"You're not handcuffing anyone," Darius said, taking a step back.
"Mr. Darius, don't resist," Betsy said. "You can't do that, even if the arrest is illegal. Go with him. just don't say a thing.
"Detective Barrow, I want to accompany Mr. Darius to the station."
"That won't be possible. I assume you don't want him questioned, so we'll book him in as soon as we get downtown. I wouldn't go down to the jail until tomorrow morning. I can't guarantee when he'll finish the booking process.
"What's my bail?" Darius demanded.
"There isn't any for murder, Mr. Darius," Barrow answered calmly. "Ms.
Tannenbaum can ask for a bail hearing."
"What's he saying?" the woman asked in disbelief "May I talk with Mr.
Darius for a moment in private?" Betsy asked.
Barrow nodded. "You can go over there," he said, pointing to a corner of the living room away from the windows. Betsy led Darius to the corner.
The woman tried to follow, but Barrow told her she could not join them.
"What's this about no bail? I'm not sitting in some jail with a bunch of drug dealers and pimps."
"There's no automatic bail for murder or treason, Mr. Darius. It's in the Constitution. But there is a way to get a judge to set bail. I'll schedule a bail hearing as soon as possible and I'll see you first thing in the morning."
"I don't believe this."
"Believe it and listen to me. Anything you tell anyone will be used to convict you. I don't want you talking to a soul. Not the cops, not a cell mate. No one. There are snitches at the jail who'll trade you to beat their case and every guard will repeat every word you say to the da."
"Goddamn it, Tannenbaum. You get me out of this fast. I paid you to protect me. I'm not going to rot in jail."
Betsy saw Detective Barrow motion the two officers toward them.
"Remember, not a word," she said as Barrow reached them.
"Hands behind you, please," said one of the uniforms. Darius complied and the officer snapped on the Cuffs. The woman watched in wide-eyed disbelief "I'll expect you first thing in the morning," Darius said as they led him away.
"I'll be there."
Betsy felt a hand on her arm.
"Mrs. Tannenbaum… "It's Betsy."
"I'm Martin's wife, Lisa. What's happening? Why are they taking Martin away?"
Lisa Darius looked bewildered, but Betsy did not see any tears. She seemed more like a hostess whose party has been a stunning flop, than a wife whose husband had just been arrested for mass murder.
"You know as much as I do, Lisa. Did the police mention anything about why they were at your home?"
"They said… I can't believe what they said. They asked us about the three women who were found at Martin's construction site."
"That's right," Betsy said, suddenly remembering why the names Barrow had spoken sounded so familiar.
"Martin couldn't have had anything to do with that.
We know the Millers. They were out on our yacht this summer. This has to be a mistake."
"Mrs. Darius, Betsy and Lisa Darius looked toward the living room stairs. A black detective dressed in jeans and a black and red Portland Trail Blazers jacket was walking toward them.
"We're going to seize your BMW. May I have your key, please?" he asked politely, handing her a yellow carbon of a property receipt.
"Our car? Can they do this?" LISA asked Betsy.
"The warrant mentioned cars."
"Oh, God. Where will this end?"
"I'm afraid my men are going to have to search your house," the detective told her apologetically. "We'll try to be neat and put everything back that we don't take. If you like, you can come along with us."
"I can't. just be quick, please. I want you out of my house."
The detective was embarrassed. He looked down at the carpet as he walked off. Barrow had taken his raincoat with him, but there was a damp spot on the sofa where it had lain. Lisa Darius looked at the spot with distaste and sat as far from it as she could. Betsy sat next to her.
"How long is Martin going to be in jail?"
"That depends. The State has the burden of convincing the court that it's got a damn good case, if it wants to hold Martin without bail. I'll ask for an immediate hearing. If the State can't meet its burden, he'll be out quickly. If they meet it, he won't get out at all, unless we get a not guilty verdict."
"This is unbelievable." any idea something like this might happen?"
"What do you mean?"
"It's been my experience that the police usually don't act unless they have a pretty good case. They make mistakes, of course, but that's rarer than you'd think from the way they're portrayed on television. And your husband's no street punk. I can't imagine Alan Page rousting someone of Martin's stature in the community without some pretty strong evidence.
Especially on a charge like this."
Lisa stared openmouthed at Betsy for a moment.
"Are you suggesting…? I thought you were Martin's lawyer. If you don't believe him, you have no business handling his case. I don't know why he hired you, anyway. Daddy says Oscar Montoya and Matthew Reynolds are the best criminal lawyers in Oregon. He could have had either one of them."
"A lawyer who only thinks what her client wants her to think isn't doing her job," Betsy said calmly. "If there's something you know about these charges, I have to know it, so I can defend Martin properly."
"well, there isn't," Lisa answered, looking away from Betsy. "The whole thing is outrageous."
Betsy decided not to push. "Do you have anyone who can stay with you?" she asked.
"I'll be fine by myself "
"This will get rough, Lisa. The press will be hounding you night and day, and living in a spotlight is much worse than most people imagine.
Do you have an answering machine you can use to screen your calls?"
Lisa nodded.
"Good. Put it on and don't take any calls from the media. Since we don't have any idea of the case against Martin, we don't know what can hurt him. For instance, where Martin was on a certain date might be crucial.
If you tell the press he wasn't with you on that date, it could destroy an alibi. So don't say anything. If a reporter does get through to you, refer her to me. And never talk to the police or someone from the da's office. There's a privilege for husband-wife communications and you have a right to refuse to talk to anyone. Do you understand?"
"Yes. I'll be okay. And I'm sorry I said that. About how Martin could have gotten someone better. I'm just…"
"No need to apologize or explain. This must be very difficult for you."
"You don't have to stay with me."
"I'll stay until the search is finished. I want to see what they're taking. It might tell us why they think Martin's involved. I heard one officer tell Barrow they matched the tread on the BMW to something. That means they've placed Martin's car somewhere. Maybe the crime scene."
"So what? He drives to his construction sites all the time. This whole thing is ridiculous."
"We'll see soon enough," Betsy said, but she was worried. Lisa Darius may have been shocked and surprised by her husband's arrest, but Betsy knew Martin Darius was not. No one gives a $58,000 retainer to a lawyer in anticipation of being arrested for shoplifting. That was the type of retainer a good lawyer received for representing someone on a murder charge.
Chapter Nine
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Tannenbaum," Alan Page said when Betsy was seated across his desk in front of him. "Randy Highsmith was very impressed with the way you handled the Hammermill case. He had nothing but nice things to say about you. That's really high praise, because Randy hates to lose."
"I think Randy might not have brought the charges if he knew how brutal Andrea's husband was."
"That's being charitable. Let's face it. Randy thought he'd run over you. You taught him a good lesson. Losing "Hammermill" will make Randy a better prosecutor. But you're not here to talk
about old business, are you? You're here to talk about Martin Darius."
"Detective Barrow must have called you at home at the phone number he wouldn't give me."
"Ross Barrow's a good cop who knows how to follow orders."
"Do you want to tell me why you've arrested my client?"
"I think he murdered the four people we found buried at his construction site."
"That's obvious, Mr. Page "Why don't you call me Al?"
"I'd be glad to. And you may call me Betsy. Now that we're on a first-name basis, how about telling me why you searched Martin's house and arrested him?"
Page smiled. "Fraid I can't do that."
"Won't, you mean."
"Betsy, you know you're not entitled to discovery of our police reports until I've filed an indictment."
"You're going to have to tell the judge what you've got at the bail hearing."
"True. But that's not scheduled yet and there's no indictment, so I'm going to stick to the letter of the discovery statutes."
Betsy leaned back in her chair- and smiled sweetly.
"You must not have much confidence in your case, Al."
Page laughed to cover his surprise that Betsy had seen through him so easily.
"I've got plenty of confidence in our case," he lied.
"But I also have a healthy respect for your abilities. I won't make Randy's mistake of underestimating you. I must confess, though, that with your commitment to feminism I was surprised when Ross told me you were defending Darius."
"What does feminism have to do with my representation of Martin Darius?"
"Hasn't he told you what he's done?"
"Martin Darius has no idea why you're holding him and neither do I."
Page looked at her for a moment, then made a decision.
"I guess it's not fair leaving you completely in the dark, so I'll tell you that we plan to indict your client for the kidnapping, torture and murder of three women and one man."
Page took a color photo of Wendy Reiser's body out of a manila envelope and handed it to Betsy. She blanched." The picture had been taken right after the body had been dug up. The naked woman was sprawled in the mud.
Betsy could see the incisions on her stomach and the cuts and burn marks on her legs. She could also see Wendy Reiser's face clearly. Even in death, she seemed to be suffering.
"That's what Martin Darius does to women, Betsy, and this may not be the first time He's done it. We have pretty solid information that ten years ago a man named Peter Lake murdered six women in Hunter's Point, New York, in much the same way these victims were murdered. We also have conclusive proof that Peter Lake and Martin Darius are the same person.
You might want to ask your client about that.
"One other thing. There's another missing woman.
This is a one-time offer: If she's alive and Darius tells us where she is, we might be able to deal."
The jail elevator opened onto a narrow concrete hallway painted in yellow and brown pastels. Across from the elevator were three solid doors. Betsy used the key the guard had given her when she checked in at the visitor's desk. The middle door opened into a tiny room. In front of her was a wall divided in half by a narrow ledge. Below the ledge was concrete; above, a window of bulletproof glass.
Betsy placed her legal pad on the ledge, sat down on an uncomfortable metal folding chair and picked up the receiver on the phone that was attached to the wall to her left.
On the other side of the glass, Martin Darius lifted his receiver. He was dressed in an orange jumpsuit, but he still looked as imposing as he had in her office. His hair and beard were combed and he sat erect and at ease.
Darius leaned forward until he was almost touching the glass. His eyes looked a little wild, but that was the only sign of discontent.
"When is the bail hearing scheduled?" Darius asked.
"It isn't."
"I told you I wanted out of here. You should have scheduled the hearing first thing this morning."
"This isn't going to work. I'm an attorney, not a gofer. If you want someone to order around I'll refer you to a maid service."
Darius stared at Betsy for a moment, then flashed an icy smile of concession.
"Sorry. Twelve hours in this place doesn't help your disposition."
"I met with Alan Page, the district attorney, this morning. He had some interesting things to tell me. He also showed me the crime scene photographs. The three women were tortured, Martin. I've seen a lot of cruelty, but nothing like this. The killer didn't just end their lives, he slaughtered them. Tore them open Betsy stopped, as the memory of what she'd seen took her breath away. Darius watched her. She waited for him to say something. When he didn't, she asked:
"Does any of this sound familiar?"
"I didn't kill those women."
"I didn't ask you if you killed them. I asked if anything about the crimes sounded familiar."
Darius studied Betsy. She didn't like the way he made her feel like a lab specimen.
"Why are you interrogating me?" Darius asked. "You work for me, not the da."
"Mr. Darius, I decide whom I work for and right now I'm not so sure I want to work for you."
"Page said something, didn't he. He played with your head."
"Who is Peter Lake?"
Betsy expected a reaction, but not the one she got.
The look of icy calm deserted Darius. His lip trembled.
He looked, suddenly, like a man on the verge of tears.
"So Page knows about Hunter's Point."
"You haven't been honest with me, Mr. Darius."
"is that what this is all about?" Darius asked, pointing at the bulletproof glass. "Is that why you didn't ask for a contact visit? Are you afraid to be locked in with me? Afraid I'll Darius stopped. He put his head in his hands.
"I don't think I'm the right person to represent you," Betsy told him.
"Why?" Darius asked, his voice filled with pain.
"Because Page claims I raped and murdered those women? Did you refuse to represent Andrea Hammermill when the district attorney said she murdered her husband?"
"Andrea Hammermill was the victim of a husband who beat her constantly during her marriage."
"But she killed him, Betsy. I did not murder those women. I swear it. I did not kill anyone in Hunter's Point. I was Peter Lake, but, do you know who Peter Lake was? Did Page tell you that? Does he even know?
"Peter Lake was married to the most wonderful woman in the world. He was the father of a perfect child.
A little girl who never hurt anyone. And his wife and daughter were murdered by a madman named Henry Waters for an insane reason Peter could never fathom.
"Peter was a lawyer. He made money hand over fist.
He lived in a magnificent house and drove a fancy car, but all that money and everything he owned couldn't make him forget the wife and daughter who'd been taken from him. So he ran away. He assumed a new identity and started a new life, because his old life was impossible to bear."
Darius stopped talking. There were tears in his eyes Betsy did not know what to think. Moments ago, she was convinced Darius was a monster. Now, seeing his pain, she wasn't so sure.
"I'll make you a deal, Betsy," Darius said, his voice barely above a whisper. "If you reach the point where you don't believe I'm innocent, you can walk away from my case with my blessing, and you can keep your retainer."
Betsy did not know what to say. Those pictures. She couldn't stop wondering how the women felt in those first, long moments of terror, knowing that the best that could ever happen to them in the rest of their lives was a death that would bring an end to their pain.
"It's all right," Darius said, "I know how you feel.
You only saw the pictures. I saw the dead bodies of my wife and my child. And I still see them, Betsy."
Betsy felt ill. She took a deep breath. She could not stay in the narrow room any longer. She needed air. And she needed to find out a lot more about Peter L
ake and what happened in Hunter's Point.
"Are you okay?" Darius asked.
"No, I'm not. I'm very confused."
"I know you are. Page laid a heavy trip on you. They said I'd be arraigned tomorrow. You get a good night's sleep and tell me what you've decided to do, then."
Betsy nodded.
"Two things, though," Darius said, looking directly at Betsy.
"What's that?"
"if you decide to keep me as a client, you've got to fight like hell for me."
"And the other thing?"
"From now on, I want every visit to be a contact visit. No more glass cage. I don't want my lawyer treating me like a zoo animal."
Chapter Ten
As soon as Rita Cohen opened the door wide enough, Kathy squeezed through and raced into the kitchen.
"You didn't buy that bubble-gum-flavored cereal again, did you, Mom?"
Betsy asked.
"She's a little kid, Betsy. Who could stand that healthy stuff you feed her all the time? let her live."
"That's what I'm trying to do. If it was up to you, she'd be on an all-cholesterol diet."
"When I was growing up, we didn't know from cholesterol. We ate what made us happy, not the same stuff you feed horses. And look at me.
Seventy-four and still going strong."
Betsy hugged her mother and gave her a kiss on the forehead. Rita was only five feet four, so Betsy had to bend down to do it. Betsy's dad never topped five feet nine. No one could figure where Betsy got her height.
"How come there's no school?" Rita asked.
"It's another teacher planning day. I forgot to read the flyer they sent home, so I didn't know until yesterday evening, when Kathy mentioned it."
"You have time for a cup of coffee?" Rita asked.
Betsy looked at her watch. It was only seven-twenty.
They would not let her into the jail to see Darius until eight.
"Sure," she said, dropping the backpack with Kathy's things on a chair and following her mother into the living room. The television was already on, tuned to a morning talk show.
"Don't let her watch too much TV," Betsy said, sitting down on the couch. "I packed some books and games for her."
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