"Monica Blake, CBS, Mrs. Tannenbaum, the shorter woman said as Betsy pushed open the door. Blake stepped back awkwardly and the other woman took advantage of the break.
"How do you explain a woman who is known for her strong feminist views defending a man who is alleged to have kidnapped, raped, tortured and killed three women?"
Betsy flushed. She turned abruptly and glared at the reporter from ABC, ignoring the microphone thrust in her face.
"First, I don't have to explain anything. The State does. Second, I'm an attorney. One of the things I do is defend people-male or female-who have been accused of a crime. Sometimes these people are unjustly accused, because the State makes a mistake. Martin Darius is innocent and I am proud to be representing him against these false accusations."
"What if they're not false?" asked the CBS reporter.
"How can you sleep nights, knowing what he did to these women?"
"I suggest you read the Constitution, Ms. Blake. Mr. Darius is presumed innocent. Now, I have dinner to make and a little girl to take care of I won't answer any questions at my house. I consider this an invasion of my privacy. If you want to talk to me, call my office for an appointment. Please don't come to my house again."
Betsy walked around the car and opened Kathy's door. She jumped out, looking over her shoulder at the cameras as Betsy dragged her toward the house. The two reporters continued to shout questions at her back.
"Are we gonna be on TV?" Kathy asked, as Betsy slammed the door.
Chapter Eleven
Alan Page was trapped in a car, careening downhill through traffic at breakneck speed on a winding turnpike, brakes screeching, tires smoking, twisting the wheel furiously to avoid an inevitable collision. When he sat up in bed, he was inches from the burning headlights of a massive semi. Sweat glued his flannel pajamas to his damp skin and he could feel the thunderous pounding of his heart. Page gulped down lungfuls of air, still uncertain where he was and half-expecting to die in a fireball Of lacerated steel and shattered glass.
"Jesus," he gasped when he was oriented. The clock read four fifty-eight, an hour and a half before the alarm would go off, four and a half hours before the bail hearing. He fell back onto his pillow, anxious and sure sleep was impossible, haunted by the question that had hounded him since the arrest of Martin Darius. Had he moved too soon?
Was there "clear and convincing" evidence that Martin Darius was a murderer?
Ross Barrow and Randy Highsmith had argued against searching Darius's house, even after hearing what Gutierrez had to say. They wanted to wait until Nancy Gordon was found and they had a stronger case, but he had overridden them and instructed Barrow to make an arrest if the tire tracks at the scene matched the treads on Darius's car. Now, he wondered if Barrow and Highsmith hadn't been right all along. He had counted on finding Nancy Gordon for the bail hearing, but even with three detectives working around the clock, they were striking out.
If he could not sleep, he could rest. Page closed his eyes and saw Nancy Gordon. He had thought of the detective constantly since learning that her body was not in the pit. If she was — alive, she would have gotten in touch with him as soon as she learned of Darius's arrest.
If she was alive, she would have returned to the Lakeview. Was she dead, a look of unimaginable suffering on her face? Darius knew the answer to Page's Questions, but the law forbade Alan to talk to him.
Page would need all of his energy in court, but the fear in his belly would not let him rest. He decided he would shower, shave, eat breakfast, then dress in his best suit and a crisp, starched shirt, fresh from the laundry. A shower and a big breakfast would make him feel human.
Then he would drive to the courthouse and try to convince the Honorable Patrick Norwood, judge of the Multnomah County Circuit Court, that Martin Darius was a serial killer.
Mar-tin Darius slept peacefully and felt well rested when he awoke with the other inmates of the Multnomah County jail. Betsy Tannenbaum had arranged to have his hair cut by his barber, and the watch commander was permitting him an extra shower before court. Only a breakfast of sticky pancakes soaked in gluey, jailhouse syrup spoiled his mood. Darius used the acidic taste of the jail coffee to cut the sweetness and ate them anyway, because he knew it would be a long day in court.
Betsy had exchanged a full wardrobe for the clothes in which Darius was arrested. When Darius met her in the interview room before court, he was attired in a double-breasted, chalk-striped, dark wool suit, a cotton broadcloth shirt and a navy blue, woven silk tie with white pinpoint dots. Betsy wore a single-breasted jacket and matching skirt of black and white, windowpane plaid and a white silk blouse with a wide collar.
When they walked down the courthouse corridor in the glare of the television lights, they would look like a couple you might "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous," rather than seen on a suspected mass murderer and his mouthpiece.
"How are you feeling?" Darius asked.
"Fine."
"Good. I want you at your best today. jail is interesting, if you treat it as an educational experience, but I'm ready to graduate."
"I'm glad to see you're keeping your sense of humor."
Darius shrugged. "I have faith in you, Tannenbaum.
That's why I hired you. You're the best. You won't let me down."
The praise made Betsy feel good. She basked in it and believed what Darius told her. She was the best.
That was why Darius chose her over Matthew Reynolds, Oscar Montoya and the other established criminal defense lawyers.
"Who's our judge?" Darius asked.
"Pat Norwood."
"What's he like?"
"He's a crusty old codger who's nearing retirement.
He looks like a troll and acts like an ogre in court. He's no legal scholar, either. But he is completely impartial.
Norwood's rude and impatient with the prosecution and the defense and he won't be buffaloed by Alan Page or the press. If Page doesn't meet his burden of proof on the bail issue, Norwood will do the right thing."
"Do you think the State will meet its burden?" Darius asked.
"No, Martin, I don't think they will."
Darius smiled. "That's what I wanted to hear." Then the smile faded as he changed the subject. "Is Lisa going to be in court?"
"Of course. I talked to her yesterday."
"Looks like you're having more luck getting in touch with my wife than I am."
"Lisa's staying with her father. She didn't feel comfortable — alone in the house."
"That's funny," Darius said, flashing Betsy a chilly smile. "I called His Honor last night and he told me she wasn't home."
"She may have been out."
"Right. The next time you talk to my wife, please ask her to visit me, will you?"
"Sure. Oh, before I forget, there's a woman named Nora Sloane who's writing an article about women defense attorneys. She wants to follow me through your case. If I let her, there's a chance she might learn defense strategy or attorney-client confidences. I told her I had to ask your permission before I let her get involved. Do you have any objections to her tagging along?"
Darius held the question for a moment, then shook his head.
"I don't mind. Besides"-he grinned-"you'll have more incentive to do a great job for me if someone is writing about you."
"I never thought of it that way."
"That's why I'm a millionaire, Tannenbaum. I always figure the angles."
There were several new courtrooms outfitted with state of-the-art video equipment and computer technology that Patrick L. Norwood could have commandeered because of his senior status, but judge Norwood preferred the courtroom where he had ruled with an iron fist for twenty years. It had high ceilings, grand marble columns and a hand-carved wooden dais.
It was an old-fashioned courtroom, perfect for a man with the judicial temperament of a nineteenth-century hanging judge.
The courtroom was filled to capacity for the Martin Darius bail hearing.
Those who were too late to find a seat stood in line in the hall.
Spectators had to pass through a metal detector before entering the courtroom and there were extra security guards inside, because of death threats.
Harvey Cobb, an elderly black man, called the court to order. He had been Norwood's bailiff from the day the judge was appointed. Norwood came out of his chambers through a door behind the bench. Short and squat, he was ugly as sin, but his toadlike face was crowned by a full head of beautiful snowy white hair.
"Be seated," Cobb said. Betsy took her place beside Martin Darius and glanced briefly at Alan Page, who was sitting next to Randy Highsmith.
"Call your first witness, Mr. Page," Norwood ordered.
"The State calls Ross Barrow, Your Honor."
Harvey Cobb had Detective Barrow raise his right hand and swear to tell the truth. Barrow sat in the witness box and Page established his credentials as a homicide investigator.
"Detective Barrow, sometime in mid-August did you become aware of a series of unusual disappearances?"
"Yes, I did. In August a detective from our missing persons bureau told me that a woman named Laura Farrar was reported missing by her husband, Larry Farrar.
Larry told the detective that Objection, hearsay," Betsy said, standing.
"No," Norwood ruled. "This is a bail hearing, not a trial. I'm going to permit the State some leeway. If you need to examine some of these Witnesses, you can subpoena them. Let's move on, Mr. Page."
Page nodded at Barrow, who continued with his account of the investigation.
"Farrar told the detective that he had come home from work on August tenth, about eight o'clock. His house looked perfectly normal, but his wife was missing.
None of her clothes was missing or her makeup. In fact, nothing was missing from the house, as far as he could tell. The only unusual circumstance was a rose and a note Mr. Farrar found on his wife's pillow."
"Was there anything odd about the rose?"
"Yes, sir. A lab report on the rose indicates that it had been dyed black."
"What did the note say?"
"Gone, But Not Forgotten." Page handed a document and a photograph to the judge's clerk.
"This is a photocopy of the Farrar note and a photo graph of the rose, Your Honor. The originals are still at the lab. I talked about this with Mrs. Tannenbaum and she's willing to stipulate to the introduction of these and other copies, solely for purposes of this hearing."
"Is that so?" Norwood asked Betsy. She nodded.
"The exhibits will be received."
"Did the detective from missing persons tell you about a second disappearance in mid-September?"
"Yes, sir. Wendy Reiser, the wife of Thomas Reiser, was reported missing by her husband identical circumstances."
"Nothing disturbed in the house or missing?"
"Correct."
"Did Mr. Reiser find a black rose and a note on his wife's pillow?"
"He did."
Page introduced a photocopy of the Reiser note and a photograph of the Reiser rose.
"What did the lab say about the second note and rose?"
"They are identical to the note and rose found at the Farrar house."
"Finally, Detective, did you learn about a third, recent disappearance?"
"Yes, sir. Russell Miller reported his wife, Victoria, missing circumstances that were identical to the other cases. Note and rose on the pillow. Nothing disturbed or missing in the house."
"Several days ago, did you learn where the women were?"
Barrow nodded gravely. "The three women and an unidentified male were found buried in a construction site owned by Darius Construction."
"Who owns Darius Construction?"
"Martin Darius, the defendant."
"Was the gate to the site locked?"
"Yes, sir."
"Was a gaping hole located in the fence near the area where the bodies were found?"
"Yes, sir."
"Were tire tracks located near that hole?"
"They were."
"On the evening Mr. Darius was arrested, did you execute a search warrant at his residence?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did you locate any vehicles during the search?"
"We located a station wagon, a BMW and a black Ferrari."
"Move to introduce exhibits ten to twenty-three, which are photographs of the construction site, the hole in the fence, the tire tracks, the burial site and the bodies being removed from it, and the vehicles."
"No objection," Betsy said.
"Received."
"Was a cast made of the tire tracks?"
"It was. The tracks at the site match the tread on the BMW we found at Darius's house."
"Was the trunk of the BMW examined for trace evidence, such as hairs and fibers, that might have belonged to any of the victims?"
"Yes, sir. None was found."
"Did the lab report explain why?"
"The trunk had been recently vacuumed and cleaned."
"How old was the BMW?"
"A year old."
"Not a brand-new car?"
"No, sir."
"Detective Barrow, are you aware of any connections between the defendant and the murdered women?"
"I am. Yes. Mr. Reiser works for the law firm that represents Darius Construction. He and his wife met the defendant at a party Mr. Darius threw this summer to celebrate the opening of a new mall."
"How soon before the disappearance of the first woman, Laura Farrar, was this party?"
"Approximately three weeks."
"Were Mr. and Mrs. Farrar at that party?"
"They were. Mr. Farrar works for the accounting firm that Mr. Darius uses."
"And Russell and Victoria Miller?"
"They were at the party too, but they have closer ties with the defendant. Mr. Miller was just put in charge of the Darius Construction account at Brand, Gates and Valcroft, the advertising agency. They also socialized with Mr. and Mrs. Darius."
Page checked his notes, conferred with Randy High Smith, then said,
"Your witness, Mrs. Tannenbaum.
Betsy looked at a legal pad on which she had listed several points she wanted to bring out through Barrow.
She selected several police reports from the discovery she received from the district attorney.
"Good morning, Detective Barrow. Teams of criminalists from the Oregon State Crime Lab went through the houses of all three women, did they not?"
"That's true."
"Isn't it — also true that none of these fine scientists found a single piece of physical evidence connecting Martin Darius to the homes of laura Farrar, Victoria Miller or Wendy Reiser?"
"The person who murdered these women is very clever. He knows how to clean up a crime scene."
"Your Honor," Betsy said calmly, "will you please direct Detective Barrow to listen to the questions I ask him and respond to those questions? I'm sure Mr. Page will try to explain the problems with his case during argument." judge Norwood glared at Betsy. "I don't need an editorial from you, Mrs. Tannenbaum. Just make your objections." Then Norwood swiveled toward the witness.
"And you've testified enough times to know you only answer what you're asked. Save the clever answers. They don't impress me."
"So, Detective Barrow, what's your answer? Was a single shred of physical evidence linking my client to any victim found at any of the homes of the missing women?"
"No."
"How about on the bodies?"
"We found the tire tracks."
"Your Honor?" Betsy asked.
"Detective Barrow, were there tire tracks on the body of any of those women?" the judge asked sarcastically.
Barrow looked embarrassed. "Sorry, Your Honor."
"Are you catching on, Detective?" judge Norwood asked.
"There was no physical evidence at the burial site connecting the defendant with any of the women," Detective Barrow answered.
"A dead ma
n was — also found at the burial site?"
"Yes."
"Who is he?"
"we don't know."
"So there's nothing connecting this man to Martin Darius?"
"We don't know that. Until we find out who he is, we can't investigate his possible connection with your client."
Betsy was going to object but decided to let the re mark pass. If Barrow kept fencing, he'd keep pissing off the judge.
"You told the judge about the tire tracks you found near the fence.
Don't you think you should tell him about the interview you had with Rudy Doschman?"
"I interviewed him. What about it?"
"Do you have your report of that interview?" Betsy asked, as she walked toward the witness stand.
"Not with me."
"Why don't you take my copy and read this paragraph?" Betsy said, handing the detective a police report she had found in the discovery material. Barrow read the report and looked up.
"Mr. Doschman is a foreman with Darius Construction who was working on the site where the bodies were found?" Betsy asked.
"Yes."
"He told you Mr. Darius visited the site on many occasions, did he not?"
"Yes."
"In his BMW?"
"Yes."
"He also explained that the hole in the fence was there for some time?"
"Yes."
"In fact, it may have been the way the arsonists who burned down some of Mr. Darius's town houses entered the site several weeks ago?"
"It could be."
"There is no evidence connecting Mr. Darius to the roses or the notes?"
Barrow looked like he was going to say something, but he choked it back and shook his head.
"And you stand by that statement, even though officers of the Portland Police Bureau made a thorough search, pursuant to a warrant, of Mr.
Darius's home."
"We found nothing connecting him to the roses or the notes," Barrow answered tersely.
"No murder weapons either?"
"No."
"Nothing in the trunk of the BMW connecting him to the crimes?"
"No."
Betsy turned to Darius. "Anything else you want me to ask?"
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