She looked at Cardozo, sunning himself at the window. “Do you have any idea what’s going on?”
Cardozo said nothing. He blinked when Lindy’s phone bleeped. She almost let it go to voice mail, but something told her to pick up.
It was Leon Colby.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Not a pleasure call, Lindy.”
The tone in his voice made her sit up. “What is it?”
“I have some bad news, and I wanted you to get it before the news does.”
“Darren?”
“No. Sean McIntyre. He was murdered.”
A hammer hit Lindy in the chest.
“In his apartment. Shot.”
The surreal words pushed her to the wakeful edge of a nightmare. She wanted to cry out and make the words go away.
“I know you were close to him,” Colby said.
She fought to say, “Why?”
“We don’t know. We know he liked to get close to the crime element for his stories. He may have had a long list of enemies.”
A hole opened inside her and she felt she might fall into it. Sean. Dead. She saw his face then, in her mind, smiling winsomely. She heard his voice. Her throat began to swell with grief.
“I’m sorry, Lindy.”
She shook her head slowly.
“I have to ask you one question, just routine.”
She waited, fighting back tears.
“You can account for your whereabouts last night, right?”
“You can’t be serious.”
“It’s ridiculous, I know, but—”
Indignation overcame her sorrow. “No, it makes perfect sense! I broke into Sean’s apartment with one arm and killed him.”
“Like I said, it’s just a question that someone might ask—”
“It’s a stupid question.”
“I know. I wanted to give you a heads up on it, that’s all. Good night.”
“Wait a minute, Leon.” She paused and took a moment to compose herself. “Thanks for calling. I appreciate it, I really do.”
“No problem.”
“Now I want to ask you a question. How come you never told me about the police searching Joel Dorai’s room at Coolidge High School?”
After a pause, Colby said, “First I’ve heard about it.”
“What’s going on with your office and the police?”
“They have their job to do. If they found anything relevant, they’d hand it over.”
“Would they?”
“You’ve seen too many suspense movies, Lindy. But I’ll make this deal with you. As soon as anything relevant comes across my desk, I’ll get it to Everett. He’s insisting on a speedy trial, and I’m happy to accommodate that.”
“Are you still refusing to consider an insanity deal?”
“Yes.”
“Darren needs treatment.”
“Take care, Lindy. Again, I’m sorry.”
And he was gone. Her trailer was suddenly very quiet. Box Canyon, normally alive with the whisper of night air,was still. As still as the lifeless place in her, where the broken memories of loved ones lay.
Then, quite unexpectedly, she was saying something out loud, and realized with a detached wonderment that it was a prayer for Sean McIntyre.
PART II
FIFTEEN
1.
“Nearly three months after the Capistrano Park killings, the trial is set to begin, and our panel of experts will be joining us later. First, though, we’re going to hear from the mother of one of the victims, Mona Romney.”
An eerie sort of calmness enveloped Mona. She had felt the calluses developing on her soul as the trial date approached. The calluses were tough and fibrous and protected her well.
Even being on TV with Hank Dunaway, who had a national talk show on cable, didn’t faze her now.
“This can’t be easy for you,” Dunaway said. The avuncular man, a veteran of local L.A. news,was noted for his ability to relate to victims of crimes.
“It’s just something I have to go through, as do the other parents,” Mona said. She thought of Brad then, his face flashing before her mind even though she had not seen him since she had the divorce papers served. “But we do it because we’re not willing to let injustice prevail.”
“I should mention that you are a member of a group called Victims of Injustice and Crime, is that correct?”
“It’s a support group that advocates for justice in the criminal courts. We’ve seen too many criminals get away with things because of technicalities in the law. We want to stop that.”
“Your son, Matthew, was eleven years old?”
“Yes.”
“Can you describe your feelings on that day, the day he was killed?”
“Hank, words can’t begin to describe it. It was the worst thing I’ve ever gone through, or will ever go through. I just . . .” She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s perfectly understandable. I’m sure everybody in our audience understands. Maybe you could tell us how you got through it. Did you rely on people, a religious faith? What was it that helped you deal with a trauma like this?”
Mona did not hesitate. “It’s just an inner strength you have to have, or you fold. I just knew that if I wasn’t able to go on I would be shaming the memory of my son. And I determined I was not going to do that.”
“How has this inner strength changed you?”
“I just know that I have to fight for justice.”
Hank Dunaway leaned on the desk, chin in hand, the way a concerned neighbor would talk over a kitchen table. “What’s your feeling about the way the case has been handled thus far?”
“In what way?”
“By the press, the public, the lawyers. I mean, it’s all over the place.”
She was on national television. She should have been nervous. But something strong and sure and relentless had replaced the nerves with intoxicating confidence. Matthew’s spirit and memory had brought her to this moment. She would not let him down.
“Hank, I feel this case is a wake-up call. We can’t look away from these things anymore. Fortunately, the prosecutor in this case—”
“Leon Colby.”
“Yes, Mr. Colby has assured me and the other victims’ families that he is not going to compromise. He has been working closely with us. We feel that we can trust him.”
“And the defense? They’ve had some setbacks. The motorcycle accident.”
Mona’s muscles tensed, like a rattlesnake had been tossed on the desk. “That doesn’t concern me.”
“The defense doesn’t?”
“They have their job to do, and I’m sure they’ll do it. But I’m also sure that any attempts to sway the jury with false sympathy will be stopped by Mr. Colby.”
“What do you mean, ‘false sympathy’?”
“A situation like this, where the defendant is a teenager, I’m sure they’ll play that card. But we both know, Hank, that teenagers are capable of doing evil things, horrible things. Age doesn’t matter. But they keep saying he’s just a kid, and things like that. It does not matter. ”
“Do you think he might be insane?”
“No.”
“That’s what the defense will try to show.”
“Let them. He’s not insane.”
“You’d like to see him in prison.”
“I’d like the law to be upheld. And as I understand it, when you shoot six people in cold blood, when you tear apart six families and a whole community, you must be punished to the maximum extent of the law. I for one am going to make sure that happens.”
“I know it’s hard, Mrs. Romney, to do what you’re doing. You have tremendous courage. Will you be in the courtroom?”
“Every day.”
2.
Finally here, Lindy thought. They were in trial. She practically vibrated with adrenaline. She sat at counsel table, her right arm finally out of a cast but feeling almost like a foreign appendage, a limb tac
ked on at the shoulder with duct tape. At least she could walk around now without severe pain.
She wasn’t lead counsel. That was Woodard’s role. He was the one being paid by the county now. But Lindy had come too far to bail on Darren.
He sat next to her, wearing the suit she had found for him. It fit loosely. He had been losing weight. Worse, he had withdrawn from her again. She could only imagine what was going on in his head as he sat in a cage at county jail. She hoped her mere presence would reassure him that he had one constant in his life, a lawyer who wouldn’t abandon him.
Judge Lipton, an angular man with creases in his face that gave the impression of aged wood, reminded Lindy of the tree people in Lord of the Rings. Dark brown eyes burrowed twin knots in the deep bark of his face.
“Your Honor,” Leon Colby said, “we are ready to proceed with our opening statement.”
“Ready for the defense, Your Honor,” Everett Woodard said.
“All right, let’s call in the jury.”
“One moment.” Lindy stood up, giving a sideward glance at the gallery. “Your Honor, before we have the jury in, I would move that those in court wearing VOICe buttons be told to take them off, and keep them off when in the courthouse.”
An immediate burst of groans hit the room. Lindy heard some voices behind her. Someone said She can’t do that.
“Mr. Colby?” Judge Lipton said.
Colby spoke with assured calm. “These citizens have free speech rights, the same as any others. I don’t see the problem.”
“Of course not,” Lindy said. “But the defense does. What’s the jury going to think every time they look out here and see an interest group wearing their buttons?”
More voices, more outraged this time.
Judge Lipton banged his gavel three quick times. “I haven’t had to use my gavel in ten years. And I don’t want to use it for another ten years. Anyone who speaks out of turn in my courtroom will be escorted out.” He looked over his glasses at the gallery. “I am going to grant Ms. Field’s motion and ask that all badges be removed while in court, or in the building where they might be seen by jurors. I have no say about what happens outside these walls.”
A few groans of protest, muted by the judge’s previous admonition, was followed by the sound of buttons being thrown angrily into purses or pockets. Lindy half-expected to be hit in the back with one or two.
But calm prevailed and the judge called the jury in. The eight women and four men were about the best she and Woodard could hope for. Lindy thought two of the women and one of the men could be reached, maybe with enough conviction to influence the others. Maybe. By the longest shot of her career.
“Proceed, Mr. Colby,” the judge said.
Leon Colby spoke without notes. “Ladies and gentlemen, on the morning of June 26, the defendant, Darren DiCinni, walked to Capistrano Park in West Hills, carrying a loaded rifle. You will hear from eyewitnesses about the horrible events that followed. You will hear about how five young boys and one adult man were killed by the gun fired by Darren DiCinni. What you won’t hear, ladies and gentlemen, is any dispute about those facts. The defense is not going to try to prove to you that their client didn’t do the killing.”
Colby turned and looked at Darren. As he did, his eyes slipped past Lindy’s gaze.
“What will be at issue, ladies and gentlemen, is what was in the mind of the defendant as he took a loaded rifle, proceeded to Capistrano Park, walked up to the field where a game was going on, and opened fire, spraying bullets, killing six people. We will present evidence to you, expert testimony, that the defendant knew that what he was doing was wrong. It’s really that simple. If he did know, then he is guilty as charged.
“What we present to you will not be complex. You will hear from eyewitnesses what happened. You will hear the evidence that links the weapon found on the defendant to the bullets that killed the victims. You will hear evidence that the defendant, though a troubled teenager, nevertheless knew exactly what he was doing.
“At the end of the trial, when all the evidence is in, the judge will instruct you on the law. You are to apply the law to the evidence. And let me remind you that what I say to you as a lawyer is not evidence. It is not something that you are to base your verdict on. What I say to you is only to alert you to the evidence that will be coming in by way of testimony of sworn witnesses. That is what you are to consider. I say this because there may be an attempt on the part of the defense to elicit your sympathies by way of the arguments.”
Fire ripped through Lindy. Every part of her body wanted to stand up and object. She felt Woodard’s hand on her arm. Steady, he seemed to say.
She kept quiet.
“We can all feel sympathy for various parties here. Sympathy for the families of the victims, for sure. Perhaps even for the defendant. But you must not let that enter in to your decision. When the evidence is in and the law is presented to you, you will reach the only possible verdict: Guilty on all counts.”
Leon Colby waited a dramatic moment, then sat down.
“Mr.Woodard, you may open,” Judge Lipton said.
Everett stood, buttoning his coat as he did. “Your Honor, at this time the defense would like to proceed with the opening statement, delivered by Ms. Field.”
A skeptical look flashed across the judge’s oaken face. “That’s not what the defense had proffered.”
“Your Honor, it is a decision I have reached as lead attorney as I listened to the People’s opening. Ms. Field left that decision to me. Our client has expressed his support for the decision. As I see it—”
“Mr.Woodard, I don’t want any surprises of a procedural nature.”
“And it will not be our practice, Your Honor.”
“Any objection from the People?”
Leon Colby stood. “We are somewhat surprised too, as we were told Mr.Woodard would be speaking. But I have no objection to Ms. Field.”
“All right,” the judge said. “This is a decision that rests squarely with the defense. Ms. Field, you may proceed.”
Lindy went to the podium.“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. As you know, I represent Darren DiCinni. He’s sitting right over there. He is thirteen years old. And he has been vilified and painted as a monster since the very first newscast about this case. This is my opportunity to give you another side of the story, the kind they’re not interested in reporting.
“And I would remind you, as counsel for the People has reminded you, that certain things are not evidence. What you’ve heard in conversation or seen on the television or read in the papers, none of that is evidence. During jury selection you all said that you could disregard anything you have heard and be impartial. In fact you swore an oath to do so. I’m confident that you will be true to your oath.
“Mr. Colby said you could expect to hear expert testimony at this trial. Remember, you are the judges of the facts. Just because someone is an expert does not mean that you have to accept what they say as the gospel truth. You are going to watch them testify, and you are going to hear them be cross-examined. You will reach your own conclusions.
“You also heard Mr. Colby say that you should be suspicious of sympathy. It almost sounded like he was telling you not to be human beings—”
“And this,” Leon Colby said, rising, “sounds like a closing argument, not an opening statement. So I’m going to object.”
“Sustained,” Judge Lipton said.
Lindy continued immediately. “I would like to remind you again of the presumption of innocence and the burden of proof. The People must prove beyond a reasonable doubt that my client, Darren DiCinni, was of sound mind when he fired those terrible shots on June 26. The defense, on the other hand, does not have to prove anything. We do not have to prove innocence. The law does not require us to do that. It requires the prosecution”—Lindy pointed at Leon Colby—“to present enough compelling evidence for you to find every single element required under the charges to be true, beyond a reasonable doubt
. That is a very high standard, and it must be, for we’re talking about a young man’s life. Yes, he took the lives of six people. But mark this: Darren DiCinni’s mind was not right. It’s still not. He was legally insane at the time of the shootings, and that means that his mental state was not what is required for a guilty verdict.
“We do not punish people who are not responsible for their actions.We do not—”
“Counsel,” Judge Lipton said sharply, “that is definitely a closing argument. Confine yourself to what you believe the evidence will show. I will instruct the jury on the law.” He turned to the jury. “You will disregard any comment by the counsel for the defense on what the law says about mental state.”
Lindy looked at the jury for an extended moment then said,“We trust you will do your duty.”
3.
Mona’s stomach clenched like a fist, a familiar reaction to the sight or sound of Lindy Field.
Especially when she was pulling another fast one.
Standing up like that, making a statement after her accident. A ploy to gain sympathy from the jury.
She wasn’t going to get away with it.
George Mahoney, sitting next to her, must have sensed her physical distress. He put his hand on hers and patted it.
The way Brad used to.
She felt a pang, knowing Brad wanted to be here. He did not come, because it would upset her, or at least distract her. That was Brad. Mr. Noble. He needed a noble wife. She was not it.
She heard Janelle Thompson’s name called. The first mother to testify.
She squeezed George Mahoney’s hand. This was it. The lead witness, the setting of tone. Mona wished she were the one, but she was not on the witness list. She was ready, though, if things changed.
4.
“Mrs. Thompson,” Leon Colby said, “you are the mother of Cody Thompson, one of the little boys who lost his life, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
She was going to make a good witness, Lindy thought. A confident-looking woman, but not so much that her vulnerability was obscured. A woman who could be your best friend.
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