Killer Ambition

by Marcia Clark

“So you can’t rule out the possibility that someone broke into Averly’s car at some point?”

  “Not completely, no.”

  “Now, it’s relatively easy to collect someone’s hair without their knowing it, isn’t it, Ms. Struck?”

  “Well…it could be done. I’m not sure how easily.”

  “Then let me give you an example. If I held your jacket for you, I might find hairs on the shoulders that I could lift off with my bare hands, isn’t that right?”

  “You might.”

  “And if you used the courthouse restroom across the hall, I might find your hair in the sink?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “So wouldn’t you agree that there are several ways someone could collect a person’s hair without that person knowing it?”

  “I haven’t counted the ways, but I’d agree there are a few.”

  “And if I took hair off a person’s jacket and put it into someone’s car, you’d have no way of knowing that I’d planted that hair, would you?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Thank you. So it’s possible that the hairs you found to be consistent with my client’s were planted in Averly’s car, isn’t it?”

  “Counsel, it’s possible we could be on a spaceship to Jupiter right now. Or I could be the next Miss America. Though I’ve yet to be nominated, hard as that may be to imagine.”

  At that, the jury laughed out loud. Short, squat, no makeup, inch-long-steel-gray-haired Dorian wouldn’t enter a beauty contest if her life depended on it.

  Judge Osterman frowned. “I believe Ms. Struck is interposing her own objection that your question calls for speculation. Which it does. Sustained. Next question.”

  Terry didn’t miss a beat. She came straight back at Dorian. “You can’t say someone didn’t plant those hairs in Averly’s car, can you?”

  “No. I can’t say they didn’t, but I have no reason to say they did.”

  “And once again, you’re not trying to tell this jury that the hairs in Averly’s car are definitely Ian’s hair—you’re just saying they’re consistent with Ian’s hair, right?”

  “Yes, right.”

  “So they might not be Ian Powers’s hair, correct?”

  “Correct, they might not.”

  “Thank you. Nothing further.”

  Before the judge could ask, I was on my feet. Terry’s persistent questioning about planted evidence and frame-ups was, as she intended, having a water-on-rock effect on the jury. At first I’d seen only mild curiosity on their faces, but by the end of Dorian’s cross, I’d begun to see real interest. I had to find a way to do some damage control. I took a shot in the dark.

  “Ms. Struck, is there anything noteworthy about the hairs that was inconsistent with both Ian Powers and Jack Averly? Anything that might indicate whether they were deposited recently, or by someone who’d been in the car on more than one occasion?”

  “What I can say is this: the unidentified hairs in Mr. Averly’s car did not match each other. That indicates they came from different people—not one person—and probably at different times, or I would have found more hairs that matched each other.”

  It was as good as I was going to get. It didn’t rule out the possibility that some unknown conspirator had gotten into Averly’s car and planted Ian’s hair, but no witness could do that. The only thing that could was common sense. I tried to look calm and confident as I said, “Nothing further.”

  “Defense?” the judge asked.

  Terry looked unperturbed. “No, Your Honor, thank you. But I’d like this witness to remain on call.”

  Placing a witness on call means they have to come back whenever they’re summoned—no further subpoena required. Sometimes it means the lawyer has something to smack the witness with later—an inconsistent statement, or a prior screwup of some kind. Sometimes it’s a bluff. And sometimes it’s just a way of making sure a witness will come back in case the lawyer forgot something. It would be just like Terry to bluff. But it would also be just like her to really have something up her sleeve—though what anyone could have on Dorian was hard to fathom. It made me every bit as nervous as Terry undoubtedly meant it to.

  The judge turned back to me. “We have about fifteen minutes left. Do you have any short witnesses?”

  Dorian, who’d just stepped down from the witness stand, gestured to herself and looked up at the judge. “How much shorter can they get?”

  The jury laughed again. I’d heard she had a funny side, but this trial was the first time I’d seen it.

  And on that note, the judge declared the court in recess for the day. Things wouldn’t always go this well, I knew. But for now, just for this one moment, I let myself enjoy a brief surge of hope.

  68

  I would’ve preferred to take our end-of-day confab back to the Biltmore bar, where we could plot our next moves in comfort. But we couldn’t talk in public. The only safe place, other than my room, was in my office with the door closed. And Eric had even questioned the security of that option. He’d offered to have our offices swept for bugs. So far, I hadn’t felt the need. There was nothing we talked about that the defense didn’t already know.

  Bailey perched on a chair in front of my desk. “So who’s next?”

  “Have you heard from Janice?” She could give us some information on the feud between her brother Tommy and Russell, and just through her presence remind the jury that Brian had been a real person.

  “She’s still waffling,” Bailey said. “She wants to show her support, but…it’s a double whammy for her.”

  I nodded. Bad enough having to deal with agoraphobia, but she’d also have to be in the same room with one man who’d driven her brother to suicide and another who’d murdered her nephew. That didn’t mean it was a lost cause, but I couldn’t count on her.

  “Have you taken a temperature check on Raynie lately?” I asked. I still wasn’t sure what side she was on, and I couldn’t afford to have the mother of the victim become a hostile witness. Better to do without her testimony than have the jury see that.

  “Haven’t had the chance,” Bailey said.

  “Why don’t you let me give her a call?” Declan asked.

  Why not? I didn’t want to set him up to take any hits for being my “stooge,” but I couldn’t imagine Raynie getting ugly with Declan. Russell would, but not Raynie.

  “If you’re okay with it, I have no objection.”

  “You want to put her on Monday if she’s…in the right frame of mind?”

  I nodded.

  “Then I’ll take care of it right now.” Declan stood to go.

  “Hang on a sec. What’s Vanderhorn been saying lately?”

  Declan gave a little conspiratorial smile. “Not much. He’s doing more listening than talking—”

  “I hope you’re recording this rare event—”

  “It’s going into my earth capsule. He keeps asking me how Russell’s doing, what he’s saying, that kind of thing.”

  “And since Russell isn’t speaking to any of us, you tell him…?”

  “That Russell’s in a holding pattern and he’ll be grateful when it’s all over and done.”

  “If I had a daughter, I’d want her to marry you. Go make the call.”

  Declan laughed and headed for his office.

  “We’ve got to put someone on to talk about Hayley’s last days and hours. If it’s not going to be Raynie, it might have to be Mackenzie,” I said.

  Bailey looked pained.

  “What? She’s pretty articulate, and she’s likeable.”

  “It’s not that I don’t like the kid. It’s just that she’s not going to give us as much bang for our buck as the mom.”

  I nodded. No argument there. “But we’re moving fast. Even if we don’t put Raynie on Monday, we might very well be at the end of our case the day after. So, basically, we’re out of time. If we can’t use her, we go with Mackenzie…and someone from the studio for the screenplay issue.”

 
“I’ll line ’em up.” Bailey stood. “And I’ve confirmed everyone for Monday. They’ll be on deck at eight sharp.” She left, and I started reviewing my notes on Mackenzie.

  By eight forty-five Monday morning, I had all my witnesses lined up on the benches outside the courtroom. Declan hadn’t been able to reach Raynie, which meant I’d have to use Mackenzie. When I said good morning to the jury, I got a couple of real smiles. Much more than the perfunctory nods I’d gotten up till now. Cheered (maybe more than I should’ve been) by that small sign of goodwill, I called Hayley’s best friend.

  Mackenzie, in a light gray skirt and white blouse that tied at the neck, looked like she was about twelve years old. As Bailey guided her into the courtroom, she darted a nervous look at the crowd that packed every square inch of seating, then cast her eyes back down and watched her feet all the way up to the witness stand. Even when Tricia administered the oath, she only glanced up briefly to say, “I do.”

  In as gentle a voice as possible, I told her not to be afraid to ask me to clarify any question she didn’t understand. She nodded, and I took her through a description of her friendship with Hayley, how she was a new girl in school, lonely and friendless, how Hayley had taken her in, and how they’d become inseparable. Then I had to get into the less lovely part—information I’d learned only after the news of both Brian’s and Hayley’s murders broke.

  Every witness, every single piece of evidence, is a double-edged sword. There’s no such thing as a witness who doesn’t have a downside. So the issue is whether the benefit is worth the cost. Mackenzie helped me humanize both Hayley and Brian. A big benefit. And I needed her to show that Hayley and Brian had cooked up the kidnapping scam—if only so I could prove that Ian Powers had stepped in and turned their amateur scheme into a double homicide. Proof that the victims had tried to pull a kidnapping scam was a necessary cost. But unfortunately, it wasn’t the only downside to Mackenzie, so I’d thought long and hard about whether I really needed her. I’d decided I did. Now I hoped I wouldn’t regret that decision.

  If I have negative information about my witnesses, I bring it out myself. I don’t want the jury to think I’m trying to hide anything, and if I’m the one who brings it out, I can sometimes cushion, or at least minimize, the impact.

  “How did Hayley and Brian meet?”

  Mackenzie swallowed and licked her lips. “He, uh, Brian worked as a manager at a jewelry store in the Galleria near our school. I went in one day…”

  “So you met him first?”

  “Yeah…yes. The salesgirl had taken out some bracelets for someone and she left them on the counter.” Mackenzie fidgeted with her skirt and looked down as she spoke. “I…uh, took one.”

  “You mean you stole it?”

  She nodded. “I put it in my bra. But the security guard caught me at the doorway and brought me back.” Suddenly she looked up. “I don’t steal. It wasn’t for me. I just wanted to give Hayley a present for her birthday. But I didn’t have the money. At least, not enough to get her something really nice…”

  Mackenzie dropped her head again and I waited a moment before asking the next question.

  “Mackenzie? What happened after the guard caught you?”

  She reluctantly looked up at me. “He brought me to the back room, to Brian’s office, and told Brian. I gave him back the bracelet right away and I begged him not to call the cops. It would’ve killed my dad.”

  “And did he call the cops?”

  “No. He said he’d seen me with Hayley and asked if we were friends. When I said we were, he said if I’d introduce him to Hayley, he’d let me off.”

  “And did Brian and Hayley become good friends?”

  Mackenzie nodded. “At first just, like, friend-friends. But then they were, like, really tight. After that, I almost never saw Hayley alone anymore.”

  “Did you hang out with them when they were together?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did Brian have a laptop?”

  I needed to establish this, because the ransom note likely came from Brian’s computer, though we’d never found it.

  “Yes. He kept it in his car. He always had it with him.”

  “When was the last time you saw Hayley?”

  “The night we went to Teddy’s.”

  I had her describe their night out at Teddy’s. It was a Thursday night. The “kidnapping” happened the following Monday.

  “You spent Thursday night at Mr. Antonovich’s house in the Hollywood Hills?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was anyone else in the house? Any adult?”

  “No. It was just Hayley and me.”

  “And did you see Hayley the next morning?”

  “Yes.”

  “So actually that was the last time you saw her?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did Hayley say to you?”

  “That I wouldn’t see her around or hear from her for a while, but not to worry about her. She said she’d be fine, that everything would be okay. And that I couldn’t tell anyone she’d told me that. She made me promise.” Mackenzie’s face crumpled on those last words, and she delivered the rest between tears that fell like raindrops into her lap. “And I didn’t! I should’ve told someone, but I didn’t want to let her down! Now she’s dead, and it’s all my fault!” Overcome, she covered her face with her hands, and her sobs filled the courtroom.

  I know some lawyers prep their witnesses to get emotional, even cry. I never do. Mackenzie’s outburst was one hundred percent genuine, and the jury knew it. Several looked at her with pity.

  I’d hoped Terry would leave her alone. No such luck.

  “So you and Hayley stayed at her father’s house all by yourselves?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you did that quite a lot, didn’t you?”

  Mackenzie shrugged. “We did it sometimes.”

  “And sometimes you’d throw parties there, isn’t that right?”

  “Just a few times.”

  “But of those few times, the cops were called at least once, isn’t that true?”

  Mackenzie fidgeted with her skirt. “It was just because it was a little noisy. No one, like, did anything bad.”

  “But you had older boys at those parties, didn’t you?”

  “I—I don’t know.”

  Terry pulled out a handful of photographs and passed them to me. I looked them over with a sinking heart. I wanted to object but knew it was pointless. The defense would claim that those older boys were potential suspects who might have used their access to frame Ian.

  Terry had the photos marked as defense exhibits and placed the first one on the monitor.

  “That girl in the skinny jeans and heels, is that you?”

  Mackenzie visibly gulped at the sight and I saw her scan the audience nervously. I’d bet she was looking for her father. “Y-yes.”

  “And who’s that boy—or, rather, man—standing with his arm around you?”

  “I don’t know. Just a guy.”

  “Isn’t he a bouncer at the Viper Room?”

  “I-I guess so.”

  Terry put another photograph on the monitor. “That blonde girl in the leopard tube top and sequined miniskirt, is that Hayley?” Between the hair, the makeup, and the getup, she looked at least twenty. A very experienced twenty.

  At the sight of her friend, Mackenzie’s lips trembled. “Y-yes.”

  “And who is this man standing behind her with his arms around her waist?”

  “That’s—that was her boyfriend. Before Brian.”

  “He worked for a casting director, and he was about twenty-five years old, right?”

  “Yeah—yes.”

  Mackenzie looked down at her lap and blinked quickly. I hoped that Terry had pushed it too far, that this cross was starting to alienate the jury, but a fast glance in their direction told me otherwise. Nearly all of their expressions had hardened.

  “Now, when Hayley told you she’d be gone for a little while and n
ot to tell anyone, you didn’t know what she was planning?”

  “No.”

  “But now you know she and Brian were setting up a fake kidnapping to get money from her father, right?”

  “I—yes.”

  “And when Detective Keller first questioned you, you didn’t tell her about your last conversation with Hayley, did you?”

  Mackenzie shook her head.

  “You have to answer out loud.”

  “No.”

  “You told the detective that you had no idea what had happened to Hayley after you left Friday morning, isn’t that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “But that wasn’t exactly true, was it?”

  “No.”

  “Thank you. Nothing further.”

  “—but I didn’t know what to do!” Mackenzie continued, her voice trembling with grief. “I promised Hayley…I promised her…” Mackenzie’s voice trailed off.

  Terry went back to her seat and Bailey escorted Mackenzie out of the courtroom. I clenched my fists as a hard ball of anger burned in my stomach. Mackenzie didn’t deserve this, but there was nothing I could do about it right now. It was on to the physical evidence and my next witness, hacker—or rather “sniffer”—Legs Roscoe.

  He’d cleaned up considerably for his television debut. No spikes, no piercings—though I could see the telltale holes on his nose and ears. He even managed to look embarrassed about “cyber-sniffing” Brian’s ransom note at the coffee shop.

  “I’m not proud of this. It’s just a game, you know? I do it because I can. I’ve never harmed anyone, blackmailed anyone, or anything sleazy like that.”

  “And you’re sure the person you ‘sniffed’ was Brian Maher?”

  “One hundred percent.”

  “And the girl with him was Hayley?”

  “No doubt about it at all.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Roscoe. Nothing further.”

  And of course, no cross for Legs. Terry loved this testimony. It was further proof that our two victims were extortionists trying to squeeze a cool million out of Hayley’s father.

  The next witness was brief and easy: the LAPD computer expert who confirmed that the ransom note sent to Russell had indeed been sent from a laptop or desktop. No cross. No reason for it. And then it was on to our soil expert.