He thought about Maggie from time to time, heard through the grapevine that she was doing very well working for Rance. According to those in the know, she won the majority of her cases, a fact that didn’t actually surprise him. He hadn’t talked to her since Christmas but he’d glimpsed her occasionally at the courthouse. Her red hair always made her stand out from the crowd.
Michael’s personal life carried on in usual form. Obviously Gwen was off his list and Vivian wasn’t returning his calls. But he’d added a new blonde or two to his collection and he never had to wonder whether or not he’d get laid. He started having his dates meet him at the Great Hall Balcony Bar at the Metropolitan. He found that he couldn’t stomach heading to Doc’s on Friday afternoons anymore.
Late one Friday night in May, Michael’s phone rang. It was 1:30 in the morning and he’d just said goodbye to Kimberley after an enthusiastic romp on his dining room table. Thinking Kimberley might have forgotten something, he picked up the phone without looking.
“Hello,” he crooned.
“Mr. Rannigan, this is Yves St. Clerc,” said a deep male voice with a heavy French accent. “I am manager for Jean-Luc LeRoi.”
Michael frowned. “Yes, Mr. St. Clerc,” he responded, checking the time on his watch. “What can I do for you?”
“Oui, Mr. Rannigan, I apologize for the late hour. Jean-Luc has been arrested. I’m hoping you can help.”
Michael ordered a car from the service and dressed quickly in jeans, a white button-down shirt, and a navy blazer. The car met him in front of his building and took him straight to central booking. He spoke with St. Clerc and went to find the officer in charge of the case.
According to the arrest report, Jean-Luc had been driving under the influence at a high rate of speed when he’d jumped a concrete barrier and plunged his Maserati into the river where it came to rest upside down. Jean-Luc had escaped with no more injury than a small cut on his forehead, swimming to shore and flagging down a car. He demanded a ride to a nearby bar, where he proceeded to become even more intoxicated. Eyewitnesses had called 911 and two hours later his car was pulled out of the river. Julie Baker, Jean-Luc’s companion, was discovered dead inside the car still buckled into her seat.
The charge in the arrest was DUI manslaughter, with further charges pending. Michael ran his hand across the top of his head. This is serious. Do I really want to get involved in this? He shook his head. The guy’s my client. Major fuck-up or not, at least he can pay. He asked to meet with Jean-Luc and was escorted to an empty interview room. Moments later, Jean-Luc, hands shackled, was led into the room.
“Get those things off my client,” Michael said gruffly.
When they were alone, Michael spoke. “What the fuck, Jean-Luc? What were you thinking? A girl is dead. Did you even try to get her out?”
The star athlete shrugged. “I barely got out myself. She was probably already dead. It was dark and the water was rushing in, what could I do?”
Michael frowned grimly. “There’s no getting you out of here tonight. There’ll be an arraignment tomorrow and the judge might not grant you bond this time. I’ll try my best, but you’ve really screwed the pooch here. In the meantime, keep your fucking mouth shut, do you hear me? Don’t talk to the cops, don’t talk to other prisoners, nobody. You hear me?”
“Whatever,” Jean-Luc muttered.
“Listen,” Michael hissed, “you’re paying me a lot of money to try to keep you from going to prison for a very long time. You can make my job easier or harder, but I get paid either way.” Michael knocked on the door and the officer returned to take Jean-Luc back to his cell. Shaking his head, Michael returned to his car and the driver sped off into the night.
* * *
Early Monday morning, Rance called Maggie into his office. “What are you working on right now?” he asked.
“Well, I have the burglary case from the bodega and then there’s the assault in the park,” Maggie replied.
Rance shook his head. “Not anymore. Pass those files to Camperelli.” He handed her a file. “I need you on this. You and Dawson.”
Maggie opened the folder and began to skim. Her eyes grew wide and her mouth tightened. “What the hell is this?” she demanded, eyes flashing.
He leaned back in his chair. “It’s your new case.”
“Oh, hell no, give this one to somebody else,” she said shaking her head emphatically.
“It’s your case. And I’m going to ignore the fact that you just swore at me twice,” Rance said calmly.
“Might I remind you that I have a past with this defendant?” Maggie asked.
“That’s exactly why I’m putting you on this case. You know the guy, know his history.” He looked at her cagily. “I’m pretty sure you have the motivation to see that he’s locked up this time.”
Maggie sank into one of the chairs across from Rance. “This guy is dangerous. I knew that a year ago.”
“And now he’s killed someone. You can put him away.”
She looked up. “You know who represents him.”
Rance frowned. “Is that a problem?”
Maggie sighed. “No. I’ve got this,” she said quietly. She rose slowly and left Rance’s office.
* * *
A week later, Maggie and Malik Dawson stepped out of the elevator and into the reception area of the 50th floor at Murphy, Rannigan. Maggie could feel her palms sweating and she thought of that day so long ago when she’d come here to interview.
“May I help you?” asked a gorgeous blonde woman behind the reception desk, interrupting Maggie’s thoughts.
Maggie smiled confidently. “Maggie Flynn and Malik Dawson to see Mr. Rannigan.”
The blonde frowned. “Maddie who?”
“Mary Margaret Flynn,” boomed a male voice behind them. “Welcome, come on in. It’s okay, Jennifer, they have an appointment.”
Michael led the way to his door which he opened and he gestured for them to enter. As she passed him, Maggie muttered, “Great receptionist you have there.”
Michael rolled his eyes. “She’s new,” he said quietly. Louder he said, “Have a seat, make yourselves comfortable. I’ll call Amy and we can get this ball rolling.”
As the four sat at Michael’s conference table, Maggie glanced around. “Will your client be joining us?” She knew that Michael had been able to secure bond for Jean-Luc. He should have been present.
Michael grimaced slightly. “Not for this meeting, no. This is all just preliminary anyway.” Michael beamed his confident grin. “He’ll be ready for deposition next week.”
They spent the next half hour going over various reports and witness statements. Maggie watched Michael and waited. She knew it was coming. Finally he closed the file in front of him and leaned back in his chair.
“Okay, we know what happened. Now,” he looked around the table, “let’s see what kind of deal we can make.”
Maggie half laughed and shook her head. “No deal. No way. Your client killed someone. He can plead guilty and save the tax payers a lot of money. Because he’s going to do time.”
Michael turned on the charm. “Come on, Mags. There’s got to be something we can hammer out.” He grinned affably.
Maggie glanced at Malik and Amy, then back to Michael. “Can we talk?” she asked quietly.
Michael nodded. “Sure. Ames, how about you take Mr. Dawson to the break room and get some coffee.”
Malik looked questioningly at Maggie and she nodded. “It’s okay. Let me talk to Michael for a while.”
After the other two left, Michael went to the credenza behind his desk and removed a bottle of bourbon and two glasses. He poured for each of them and returned to the table handing a glass to Maggie.
“It’s 2:30 in the afternoon,” she protested.
Michael shrugged. “Here’s to Mary Margaret Flynn being back on the 50th floor.” She tapped her glass to his and they both sipped. “So what’s on your mind, Mags?”
She put down her glass
. “You can’t seriously believe that I can work any kind of deal on this case. I mean, even if I wanted to, which I don’t, a girl is dead.”
He shook his head and smiled grimly. “I had to try. It’s my job.” They sat quietly for a moment.
Then Maggie spoke. “I heard he adopted his girlfriend? What’s that about?”
Michael shrugged. “There’s going to be a civil suit. They can’t touch money allocated to his children.” He looked at her quickly. “You can’t use that in the criminal case.”
Maggie rolled her eyes. “Thanks, professor, I would never have known.” She took her glass and sipped again. “I can’t believe the girlfriend stayed with him. I mean, he was out with someone else.”
“What can I say? My client’s a giant douchebag.” He stared down at the table. “You know I’m going to fight you hard. I won’t pull any punches just because...”
Maggie felt color rise in her cheeks. “I expect you to do what you have to do, as will I. Why would I think that you’d take it easy on me? That really chaps my butt!”
Michael raised his hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean anything, I just meant... Well, this is going to be a rough trial.” He looked at her tenderly. “And I get it. I figured there wouldn’t be any deals.” He stood and she did as well. “And in spite of the reason, it’s good to have you here.”
Chapter 6
It was mid-July when the trial of Jean-Luc LeRoi finally began. Prior to that there had been weeks of filing motions and the typical back and forth between the defense and prosecution. They’d spent a full week in jury selection.
On the morning of the first day of the trial, Maggie and Malik were standing at the prosecutor’s table arranging their notes and files when Michael and Amy entered the courtroom. While Amy set to work getting their things in order at the defense table, Michael walked over to Maggie and Malik.
“Ms. Flynn, Mr. Dawson, good morning.” He smiled shrewdly and his eyes crinkled as he reached to shake hands with each of them.
“Mr. Rannigan,” Maggie returned, suppressing a smile. “Let’s do this thing,” she said softly.
He leaned close to her ear. “Oh, it’s on like Donkey Kong,” he whispered, and he returned to Amy and the defense table. Maggie had to cough to cover her outburst of surprised laughter. Michael winked at her as he sat in his chair. Maggie shook her head. He’s being charming and witty. But he’s trying to rattle me, she realized. It really is on.
The morning proceeded with both prosecution and defense offering opening statements, and the rest of the day was spent with Maggie ticking through the prosecution’s list of witnesses. She intended to quickly sketch out the timeline of events leading to the death of Julie Baker. She questioned staff from the bar where Jean-Luc and Julie had been drinking, the valet who retrieved the Maserati, eyewitnesses who saw the accident, the motorist who’d picked up Jean-Luc.
Throughout the day, Maggie was aware of Michael’s rapt attention, though she rarely looked his way. On the rare occasion she glanced toward the defense table she saw Jean-Luc staring at her with a murderous glare.
On the second day of testimony, she finished up by interviewing the arresting officer, the emergency room nurse who’d treated Jean-Luc, and the medical examiner who’d performed the autopsy on Julie Baker.
“Dr. Freis, following your examination of the victim, what was your conclusion regarding her cause of death?”
The doctor leaned to speak into the microphone. “Julie Baker drowned.”
“You’re saying that she was alive when she went into the water,” Maggie clarified.
“Yes. The seatbelt kept her securely fastened into her seat. She had no other injuries.”
“So if Mr. LeRoi had bothered to take the time to release Julie’s seatbelt, she could have lived through this accident, too,” Maggie stated.
“Objection. Counsel is drawing conclusions for the witness,” Michael interjected.
Maggie’s eyes flashed to Michael. “Dr. Fries, are you saying that had Julie Baker been pulled from the submerged car in a timely manner, that she would be alive today?”
“Yes. That is my opinion,” the doctor stated. “She had no other injuries. She simply ran out of air.”
Maggie smiled grimly. “No further questions. Thank you, doctor.” Glancing up, she said, “The prosecution rests, your honor.”
For the next two weeks, Michael called witness after witness, each an expert in some field of technology. He dissected witness testimony, maximizing any holes in anyone’s story. Maggie watched as more conscientious jurors took copious notes and she watched eyes glaze over on the faces of other jurors who were less fastidious.
They heard testimony about the weather conditions on the night of the accident, testimony that impugned the reliability of eye-witness accounts, and other minutiae. Michael spent three days discussing tire tracks and another two days grilling the emergency room nurse, Gail Evers, about large- versus small-bore needles.
Maggie declined to question most of Michael’s witnesses. Occasionally she’d jot down a note but for the most part, she simply sat and listened. Perversely, she enjoyed the exasperated look Michael gave her when she told the judge that she had no questions for his witness.
Rance, however, was not enjoying her nonchalance. “Explain to me why you aren’t questioning these witnesses,” he demanded during a break in testimony one day.
Maggie rolled her eyes. “Michael’s just throwing shit against the wall to see what sticks. If I question every witness he parades in here, I give them credibility, importance.” She raised an eyebrow. “Trust me, I know what I’m doing,” she reassured him.
She did question two of his witnesses. First, she recalled the tire expert, Sam Fields. “Mr. Fields, you talked to Mr. Rannigan about a tire mark left by the defendant’s car on the concrete barrier.” She nodded and Malik flashed a crime scene photo of the mark onto a large screen for everyone to see. “How exactly was this mark made again?”
The tire expert gestured to the photo. “That happened when the tire hit the barrier at a high rate of speed and, essentially, drove up the thing.”
“There were no skid marks on the street at that place, only the print on the barrier. How do you explain that?” Maggie asked.
Fields shrugged. “The driver didn’t brake. He hit the barrier at full speed, maybe even accelerating a little.”
“Accelerating? My goodness,” she commented, looking to the jury.
Michael shifted his jaw back and forth. “Objection. The witness has no basis for speculating on the acceleration of the car.”
“Sustained,” the judge said. “Ms. Flynn ask another question or dismiss the witness.”
“Why is there only one tire mark?” Maggie queried.
“May I?” the witness asked. The judge nodded approval. Fields left the witness stand and aimed a laser pointer at the screen to emphasize his response. “When the tire hit here, the car was already partially airborne. That’s why the left tire didn’t touch. The reason I believe the driver was accelerating at this point,” he continued, glancing Michael’s way, “is that the print is slightly wider at the bottom than it is at the top.”
Maggie smiled. “Thank you very much, Mr. Fields.”
After the lunch recess, Maggie called Gail Evers, the emergency room nurse, back to the stand. “Ms. Evers, you were tasked with drawing blood from the defendant on the night of the accident. For what purpose was blood taken?”
“Mr. LeRoi was accused of driving under the influence. The purpose was to determine his blood alcohol level,” she replied.
“There was a lot of discussion earlier about large-bore needles and small-bore needles,” Maggie laughed lightly. “To tell you the truth, I sort of got lost in all the details. Can you please explain that for us again?”
Evers recounted her earlier testimony about Jean-Luc LeRoi coming in to the ER, about being instructed to draw blood samples, and her choice to use the small-bore needle to take the sampl
e.
Maggie frowned thoughtfully. “You usually use the large-bore needle to perform a routine blood draw. But in this particular instance, you chose the smaller needle to make Mr. LeRoi more comfortable,” Maggie summed up.
“Yes, that’s right.”
Maggie smiled. “That was considerate of you. Why were you so concerned about Mr. LeRoi’s comfort?”
“Well,” the nurse began, “I mean, he’s Jean-Luc LeRoi. The King.” She looked around the room. “He’s famous. I just wanted to cause as little pain as possible.”
Maggie nodded. “Hmm... And being that the needle is smaller, does let in fewer blood cells than the larger one? What I mean to say is, did you draw less blood than you would have with a larger needle?”
“Oh, no,” she answered quickly. “We always use the same size vial, no matter the size of the needle.”
“I see. And would larger blood cells be blocked from entering the vial through the smaller needle?” Maggie asked, eyes wide. Michael rubbed his chin uncomfortably.
The nurse looked condescendingly amused. “Blood cells are all the same size. There aren’t smaller ones and larger ones,” she smirked.
Maggie laughed lightly. “Forgive me. I was never very good with biology.” She stepped away from the witness for a moment, then turned back. “Oh, one more thing... Did using a smaller needle take longer to get the same size sample as a larger needle?”
Evers looked surprised. “Uh, well, I suppose it takes a bit longer.”
Maggie smiled. “You were concerned about causing Mr. LeRoi excessive discomfort so you used a smaller needle. The stick was less, but the draw took longer. And you got to hold Jean-Luc LeRoi’s arm just a little longer, too.” Maggie’s eyes flashed.
Michael jumped up. “Objection!”
“Withdrawn,” Maggie said.
Chapter 7
It was finally time for closing arguments and Michael couldn’t be happier. This trial had taken too long. The jurors were tired, he could see it in their faces. Was it a mistake to use all that expert testimony? It had irritated him that Maggie didn’t bother to question his witnesses. She was playing it smug. She’d find out that taking that tack was folly. He was almost certain.
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