Part V
INFOMANIA
Chapter 28
“I’ve worked for the public defenders office for more than 20 years and I’ve never had anything like that happen to me,” Levi said. “How did you ever find that DVD?”
Summer was in Levi’s office, reclining on his couch while Levi had his shoes off and his feet up on his desk. His air conditioner hissed, leaked water, and groaned. Levi said he thought of it as a house pet. A vinyl record spun on a turntable playing 60s rock, complete with pops and hiss, which Levi claimed added to the ambience.
“It’s all Tai’s handiwork,” Summer said.
“And you didn’t want him.”
“I was dead wrong.” Summer massaged her bare heel. “I know this is a little immoral, but I’m hoping the jury relives this moment over and over again via the media. Maybe it’ll have a cumulative effect, encourage them to vote ‘not guilty.’ Sure, they all promise when they’re selected that they won’t read newspaper, magazine, or television accounts of the trial, but how can they not overhear something on TV or glimpse a headline?”
“That’s a perfectly normal desire, as long as you don’t foster it. But don’t rely on it. The D.A.’s won cases with a lot less evidence than this, so keep up the pressure. I assume you’re going to rest without mounting a defense.”
“You betcha,” she said, “although SK is making noise like she wants to testify; she wants to use the witness stand as a pulpit. I’ve avoided committing to this in the hopes she’ll see that we’re way up on points, and that the best strategy would be to shut up until after the trial. Then, let her write a book for all I care.”
“Sound judgment.” Levi itched one foot with the toes of his other, which poked through a hole. “You know, this is your lucky day for another reason. I just got a call from Jimi Cruz.”
Summer heard sounds of shock come out of her mouth, finally managing, “I thought he was dead”; then immediately regretted saying it.
But it was too oblique a reference for Levi to catch. “Dead? Well, the way he was going, I can see why you’d think that. He called to say he got a slot in a local drug rehab program and wanted me to thank you. Let’s face it: If it wasn’t for you, he’d be in the slammer for 25 to life calling some 300-pound goon named Bubba ‘Honey.’ ”
If Cruz wasn’t dead, then what other pieces of information had Marsalis toyed with? She had to fight the urge to deconstruct every moment she had suffered through with him, but she had ten minutes to get back to court.
It would have to wait.
Summer ran into Rosie on her way out. Together they walked down the concrete steps in front of the building and out to the boulevard, where they waited at the stoplight.
“Kinky Ninja Sex Girls?” Rosie’s tongue was pushed against her cheek. “It’s all over the court building.”
Summer tossed her head back. “If Raines had a streak of decency, he’d move to dismiss, but with the election coming up, and the fact that he’s a sanctimonious pain in the ass, he’ll take his chances with a jury.”
The light changed and they crossed through the car exhaust.
“Did you tell Jon about, you know, the gang thing?” Rosie asked.
“If he ever finds out, it’ll have to come from you.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me. Everybody has nasty little secrets. Maybe if I had a stronger character or a better sense of what was right or wrong, I’d dissolve our friendship. But given the fact that 98 percent of the clients we represent are guilty, I’d be a hypocrite if I did. Besides, The Latin Brothers play rough. If I were in your shoes, I don’t know what I’d do either. And I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”
Before Summer entered the court building, Rosie chucked her in the arm. “With a little luck, SK will be out in time for the weekend,” she said.
When court convened, Summer found that it would take more than a little luck. While the jury waited inside the deliberation room, Raines announced that he had come across new evidence in the last 24 hours.
“A witness,” he said.
“Your Honor, it’s a little late in the game to be dumping a surprise witness on us,” Summer said. “What is the nature of this witness’s testimony?”
“Well, Mr. Raines,” Hightower asked.
Raines strode confidently. “The nature of her testimony is that Ms. Killington has killed before.”
Summer quickly whispered to SK, “Do you know what this is about?”
SK was ashen. “I think so. And if I’m right, I’m dead.”
Hightower agreed to hear the witness, and the jury was brought in. Nurse Patti Dowden, a middle-aged woman with timid hair, a heavy bosom, and the wisp of an Irish brogue took the stand. Raines told her to recount what she had told the D.A.’s office the day before.
“Three years ago, I was working the night shift at County Hospital when a man was brought in,” she said. “He had several broken bones, internal injuries, and a ruptured spleen. He was rushed into surgery and operated on for four hours. But the man died the next day.”
“What was his name?”
Dowden answered so softly the judge had to remind her to speak up. “Lawrence Bishop.” She rolled the ‘r’ in Lawrence.
“You testified that this happened three years ago, and, although so many patients pass through your hospital, you say you remember his name. Why?”
“His story was so unbelievable and the circumstances so frightening, I could not forget.”
She had the kind of voice you could trust. Summer frantically searched for a strategy.
“What did he tell you?” Raines asked.
The jury was mesmerized. Summer considered objecting, claim it was hearsay, but she knew Raines would counter that it was a deathbed confession. Better to hear it out now.
“He told me he attacked a woman who was walking across the park late at night. He said he was carrying a knife, and when he saw her, he intended to rape her.”
“So what happened?”
“He jumped her from behind, but was not prepared for the fact that the woman could defend herself. She disarmed him, kicked him in the groin, and when he was down, beat him badly.”
“How badly did this woman beat Mr. Bishop?”
“She had broken both his arms, dislocated his shoulder, ruptured his spleen, fractured several of his ribs, and crushed his testicles. I know what he did was wrong, but noth—”
“Object— No, no, I withdraw it.” Summer was just making it worse. Raines had been crafty. He hadn’t even mentioned SK.
Raines smiled at the jury, and then turned to Dowden. “You were saying.”
“Nothing justifies what happened to him.”
Raines entered the hospital record and Bishop’s death certificate into evidence. Then he asked, “When Mr. Bishop was fighting for his life, who called for the ambulance?”
“Mr. Bishop did. The woman dragged him to a pay telephone, dialed 9-1-1, and let the receiver hang down.”
Raines played the 9-1-1 tape. The voice of a dispatcher. “Police. State the nature of your emergency.”
A man’s groans in the distance. He must have been a foot away from the receiver. “Help,” he gasped.
“Sir, where are you?”
He sobbed. “I’ve been beaten.”
“Where are you?” the dispatcher repeated.
“H-help.”
The dispatcher screamed, “Where are you?”
“P-p-park.” Then a long rattle. Silence.
“Sir? Sir?!” But no response.
“After surgery, did Mr. Bishop ever regain consciousness?” Raines asked Dowden.
“Yes.”
Raines paced away from the witness stand. “Did Mr. Bishop identify the woman who did this to him?”
“Yes, he did. He told me it was the director of the Women’s Center, located a couple blocks south of the park.”
Summer saw an opening. Dowden hadn’t specifically identified SK. It was a long
shot but worth pursuing.
Until Dowden dropped the next bomb.
“A few hours after Mr. Bishop died, she”—Dowden pointed to SK—“came to the hospital.”
“Let the record reflect that the witness pointed to the defendant,” Raines said. “Did she tell you why she came?”
“Yes. She told me she’d been attacked by a man in the park and wanted to know how he was faring.”
“What did you say?”
“I told her the man had died.”
“What did she say?”
“‘Too bad.’ Then she left the hospital.”
“That’s it?” Raines said in a voice tinged with disapproval. “Too bad? A man is dead, and that’s all she said?”
“Yes.”
“Your witness,” Raines said to Summer.
But he was wrong about that. Dowden was definitely Raines’s witness.
* * *
After court had recessed for the weekend, Summer strode into the holding cell. SK was lying face down on the bench.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” Summer yelled.
“I’d almost forgotten about it,” SK said without looking up. “He attacked me. He tried to rape me. Was I supposed to let him get away with it?”
“You killed him.”
“I defended myself. Wouldn’t you love to kill the man who raped you?” SK rolled onto her back. “What do we do now?”
Summer slowly ran her hand down her face. “I don’t know.”
“Well, maybe our luck will change when I take the stand,” SK said.
Summer sputtered. “No way you’re getting on that stand.”
SK scrambled up and approached the bars. “Yes, I am.”
“I know what you’re thinking. You want to get up there and use it as a soapbox. You want to attack the police, the D.A., the system. But all you’ll do is make things worse.”
“Can things get any worse?”
“A lot worse.”
“I’m not budging on this, Summer. You’ve done a great job, but it looks like Raines got lucky. All right. So I’m going down. But I’m not going to just sit there and let it happen without a fight.”
“Don’t do it, SK. Give me a chance to finish this. Let me do it the way I think it should be done.”
SK took a deep breath, sniffled, and shut her eyes. When she opened them, Summer saw they were teary. “I know I didn’t treat you with respect when I first met you, but over time I’ve come to really appreciate you. You’re a great attorney and I’m lucky to have you. The weird thing is, it’s like I’ve always known you. There’s this odd connection I feel to you—like we’re family.”
SK returned to the bench and flopped down.
“Give me the weekend to think of something,” Summer said, blinking. “If I can’t come up with a plan of action, it’s your call whether you take the stand or not.”
Chapter 29
Summer was raging inside. So close, she thought. So close to pulling this off. But now it looked like she had lost; and worse, SK would end up on death row, where she would spend her remaining years fighting for an appeal, then clemency, then a stay of execution, until the day the jail doctor would shoot an IV drip into her arm and poison would spread into her blood.
She fumbled with her house keys, turning each one, lock by lock, only vaguely aware of the crystal breeze and pounding surf behind her, the sky limned by darkening clouds, the seagulls circling above, calling, swooping.
When she turned the knob, she was grabbed from behind. A silvery blade squeezed her windpipe. Summer heard the ratchety sound of duct tape being unraveled from its roll.
She squeezed her assailant’s pinky and twisted it, trying to snap the joint. She swung her other arm straight up and back, striking her attacker’s head. The knife clattered to the deck.
She whirled and aimed for his groin.
But Marsalis dodged her kicks. He cupped two fists together, wound up, and hit her. Summer felt the impact explode inside her head. She crumpled to the ground. Marsalis pushed the door open and dragged her inside by her hair. He stepped outside and retrieved the knife.
Summer screamed, but only the rumbling surf could hear.
He kicked the door closed and bolted the locks. Summer was groggy. She tried to get up, but Marsalis fell on her chest, pinning her. He bit off a strip of duct tape.
Summer watched as Marsalis pushed the tape down toward her eyes. She brought her knee up in desperation and caught him from underneath. Marsalis winced as all the air escaped from his lungs.
Summer tried to knee him again, but he turned sideways and rolled off her, his body ending up flush against the door. He was curled up in a ball, crying without tears, the knife still in his hands.
She raced to her closet to look for the gun Wib had given her. She swung the door open and began rummaging. She heard Marsalis stumble to his feet. He picked up a chair and threw it, smashing it into her back and forcing the air out of her lungs. She fell to the floor, gasping.
Marsalis, too, had fallen on all fours. He clenched the knife in his teeth and crawled toward her. “Much better this time, Summer,” he said through tight teeth. “I must commend you for learning from your past mistakes.”
“You bastard.”
He stopped crawling and sat still, clutching himself. “I was merely recreating one of the more memorable moments of your life.”
“How long have you been stalking me Marsalis? From the time I was raped? That was more than six months ago.”
“Longer.”
“Did you kill Sonia?”
“She killed herself.”
“But you helped?”
“I shared with her my knowledge about the circumstances surrounding her child’s death and your subsequent illegal adoption. She was dying anyway. It appears that she was seeking a convenient rationale to end the pain of cancer.”
“Perhaps,” Summer conceded.
“Now, I am willing to tell you who your real mother is—for a price.”
“Your information is not to be trusted,” Summer said. “In fact, you’ve waged a campaign of misinformation. Jimi Cruz, for example.”
“That was for sheer irritainment value.” He removed the knife from his mouth and showed it to her. “Surely this must indicate that I have the goods. Does it look familiar?”
Summer ran through escape options. Marsalis was between her and the locked front door. There was no back exit, and the windows were securely fastened. In her zeal to keep out intruders, she had effectively trapped herself. “Is that the same knife used to burn my back?”
“A replica. But since you were blindfolded, I assume you did not get a good look.” He licked the blade and made a sizzling sound.
“Did you rape Davenport just so you would end up with me as your attorney?”
“If I hadn’t wished to get caught, I would have killed her. And I certainly would not have sent her the video.”
Then it all clicked for Summer. “Your mother didn’t just disappear.”
Marsalis threw the knife into the floor where it stuck blade first. “Bravo, Summer.”
“How could you kill your own mother?”
“She was a very naughty girl,” Marsalis said. “She had me out of wedlock when she was 18. She hated me for robbing her of her youth. I grew up alone in my room. She wouldn’t allow me to leave for days, weeks sometimes. I realized the only way I would ever be able to taste freedom was to take hers. But it wasn’t until I was 15 that I was able to work up the courage. After one of her flings left her bedroom, I tied her up and executed her with a knife—a knife not dissimilar to this one. Afterwards, I buried her in the hills. The body was never found.”
“There’s one detail you haven’t told me. You weren’t an only child.”
“Yes.”
“A sister, right?”
“Yes. A sister who my mother treated like a princess while I was locked inside my room.”
Summer felt a pain shoot through her heart. S
he could feel fear jangle every nerve ending. “Now you’ve come to complete your job as executioner.”
“It must be this way. Unfortunately, my mother lived in pre-Internet times. She’s gone forever. But now, I can relive that moment of total freedom and euphoria whenever I wish—forever. Right after I fuck you, Sister, I’m going to kill you, then share it with the world over the Internet. Summer and Shadow—don’t you see?”
“Why didn’t you kill me the first time you met me?”
“I had to be sure you were who I thought you were. I also wished to become reacquainted with you. It had been a long time.”
“How did you find me?”
“I searched for you for ten years. Why do you think I became an information broker in the first place?” Marsalis scrambled to his feet. “It’s time.”
“Wait!” Summer tried to buy time. “I still don’t understand why you put Gundy under surveillance.”
Marsalis laughed. “Of course you do, Summer. He hurt you. I couldn’t allow him to get away with that.”
He moved a step closer.
Summer backed away until her back was pressed firmly against her desk, where her computer sat. She put up her hands in self-defense and stared at the blade tip as it homed in on her face.
A look of ecstasy crossed Marsalis’s face. Moaning softly, he lowered the blade to her chest and flicked off the top button of her blouse with the tip. Then he started on the second.
“This is a glorious moment,” he said.
Chapter 30
Judge Hightower was pacing his chambers and anxiously tugging on his robe.
“What a mess,” he said. “What a fucking, unadulterated mess. What’s the ME say about all of this?”
Chantelle was bleary-eyed and her clothes looked like they had been balled up and unfurled. “I ran some preliminary tests, and I cannot say with any certainty that it is not the same killer. The victim died in the same manner as Mr. Gundy. Toxicology tests are not in yet, but I did get a good whiff of mescal, or perhaps tequila. And there is the same odd mark on the back, too. This wasn’t publicized, was it?”
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