“Did you tell her . . .”
“No, she assured me Emma was safe.”
“No thanks to that SOB McCaskill. Well, at least you were able to pick Em up at school this afternoon and bring her to see me.”
“I didn’t pick her up.”
“How did she get here?”
“I didn’t go to school today,” Emma said. “When Mrs. Roseboro dropped me off at school this morning, I ran away.”
“You what!”
“She came to my office just as I was leaving for the hospital,” Dave said.
“Oh, Emma!” Kathryn sighed through her swollen lips. “Where did you go?”
“The mall.”
“Today’s Thursday—didn’t anyone ask why you weren’t at school?”
“There’s always kids in the food court.”
“How did you get to Dave’s office?”
“Walked.” She paused, then brightened. “I’m glad you and Dave got married, now I can stay with him.”
“Dave? You told her?”
“On the way here. I couldn’t let her worry about having a home. Didn’t figure you’d mind under the circumstances.”
“Dave and I wanted to tell you together, Em, to make it a really special occasion. But when—well, then we didn’t know how.”
“That’s okay.”
Kathryn held Emma’s hand. “Were you happy when Dave told you?”
“Sure.”
“Surprised?”
“Oh, Mom, course not, it was inevitable.”
Kathryn laughed despite her shredded lips. “I suppose it was.”
“Dependency hearing’s scheduled for tomorrow, Babe,” Dave said. “The court’ll appoint lawyers for you and Emma. I’ll set up a meet with them in the morning before the hearing, show ’em the marriage certificate, tell them you won’t contest the dependency hearing if they place Emma with me.”
Kathryn’s swollen, blackened eyes filled with tears.
Dave looked at Emma, then at Kathryn. “Did I say something wrong?”
She dabbed at her tender eyes with a tissue. “Men don’t understand the first thing about a woman’s emotions.”
“Mom, will you have to go back to jail when you get out of the hospital?”
“Yes, until I prove I’m innocent.”
“How can you do that?”
“I talked to some lawyers this afternoon. By tonight, I’ll have hired one of them to work with me to prove my innocence.”
Dave sat on the bed beside Emma, dug in his pants pocket, and fished out a handful of change, which he handed to her. “I’m thirsty, Em. Would you please find a soda machine and buy three Diet Cokes.”
Emma juggled the coins. “There must be five bucks here. Can I buy a Snickers?”
“You’ll spoil your dinner.”
“You sound just like Mom. C’mon, I’m starving.”
“Okay.”
When Emma left, Kathryn smiled and picked up Dave’s hand. “Well, she was really impressed about us getting married. Inevitable, indeed!”
“At twelve years old, things are a lot simpler. She probably saw it coming all along, even when you and I didn’t. Makes you wonder about the old adage that age brings wisdom, huh?”
“I’ll say.”
“What lawyers did you call?”
“I didn’t, I was just trying to reassure Emma. I wanted to talk to you about it because I really don’t know who to call.”
“Start with what you need, that’ll tell you who. Youneed a lawyer who’s got the guts to do battle, fight a long, bloody, no-holds-barred war, do whatever it takes to win.”
“You make it sound like the lawyer would be more important than the case, even for someone who’s innocent.”
“You’re the best prosecutor I know, Babe, but right now you’re sounding like a typical defendant. If you were thinking straight, you’d know that criminal defense is about persuasion. The right lawyer’s impact on a jury can make the difference between acquittal and life in prison. Think about Johnnie Cochran and O.J. You need a bulldog with an overpowering personality, yet enough charisma to sway a jury despite the evidence.”
“Despite the evidence! McCaskill doesn’t have a witness who saw me dump digitalis in Simmons’ Diet Coke—does he?”
“The important thing is that your lawyer is totally dedicated to your welfare. McCaskill’s a prick, but he’s a damn good prosecutor, and there’s plenty of evidence for a lawyer to overcome.”
“You didn’t answer.” She stared at him for several seconds, but decided not to press. “Anyway, his evidence is all circumstantial.”
“We both know that more often than not there’s no witness to a murder. Besides, eyewitnesses are less reliable than solid circumstantial evidence. And his evidence looks pretty damn solid to me.”
“Do I have a chance?”
“Only if your lawyer’s creative, resourceful, tough as nails, and a kick-ass cross-examiner. Someonewho, if McCaskill opens up the tiniest crack, will drive a Mack truck through it.”
“Any suggestions?”
“What about James Brosnahan of San Francisco?”
“His representation of die-hard bin Ladin supporter John Walker provoked such an uproar at his firm and with his clients, I wouldn’t want him by my side.”
“You can’t ignore the fact that your case is politically charged. McCaskill’s going to drag you through the dirt, make you look like a monster. He knows enough about you, Simmons, and me that he might pull it off, too. What he lacks in facts he’ll make up. You need a lawyer who can bring out your best so the jury’s sympathetic.”
“Someone local who jurors know and respect and who’s tried enough cases against McCaskill to know all his sleazy tactics and can head them off beforehand.”
“Roger Griffith.”
“He was the first person I thought of, too. He’s the best defense attorney in the county. I’ll call him as soon as you and Emma take off.”
“You need rest. Get some sleep, call him tomorrow morning.”
“There’s no time to waste. I’m going to refuse to waive time, make McCaskill take me to trial right away.”
“What if Griffith doesn’t agree?”
“I’ll hire someone else.”
“That’d get you to trial right away and make it harder for McCaskill to prepare his case, but it mightbackfire. Griffith needs time to find ways to punch holes in McCaskill’s case. I’m not sure refusing to waive time’s a good idea.”
“Me neither, but if I don’t, I won’t get to trial for a year or longer. I won’t live that long in jail.”
“I’ll put you in ‘Q.’ ” He referred to the secure section of the jail where high-risk and extremely violent inmates were housed to segregate them from the general population, and isolate them from each other.
“Even in Q you can’t protect me that long. Someone’ll eventually figure a way to get to me, and next time, they’ll kill me.”
“You’re probably right.”
“I am right. And I need to end this for Emma’s sake.”
Dave sighed. “I know. Let’s hope if Griffith agrees to defend you that he can put together a strong defense quickly.”
“If he can’t, no one can. Now, go find Em so I can say good night, then get out of here so I can phone Griffith.”
CHAPTER
* * *
36
T HE OLD RUSTY E CONOLINE VAN creaked into the parking place beside Granz’ Buick.
The driver shut off the engine, and cracked the driver’s window to keep the windows from fogging up. He sat listening to KESP, a Spanish music station, until 8:45 A.M., then pressed the fake gray mustache against his upper lip to set the glue, pushed the phony bifocals onto his nose, placed a gray human-hair wig on his head, and secured it with a wide-brimmed straw hat, then checked himself in the mirror.
“Muy bueno—un bracero anciano.”
He pocketed the car keys and dashed toward the court building, the size-thirteen G
oodwill work boots rubbing blisters on the heels of his size-nine feet, the tattered, dirty shirt and jacket doing little to protect him from the cold, penetrating morning drizzle.
The metal detector didn’t pick up the cheap Polaroid inside his jacket because it was mostly plastic. He shuffled over to the calendar posted outside the door to Judge Jesse A. Woods’ Superior Court Six.
A deputy spotted him trying to figure it out, and strolled over. “Need some help, old man?”
“Sí. ¿Habla Español?”
“No, and I figured you prob’ly couldn’t read English, either. Whatcha lookin’ for?”
He pointed at the line that said, Dependency hearing, in re Emma Mackay. “What that say—traffic court?”
“No, that’s juvenile court.”
“Oh. I get speeding ticket, got to see the judge.”
The deputy pointed. “That way, round the corner, downstairs, to your left.”
“Gracias.”
“You’re welcome. Have a nice day.”
He watched the deputy return to his station, say something to the other cop, and point his way. They both laughed, then turned their attention back to the metal detector.
“ Racist pig, I speak better English than you,” he muttered. He made sure no one was watching, pulled out a cheap Polaroid without a flash unit, and surreptitiously snapped several quick shots of Emma Mackay, who was standing by a large potted plant across the hall from the courtroom door.
When he spotted Granz leave the bathroom and head Emma’s way, he pocketed the snapshots, dropped the camera in a trash can, and headed toward traffic court.
In the basement cafeteria, he grabbed a cup of coffee and a bran muffin, then ran back to the van. He stuck the key in the ignition, started the engine, and turned the heater up high. Then he removed the straw hat, wig, glasses, and mustache, and tossed them on the pavement next to Granz’ car.
Sipping his coffee and nibbling at the muffin, he flipped through the photos and studied the face.
“Perfect. I’d remember that face anywhere,” he finally said aloud. “These will do just fine.”
CHAPTER
* * *
37
THE DOOR ON THE RIGHT SIDE of the wall behind the vacant jury box in Superior Court Six swung open.
Bailiff Harold Benjamin stood. “All rise. Department Twelve of the Santa Rita County Superior Court is now in session, the Honorable Jesse Augustus Woods presiding.”
Santa Rita County had only ten courts and judges, but Department Twelve was a special designation for the separate court established by California law in every county to meet the unique needs of juveniles—persons under eighteen years of age.
Woods swept past the jury box, settled into the chair behind the bench, slipped on drugstore reading glasses, and gazed into the almost-empty room.
“Please be seated.”
In his sixties, Woods was tall and athletic, with square shoulders, large hands, and a thick mop of unruly white hair that defied both time and comb. His stern, bearded, intense face and booming voice belied a well-known underlying sensitivity.
A respected jurist with a deep affinity for kids, Woods had presided over juvenile court for many years. During testimony he often appeared bored, turning aside and gazing into space or closing his eyes, but lawyers who practiced before him knew that this was simply a technique for concentrating—he missed nothing.
Court Clerk Cathy Radina announced, “In the Superior Court of the State of California, in and for the County of Santa Rita, case number DP12-200237, adjudication hearing for dependency petition of minor child Emma S. Mackay, the People . . .”
Woods noted Emma’s worried look, and removed his half-glasses. “Let’s skip the formalities. For the record, the Court notes the presence of Frederika Guererro of Child Protective Services and their attorney, County Counsel Daniel Burford, Court-appointed attorney Martin Belker for Emma Mackay, and Roger Griffith representing Kathryn Mackay and Sheriff David Granz.”
He paused to let the court reporter catch up. “Bring in Kathryn Mackay.”
Benjamin opened the door through which Judge Woods had previously entered, disappeared for a couple of minutes, then returned holding Kathryn Mackay by the right elbow. A collective gasp rose from the room.
She looked like she’d gone fifteen rounds with the heavyweight champ. And lost. A bandage was wrapped around her left ear and forehead, and her face had ballooned to twice its normal size, reducing her eyes to tiny dark slits. Her whole face was a massive purple bruise, and by pulling the gauze from her nostrils, she released two trickles of bloody mucus onto her puffy lips.
Dwarfed by the oversized maroon jail jumpsuit, she duckwalked down the row of jury seats and sat in chair 6, then tried to smile. She raised her hands to wipe her mouth, but the handcuff chain, which was looped through a heavy belt and connected to ankle shackles, stopped them at midchest. Benjamin wiped the mess from her mouth.
Emma stared for a moment, pushed her chair away from the table, and headed toward Kathryn. Benjamin stepped in front to intercept her.
Woods cut him off. “Let her be with her mother for a moment, please. Step back and give them some room, and remove the restraints.”
When Benjamin unlocked the handcuffs and shackles, Emma dropped into a chair beside her mother. “The Judge will let me live with Dave, won’t he, Mom?”
“I hope so, honey, but it’s his decision.”
“I don’t want to go back to Mrs. Roseboro’s tonight.”
“I know.”
“How long will it take Judge Woods to make up his mind?”
“We’ll know before we leave. Now, please go sitwith Dave and Mr. Griffith so we can get this over with, okay?”
Woods watched until Emma sat down, established eye contact with her, and winked. “This morning, Mr. Griffith submitted to the Court a certificate establishing that Kathryn Mackay and David Granz are now husband and wife.”
He looked at Burford. “Did you get a copy?”
Burford rose. “Yes. As a result, I request a continuance until next week.”
“What for?”
“To ascertain the legal status of the so-called marriage between Ms. Mackay and Sheriff Granz.”
“What makes you doubt its legitimacy?”
“It was performed in a foreign country, and—”
“Sit down, Mr. Burford. Last I heard, Spain was a civilized nation. If I think your concerns ought to play a part in my decision, I’ll hear them later.”
“The marriage certificate could be a phony.”
“So could your law degree. Court is in recess while I speak with Emma in chambers.”
Woods walked to counsel table and leaned over so that his eyes were at Emma’s level. “Would you mind coming to my chambers so we could talk privately?”
She looked at Dave, who nodded.
“I don’t mind.”
Woods pulled his robe over his head, hung it on a hook behind the door, loosened his tie, and suggested they sit on his leather sofa.
“You know why we’re here today, right, Emma?”
“Why don’t you let my mom go home so I canstay with her? She told me she didn’t kill Doctor Simmons.”
“It’s not that simple, Em—may I call you Em?”
“That’s what Dave and my mom call me.”
“Okay, you call me Jesse.”
He leaned back and crossed his legs. “Em, I don’t give a hoot what those lawyers out there say, the only thing I care about is that you’re safe and happy, that you have a good home, and that you go to school every day. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Mrs. Guererro says you skipped school yesterday. What happened?”
“She forced me to go to Mrs. Roseboro’s. I don’t like her.”
“You don’t even know her. I’m being straight with you, why don’t you be straight with me, too.”
“I was scared. I wanted to see my mom and Dave. If you send me back, I’ll kee
p running away.”
“You could get in a lot of trouble.”
“I don’t care.”
Woods looked at her for a long time, and she held his gaze.
“What do you suggest?” he finally asked.
“I want to stay with Dave. He’s almost my dad now.”
Woods contemplated. “If I let you stay with him, will you promise you won’t run away again, and that you’ll go to school every day?”
“Yes, I promise.”
Woods pulled a business card from his wallet, scribbled something on the back, and handed it to Emma.
“This is my private telephone number. Call me every Friday afternoon at five o’clock—no exceptions—and tell me how things are going.”
“Okay.” She slipped the card into her wallet. “Does this mean I can stay with Dave until my mom proves she’s innocent and gets out of jail?”
“That’s what it means.”
Emma put her arms around his neck. “Thank you, Jesse.”
When she let go, he lifted his judicial robe off the hook and slipped it over his head, then extended his hand and helped her to her feet.
“Then why don’t you and I go back out there and tell everyone what we decided.”
CHAPTER
* * *
38
THE SATURDAY MORNING, March 23, Santa Rita Centennial lead story began:
EX-DA FIGHT AGAINST DEATH STARTS MONDAY
The jury trial in the highly publicized murder case of ex-DA Kathryn Mackay begins at 9A.M.next Monday. Renowned local defense attorney Roger Griffith will make a last-ditch effort to throw out the special circumstance of murder by poison to save Mackay from the death penalty. Jury selection is scheduled to start Tuesday morning. Judge ReginaldKeefe has ordered most of the courtroom spectator section reserved for the media, with the few remaining seats raffled off to the public.
Until the Final Verdict Page 11