Antoinette van Heugten

by Saving Max (v5) (epub)

  “I’m going,” he says tightly. “I’ll try to stall until she shows up. Max is in there, and he’s petrified. And you—” he thrusts an angry finger in Doaks’s face “—you get her here.”

  “Yes, sir, boss.”

  Sevillas turns and stalks back into the courtroom. It is packed. Not a seat remains. Just as he reaches the defense table, the bailiff stands. “All rise!”

  Everyone complies in unison. Judge Hempstead strides to the bench, climbs the five stairs that elevate her above the commoners and takes her seat in a high-backed chair. She nods at the bailiff.

  “All those present are called to this court to hear and be heard,” he bawls. “This is the 158th Precinct, Plano District Court, Honorable Judge Clarissa Hempstead presiding. Calling Cause Number 14-33698.”

  The judge smacks her gavel and dons steely half-lens glasses. She motions to the court reporter, whose hands are poised over her machine, to begin the formal record. She flips open a file and speaks sternly, without looking up. “For purposes of the record, this is both a proof-evident hearing to determine if the defendant was properly granted bail and an evidentiary hearing to determine if probable cause existed to charge the defendant, Max Parkman, in this case. The Court will consider evidence pertaining only to whether or not there is sufficient evidence to support the indictment against the defendants.” She gives an imperious look around the courtroom. The lawyers nod respectfully. “Also for the record,” she adds, “defendant’s motion to suppress on the ground of cross-contamination is denied.”

  Max clutches his arm. “What does it mean, Tony? Is it bad?” Sevillas squeezes Max’s shoulder and stares straight ahead. It’s bad, all right. It’s all coming in: the bloody comb, if they find it; the bloody clothing; Jonas’s St. Christopher’s medal—all the damning physical evidence. He lowers his head and writes on his legal pad. He does not look at Langley.

  Hempstead ends what appears to be a conference between her law clerk and court coordinator and turns to the audience. “The Court sees that members of the press have decided to grace us with their presence.” She gives them a withering glance. “I will say this once and only once. There will be no photographs taken in this courtroom and no disturbances from the press. You will check your cameras at the door. Unless you plan to stay until the Court declares a recess, don’t come at all. I will not have people jumping up and down or trailing in and out of my courtroom, distracting counsel and witnesses.” She peers out over her glasses. “Mr. Neville?”

  A man with slick gray sideburns and an expensive suit stands. “Yes, Your Honor?”

  “I wouldn’t want to name anyone in particular, but I will say that anyone caught in my courtroom with any kind of recording device will be charged with contempt.” The man sits quickly. Hempstead turns back to counsel. “Now, gentlemen,” she says. “Let the games begin.”

  Langley speaks softly to his associates and points at a sheaf of papers in front of him. He pulls a document from the stack and studies it.

  The judge drums her manicured nails on top of the bench. “Mr. Langley?”

  He looks up. “Yes, Judge?”

  “Are you planning to start, or shall I let the defendant’s bond stay right where it is?”

  “Absolutely not, Your Honor.” He speaks at warp speed. “The State is ready to proceed.”

  “Praise be. Call your first witness.” The judge holds up her hand as the bailiff whispers something in her ear. She looks at the defense table. “Mr. Sevillas?”

  He stands. “Yes, Your Honor?”

  “Would it be impertinent of me to ask where the other defendant might be?”

  Sevillas clears his throat. “Of course not, Your Honor. I’m afraid Ms. Parkman has been very ill for the past week. She is confined to her bed under doctor’s orders. She has assured me that, if at all possible, she will be here today.”

  “Does that mean she’s coming or not?” The brown eyes magnified by the half-moon lenses are displeased. “You are aware, Mr. Sevillas, that I have a trial beginning this afternoon. I have no intention of asking my coordinator to change that setting.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Mr. Langley?”

  Langley shoots to his feet. Before he can speak, Hempstead does. “Does the State intend to question Ms. Parkman today?”

  His head bobs up and down. “Absolutely, Your Honor.”

  She turns back to Sevillas. “Before Mr. Langley calls his first witness, you go out in the hall and call your client. Tell her I have ordered her to attend this hearing. And—” she points her pen at him “—I will not postpone Mr. Langley’s direct. This hearing will be over today, come hell or high water.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” Sevillas nods reassuringly at Max and then turns and walks out. The hall is deserted. He turns the corner and sees Doaks standing next to the elevators with his cell phone glued to his ear. As soon as he sees Sevillas, he snaps it shut. “What’s up?”

  “The judge told me to get Danielle in there—now.” He takes Doaks by the arm and looks him straight in the eyes. “You were just on the phone. Is she on her way?”

  “Yeah, you could say that.” Doaks pulls his arm away. “Why don’t you try to buy a little time—”

  “Are you crazy? Hempstead’s already royally pissed off, Langley’s licking his lips, and Max is about to lose it. Now, when will she be here?”

  Doaks looks at his watch. “Before lunch, I think.”

  Sevillas glares at him. “You drag her out of bed and tell her if she isn’t here in ten minutes, I quit.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Because she ain’t there,” he says slowly. “She’s comin’ back, but she got…delayed.”

  “Wait a minute.” Sevillas puts his face very close to Doaks’s. “Are you telling me she didn’t come back from Chicago when you did? That she isn’t in her apartment?”

  Doaks steps back and gives him a shrug. “Okay, okay, I ain’t been totally straight with you. Truth is, she gave me the slip in Chicago.”

  Sevillas groans. “To do what?”

  “To go to Arizona, where the Morrison broad lives. She found some wild stuff—”

  “Oh, Christ, don’t give me that tired line again.” He shakes his head. “She has completely fucked herself, does she know that? Jumped bond to fly around to two different states chasing nothing. We know who did it. She just won’t face it.” Sevillas glances at his watch and then at the courtroom door. “I’ve got to get back in there.”

  “What’re you gonna say?”

  Sevillas gives him a hard look. “If anyone expects me to lie to the Court and lose my license—guess again. And if she thinks I’m going to be able to keep her out of jail, she’s nuts.” He takes a deep breath and straightens his suit jacket.

  Doaks grips Sevillas’s shoulder. “Come on, Tony, hang tough. She’ll show up.”

  Sevillas shrugs free and opens the door. He looks back. “By the time she gets here, the judge will throw us all in jail.”

  Doaks winks at him. “Won’t be my first time.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Danielle clutches her purse. It contains the computer discs and two cloth diaries from Marianne’s desk. She has compelling evidence, but is losing hope that she can deliver it in time to save Max.

  She is at Gate 21 in the Phoenix airport, where her flight should have been pushing away from the gate. She sits in the crowded waiting area and looks at red blinking dots: “Flight 4831—Delayed—Mechanical difficulties.” Desperate, she fears she has exhausted the capabilities of the hapless check-in girl, whom Danielle has charged to find another flight to Des Moines that will get her to the hearing—before it’s over. No luck yet, but she’s still trying. Her smoking gun won’t matter a damn if she isn’t there. She’ll just have to wait it out.

  Exhausted, she senses that her thoughts are no longer linear. The mental discipline that has carried her through this night mare is unraveling. Mari
anne’s diaries have made her throw up twice, but she forces herself to pull another from her bag. It is covered in pink, sweetheart roses. The first entry blooms on the page in elaborate, feminine handwriting.

  Dear Dr. Joyce,

  Kevin was my special boy. It was so much fun at the hospital—a constant stream of visitors. I wore an absolutely stunning bed jacket—the palest little-girl pink with flaming red edging. Then we went home and, as usual, the trouble started.

  Danielle skips over the revolting description of the myriad of tests and torment she put the poor child through.

  One day I had a brilliant idea. I’d heard about succinylcholine when I was a nurse. It’s used as a muscle relaxant in surgery. Since my boy was in such awful pain, what would happen if I gave him just the teeniest dose? Besides, I’m only human—all that crying got on my nerves. So I injected him behind his knee (remember what I said about needle marks?) and it worked like a charm until he had a seizure. I had to bag him to get some oxygen into him. For those crucial minutes, he hovered between life and death. I’ve never felt so alive—terrified and thrilled—just like a roller-coaster ride.

  Danielle shuts the diary as another wave of nausea washes over her. Who will believe such a monster exists if they can’t read these entries with their own eyes? Her watch tells her it is now 10:00 a.m. in the Plano courtroom. Tony must be completely untethered by now. God, she has to tell him what she’s found so he’ll know how to question Marianne if she doesn’t get there in time. She digs in her purse for her cell phone, but realizes that Sevillas is incommunicado. Doaks. She punches in the number.

  “Where are you?”

  “In the airport.”

  “I’m comin’ to get you,” he says. “You’re up shit creek.”

  “John, I’m in Phoenix. The flight is delayed.”

  “Oh, Christ,” he groans. “For how long?”

  “Until they fix the plane. Listen, Doaks, I need you to—”

  “Look, Sevillas is so pissed at you that he’s in there right now suckin’ wind. That old sack Kreng’s on the stand callin’ Max a violent psycho and you a world-class whack-job. And Max is totally freakin’ out. I don’t know how long Georgia can prop him up. Get your behind on another flight and get here, Danny, or this whole thing’s goin’ right down the tubes.”

  “Doaks, please just listen to me.” She summons her most confident voice. “I’ll be there as soon as I can, but Sevillas can handle it until then. I’ve hit pay dirt, and I’m bringing it with me.”

  “Not again.” He mutters something she can’t hear. “Look, I know the mother’s nuts, but you ain’t—”

  “Nuts isn’t what I have,” she says. “Murder is what I have.”

  She hears a sharp intake of breath. “Better tell me quick.”

  “I’ve got cold, hard evidence that shows without a doubt that Marianne had other children, that she killed them in abominable, unthinkable ways—”

  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph. How many kids did she have?”

  “I don’t know. At least two before Jonas.”

  “Got anything that links her directly to Jonas?”

  “Not yet, but I’ll scan all of the entries before I land.”

  “Just get here quick,” he says. “Sevillas ain’t got that many card tricks left.”

  “I know, but you’ve got to find some way to get into her hotel room. She must have entries on her computer that relate to Jonas. All I have are diaries from years ago. She also probably travels with at least some trophies from her earlier murders, as many serial killers do. Each time she looks at them, they would remind her of her brilliance. Besides, it’s clear that Marianne is too arrogant to believe that she’d ever be caught. I’ll e-mail you her password from my cell.”

  “This ain’t gonna be easy, ya know.”

  “Without that evidence, we’ve got nothing to link her to Jonas’s murder.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. “Christ, pile another fuckin’ felony onto the stack.”

  “Put Sevillas on the phone.”

  “Can’t. He’s in the courtroom dealin’ with Kreng.”

  “Who’s the next witness?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Tell him to try to keep Marianne off the stand until I get back.”

  “And if he can’t?”

  “It’s not an option.”

  “Right.” His voice is battery acid. “Tony’ll love it when I lay that on him.”

  “Now get going and call me back when you’ve tossed her room.” Her words are cut steel.

  “Jesus, you’re startin’ to sound like a fuckin’ cop.”

  “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Nurse Kreng perches on the witness stand. She looks like a piece of petrified wood in her conventional whites, her hair yanked back from her face as tightly as a hundred-pack of bobby pins permits. Langley has taken her through every incident Doaks related to Sevillas from her interview: Max Parkman uncontrollably violent shortly after he was admitted to Maitland; Max Parkman psychotic and requiring almost nightly physical restraint; Max Parkman threatening Jonas Morrison’s life on numerous occasions. The list seems endless. All the while, Langley casts sidelong, sly grins at Sevillas as if letting him know he’s just getting warmed up. Then Kreng’s vivid description of the murder scene. For the first time, Judge Hempstead blanched and looked sharply at the defense table.

  Sevillas looks at Max. He sat very still during Kreng’s direct, trying to keep Sevillas and Georgia from seeing the tears he rubbed furiously from his face. Georgia kept whispering encouragements to him from behind the bar. Thank God, because the poor kid looked as if he might just crumble into a heap right there in the courtroom.

  He looks at the clock. Kreng’s direct has taken an hour. Langley is winding up. Sevillas glances at the note Doaks just slipped him. Scrawled in his inimitable handwriting, Danielle’s instructions are precise. He is not to mention Max. He is to stall if Marianne takes the stand. Danielle has critical evidence that implicates Marianne in Jonas’s murder.

  Max sits up when he sees Doaks pass the note to Sevillas. “Is it from my mom?” he whispers. “Is she coming?”

  Sevillas leans over. “She’s on her way. Don’t worry, son.”

  Max gives him a grateful look and manages a half smile for Georgia.

  “A quick question, Nurse Kreng.” Langley’s voice is as slick as canola oil sliding into a glass bowl. “Does your log indicate that the victim’s mother, Marianne Morrison, was present on the day of the murder?”

  “No, it does not.”

  Sevillas stands. “Objection. There is no evidence, either documentary or through witness testimony, that establishes Jonas Morrison was murdered by anyone.”

  “Do you doubt the boy is dead, Tony?” asks Langley.

  “Mr. Langley!” the judge barks. “I respond to objections in this court, not counsel. Take your seat.” He goes to his chair like a whipped puppy. “Now, Mr. Sevillas, would you care to enlighten me as to the nature of your objection?”

  “Your Honor.” His voice booms with new confidence. “We will be introducing evidence about the specific nature of the decedent’s injuries and whether they were self-inflicted or caused by a third party.” He looks at Langley. “Or both.”

  Langley’s confusion is written on his face. The judge looks keenly at Sevillas. “Are you telling me it is the defense’s contention that this boy caused his own death?”

  Sevillas folds his hands. “Your Honor, we prefer to introduce our evidence at the appropriate time. Our objection is limited to the extent that there is no foundation at this time for the State to characterize the decedent’s death.”

  The judge regards him thoughtfully, then shrugs. “Well, Mr. Sevillas, it’s your defense. Run it any way you want. But don’t think you’re going to spring some cockamamie forensic theory on me today. I’m not in the mood.” She turns to Langley. “Objection sustained. Rephrase.”

  L
angley shakes his head, as if Sevillas’s last statement is too absurd to warrant reflection. “Nurse Kreng, did you or your staff contact Ms. Morrison on the day Jonas Morrison…died?”

  Kreng purses her thin, colorless lips together. “She was called, of course, after we found the boy. She viewed the body and became hysterical. We administered some medication, and she rested for a while. Then I believe she was interviewed briefly by one of the police officers and taken to the police station for further questioning.”

  “Thank you, Nurse, but if you try to testify about what Ms. Morrison said, that would be hearsay.” A small smile lights the D.A.’s lips. “We will hear from the bereaved mother directly, in any event.”

  Sevillas turns around to see Marianne looking straight at him. Whatever Danielle thinks she’s found, it better be good. Langley’s star witness may well be a candidate for sainthood after she takes the stand.

  “Nurse Kreng, can you tell us if you ever viewed Maitland security footage of Max Parkman attempting to harm Jonas Morrison or, in fact, screaming that he wanted to kill him—”

  “Objection, Your Honor!” says Sevillas. “There has been absolutely no foundation laid for the existence of such security recordings, who took the video and whether or not it has been tampered with—not to mention the fact that no such tapes were provided to the defense prior to this hearing.”

  Langley strides forward. “Judge, critical to the question of whether or not Max Parkman murdered Jonas Morrison is the twisted relationship the defendant had with the deceased.”

  Sevillas stands. “Your Honor, the question is completely inappropriate. The State’s sole intention is to harass and prejudice my client.”

  “Approach!”

  Sevillas and Langley walk in unison, trained seals angling for the same fish. They reach the bench in time to hear Hempstead’s angry whisper. “Look, boys, this is not a trial. There is no jury. There’ll be no grandstanding here today. You’ve got reporters out there just waiting to write down every word potential jurors will read in the paper tomorrow. And believe me, you don’t want them to hear what I’d like to say right now.” Her voice sears cleanly through them, a machete through grass. “I’m going to give each of you ample latitude in your questioning.” She shakes a warning finger at them. “But don’t trip each other up on technical objections. And don’t try to sneak in evidence that isn’t in the record.” Her eyes shoot spears at Langley. “You have something you want me to consider, get a witness who can properly introduce it. Otherwise, I’ll make one or both of you a laughingstock by lunchtime.” She gives them a stony look over her wire rims. “Got it?”