A Killing in the Valley

by JF Freedman

  “Didn’t you tell your friends that you were going to get her?”

  She was clearly uncomfortable now. “Maybe I did. People say shit like that all the time. It don’t mean nothing.”

  Martindale’s gavel came down. “There will be no profanity in this courtroom,” he admonished Katrina. “Do you understand?” he asked harshly.

  She nodded meekly. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”

  Luke pressed on. “After Maria’s death became known, didn’t you say to a friend…” he looked at Martindale. “Excuse me, your honor. I know you don’t like profanity in your courtroom, but I have to get this quote exact.”

  “Go ahead,” Martindale allowed him.

  “Didn’t you say, ‘The cunt deserved it’?”

  Katrina was slumping lower and lower in her chair. “I didn’t really mean it. I didn’t want her to get killed,” she whimpered.

  Luke paused. “I’m sure you didn’t. It was an expression. Because your feelings had been hurt.”

  She grasped the straw. “Yes.”

  “But until then, you were angry at her. You wanted to get back at her. You wanted her to look like she was…how shall I put it? Loose. A whore, I believe you said about her.”

  “She was one!” the girl answered darkly.

  “If people found out she had just picked up some guy at random and gone off with him, that would make what you said true, wouldn’t it?”

  She didn’t answer.

  Alex got up again. “This is pointless,” he protested. “I move this entire testimony be stricken, and the jury instructed to ignore it.” He turned to Luke. “Give it up. This isn’t a fishing expedition.”

  “I’m getting to my point,” Luke insisted. He looked earnestly at Martindale.

  “Make it now, or move on,” Martindale admonished him.

  “That’s exactly what I’m going to do, your honor.” Luke picked up the photographs and walked them over to Katrina. A court aide carried a cork-backed easel to the witness area and set it up in front of Katrina, while also making it easily visible to the jurors.

  “You’re sure it was Maria Estrada you saw that day at the mall,” he began.

  “Absolutely,” Katrina responded firmly.

  “You were watching her closely, weren’t you. To see what she was up to.”

  “You bet I was.”

  “So you would have had a good look at the man she was with, since you were tracking her. You stalked her all the way from the mall out to Chapala Street, didn’t you?”

  Katrina was clearly discomfited by Luke’s use of the term stalked, because that was precisely what she’d been doing, and now he had publicly busted her.

  “Yes,” she answered resentfully.

  “You watched her walk up the street with this man, until they got to a car, is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Until they got in the car—together—and drove away.”

  “Yes! Okay?” she blurted out. “I spied on them the whole time!”

  Luke turned away from her for a moment and thumbtacked the pictures onto the easel. They were pictures of young men, taken from behind. All had longish dark-blond hair. Luke pushed the easel closer to Katrina.

  “Take a look at these,” he instructed her. “Look at them carefully.”

  She leaned forward, looking at the pictures. Above her, Judge Martindale looked down on them as well. Luke positioned himself next to the easel.

  “Can you pick out which of these men was the one with Maria that day?” he asked.

  “Objection!” Alex called out. “Your honor, this is a fishing…”

  Martindale cut him off. “Overruled,” he said curtly. He peered down at Katrina from above. “Answer the question, if you can,” he directed her.

  She squinted hard at the photographs. “I think…maybe…” She slumped back. “I can’t tell. It’s the back of their heads.”

  “Because you never saw the man’s face, did you?” Luke pushed her. “This angle, from the back, is all you saw, isn’t that true?”

  “Yes, it’s true,” she answered in a soft, barely audible voice.

  “You followed Maria Estrada clear across the mall, out of the mall, and watched her go down the street and get into a car, but you never saw the man’s face?” he asked, clearly not believing her. “How is that possible?”

  “It just is,” she answered stubbornly. “He never turned around.”

  “But she did? Enough, certainly, that you could see her, and know for sure that it was her you were watching? For sure?” he repeated.

  “Yes, for sure,” she answered doggedly. “I wasn’t paying him any attention,” she said in a rising tone. “I didn’t care about him. I wanted to see what that bitch was up to, screw whoever guy she was with!”

  SLAM! The explosion of Martindale’s gavel was like a rifle shot. “Do not use words like that in this courtroom,” he warned her again. “It isn’t acceptable. Do you understand.”

  “Yes, I understand. Jesus,” she muttered under her breath.

  “How far did you follow them, once you spotted Maria?” he asked.

  Sullenly: “I don’t know.”

  “From near Elaine’s, the earring store?”

  “Near there, yeah.”

  “Through the mall, out the mall to the street, and then to the car they got into.”

  “That’s what I said, isn’t it?” she answered.

  “How far was that?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “How should I know? Who cares?”

  “I do,” he answered. “Because it’s a pretty good distance. I went down there the other day and paced it off myself.” He turned to Judge Martindale. “From outside Elaine’s to the entrance to Chapala Street is over a hundred yards. A darn long distance to be following someone and never once see his face.” He turned back to Katrina. “You saw Maria with a man, who you can’t identify, except for the color of his hair and his general height, because…” he dropped his voice dramatically. “…He never once looked around. But you followed them all the way through the mall, out to the street, and watched them get into his car, which you described in some detail. The only thing you didn’t get was the license number and the make of the car. But you knew the color, and the style.” He stopped for brief moment. “That’s what you’re telling this court? Under oath? You’ve sworn that is the truth?”

  “It is!” she insisted.

  Luke turned away from her to face the jury. “You saw Maria Estrada, who you had a real problem with.” His eyes were on the jurors, and theirs were on him. “You followed her all the way through the mall to the street, where she got into a car with a man. You watched them drive off. You were able to see what kind of car it was. But you couldn’t begin to describe the man, except that he had blond hair,” he ranted. “A detail, I’ll bet, people had been talking about at school, since Steven McCoy, who has blond hair, had already been arrested.”

  “No!” she cried out. “That’s not true.”

  “It wouldn’t have been hard to find out what kind of car he was driving, either,” Luke pressed. “So it would have been easy for you, long after the body was discovered and a man was arrested, to tailor your story to fit some angry agenda of yours, wouldn’t it! You even told your friends, after she was killed that she deserved it, didn’t you? You wanted to get back at Maria in the worst way. But since she had been killed you couldn’t get it directly, you could only get it by smearing her memory.” He turned to face her. “Which is what you did, isn’t it, Katrina?”

  The girl’s face was beet-red under her white Goth makeup. She flew out of the witness chair. “I hated her, okay! She was a first-class bitch! And if she hadn’t wanted to fuck every guy she could get her hands on, she might be alive today! But that doesn’t mean I didn’t see her, didn’t see the guy she was with, and didn’t see the car they got into. Because I did! And whatever feelings I had toward her can’t change that!”

  32

  STEVEN AND JUANITA HAD
been living on room service, which was getting old. They needed a break, so tonight Juanita was hosting a dinner at an Italian restaurant a few blocks from their hotel. The restaurant’s owner set them up in a private room, so they wouldn’t be disturbed. Besides the McCoys, Kate, Luke, Riva, and Sophia had been invited. A small payback, Juanita announced, for the great work Luke and Kate had been doing for Steven.

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Luke cautioned her as he dug into his risotto. “It’s still a steep hill to climb.”

  “I think you’re doing very well,” she disagreed. “You made mincemeat out of that last witness.”

  Luke smiled. “Thanks to Kate’s great assistant,” he said, beaming at Sophia, who was sitting between her mother and Steven.

  Sophia looked up, and blushed.

  “No one’s going to believe that girl now,” Juanita said. “Which is an important part of their case, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Luke agreed. “But she may not have been totally discredited. Even people with agendas aren’t necessarily liars.”

  He didn’t want her testimony to be completely discredited. He was sowing the seeds of doubt. Later, when he brought his own witnesses forward, he wanted her description of the vehicle Maria had gotten into to have validity. But for now he wanted to rock Alex and Elise back on their heels, as often as he could. He looked at Sophia, across the table.

  “Good work,” he praised her again. “I’m glad you’re on our side, Sophia.”

  Again, she smiled, ducking her head and leaning toward Steven, who seemed to be more comfortable and less anxious than he had been at any time during the trial so far. He leaned closer to Sophia and whispered something in her ear. She smiled, and laughed softly.

  Sophia had had a wonderful winter. From feeling like an outcast at the start of the school year she had become, after her triumph in the play, almost too popular. She had more friends than she had time to be with, and she had also done well academically; so well that she had summoned the guts to apply for early admission to Stanford. She had debated the pros and cons of trying to get in there, because she hadn’t wanted to be seen as Wanda’s little sister—a tough act to follow—but the two of them had talked it over during several intense phone conversations, and Wanda’s advice had overcome whatever qualms Sophia had: it was a big school, Wanda was gone, and they were interested in different disciplines. Wanda had gone heavy on the sciences, and Sophia was going to be a liberal arts student, with a major in drama. She would chart her own course.

  In October, Sophia had sent in her application, and the week before Christmas, the thick FedEx envelope arrived—she’d been accepted. She and Kate had celebrated deep into the night. She was also, by now, an accomplished rider. She went up to the ranch almost every weekend to ride with Juanita, and to help with her winter garden and other ranch chores.

  None of that could compare, though, to her relationship with Steven. The two had been white-hot since their first sexual encounter. They were careful not to give Juanita any reason to be suspicious; it was always done away from any prying eyes. Steven used a rubber conscientiously, even though Sophia had volunteered to go on the pill so they could have bareback sex. But he didn’t want her to—why mess with your system if you don’t have to, he reasoned. He was a pre-med student, he knew about health.

  She didn’t know if she was in love with him, but she thought she might be. Once this trial was over and he was free, they would see what would happen. For now she was going with the flow, and loving every minute of it.

  She squeezed his hand under the table. He squeezed hers back. If only they knew, she thought deliciously. Her mother would have a heart attack.

  Riva leaned over to Luke. “She’s balling him,” she whispered into his ear.

  He looked up, startled. “What?”

  “Or he’s balling her. Or they’re both doing each other. However you want to say it,” she told him.

  Luke looked across the table at Sophia and Steven, who seemed to be engaged in their food. “How do you know that?” he whispered back in alarm. If that was true, and Kate knew about it, the shit would fly.

  And even if she didn’t, he was distressed over the possibility. Steven was on trial for murder. No good could come of a relationship between him and a girl who was the same age as the girl he was accused of murdering. That she was the daughter of his coworker, and one of his best friends, could only compound the misery.

  “Do you really think so?” he whispered.

  “I know so,” she said, keeping her voice down. “A woman’s radar for stuff like that is infallible, if you’re looking for it.”

  “Jesus H. Christ,” he muttered, looking at Steven and Sophia again. “Do you think Kate knows?”

  Riva shook her head. “She doesn’t want to know. If she has any suspicions, she’s buried them.”

  His eyes swept the table, coming to rest on Juanita, who was talking to her son. “What about Juanita?” he asked. “Does she? Could she?”

  “I’ve been wondering about that,” Riva said. “I’d bet they’re taking great pains to conceal anything from her. She’s a very moral woman. She wouldn’t countenance it, even if Steven wasn’t on trial. I’m sure she feels protective toward Sophia, almost as if Sophia was her own granddaughter.”

  Luke took a sip of wine to steady himself. He looked across the table at Steven and Sophia again. There was a glow between them. Now that Riva had alerted him to it, it was impossible to miss.

  “Are you going to say anything to Kate?” he asked Riva.

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Are you crazy? That’s the last thing I’d do. The best that could happen, aside from Sophia not getting pregnant, God forbid, would be for Kate to not know anything, at least until this trial is over, and Steven is free.”

  “If he’s free,” he had to caution her.

  Riva was a lawyer’s wife. She knew it was never over until it was over, no matter how sweet it smelled. “Yes. Until it’s over.” She squeezed Luke’s hand under the table. “Don’t you think you’re doing well? Looking at it objectively?”

  “I do,” he allowed himself to say. “But who knows what a jury will do?” He pushed his plate away—his appetite was gone. “Do you think I should say something to Juanita? Make sure she keeps them separated?”

  She shook her head. “It’s too late. Horse is out of the barn.” She glanced at Steven. “You might want to have a come-to-Jesus meeting with your client. Not about him bonking Sophia, specifically, but about keeping his nose extra clean in general, especially now that you’re in trial. All the great groundwork you’ve laid could blow up in your face if this came out.”

  She didn’t have to tell him why. If a rumor ever got started that Steven McCoy was such a reckless womanizer that he would initiate an affair with a girl in high school, the daughter of his lawyer’s private investigator, in the middle of his trial, the adverse publicity could be crushing.

  “It’s weird,” he mused. “It’s like he has a bipolar personality. He’s done some wonderful things, like risking his life to save that couple during the fire, but then he turns around and does something totally irresponsible, like having an affair with the woman he rescued while her husband was recuperating in the hospital. He has this mind-set of privilege and entitlement that makes him look arrogant and thoughtless. If he cops an attitude on the stand when Alex is cross-examining him, he could blow it.” He swigged another mouthful of wine. “I’m going to talk to him about Sophia. And about pretending to look humble, even if he doesn’t feel it.”

  Cindy Rebeck sat down in the witness chair. Despite the forecast for more rain she was wearing a short skirt over sheer black tights, and as she crossed one long leg over the other, the skirt rode halfway up her thigh. She demurely tugged it down, folded her hands in her lap, and gave Elise Hobson, who was standing at the podium, her undivided attention.

  Elise walked Rebeck through the process that led to Steven’s arrest, beginning with hers and Watson’s first visit
to the ranch, the day after the body was found. She read excerpts from the interviews the deputies had with Steven and Tyler, when the boys came back to Santa Barbara. Rebeck was precise and assured in her answers to all the questions. She should have been—Alex, Elise, and several other assistant D.A.’s had been coaching her for days.

  “When did you and Detective Watson first think that either of these men might be suspects, rather than material witnesses?” Elise asked. They were in the second hour of Rebeck’s testimony by now.

  “When we learned about the gun that was found in the house,” Rebeck answered smoothly.

  As she reached for a drink of water, her eyes left Elise’s face and drifted over to Steven, who was staring at her. She wet her lips and looked away. “Until then, there was no reason to,” she told Elise.

  “So until the murder weapon was found, and the defendant’s fingerprints showed up on it, you had no cause for suspicion. Is that correct?”

  Rebeck shifted in her chair and crossed one leg over the other again. “There came a time when we had some doubts about what they were telling us, but they were less of a suspicious nature than a curious one. That’s more a cop’s intuition thing than anything. You’re always assuming that nothing is exactly as it seems, not even one and one equals two. Finding out they hadn’t spent all their time together presented a set of circumstances that we had to nail down, but not because we had any suspicions about them. It was thorough police work, that’s all. Any officer in our position would have done it exactly the same way.”

  “So to repeat, suspicion didn’t fall on Steven McCoy until the murder weapon was found at the ranch, tested, and his finger-prints turned up on it.”

  “That’s correct.”

  This back-and-forth was one of the most important parts of Elise’s interrogation of her witness. She and Alex were sure Luke would try to claim that the boys’ Miranda rights had been violated, and she wanted to head that option off at the pass. Even though the Supreme Court had been giving the police more latitude in questioning suspects before they were Mirandized, it was still a touchy issue, particularly in a case like this, where the defendant wasn’t some scumbag gangbanger off the street, but the scion of a wealthy and important family. The deputies had played by the rules. The jury needed to be made clear about that.