by Adam Zorzi
He stared at her for what seemed like two minutes.
“You're not surprised. You're not surprised at all.”
She shrugged.
“What do you know?” He sat next to her. He wanted more dirt.
“Nothing,” she said. “I'd heard some talk.”
“And you didn't tell me?” He was dumbstruck.
“Mark, rumors fly all the time. Remember, I don't live in Richmond. I move in different legal circles. About fifty percent of rumors are true. Thirty percent are deliberate defamation. The rest, who knows?”
The landline rang. A law school buddy who'd just heard the news. Mark's cell rang twice while he was on the landline.
Bella decided to leave. Mark wanted and needed to spend the day speculating about what would happen tomorrow at the Appellate Court. Would the judge be impeached, step down, or would this all go away through a messy, stomach-churning investigation?
Bella had no interest. The crucial point was that media attention was now focused on the Appellate Court and not their case. The bonus was that attorneys in the AG's office considered Judge Whiting to be a friend. They might be so rattled, they'd make mistakes in the Cooper case. She counted on that.
She walked down to the first floor and waited for Mark to finish his fourth call. She came up behind him and kissed the back of his neck. “You are so delicious,” he said before he turned around.
“Where are you going?” His eyes went wide when he saw she was ready to leave.
“Home, Mark. You need to be in the legal loop today. I don't. I called a cab that should be here in less than ten minutes.”
His eyes darkened. “I thought we were going to spend the day together.”
“We didn't foresee a legal scandal blowing up in your front yard.” She gave him a lingering kiss. “Last night was lovely. I'll see you tomorrow after the scheduling conference.”
The cab pulled up and honked.
“Bella, last night was amazing. I want you to stay.”
“Not today,” she whispered in his ear. “You'll find a way to make it up to me. I won't break.”
She walked outside, got inside, and concentrated on being visible long enough for the driver to drop her off somewhere she could disappear.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
Bella shook off the feeling of revulsion after deposing another longtime nurse at Commonwealth Psych. Each meeting revealed more horrors than she’d imagined. She had to remain detached. Looking at pieces of the puzzle that could be used, discarded, or put aside for now, the case made itself.
When she returned to the office, Opal was concentrating on her screen. They exchanged quick waves and Opal looked back at her monitor. She seemed intent on unearthing something. Mark, once again, was eating a sandwich at his desk. He smiled when she walked in.
“You look pleased with yourself,” she said as she sat on the sofa. “Come sit.”
He picked up a tall Styrofoam cup of iced tea and moved to sit next to her. “I am pleased. Trial starts in eight weeks. We have an order compelling the transfer of Larry Yarbrough to the acute psychiatric unit at Duke's primary hospital with the expectation he can be lucid enough for a deposition. Subpoenas for the current staff at Commonwealth Psych have been served.”
“You had a busy morning.”
“No. Just me and Judge King. No one from the AG's office showed. Judge King waited fifteen minutes and proceeded without them.”
“No one showed up? Not even a lowly first-year associate?” Bella was surprised. The exposure of Judge Whiting's crimes was more useful than she’d anticipated.
“No one. I'm told the most senior people are huddled, speculating about what’s up with Judge Whiting. No one else looked at the calendar. I'm sure ours wasn't the only court date they missed.”
Bella had never experienced such irresponsibility by her opponent. “Truly? The AG's office missed court dates to their detriment to gossip about a child molesting judge? Are they planning who to nominate to take his place?”
“Most likely, they're considering impeachment.”
“What planet are they on? Do they not realize this is beyond their control? This is all going to come down through the feds. A United States attorney for Las Vegas, New Orleans, or Laredo will arrest him in a matter of days or hours for child pornography, if not trafficking in children.”
Mark grimaced. The sensationalism from yesterday had disappeared. He now projected the same repugnance she felt for the man.
Good. Her plan was working. The AG's office was making enormous, almost unethical, mistakes due to their preoccupation with Judge Whiting.
“What about Larry Yarbrough's transfer to Duke?” she asked to change the subject.
“Judge King ordered he be transferred, assessed, treated, and deposed forthwith. He's being transferred to Duke this afternoon by ambulance accompanied by federal marshals. The AG's office didn't oppose the motion. I doubt they even read it.
“Dr. Constantine will see him tonight. He said correctional patients usually need one or two days to recover from transfers, but he doubted that would be the case for Yarbrough. He'll be heavily sedated for transport and may only notice he's in a hospital rather than a cell. Constantine said he'll have a preliminary assessment within the next two to three days.
“There's a high probability that Yarbrough's deposition may be considered a dying declaration. According to Constantine, a longtime bath salt user who undergoes sudden and absolute withdrawal will exhibit drastic physical deterioration. Psychiatric treatment may not have a chance to reach therapeutic levels if Yarbrough's physical condition is poor. Constantine knows we need Yarbrough on the record and will work toward that goal in addition to treatment.”
“Oh, that's grim.” She looked away from Mark and down to recover herself. “Even I don't want to think this was calculated by the state, but it's withheld medical treatment since Yarbrough was arrested for Evan Cooper's murder. That's one of the most basic civil rights for a patient. The state is killing him by doing nothing.”
Mark cupped her chin and tilted her face to see her. “Hey, where did my hard-charging, take no prisoners legal barracuda go?”
She put her head on his shoulder. “She's there. She has to take moments now and then to transform her revulsion at what humans inflict on each other into anger. She needs a break.”
She would've been content to spend the afternoon exactly as she was. Held by a good guy who wanted to right wrongs.
Opal yelled from the hall.
“Turn on the TV. Mrs. Whiting just shot her husband on the courthouse steps.”
Mark grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. Tom joined Mark, Bella, and Opal in watching the assassination unfold. Footage of a distraught woman in her fifties wearing a bathrobe while screaming and firing an automatic pistol at the judge was on loop. Five. Six. Seven shots. Her shouts were barely audible, but the words children, husband, and pervert were repeated. She was easily taken to the ground by court police.
A jerky camera cut to where Judge Whiting lay face forward on the steps of the Italianate Lewis F. Powell, Jr. United States Federal Courthouse. The camera captured only a pool of blood above his neck. Blood poured down the four shallow concrete steps onto the brick sidewalk. There was no pedestrian traffic. People must have fled to avoid being in the line of fire.
Another camera angled on the EMS team, who rushed to where Judge Whiting lay sprawled. He was quickly placed on a stretcher, loaded into an ambulance, and driven away with sirens blaring. Two Richmond police officers moved forward to cover the scene with a tarp. Other officers blocked off the street and rerouted traffic.
A young man who was covering the court for the day appeared on screen in a borrowed suit jacket two sizes too large and a half-knotted tie. The wind blew it into his face until he used one hand to hold it down and the other to hold the mic.
“At approximately 1:10 this afternoon, Judge Paul Whiting of the Fourth Circuit Court of Appeals was shot
in the back of the head and body by a woman firing an automatic pistol. Judge Whiting had taken his usual daily stroll around the grounds of the State Capitol across the street during lunch and was returning to the courthouse. We have no information on his condition.
“Judge Whiting was the obvious target because the woman ran closer to him as she fired. Court police subdued the woman, removed her weapon, and took her into custody. Police have not released her identity.
“Bystanders took to Main and Tenth Streets to crouch behind parked cars in order to avoid the gunfire. One man, thirty-one-year-old messenger Roger Balsam, witnessed the shooting.”
With the mic shoved at him, Mr. Balsam articulated what happened. “I was headed to the courthouse to drop off documents for the clerk when I saw a woman wearing a pink bathrobe at the corner start running toward Judge Whiting as soon as he crossed the street from the Capitol grounds. From what I saw, the first shot hit the back of his head. Every shot after that hit him, too. It was like she was on a mission to kill him.”
“Did she say anything?” asked the reporter.
“She was screaming. The only words I could make out as she got closer were married and pervert. Then the police took her down.”
“Did you fear for your life?” The young reporter asked. To Bella, the question was an obvious attempt to get a career-making sound bite.
“No. The shooter was clearly aiming for the judge. She wasn't a crazy shooting up the streets. She wasn't a terrorist.”
“Thank you, Mr. Balsam.”
Mark muted the TV. “I've got to sit down.”
“Put your head between your knees,” Opal instructed as she got him a glass of water. “Are you okay, Mark? Tom?”
“Yes,” they both said.
Tom headed back to his office. Bella asked Opal to sit with Mark. Bella sat at Opal's computer and searched for news updates. She silently screamed, “YESSS!” If she still lived in human form, she'd have done the same thing out loud.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
By late afternoon, the story had unfolded. Opal, who had been riveted by the details, updated Bella and Mark before she went home.
Warrants for the arrest of Paul Whiting had been served at his home on River Road in Richmond's West End by United State's Attorney Offices in Nevada and Texas. The charges included child sexual assault, creation and distribution of child pornography, sexual trafficking in children, and tax evasion. Warrants to search the home were executed by the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
Mrs. Whiting had been eating breakfast on a tray in her bedroom at the time of service and search. Opal made it clear the judge slept in another bedroom. When Mrs. Whiting read the charges, she understood what her husband had done.
She'd taken her registered pistol, driven to the courthouse, and shot and killed her husband of thirty-seven years. She was being held for observation at Virginia Commonwealth University Hospital—the same hospital where her husband had been pronounced DOA. No charges had been filed yet against Mrs. Whiting.
“There's a lot of noise about Judge Whiting's career and condolences from various public officials. Not as many as I would've thought. Maybe they're trying to decide if condolences for the judge are the right thing to offer publicly.”
“Thanks, Opal. Why don't you go home? I'm going to leave early.” Mark looked at Bella. “I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm going to have dinner with my parents. My mother and Margaret—Mrs. Whiting—know each other. They serve on committees together. Dad, of course, knew the judge. Didn't like him, but knew him.”
“It's a nice gesture,” Bella said quietly.
“Will you stay with me tonight? Wait for me at home?” His eyes searched hers.
“Yes. I'll be there.” He dropped his house keys in her hand and left.
***
Bella staged herself to be the comforting presence waiting at home. She wore a silk lounge set, lightly sprayed one of her favorite scents behind her ears and on her wrists, and arranged herself languidly on the sofa in the sitting room off the bedroom. A gas fire was burning. The bar was fully stocked.
When Mark came upstairs, he looked tired. He made himself a scotch, sat next to her on the sofa, and held her hand. “Man, that was grueling.”
She waited until he was ready to talk.
“I was stunned Mom had it together enough to make some calls this afternoon. Maybe the shooting happened before she started drinking, although it was after one o'clock. She spoke to both of the Whiting's children, Anna and John. Anna hadn't been allowed to see her mother in the hospital. Margaret's priest was with her and that's all the United States Marshals would allow.
“John was shattered between the revelations about his father, his father's death, and his mother's role in it. He asked Mom if she knew of a service that would right the house after the search warrants had been executed. He'd looked inside the house quickly and fled. Everything was in shambles. The furniture was still upright, but the contents of all the drawers, cabinets, and shelves had been swept onto the floors. His mother couldn't return to the house as it was if she was released. Surprisingly, Mom knew who to call and did.
“Dad said the United States Attorney here is considering not pressing charges given the passionate nature of the crime. In less than twenty-four hours, everything Margaret believed about her husband was proven to be false. She killed the judge immediately after FBI agents appeared with arrest warrants and began tearing the house apart.”
“What about the cooling off theory given that she took the time to find and load her gun, drive downtown, and ambush the judge?” Bella asked.
“There's some debate. That's why she's in a hospital under observation rather than a jail cell. According to Dad, there's strong sentiment that she did everyone a favor and saved the district the embarrassment of a disgraced judge, trials for repugnant crimes in at least two different jurisdictions, and removing him from office. There's little interest in the standard procedure of arresting Margaret and letting her raise an affirmative defense. The sticking point is she murdered a federal official. It wasn't the usual domestic murder.”
“She could stretch it to defending her property. She may have thought with him dead, the FBI would go away.”
He yawned. “I can't think anymore. I don't want to think about them.”
“What do you want?”
“A shower, a massage, and long, slow, wet sex.”
“Great, I'll get in the shower and you get the massage oils ready. I'd love a good massage.”
Mark laughed and crinkled his eyes. “You know that's not what I meant. On second thought, let's skip the shower and massage.” He pulled her to him.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
Bella had a tough week ahead of her, including LouLou's deposition. Before that, she'd promised Mark she’d be in the office for a conference call with Dr. Constantine after his initial assessment of Larry Yarbrough. She arrived just as it was starting.
“I don't have any remarkable findings about Mr. Yarbrough,” Dr. Constantine said. “I'll email a report, but my assessment is that he has Borderline Personality Disorder. That diagnosis is exclusionary. He's not bipolar or schizophrenic or narcissistic or any of the spectrum illnesses.
“My opinion is that he's addicted to bath salts. The precise compound in his current toxicology analysis will be in my report. He was on bath salts when he was admitted to Commonwealth Psychiatric and when he killed Mr. Cooper. Sadly, no one analyzed the amount and composition of the drug he was on at the time of the murder.”
Of course not. The state just wanted to arrest, try, and toss him away.
“Dr. Constantine, what exactly are bath salts?” Bella asked. She'd never used drugs, and she'd never encountered anything stronger than cocaine and heroin in her legal career when she was alive. The stronger drugsprobably hadn't been invented before 9/11.
“The short answer is a cheap synthetic recreational drug. Attempts to ban some of the ingred
ients earlier this decade did little to reduce its availability. Bath salts are highly addictive and cause great physical and mental impairment with prolonged use. The physical effects are heart attacks, hypertension, kidney disease, liver disease, and brainstem herniation, which is fatal. Users are paranoid, violent, and agitated. They're insomniacs.
“Examples of behavior exhibited by those using bath salts may be profuse sweating and body overheating. Users tear off their clothes in an attempt to cool themselves. Euphoria and paranoia provoke aggression, uncontrollable violence toward others, and suicide. Traditional methods of restraint such as commands to stop or the use of pepper spray and tasers are ineffective.”
Bella and Mark exchanged looks. When Yarbrough was on them, he must have been uncontrollable. Now, his physical health was compromised.
“I see,” Bella said. “Sorry to interrupt. Please continue.”
“Not a problem. As attorneys in this case, you'll want a good understanding of the drug. I'll include a detailed summary of the drug in my report today so you'll know exactly how Mr. Yarbrough was influenced. I'll, of course, be the expert on the drug as well as its effects on Mr. Yarbrough.”
Mark poked Bella's shoulder before she could roll her eyes or say something Constantine could hear. He knew she disliked doctors, but she hated that they considered themselves gods. Well above mere lawyers in terms of intellect and prestige.
“Mr. Yarbrough's current problems are both medical and psychiatric. He's undergone withdrawal, has extremely strong cravings for the drugs, and his physical health is deteriorating rapidly based on my examination compared to that prepared at the time of the murder.
“My examination as well as his medical records indicate he received no treatment at the Virginia prison. Consequently, his liver and kidneys are severely compromised. He should be on dialysis. He has hypertension and is at high risk for a cardiac event. He receives no cardiac medication. The only medication he receives is an inadequate dose of the sedative Midazolam.