by J. A. Faura
Wanting to get the cameras out of the courtroom as soon as possible, Donald Riche’s case was the first on the docket. Drew came into the courtroom to find it was standing room only and he was only allowed in because he himself had a case on the docket. When he walked in he was surprised by the level of noise in the courtroom, cameras whirring and people chattering, that is until the bailiff announced the judge’s arrival on the bench.
Even after the announcement, the noise level went down only gradually. Finally, once the courtroom was quiet, the court clerk called the first case, “Your honor, the first case is the People vs. Donald Riche, case number NY-1593245.”
Judge Harlan Robinson, a seasoned superior court judge with a booming voice and a cold, all-business manner, called the court to order, “Very well. Who represents the people?”
Neill stood up, “David Neill, District Attorney, representing the people, your honor.”
Judge Robinson grinned and looked up from the file, “Well, Mr. Neill. It is always good to see you in the courtroom, even if it’s once every six months or so.”
A low chuckle rippled through the crowd, Neill blushed but said nothing.
Robinson turned his attention to the defense table, “And for the defense?”
Lynch stood up, “Harvey Lynch, your honor. I will be representing Mr. Riche throughout these proceedings.”
Robinson flipped through the pages of the file in front of him and addressed the defendant, “Mr. Riche, are you aware of the charges being brought against you?”
Donald Riche, in a most serene voice, said, “Yes, I am.”
Robinson continued, “And are you aware that you need to enter a plea at this time?”
Before Riche could answer, Lynch jumped in, “Your honor, we would request a continuance in order to allow the defense to have Mr. Riche examined by a psychiatrist in order to determine whether a plea of not guilty by reason of insanity is warranted.”
Lynch knew that in order to pursue an insanity defense, it had to be established at the arraignment. He knew very well Riche would never be found insane, but still needed to establish the possibility of pursuing a ‘not guilty by reason of insanity’ plea.
David Neill immediately stood, “Your honor, the people would object to a continuance. Mr. Lynch has not engaged in any conversation with our office advising us that he was planning on pursuing an insanity defense. Mr. Lynch knows the standard for an insanity defense, and as we know, Mr. Riche clearly took measures to cover his crimes.”
Lynch responded, “Your honor, there has been no legal finding that Mr. Riche committed any crime, and we object to the district attorney coming to a conclusion without a single issue litigated yet.”
Willis was impressed that old Harvey wasn’t intimidated by the cameras or by Neill. He was actually making a good argument for a continuance.
Judge Robinson considered both sides’ arguments and finally turned to Lynch, “Mr. Lynch, as far as you can tell, do you feel your client at this point is capable of assisting in his own defense?”
Lynch was caught off guard, but he couldn’t lie, “Yes, your honor, at this time I believe Mr. Riche can assist in his own defense.”
Robinson continued, “Then I am going to deny the continuance. Mr. Riche will enter a plea today. You are of course entitled to have him examined by your experts and psychiatrists. The court is perfectly willing to allow Mr. Riche to withdraw his plea and enter an insanity plea if there is enough credible evidence that it is warranted.”
Neill interjected, “Your honor, the people would also like to have Mr. Riche examined by our own psychiatrists. We will coordinate with Mr. Lynch in order to not cause any further delays.”
Judge Robinson now addressed Riche, “Having understood all the charges against you, Mr. Riche, what is your plea, guilty or not guilty?”
Once again, almost casually, Riche responded, “Not guilty, your honor.”
The judge continued, “Very well, a plea of not guilty will be entered on your behalf. I am going to set the preliminary hearing two weeks from now, for January 30th. I am assuming that both sides will have had a chance to have their experts examine Mr. Riche, and even if that is not the case, both sides understand the hearing is just to determine if there is enough credible evidence to bind Mr. Riche over for trial.”
Drew was surprised. He knew that the judge had explained the purpose of the preliminary hearing for the benefit of the cameras and the reporters. Even old Harlan had been caught up in the hype. He usually wanted to move through the docket as fast as possible, obviously not today.
Once the proceedings for the Riche case were over, both the defense and the prosecution teams packed up and stood from the table.
Drew knew that Riche would be taken down through the parking lot beneath the courthouse, where all high-profile and particularly violent offenders were transported. Because of the high profile of the case, Riche would probably be transported in a cruiser or an unmarked car with a motorcycle escort from the courthouse to a holding cell at the city jail.
With the Riche case disposed of, the courtroom vacated almost immediately leaving only bailiffs, defendants and attorneys in the courtroom along with the court staff. Melanie Farris was now sitting at the prosecution table ready to deal with the rest of the day’s cases. Drew headed to the front to talk to her. He was thrilled she was back, but wondered why Neill had left her out of the prosecution team. Almost as soon as he formed the thought, he answered his own question. Neill wanted the spotlight on himself and himself only. Having Michael Gordon, a senior assistant district attorney, but one that handled mostly white-collar crimes and had very little criminal trial experience, would allow Neill to say he had senior ADAs on his team but would keep the attention on himself. Bart Logan was there for decoration and to do all the research on whatever citations came up during the proceedings.
As soon as Drew got to the prosecution table and got a look at Melanie he could tell she was not at all pleased about the situation, which meant he had a long day ahead of him.
Steven Loomis was in a vacant office in a building about two blocks away from the courthouse. He had scouted the area and found that there were a number of offices for lease within one or two blocks of the courthouse. He had seen three possibilities and asked to see them to make sure there was a direct line of sight and a window that could be opened. All three had line of sight, but only one had a window that opened. The previous two days Steven had walked the streets around the courthouse, looking for potential problems. He assessed the level of pedestrian traffic that could block the line of sight into the basement parking lot of the courthouse. He had considered various options, but the reality was that once Riche was taken into custody, there would be only one way to get to him without endangering anybody else.
He had watched through the scope as guards walked prisoners into the van to take them back to the central jail. Security had tightened severely after September 11, but even with that being the case, Loomis had been surprised at the ease with which he had been able to put together his mission.
He noticed that there were two guards on either side of the back doors, two guards stationed by the elevator where the prisoners came out, and two more stationed at the passenger and the driver side doors. Each prisoner would make his way from the elevator to the van shackled at the feet. The routine had remained consistent in the two days Steven had scoped it out. They had to walk approximately 10 feet between the elevator and the back of the van, which meant about 15 seconds to take the shot. The other thing that would make it difficult would be making sure no photographers happened to be crossing right in front of the ramp of the parking lot when Riche came down. The ramp in and out of the basement let out on a side street, which meant less pedestrians, but he’d still have to be careful since the media would always be trying to get a better picture.
Because the parking lot was underground and the van was always parked in the middle of the parking lot where
the elevators were, Steven had an opening of about 18 inches to get the shot through. During his time in the service, Steven had gone through extensive firearms training and had acquired more experience on the job. He had a ribbon as a marksman and had progressed to the expert level, but he was not a professional sniper. That was the reason he had chosen the M200. The technology employed to design the weapon was the latest in long-range target acquisition and could almost aim and fire itself.
Throughout his surveillance Steven had determined that the wind would not be above five miles an hour at the spot he would be firing from. The wind tended to get diffused by the high-rises, so a truly gusty day was relatively rare. He set his rifle on a desk in the office about three feet away from the window, to avoid anyone seeing the long barrel of the gun sticking out the window. Given that he’d decided to use subsonic rounds, the suppressor would muffle most of the sound. The sounds of the city, horns, traffic and the bustle of pedestrians, would also help make sure the sound of the rifle would most likely be lost in the mix. He was now in full operational mode, with a singular goal in mind and every one of his senses dedicated to accomplishing that goal.
Over the past two days, he had slowly transitioned from Steven Loomis, senior executive with a global security firm to Lt. Commander Steven Loomis, US Navy, DEVGRU SEAL team.
Donald Riche was walking toward the elevator with something akin to giddiness. He was fascinated by the entire process that he was being forced to endure, all in the name of his mandate. His happiness stemmed from his ability to adapt to everything that was being put in front of him in spite of the fact that what he wanted most was to shout out to the world and let every one of its inhabitants know about what he had done, what he had been destined and tasked to do. Most of all, he wanted to tell them how different he was from all of them, how superior he was. He wanted them to know that he could hear, see, smell and feel things they could not, that he’d always been able to. He knew they wouldn’t believe and they would laugh, but it was true, he knew it to be true. He would have his opportunity to do it, to make sure that he was heard around the world, something he had not imagined in his wildest dreams.
Seeing all the cameras in the courtroom, he came to realize that everything that would be said, everything that would be talked about and argued, and whatever he explained and showed would be broadcast around the world. Every single person around the world who had a television or a radio, read a newspaper or surfed the Internet would know about what he had done, what he had accomplished. He didn’t mind the chains on his ankles or on his wrists. He knew it was also part of the game, part of what they needed to feel safe and to perpetuate the game their life was.
In reality Riche was being handled the same as any high-profile violent defendant. The tactical unit moving him around had been trained to handle families and others in court, the media in the hallways and around the courthouse when the defendant wasn’t in a courtroom. Only the most experienced officers, officers who wouldn’t be distracted, who wouldn’t be swayed by the media attention, were put on Donald Riche’s detail.
Once they were in the service elevator, all members of the team relaxed a notch. They knew there would be no press, no cameras, no one other than officers between the elevator doors and the van that would transport him back to the central jail for holding.
Chapter 12
Robert Grady had wanted to be at the arraignment hearing. As the lead investigator on the case, he felt he had to be there. He had been to the arraignment of every serious felon he had ever collared. In this instance he had wanted to be there, but given the evidence and the facts as they were known so far, he knew the judge would never set bail anywhere near what Donald Riche could make.
In fact, the judge had deemed the case to be a no-bail case given the circumstances, the nature of the crime and the attention the entire world was paying to this case. Harlan Robinson was a fair judge, but he was also a smart one, and he knew if he set bail at whatever amount and the defendant was somehow able to come up with the money, with a case like this, his career would essentially be over. Appellate and federal court would instantly be erased from his future, having a child abductor and murderer free on bond would be all the opposition would need to derail any of his ambitions. That, along with the pictures he had been presented with, had been enough for Judge Robinson to make this a no-bail case.
Grady had arrived at the courthouse shortly after the actual hearing had taken place, but given everything that was moving around the case, he also turned his level of concentration down a notch. He knew Riche would be taken down into the parking lot through the service elevator, the way all felons of his type were, so he decided to use the stairs to make it down to the parking lot to see Riche being transported to central for holding. He’d been told he missed the hearing near the entrance, before heading up the stairs. It was just one floor down, so he knew he would be able to get down into the lot before Riche and the tactical team made it to the bottom.
Grady in fact did arrive before the elevator doors opened. He positioned himself next to the elevator doors where there was a small group of officers waiting. As soon as the elevator arrived, the tactical team handed the prisoner off to the guards that would escort him to the van. There were two sets of guards, one to receive him off the elevator and one to guide him into the van. It seemed like an overly redundant and overly cautious protocol, but it had worked for years and it let everyone know that the NYPD was on the ball.
The elevator arrived and Riche and the officers got out. After they got out, the officers guarding Riche took positions to keep any curious pedestrian or media away, even though they knew neither would be allowed down into the basement. They all knew that cameras were positioned outside to get a picture of the van coming out of the parking lot and that some photographer might just risk trying to get a better shot. They’d be ready if it happened. The tactical unit was no bullshit and took their job seriously.
Steven Loomis knew the time that had been set for the hearing, the DA’s office had called his family as they had called every other family to let them know the time and date of the hearing, but by then Steven had already decided on his mission. With his family gone and out of sight, he was able to concentrate on what he determined to be the right course of action.
He didn’t know how long the hearing would be or how many cases would come before Riche’s, but he was patient, very patient. There was no way to be a covert operative without having nerves of steel and a heavy dose of patience. The key to any significant operation was timing, knowing exactly when to move and when to stay put. As he sat and waited, he noticed that the police were keeping the ramp clear, just as he’d expected.
He saw the elevator arrive at the basement. He knew it because he saw the guards tighten up, something they hadn’t done with anybody else. He began to control his breathing, making it even and deep, he put his eye to the eyepiece on the scope, determined the distance and angle and made the necessary adjustments on the scope. The M200, a 27-pound weapon with the latest technology, responded instantly, accurately. There was no anger, no sense of revenge, just the mission and his training.
Steven waited and paced his breathing; it was only a matter of seconds now. All he had to do was make sure that he had been handed off the same way as all of the other felons he had scoped out before, that there weren’t any variations from the norm. If Steven saw any variation from the norm, he would hold off. There was no way he was going to take the risk of someone being out of place or out of order. Things could definitely get bad when you improvised like that in a mission like this.
Grady stood back and looked at the man responsible for the horror that he had witnessed not so many nights before. Perhaps it would have been easier for him to accept, to reconcile with what he had seen, if what came out of the elevator was some sort of monster, but what he actually saw was the same meek and quiet guy that he and Mullins had interviewed. Someone he might have had a beer with under differen
t circumstances. The reality, or what passed for reality, for Grady at the moment was that the man he saw coming out of the elevator had kidnapped, raped, tortured and mutilated nine little girls and had done it with meticulous care. The reality was that in all the years he had been on the force he had never felt like he had come face-to-face with pure evil, with something that didn’t fit or could not fit into the parameters Grady had set for even the most depraved, violent and deranged human minds.
This was a case that would forever change Robert Grady and he knew it. Being here, seeing Riche being passed along just like any other man was the first step for Grady to begin the process of moving on. He would have to testify, but he was more able to do that as a part of his job, with his own human emotions in check. Seeing Riche as a criminal, a monstrous and depraved criminal to be sure, but a criminal nonetheless, was part of how Grady planned to begin to deal with the nightmares that were coming every night now.
Steven, now fully in operational mode, was breathing rhythmically, timing his breaths based on what he saw through the scope. Keeping his heartbeat in check and in rhythm with his breathing. He calculated distance, wind and the drop of the bullet in his head and decided how much he would lead his target. He utilized the mil dots on the scope to determine the timing of the shot. When he saw what he expected, he exhaled, held his breath for a half a second and timed the shot between heartbeats.
As Riche was being transferred from one set of guards to the next, Grady heard a distant crack. To anyone on the street who might have heard it through the sounds of the city and the traffic, it might have sounded like a backfire or a firecracker, but to Grady and most of the guards around Riche, most of whom had spent time in the service, it could only be one thing. The sound had a metallic, muffled quality about it, which helped to hide it in the noise of the city, but it was still unmistakable.