don’t see the cell tower records. I can’t believe they don’t have them yet. Alex, any progress on your end?”

  “I’m working on it. But cell tower records are a little tougher than phone records.”

  That reminded me of Alex’s other work: Hausch. I’d been so wrapped up in Cassie’s case, I’d forgotten to check in with Alex about it. “By the way, anything new on Hausch?” Hausch had called me for an update the day before, but I’d been too busy to take the call.

  Alex sighed. “It’s not easy. Let’s just say it’s a work in progress.”

  I scrolled through the cell phone bills, then saw that they’d pulled actual texts off Cassie’s phone. I pointed them out to Alex and Michelle. We hadn’t seen these yet. I’d been thinking the burner phone Cassie’d been calling belonged to her mystery boyfriend, but the texts didn’t seem all that romantic. They were just quick notes, like, “When can I come over?” and “When are you getting home?” But then I found one that intrigued me. “I’m sorry. I promise I won’t text you so much anymore.” I pointed to it. “Sounds like Earl told her to cool it.”

  “So is he just telling her to knock it off because she’s bugging him?” Michelle leaned forward, her chin in her hand. “Or because he’s afraid to have someone see Cassie’s texts?”

  I scanned the pages of calls listed for the last month before the murders. “Hard to tell. If it’s the latter, it makes it seem like he’s an older guy—maybe a lot older. But there’re about a hundred calls to and from that burner phone in just one month. It’s a pretty tight relationship, no matter who this guy is.” I flipped to Abel’s cell phone records—and zeroed in on the last call. It showed that a call had been placed to the burner at 1:04 a.m. on the night of the murders. I highlighted it on my monitor. “Check that out. That was, what? Maybe ten, fifteen minutes before Cassie called the cops?”

  Alex pulled out his iPad mini and tapped the screen a few times. “My notes say she called the cops at 1:26 a.m.”

  “From Abel’s phone? Or hers?” I asked.

  Alex looked down at his iPad again. “Abel’s phone.”

  I made a mental note to ask her why she’d used his phone instead of her own.

  Michelle sneezed and grabbed a Kleenex out of the box on my desk. “Looks to me like she stabbed everyone, then freaked out and called her boyfriend.”

  That sounded right. “And maybe he gave her the idea to frame some Aryan Brotherhood guy.” I’d always thought it was a weird story for Cassie to make up. A little too sophisticated. “But if she’s calling him at a time like that, telling him what she did, don’t you think she’d have told him about the molestation?” If so, he’d be an even more critical witness than Waylon, because he’d also be able to give us her state of mind on the night of the murders. “I’ve got to find out who this guy is.”

  Michelle sneezed again.

  Alex said, “Bless you.”

  I glared at her. “If you get me sick, I swear . . .”

  “I’m not sick. It’s just all the dust in your office.” She made a face at me. I made one back. “Tiegan couldn’t get her to name the guy, I take it?”

  I’d just asked Tiegan about that yesterday. “Not so far.” I checked my computer for the time. It was four o’clock. Visiting hours ended at six. “I think I’ll go take a crack at Cassie myself.”

  And I did. I leaned across the counter and locked eyes with her through the window. “Look, Cassie. I’ve got your text messages, and I know you called him the night of the murders. You guys are obviously close. I’m betting you told him about the molestation. That makes him a critical witness. Do you understand me?” I’d intended to ask her why she’d used Abel’s phone that night, but now I decided to hold off. There were much bigger issues on the table.

  Cassie held my gaze for a moment, then looked away. “He’s not a boyfriend. He was just someone I could talk to. But I never told him about . . . anything.”

  “Then what’d you tell him the night of the murders?”

  She hunched over and played with the phone cord. “Nothing. It hadn’t even happened yet. I was just freaking out, and I needed to hear his voice.”

  “At one o’clock in the morning? You’d never called him that late before.”

  Cassie shot back, “I told you, Abel was acting crazy and I was alone with him! I was freaked out!”

  I kept after her. “I don’t know why you’re shielding this guy, but I’m strongly advising you to knock it off. This is your life, Cassie.”

  She clutched the phone an
d stared down at the counter. Her voice was low, but it trembled. “He won’t help me, Sam. And I don’t want him to.” Cassie looked up at me, her expression fierce. “I don’t want him dragged into this. He has nothing to do with any of it. So let it go!” She was breathing hard.

  The stubbornness I saw in her face made it clear I wasn’t going to change her mind today. I wondered what the story was with this guy. It was time for a come-to-Jesus talk. “Cassie, you don’t have time to be a kid anymore. If we lose this case, you’ll spend the rest of your life in prison. I’m the only one who can keep that from happening, but I can’t do it all on my own. I need you to help me.” Cassie was chewing on her thumb, and she wouldn’t meet my eyes. “So think very carefully about this. Because keeping me in the dark is the very worst thing you can do.”

  I called the guard and said we were done. Cassie never looked up, even when the jail deputy took her out.

  I ran into Tiegan in the lobby. “Hey, nice to see you. I think Cassie could use a friendly face about now.”

  Tiegan’s smile faded into a look of concern. “What happened? Bad news on the case?”

  “Not really. I just had to straighten her out about being honest with me.”

  Tiegan looked surprised. “She’s been lying to you?”

  “More like holding out on me. She still won’t tell me who that boyfriend is. It’d be great if you could give it another shot.”

  Tiegan sighed. “I’ll do what I can, but she’s a stubborn little thing. By the way, did you get any more information on that burner phone?”

  “We got Cassie’s text messages.” I shrugged. “The texts weren’t super romantic, but there were enough of them to make it pretty clear it belonged to our mystery man. So anything you can do . . .”

  “I’ll keep trying.” Tiegan put a hand on my arm. “Thank you for working so hard, Sam. I know Cassie appreciates it, even though she may not show it.”