MQuinn 03 - Lethal Beauty

by Wiehl, Lis

  Now they would never connect. But was this Lihong? She looked at the man’s wreck of a face, tried to match it up with her memories—and found that she didn’t know.

  “These are the burn marks on his wrists.” Doug lifted the dead man’s wrists to show her.

  “The thing is, I can’t tell if it’s him or not. It could be. Or it could be someone else. This guy’s face is just too”—she sought a word besides disintegrating—“damaged.” She looked from Charlie to Doug. “I’m sorry if I wasted your time.”

  With a shrug, Doug slid the body back and closed the door. “It’s not a waste if it would have helped narrow things down. Because right now we don’t have much to go on.”

  “I think our next step is to go back to the Jade Kitchen,” Charlie said to Mia. “See if Lihong’s there. And if he’s not …” He let his words trail off. “So do you want a ride back to work, or do you want to walk it?”

  She wasn’t sure she wanted to be alone with her thoughts again. “How about a ride?”

  After saying good-bye to Doug, they walked out to Charlie’s car. “It’s strange,” she said, “to think that a couple of weeks ago that guy, whoever he was, was walking around, breathing, talking.”

  “Are you thinking about Scott too?” He clicked the fob to unlock both doors and climbed in.

  She was thinking about Scott, she realized, as she waited for Charlie to lean over and relocate a half dozen discarded fast food wrappers scattered on the passenger’s seat. With a sigh, she got in. “It’s just hard to believe that you’ll never see someone again, at least not in this world.”

  As she turned to buckle her seat belt, Charlie’s eyes met hers. He was so close, she involuntarily caught her breath. He didn’t move, his eyes studying her. She met his gaze for a second, then turned away.

  Charlie broke the silence. “You didn’t see Scott’s body before it was cremated, did you?”

  “Everyone told me it was a bad idea, with his face so broken.” For a moment she pressed her fingers to her lips. “The problem is that you only get one choice, and you’ll never know if it was the right one.”

  “That describes a lot of life,” Charlie said as he started the car.

  He was just pulling up to the courthouse when Mia’s phone rang. It was the judge’s clerk, telling her the jury had sent out another note. Her mouth went dry as chalk.

  “That’s it, Charlie. They’re hung. I know it. They’re hung. It’s going to be a mistrial.”

  “You don’t know that,” he said reasonably. “It could be they’re just asking for clarification on something.”

  But even Charlie didn’t sound like he believed it.

  CHAPTER 16

  As Mia walked into the building, anxiety jockeyed with certainty. Her mind replayed key moments of the trial, imagining different actions and outcomes. What if she had used one of her preemptory strikes on Warren? Would the juror who replaced him have been any better? Or what if Sindy had stuck around long enough to testify? Would that have been enough to tip the balance?

  As they went through security, Charlie joked with Bernard, one of the sheriff’s deputies. “Pay no attention to Mia’s twitching. It’s just that we’ve been called back to the courtroom.”

  Bernard gave her a reassuring smile. She managed to lift the corners of her mouth in return. Her chest felt tight. She realized she was breathing shallowly, almost panting, and made a conscious effort to breathe from her abdomen.

  Before she entered the courtroom, Mia lifted her head and tried to wipe all expression from her face. Behind her, Charlie lightly touched the small of her back.

  Wheeler and Leacham were already at the defense table. Wheeler’s expression betrayed nothing, but David Leacham was bouncing his curled index finger against his slightly parted lips, knocking his front teeth with his knuckle. He stopped when he saw her noticing.

  Through her tinted glasses, Bo Yee was watching her, but she didn’t look upset. Of course, she didn’t know enough to be upset. Mia had tried to explain to Bo the day before that the jury was having trouble deciding, but Bo had seemed serene in her belief that justice would be done. Now Mia managed a nod as she took the last steps to the counsel table.

  She and Charlie sat down. She knew they would be standing again in just a few moments. And deep in her gut she knew they would be hearing that these last few weeks had brought no justice for Dandan.

  She caught a movement in the corner of her eye. Under the defense table, Leacham’s leg was jigging.

  “All rise!”

  As they got to their feet, Mia exchanged a sideways glance with Charlie. He gave her a smile that was more a twist of the lips, as if he were thinking the same anxious thoughts she was.

  After they were seated and Judge Ortega took the bench, she put on her reading glasses and unfolded the note. “We have received a communication from the jury, and it reads: ‘Nothing has changed since your last charge. I am sorry, very sorry, that we cannot come to one accord. I have done the best I know how, but we are still deadlocked. Our discussions have ceased.’ ”

  Behind her, a collective gasp rose from the onlookers. Even though it wasn’t a surprise, Mia slumped as if her strings had been cut. All that work—for nothing. It would just have to be done again. She turned toward the defense table. Wheeler was too much of a pro to let his feelings show, but Leacham was wearing a wide grin.

  Somehow the defense had gotten at least one juror to agree with the ludicrous idea that a petite teenager had been the aggressor, to believe that her death could be construed as self-defense. To believe that Leacham had a right to use her and then take her life.

  Mia tried again to take a deep breath, but it felt like it got stuck halfway. There was nothing up her sleeve now. She had given it her best shot. And what was to say that the next jury wouldn’t hang, or even vote for acquittal?

  Judge Ortega took off her reading glasses and let them fall on their chain. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I propose to bring the jury out and briefly question them.” No one objected.

  Wheeler leaned over and whispered in Leacham’s ear. Mia didn’t know what was said, but she could guess, as she watched his expression change so that now he looked serious, even contrite. While they waited for the jury to be brought in, the room quickly filled with reporters, as well as David Leacham’s friends and family. Somehow word had spread. Dandan was represented only by her mother.

  Bo looked confused. Mia caught her eye, shook her head, and mouthed, “I’m sorry.” How could she explain it to her? She could barely understand it herself.

  When the jurors filed in, they looked even more upset than they had yesterday. Several of the women were clutching sodden tissues.

  “Will the foreperson of the jury please stand and state his name for the record?” Judge Ortega said.

  Jim unfolded his lanky form. Even when he was on his feet his shoulders stayed bowed. “It’s Jim Fratelli.”

  “Mr. Fratelli, has the jury been able to reach a verdict in this case?”

  “No, Your Honor.” He sighed. “We have not.”

  “If the court were to give you more time to deliberate, could the jury reach a unanimous verdict?”

  It was obvious that Jim wished he could give a different answer. “No.”

  The judge looked at each of the jurors in turn. “If any of you disagree with Mr. Fratelli’s answer, please tell me now.”

  The jurors cut their eyes sideways, but no one raised their hands. Instead, they pressed their lips together, shook their heads, crossed their arms. Connor looked like he wanted to spit out something rotten. Naomi knuckled away tears. As Sandra looked from Mia to Bo, she started to cry in earnest.

  And the one person they all looked at, or looked away from, was Warren. He sat with his head hanging, seemingly engrossed in worrying a tiny bit of skin next to his thumbnail.

  Mia took a quick look behind her. Dandan’s mother still looked confused. She was leaning forward, her elbows on her knees, turning her
head to look at Mia, then the jurors, then the judge, then back to Mia.

  “All right,” Judge Ortega said to Jim. “Please be seated.” She turned toward the jurors. “Ladies and gentleman, I want to thank you very much. Because you cannot reach a unanimous verdict, I’m going to declare there is a manifest necessity for the declaration of a mistrial. I realize this has been a long road. So I’m going to excuse you back into the jury room, where I’d like to step inside just to express my appreciation. And you are now excused.”

  The clerk was saying, “All rise for the jury” when a woman’s scream tore through the room.

  “No!” It was Bo. “What is happening? No! You killed her!” With bared teeth, she launched herself at Leacham, her hands outstretched as if to strangle him. “You’re a murderer! A murderer! You killed her! You killed my daughter. You must pay!”

  The deputies were on either side of her in seconds as the crowd around her gasped and murmured and backed away. She sagged between the two burly men and would have fallen if it weren’t for their arms. Her cries turned to wordless screams while the judge banged her gavel.

  Every shriek was like a dagger to Mia’s heart. If she had done a better job, would Dandan and her mother have justice by now?

  CHAPTER 17

  It was clear that Bo Yee would never rest. Kenny saw that now. It didn’t matter if David Leacham walked free. She would still haunt him. Hunt him.

  In America and China both, they had the same saying: “An attack is the best defense.”

  He picked up the phone and dialed a number.

  “I need to talk to you. I have a business proposition.”

  He would wait until they were together to spell out the deal. As they said back home, on the other side of the wall, there are always ears.

  CHAPTER 18

  An hour later, Mia was sitting in Frank D’Amato’s office, fighting a headache. Fighting and losing. It felt as if someone were pushing a stainless steel knitting needle through her temple.

  Everything that had happened after Bo went for Leacham and then collapsed was a blur. The poor woman had been taken to a hospital for evaluation. The only good news was that she had harmed no one and was not facing charges for her outburst.

  After Bo had been escorted out, Judge Ortega had set a hearing in two weeks to discuss how to proceed. Leacham had walked out of the courtroom and into the arms of his supporters, all of them laughing and hugging and high-fiving as if he had been acquitted. Now Mia was meeting with Frank, her boss and the district attorney, to tell him about her plans to refile.

  Years ago, when Mia had first started working at King County, Frank had been just another co-worker, albeit one with five more years’ experience. But Frank had always wanted to be more. When he ran for district attorney, to the surprise of everyone but himself he beat his more experienced opponent.

  As the years passed, his external image caught up with his self-perception. He had traded in his Dockers for tailored suits, his passion for careful calibration. Now his thick black hair was touched with silver at the temples. When he wasn’t at the office, he was out in the community visiting victims of violence in the hospital, speaking to civic groups, and attending fund-raisers for various charitable causes. Was he doing it because he truly cared or because he knew it would eventually help him get reelected? Mia figured the answer to both questions was probably yes.

  As the years had passed, Frank’s life had become his job, and vice versa. Although framed photos of his children were displayed on his credenza, rumor had it that was about as close as he ever actually got to them.

  While he had been busy climbing the ladder, Mia had jumped off it. She had left the office after Brooke was born and only returned after Scott’s death.

  A few weeks ago, Frank had narrowly won reelection. The closeness of the race seemed to have left him off balance. Instead of basking in his win, he often seemed irritated and impatient.

  As he was now.

  “There’s a certain energy, a certain momentum that went into this trial,” Frank said. “You can’t recreate that or put it back in the bottle. It’s gone. You and I both know that the second time is not the charm. Your case became immeasurably weaker without that girl testifying that Leacham had previously held a knife to her throat. A retrial without that Sydney—”

  “Sindy,” Mia corrected.

  Frank waved a hand. “It doesn’t matter what her name is if you don’t have her. Because without her, this case will just get worse. Wheeler will be going over the court transcripts like he’s cramming for a final exam. He’s going to know exactly what your witnesses are going to say. He’ll know what you’re going to ask on cross. He’s going to go through the witness testimony line by line, looking for any inconsistencies. He’ll have twenty-twenty hindsight that will let him use whatever weaknesses or flaws he didn’t exploit the first time. And knowing Wheeler, he’ll find them.”

  Mia pressed her finger into her temple, trying to get the pain to stop or at least recede. “The same’s true for me.” She knew it wasn’t, not really, but she could not let this go. “I can learn from what Wheeler did. I can change things up.”

  “I don’t see how that’s possible, Mia. The defense will know every word you’re going to say, but you won’t have anything new to add. The evidence is unchanged. Meanwhile, Wheeler will bring in even more people who will airbrush Leacham’s image, and this time he won’t put on the stand the ones you were able to pick apart. He’ll be sure that all the jury hears about is how devoted Leacham is to his family, how he gives to widows and orphans and helps the poor.” He heaved a theatrical sigh. “Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.”

  What had happened to the old Frank, the one who gathered with them around takeout pizza in the break room on late nights, the one who was part of the team instead of the man who had his secretary summon her to his office? Mia was pressing her temple so hard she could feel her pulse under the pad of her finger.

  “Leacham’s story is impossible to believe.”

  “I will grant you that it is improbable.” Frank shrugged. “But it’s not impossible. Wheeler got at least one person to believe it. For all you know, he got eleven.”

  “I’m almost positive it was just the one juror who hung it, Frank. One. One juror who was incompetent or stupid or crazy, and who was also stubborn. It was just bad luck that he ended up on our jury.”

  Mia had walked into this meeting expecting Frank to be upset at the jury’s inexplicable inability to decide, but also certain he would agree with her about the next steps. Now she felt like she had been sucker-punched. Did he really think she could let David Leacham get away with murder?

  Frank said, “You know the saying that defense attorneys have. ‘It only takes one.’ They don’t need twelve, like we do. All they have to do is convince one juror. And in this case they’ve done it once, and they could easily do it again. It’s nearly impossible to get twelve people to agree on anything.” He made a sour face. “Meanwhile, what are you going to do? You’ve got the same old witnesses, except you haven’t even got the most damning one, the one you promised this jury.”

  “What if Sindy didn’t disappear on her own?” Mia blurted out.

  “What?” Frank’s gaze sharpened. “Do you know something you haven’t shared with me?”

  “No,” she said reluctantly. “It’s just a gut feeling.”

  He blew air through pursed lips. “Right now I only want to hear about facts. And the fact is you’re not going to develop more evidence or better witnesses. You fought the good fight, Mia, but you lost.” He steepled his fingers, carefully matching fingertip to fingertip, then looked up at her. “I don’t see the point in refiling.”

  A flash of anger jolted from her head to her heels. She took her finger away from her temple and jabbed it his direction. “The point is that a young woman died.”

  “I’m not denying that. Unfortunately, she’s also not the most sympathetic of victims. An illegal immigrant? A prostitute?”
He tilted his head.

  “What?” Mia thought of Luciana. “Are you saying she should have known what she was getting into?”

  “I’m just saying it’s hard to get jurors to identify with her.”

  “Are you asking me to forget that she was also a teenager who died choking on her own blood? I want this conviction, Frank. I want justice for Dandan.”

  “Everyone involved wants to bring this to a close,” Frank said, which wasn’t exactly Mia’s stance. “I say we go to Wheeler. Offer him a plea deal.”

  Inside, Mia went cold and still. “For what?”

  “Second-degree manslaughter. Two years.”

  “Two years?” She wanted to scream. “A girl is dead, Frank. Dead.”

  “And she’ll still be dead no matter what we do. At least this way there will be some recompense.”

  “Leacham deserves at least twenty years. And we can get it. I know we can. Two years is a slap on the wrist. And a slap on the wrist is not closure. It is not justice.”

  Frank had run on the office’s winning record. But key to that record was taking on cases you couldn’t lose and then pleading out the rest. And he clearly thought Dandan’s murder now fell into that territory.

  “It may not be justice, Mia, but it might be the best we can do at this juncture. Just because the state is automatically entitled to re-try this case does not mean we are obligated to. You already put on your best case, and you still didn’t get a conviction.”

  “I can’t let this go, Frank.” Why couldn’t he see this the way she did? What had happened to the old Frank, the one who saw that there were times when black was black, certainly not white, not even a shade of gray. Mia thought of an explanation for his behavior, shied away, and then circled back to it.

  Frank tapped on his computer keyboard, obviously having already mentally dismissed her. “Then you have until the day before you’re due back in front of Judge Ortega to bring me something new. If not, then we offer the plea agreement.”