Kathy looked down at the floor.
“What do you want to be when you grow up?”
“An actress or a doctor.”
“That’s work, honey. Doctors and actresses work just like lawyers. If you stayed home all day, you couldn’t do that work.”
Kathy stopped crying. Betsy picked her up again.
“I work because it’s fun. I also take care of you. That’s more fun. I love you much more than I like my work. It’s no contest. But I don’t want to stay home all day doing nothing while you’re at school. It would be boring, don’t you think?”
Kathy thought about that.
“Will you make up with Daddy, like I did with Melanie?”
“I’m not sure, honey. But either way, you’ll see plenty of Daddy. He still loves you very much and he’ll always be your dad.
“Now, why don’t you watch a little TV and I’ll clean up, then I’ll read you another chapter of The Wizard of Oz.”
“I don’t feel like TV, tonight.”
“Do you want to help me in the kitchen?”
Kathy shrugged.
“How about a hot chocolate? I could make one while we’re cleaning the dishes.”
“Okay,” Kathy said without much enthusiasm. Betsy followed her daughter into the kitchen. She was too small to have to carry the heavy burden of her parents’ problems, but she was going to anyway. That was the way it worked and there was nothing Betsy could do about it.
After they were finished in the kitchen, Betsy read Kathy two chapters of The Wizard of Oz, then put her to bed. It was almost nine o’clock. Betsy looked at the TV listings and was about to turn on the set when the phone rang. She walked into the kitchen and picked up on the third ring.
“Betsy Tannenbaum?” a man asked.
“Speaking.”
“This is Martin Darius. The police are at my home with a search warrant. I want you over here immediately.”
A high brick wall surrounded the Darius estate. A policeman in a squad car was parked next to a black wrought-iron gate. As Betsy turned the Subaru into the driveway, the policeman got out of his car and walked over to her window.
“I’m afraid you can’t go in, ma’am.”
“I’m Mr. Darius’s attorney,” Betsy said, holding her Bar card out the window. The officer examined the card for a second, then returned it to her.
“My orders are to keep everyone out.”
“I can assure you that doesn’t include Mr. Darius’s attorney.”
“Ma’am, there’s a search being conducted. You’d be in the way.”
“I’m here because of the search. A warrant to search doesn’t give the police the right to bar people from the place being searched. You have a walkie-talkie in your car. Why don’t you call the detective in charge and ask him if I can come in.”
The officer’s patronizing smile was replaced by a Clint Eastwood stare, but he walked back to his car and used the walkie-talkie. He returned less than a minute later, and he did not look happy.
“Detective Barrow says you can go in.”
“Thank you,” Betsy answered politely. As she drove off, she could see the cop glaring at her in the rearview mirror.
After seeing the old-fashioned brick wall and the ornate scrollwork on the wrought-iron gate, Betsy assumed Darius would live in a sedate, colonial mansion, but she found herself staring at a collection of glass and steel fashioned into sharp angles and delicate curves that had nothing to do with the nineteenth century. She parked next to a squad car near the end of a curved driveway. A bridge covered by a blue awning connected the driveway with the front door. Betsy looked down through a glass roof as she walked along the bridge and saw several officers standing around the edge of an indoor pool.
A policeman was waiting for her at the front door. He guided her down a short set of stairs into a cavernous living room. Darius was standing under a giant abstract painting in vivid reds and garish greens. Beside him was a slender woman in a black dress. Her shiny black hair cascaded over her shoulders and her tan spoke of a recent vacation in the tropics. She was stunningly beautiful.
The man standing next to Darius was not. He had a beer gut and a face that would be more at home in a sports bar than a condo in the Bahamas. He was dressed in an unpressed brown suit and white shirt. His tie was askew and his raincoat was draped unceremoniously over the back of a snow-white sofa.
Before Betsy could say anything, Darius thrust a rolled-up paper at her.
“Is this a valid warrant? I’m not going to permit an invasion of my privacy until you’ve looked at the damn thing.”
“I’m Ross Barrow, Ms. Tannenbaum,” said the man in the brown suit. “This warrant’s been signed by Judge Reese. The sooner you tell your client we can go through with this, the sooner we’ll be out of here. I could have started already, but I waited for you to make certain Mr. Darius had representation during the search.”
If Darius was a black dope dealer instead of a prominent white socialite and businessman, Betsy knew the house would have been a shambles by the time she arrived. Somebody had ordered Barrow to go very slowly with this case.
“The warrant seems okay, but I’d like to see the affidavit,” Betsy said, asking for the document the police prepare to convince a judge that there is probable cause for the issuance of a warrant to search someone’s house. The affidavit would contain the factual basis for the suspicion that somewhere in the Darius mansion was evidence of a crime.
“Sorry, the affidavit’s been sealed.”
“Can you at least tell me why you’re searching? I mean, what are the charges?”
“There aren’t any charges yet.”
“Let’s not play games, Detective. You don’t roust someone like Martin Darius without a reason.”
“You’re going to have to ask District Attorney Page about the case, Ms. Tannenbaum. I’ve been told to refer all inquiries to him.”
“Where can I reach him?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know that. He’s probably home, but I’m not authorized to give out that number.”
“What kind of bullshit is this?” Darius asked angrily.
“Calm down, Mr. Darius,” Betsy said. “The warrant is legal and he can search. There’s nothing we can do now. If it turns out that the affidavit is faulty, we’ll be able to suppress any evidence they find.”
“Evidence of what?” Darius demanded. “They refuse to tell me what they’re looking for.”
“Martin,” the woman in black said, laying a hand on his forearm, “let them search. Please. I want them out of here, and they’re not going to leave until they’re through.”
Darius pulled his arm away. “Search the damn house,” he told Barrow angrily, “but you’d better get yourself a good lawyer, because I’m going to sue your ass all over this state.”
Detective Barrow walked away, the insults bouncing ineffectively off his broad back. Just as he reached the steps leading out of the living room, a gray-haired man in a windbreaker entered the house.
“The tread on the BMW matches and there’s a black Ferrari in the garage,” Betsy heard him say. Barrow motioned to two uniforms who were standing in the entryway. They followed him back to Darius.
“Mr. Darius, I’m placing you under arrest for the murders of Wendy Reiser, Laura Farrar and Victoria Miller.”
The color drained from Darius’s face and the woman’s hand flew to her mouth, as if she was going to be sick.
“You have the right to remain silent …” Barrow said, reading from a laminated card he had taken from his wallet.
“What the fuck is this?” Darius exploded.
“What is he talking about?” the woman asked Betsy.
“I have to inform you of these rights, Mr. Darius.”
“I think we’re entitled to an explanation, Detective Barrow,” Betsy said.
“No, ma’am, you’re not,” Barrow responded. Then he finished reading Darius his Miranda rights.
“Now, Mr. Darius,�
�� Barrow went on, “I’m going to have to handcuff you. This is procedure. We do it with everyone we arrest.”
“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 d.a.”
“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.”
“Lisa,” Betsy asked cautiously, “did you have 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 d.a.’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 9
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Tannenbaum,” Alan Page said when Betsy was seated across his desk from 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?”
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