Reynolds opened his drawer and pulled out a tape recorder. “I have to advise you of your Miranda rights,” he said, reading them off a plastic card. When he was finished, he added, “You really should have your attorney present during the questioning. Once I record your statement, I’ll have to take you down to the court and have you arraigned. Is your sister here or is she still in San Francisco?”
“Carrie’s supposed to meet me here at ten,” Rachel said. “She’s been staying at my house.” She was afraid of being taken into custody. Correctional officers were just like cops. Everyone in uniform knew the jail was their domain, that once the metal bars slammed shut, terrible, despicable things could happen.
“Then I suggest you call and find out where she is,” the attorney said, glancing at his watch. “It’s 10:15.”
“May I use your phone?”
“Be my guest,” Reynolds said, pushing it to the comer of his desk. He tested the tape recorder and discovered the batteries were weak. Walking toward the outer office where the supplies were kept, he glanced back from the doorway. “Oh,” he said, “I almost forgot. I need to get a statement from your daughter. Ask your sister to bring her along.”
Rachel’s hand flew to her chest. “Tracy’s in school.”
“Well,” he said, “I guess your sister will have to drop by the school and pick her up. I’m sorry, but we really need to take care of this today. Since Atwater says your daughter can substantiate your whereabouts at the time of the shooting, her testimony will play a major role in this case.”
Rachel’s fingers trembled as she dialed the number to her house. This was the moment she had dreaded. When Carrie didn’t answer, she sighed in relief. “There’s no answer,” she told him. “My sister must have already left.”
“Give me the name of your daughter’s school,” Reynolds said. “I’ll send one of our people over to pick her up.”
“You don’t have to speak to Tracy,” Rachel said. She would tell him the truth. She would rather go to prison than allow her daughter to perjure herself.
“What’s this about Tracy?” Carrie said, stepping up behind the attorney in the doorway. She was dressed in a tailored off-white suit, nude hose, and high heels, and her hair had been freshly washed and styled. Her makeup was impeccable, and large gold earrings were clipped to her ears. “I’m Carrie Linderhurst, Rachel’s sister,” she said, extending her hand. “You must be Blake Reynolds. Mike Atwater says you’re an up-and-coming star around here. I’ve been in his office discussing the rapes.”
The young attorney’s eyes flashed with pride. “Coming from Mike, that’s quite a compliment,” he said, shaking her hand. “As to the kid, we need to talk to her right away. I was going to have you bring her down with you, but since you’re already here, I’ll arrange for someone from our office to pick her up at school.”
“Not today,” Carrie said, looking over at Rachel.
“Tracy has exams all day. If you yank her out of school, the poor kid may fail her courses.”
“Fine,” Reynolds said reluctantly, “but we’ll have to talk to the girl in the next day or so.”
“No problem,” Carrie said, taking a seat next to Rachel. As soon as the attorney walked into the outer office, she leaned closer to her sister. “I know how strongly you feel about Tracy testifying, Rachel,” she whispered. “If we can positively link Grant Cummings to these rapes, we may be able to clear you without using her. We’ll stall as long as we can. If the state puts together a strong case, though, I’ll have no alternative but to call Tracy as a witness. Since Grant claims he saw you standing behind him in the men’s locker room at the time of the shooting, proving he was involved in these crimes will make his testimony less credible.”
“But the police say they have another eyewitness in addition to Grant,” Rachel said.
Reynolds walked back into the room, and Carrie stopped speaking. Rachel watched as he inserted the new batteries in the tape recorder, then pressed the record button. She focused on the blinking red light, perspiration dampening her armpits. Other than the candy bar she had stolen as a child, Rachel had never broken the law, yet she was about to be marched into a courtroom as a criminal defendant.
The nightmare was now a reality.
c h a p t e r
THIRTY-ONE
When Rachel followed Carrie into the courtroom at three o’clock that afternoon, she saw Mike Atwater sitting in the front row. As soon as he saw Carrie, he stood and smiled, drinking her in with his eyes. Rachel regretted her T-shirt and jeans. Next to her sister’s polished perfection, she felt disheveled and shabby.
“Did you tell Rachel the news about Sherry Lafayette?” Atwater asked.
“Yes,” Carrie said.
“It’s a major break,” the attorney said with enthusiasm. “We found Alice Rooney less than an hour ago. She’s the other woman who was raped in the orange grove. She’s living in Colorado Springs now. I have an investigator on the way to the airport as we speak. He’s going to show her a photo lineup containing Grant Cummings. If she identifies him as her attacker, we might be able to clear you and get your job back.”
Her job? Rachel was standing in a courtroom about to be arraigned for attempted murder, and Atwater was foolish enough to think she might be reinstated as a police officer. She didn’t want to develop false hopes. Joe had taught her to be optimistic, holding on to the belief that everything in life happened for a reason, that bad experiences could be turned into something positive. Had she not accepted this premise, she could never have lived through his death. If Grant had done nothing else to her that night in the orange grove, he had made her look at life more realistically. As Tracy had always told her, bad things were simply bad. There was no underlying good in Grant Cummings, nor in any of the other officers who had wronged her. “Even if they agree to take me back,” she said, “I don’t know if I could ever work there again.” She looked over her shoulder, seeing Blake Reynolds take his seat at the prosecution table.
“Of course you can,” Carrie said. “That’s what this is all about. We’re going to undo all the wrong these people have done to you. You shouldn’t have to sacrifice anything. You’re a victim in this ordeal.” She turned her attention to Atwater. “Take off your jacket.”
“Why?” he said, taken aback.
“Because I want Rachel to wear it.”
Atwater scowled, but he did as she asked, slipping off his gray Armani jacket and handing it to Rachel. “It doesn’t matter how I look,” Rachel said. “This isn’t a beauty contest, Carrie.”
“You want to make a good impression, don’t you?” her sister said. “Put it on, Rachel. You’ll be sitting down. No one will know you have jeans on. Right now, you look like a criminal.”
After Rachel slid her arms into Atwater’s jacket, she felt small and vulnerable. She took her seat at the counsel table beside her sister. Atwater was almost a foot taller, and the jacket engulfed her, making her feel like a child in an adult’s clothing.
“All rise,” the bailiff said. “Division Twenty-two of the Ventura County Municipal Court is now in session. Judge Robert Sanders presiding.”
The judge took his seat on the bench in a swirl of black robes. With salt-and-pepper hair and eyes the color of slate, Sanders was a diminutive man in his mid-sixties with a scratchy voice and a stem demeanor. “The State of California versus Rachel Simmons, ” he said, calling the case. “Are the parties all present and accounted for?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Blake Reynolds said, standing stiffly.
“Carrie Linderhurst for the defense,” Carrie said, organizing her hastily prepared notes on the table. After Rachel had given Reynolds her statement, her sister had asked the district attorney to postpone the arraignment until later in the afternoon. Reynolds had been gracious enough to let Carrie use the agency’s law library to prepare. At this stage, things were not that complex, but as the case moved along, she would have to conduct extensive research to familiarize herself with crimin
al procedure.
“All right, then,” Judge Sanders said, slipping on his bifocals. “In case number A358965, the defendant has been charged with the crime of attempted murder, as set forth in section 664(a) and section 187 of the California Penal Code. How do you plead?”
“Not guilty. Your Honor,” Carrie said.
“Fine,” the judge said. “This matter is set for preliminary hearing two weeks from today. Does April fifth fit your schedules, counselors?”
Reynolds and Carrie said the date was fine.
“As to the matter of bail,” he continued, “would the People like to present their position?”
“The defendant voluntarily surrendered,” Reynolds said, cutting his eyes to Rachel. “The People feel bail in the amount of fifty thousand dollars is appropriate.”
Carrie pushed herself to her feet. “Your Honor, my client has been through hell. I’m not sure you are aware of all the facts in this case, but the man she is charged with shooting brutally battered her.” She turned around and whispered something to Atwater, waiting while he removed an envelope from his shirt pocket and handed it to her. “May I approach the bench?”
Judge Sanders nodded.
Carrie walked up and handed the judge the contents of the envelope: the photographs taken of Rachel at the hospital. “Mr. Reynolds, have you seen these photographs?” the judge asked, scowling as he stared at the images.
“Yes, Your Honor,” he said. “We’re aware Mrs. Simmons was battered, but at present we have no proof that the victim in this matter perpetrated this assault. Not only that, but the beating appears to be intrinsically linked to the shooting. After Mrs. Simmons was allegedly battered by Officer Cummings, evidence shows she went to the police department and shot him in retaliation. For these reasons, I don’t believe the court can use the defendant’s injuries as a reason to negate setting an appropriate amount of bail in this matter.”
“Miss Linderhurst,” Judge Sanders said.
“My client has no previous criminal record, has maintained a residence in Oak Grove for many years, and has two minor children in the home,” Carrie said, her speech clipped and articulate. “This is a complex situation. Your Honor. My client is a young mother, a widow to be precise, a person who has dedicated her life to serving her community. She has attempted to do the right thing, both morally and legally, by bringing to light serious misconduct by her fellow officers. Because of her actions, she has placed herself in great danger. Her fellow police officers abandoned her, left her trapped in a room with a murderer and a partially decapitated corpse. These same officers entered her home illegally and set up unsanctioned surveillance equipment. Mr. Cummings has made specific threats to harm her daughter. As we already pointed out, this man violently assaulted my client. Should the court now assault my client by locking her up and restricting her from seeing her children?” She stopped and shrugged. “There’s no need for bail in this case, Your Honor. If Mrs. Simmons had wanted to flee, she would have already done so. Instead, she came in of her own volition. We respectfully ask the court to release the defendant on her own recognizance.”
“No bail in an attempted murder case?” Judge Sanders said, shifting in his seat. Captain Madison had already contacted him, insisting that he hold Rachel without bail. He had been deluged by phone calls from the press, asking if the court proceedings would be televised. Under this kind of public scrutiny, he could not afford to make a mistake. “These charges are too serious for me to release your client on her own recognizance. If she’s in the kind of danger you seem to suggest. Miss Linderhurst, perhaps your client will be safer in jail than she would be if I released her into the community.”
Carrie’s face flushed with anger. “That’s ridiculous,” she blurted out without thinking.
“Are you addressing the court?” Sanders said, giving her a scalding look.
“No, Your Honor,” Carrie said, slouching down in her seat. “Forgive me, I spoke out of turn.” Something else came to mind, and she straightened up. “May we schedule an evidentiary hearing? I’d like to file a discovery motion.”
Sanders picked up his pen and scribbled something in the file, then began speaking. “Bail will be set at fifty thousand dollars. Until the defendant posts bail, she will be remanded into the custody of the Ventura County Sheriff’s Department. As to the evidentiary hearing, we’ll schedule it for ten o’clock Friday morning if Mr. Reynolds has no objection.”
“That will be fine,” the district attorney said, already packing his briefcase to leave.
“This hearing is adjourned.” The judge tapped his gavel, then disappeared from the bench.
Rachel had a strange, empty feeling in the pit of her stomach. The bailiff waited while she removed At-water’s jacket and walked over to return it to him. “I think you need to hire another attorney, Rachel,” he whispered. Carrie was still looking over some paperwork at the counsel table. “Not only is your sister not familiar with criminal procedure, but she doesn’t know the idiosyncrasies of the players. Judge Sanders is a prickly old goat. If she speaks out of turn again, he’ll slap her with contempt charges.”
“Carrie will be fine,” Rachel said.
As soon as the bailiff handcuffed her, Carrie stood, a downcast look on her face. “It’s too late to get the money transferred for your bail,” she said. “I’m sorry, Rachel. I thought I could get them to release you on your own recognizance. I should be able to get the money together by tomorrow or the next day. Just hang tight and don’t panic. I promise I’ll get you out of jail.” Carrie was beginning to have second thoughts about representing her sister. Seeing Rachel in handcuffs made her feel as if she had already failed. If her sister suffered a conviction, the guilt might be overwhelming. She watched as the bailiff led Rachel out of the courtroom, then picked up her paperwork to leave.
“I’ll help any way I can,” Atwater said, walking down the aisle beside her. Both were tall, and they easily fell into step together.
“Great,” Carrie said. “Can you stop by the house tonight around eight? If you’ve got a spare copy of the California Penal Code and a volume outlining standards on criminal procedure, I’d appreciate it if you would bring them. I’m going to have to hit the books and see if I can bring myself up to snuff. I don’t have a whole lot of time, so I need to begin preparing immediately.”
“Who’s watching Rachel’s kids?” Atwater asked, inhaling a whiff of her cologne. It was fresh, lemony, and feminine.
“Joe’s at the neighbor’s house,” Carrie said, pushing open the doors to the courtroom. “I flew down here to look after the kids. Now it looks as if I’ve got a trial on my hands. I can’t be Mary Poppins and F. Lee Bailey at the same time. Tracy’s waiting at school for me to pick her up. I promised I’d be there by three-thirty, and it’s almost four now.”
“Why don’t I take you to dinner later this evening?” he asked, his eyes roaming up and down her slender frame.
“I don’t need food,” Carrie answered. “What I need right now is some peace of mind. My sister’s being framed for a crime she didn’t commit.” She stopped walking and rubbed her forearms, experiencing a sudden chill. “Have you ever had a feeling that something terrible was about to happen? This thing with Rachel and the police department is giving me the creeps. Instead of trying to expose all this stuff, why didn’t she simply turn in her resignation and walk away?”
“I guess this is important to her,” Atwater said, taking off down the corridor at a brisk pace.
Carrie stopped at a flower shop to purchase a dozen roses. When she arrived at Tracy’s school, she saw the girl sitting by herself on the steps. She opened the door to Rachel’s Pathfinder and got out, holding the flowers behind her back. “What happened?” she said. “Don’t keep me in suspense here. Weren’t you supposed to find out if you made cheerleader today?”
“I made it,” Tracy said, smiling. “Sheila made it too.”
“Congratulations,” Carrie said, handing her the flowers.
“You’re my niece,” she said, pulling her into her arms. “You’ve got good genes.”
Tracy climbed into the passenger seat as Carrie circled around to the other side of the car. “I may have to let it go,” she said, staring at the bouquet in her lap.
“I don’t understand,” Carrie asked, tilting her head.
“How can I practice every day after school? I have to watch Joe so Mother can sleep.” She handed Carrie a piece of paper. “Look at how much the uniforms cost.”
“Everything will work out,” Carrie said, glancing at the notice and then handing it back to her.
“Nothing ever works out,” Tracy said, slumping in her seat. “The outfits cost five hundred dollars. Mother doesn’t have that kind of money. I should have never tried out. Now I’ll have to tell the coach to give my slot to one of the alternates.”
Carrie felt a tug on her heart. The girl had suffered enough hardship. She thought of her own son and how uncomplicated his life had been. “Look,” she said, “I’ve been thinking about making some changes. I’m burned out on San Francisco. It’s no place for a single woman like me. What would you say to me moving down here?”
“Are you serious?” Tracy said, her eyes expanding. “That would be great. But what about your job and your friends?”
“I’ll make new friends,” Carrie said. “And affiliating with another firm shouldn’t be a problem. If your mother and I split the rent, she should have enough money to put Joe in day care and pay off the rest of your father’s hospital bills.”
“We don’t have enough room as it is,” the girl said. “It won’t work, Carrie.”
“We’ll make it work,” Carrie told her, smiling. “Your mother’s only renting right now. If we pool our resources, maybe we can buy a house large enough for all of us.”
Tracy was entranced by the picture Carrie was painting, but she didn’t want to get her hopes up only to be disappointed. “Why would you do this?”
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