by Marie Force
One day, Dona even brought their mother by for lunch and a haircut. Paullina looked better than Juliana had seen her in years, and she was filled with curiosity about the home health aide who had brought about such a miraculous transformation in her mother.
Since the Benedettis were in isolation in jail and didn’t know Escalada was dead or what he told Juliana before his death, Tom and Michael thought it would be safe for her to go back to work—with her detail in tow—when the bruise on her face healed and she felt ready to resume her regular life.
When she wasn’t acting as the proprietor of Juliana’s Salon, she made good use of the time at home to rearrange almost every room in Michael’s house, to make fabulous dinners that he said he dreamed about during the long days in court, and to recover from the trauma of her encounter with Escalada. She also did a lot of thinking about where her life was going as Jeremy’s arrival edged closer. He left a message on her cell phone asking her to meet him at their house next Saturday morning.
One more week.
Michael endured endless days in court while the defense employed one pathetic tactic after another in an effort to make the jury forget about the powerful evidence presented by the prosecution. He wished he could bring a book or a newspaper to read during the ridiculous parade of witnesses who did nothing to dispel the fact that Marco and Steven Benedetti, while apparently pillars of the community, had gunned down three defenseless kids in a parking lot. Michael didn’t even bother to cross-examine most of the defense witnesses.
Finally, at three o’clock on the Friday before the last weekend Michael might ever spend with Juliana, the defense rested without calling the defendants to testify. Michael thought their attorneys had served them well in keeping them off the stand. Most of the legal analysts following the trial had speculated the Benedettis would not testify on their own behalf, and Michael agreed with them. But he had been ready if the defense decided to call them. Judge Stein set closing arguments for nine o’clock on Monday. The end was in sight.
On the way home, Michael stopped to buy a bottle of champagne and a dozen yellow roses. He arrived just after four to find his living room rearranged in a way he never would have considered. It was perfect. Just like her. Pulsing music and the smell of something that made him want to drool led him to the kitchen. He found her dancing to the beat at the stove and was reminded of their first week together. He resisted the urge to sneak up on her since she had been jumpy after her ordeal with Escalada.
“Hey,” he yelled over the din.
Her face lit up when she turned to find him there. “You’re home early!”
He pulled the champagne and roses from behind his back. “With presents.”
“Oh, for me? They’re gorgeous! Thank you.” She kissed him. “What’s the occasion?”
Michael loved that she appreciated even the simplest of gestures. “Let me quote: ‘your honor, the defense rests.’”
“Yippee! It’s almost over then, right?”
“Closing arguments on Monday, and then it goes to the jury.” He pulled off his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt.
“Then tonight we celebrate.” She found a vase for the roses and put them on the dining room table.
“Is Juliana’s Salon closed for the day?”
“Sure is. We had a banner day with five clients.” She tugged a wad of cash out of her back pocket and tried to put it in his. “Rent.”
He sidestepped her. “Get real, Juliana. I’m not taking that.” Peeking into a pan simmering on the stove, he asked, “What are you making?”
She put the money on the counter, but he knew she’d try again later and looked forward to the wrestling match that would no doubt ensue.
“It’s a new shrimp recipe Mrs. R gave me. She cut it out of a magazine, so no guarantees.”
“If it tastes as good as it smells, we’ve got another winner. I was going to take you out tonight to give you a break from all the cooking you’ve been doing.”
She reached up to cover the faded but still visible bruise on her face. “Not yet. Another couple of days maybe. Besides, I love to cook.”
“And I love to eat what you cook. I think I’ve gained ten pounds since you moved in.”
Juliana wound her arms around his neck. “Why don’t we open that bottle of champagne, light a fire, and hibernate all weekend? It’s freezing out anyway.”
With his hands on her hips, he drew her close to him and leaned in to kiss her. “I like how you think.”
Late on Sunday night, after Michael practiced his closing for Juliana one last time, he snuggled with her in bed. “Thanks for the excellent suggestions. You’d make a good lawyer.”
“Nah, I’d never make it through all that school. I don’t have the smarts.”
“Are you kidding me? Someone who’s smart enough to find a way to make a 911 call when there’s a killer in the same room? Give me a break. You’re smarter than most of the people I went to law school with.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.” He turned on his side to face her. “This was the best weekend I’ve ever had.”
“It was fun, wasn’t it?”
“Is it going to be our last weekend together, Juliana?”
She shook her head.
“You’ve made a decision?”
“I think so,” she said softly, reaching up to stroke his hair. “When everything happened with Escalada, when he was holding that knife against my throat, the only thing I could think about was you and finding a way out of it so I could be with you again.”
“Juliana…” He rested his forehead against hers where a tiny white mark was all that remained of the cut from the coffee table glass.
“Jeremy asked me to give him a couple of days, and I’m going to do that. I have to play it out with him and end it the right way. You understand, don’t you?”
“I’m trying to. It’s just the thought of you…”
“What?”
He ran a hand over the warm, soft skin of her back. “In bed with him…”
She raised herself up on one elbow. “I’m not going to sleep with him.”
“You’re not?”
“I couldn’t. Not after being with you.”
Michael closed his eyes and released a jagged deep breath. “God, I wish we’d talked about this sooner. I’ve been driving myself nuts imagining you with him.”
“I’m sorry.” She combed her fingers through his hair. “I’m going to hear him out, but that’s it.”
He arranged her so she was lying on top of him. “I love you. I’ll love you for the rest of my life. You and only you.”
Juliana kissed the engagement ring nestled in his chest hair. “Soon, Michael. Soon enough, I hope I can say that, too.”
“I can wait one more week.” He drew her down for a kiss. “By this time next Sunday, we’ll be free and clear.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Michael delivered his closing first thing Monday morning. He took the jury through the last day in the lives of Jose Borges, Timothy Sargant, and Mark Domingos. Earlier, he warned the boys’ families of what he planned to do so they could prepare themselves.
He reminded the jurors of the argument the boys had with the defendants in the arcade, talked about the testimony of the boys’ friends who witnessed the fight, and reiterated the evidence offered by the detectives and ballistics experts.
“You heard the eye-witness’s chilling account of the shootings and her description of how ruthlessly the defendants shot first Mark Domingos, then Jose Borges, and finally Timmy Sargant. All of this over an arcade game.” He paused for effect like he practiced with Juliana. “Throughout the course of the trial, you’ve heard the victims’ names repeatedly. You already know they liked to play video games and they spent their last moments skateboarding in the parking lot of Jose’s apartment complex. What you maybe don’t know is they were honor roll students.” Michael smiled as he paid tribute to boys he’d never met but had come
to know so well over the last year.
“Jose was an outstanding baseball player—a promising pitcher with a fierce curve ball—who loved to torment his little sisters. Timmy made the all-city basketball team in sixth and seventh grade, and he knew everything there was to know about Star Wars. Mark was on his way to being an Eagle Scout and played a mean guitar. His hero was Richie Sambora from Bon Jovi.”
The parents of the boys wept quietly in the gallery as Michael moved over to lean against the jury box.
“They were good kids who made the fatal mistake of arguing with two men who were capable of murder.” He paused to let that thought settle and was satisfied when two of the female jurors dabbed at their eyes. “My job is to leave you with no doubt that Marco and Steven Benedetti murdered Jose Borges, Timothy Sargant, and Mark Domingos. If I’ve left you with reasonable doubt that it was the Benedettis who pumped one round after another into those defenseless boys, then you’ll have no choice but to acquit them. But if I’ve done my job and you have no doubt—no doubt whatsoever that it was them,” he said, turning to point to the defendants who were both looking elsewhere, “then you must convict.” Making eye contact with each of the jurors, Michael said, “Jose, Timmy, and Mark are counting on you. Don’t let them down.”
With an empathetic glance at the boys’ families, he returned to his seat next to George Samuels.
“Perfect,” George whispered. “Spot-on perfect.”
“Let’s hope so,” Michael replied as the lead defense attorney got up to do her closing. He said a silent thank you to Juliana who suggested the last line—don’t let them down. George was right. It was perfect.
Michael found it interesting that the defense attorney didn’t refute Rachelle’s videotaped testimony in her closing, which told him she too believed her clients probably had something to do with the arsenic attack. No doubt the defense attorneys had a few difficult moments of their own during this trial. She summed up her closing by saying, “They didn’t do it. You must acquit.”
After she sat down, Judge Stein gave the jury their instructions. Before Michael knew it, the jurors were filing out to begin deliberations. The Borges, Sargant, and Domingos families were effusive in their praise of Michael’s closing.
“Thank you, Michael, for bringing them to life again,” Mrs. Sargant whispered as she gripped his hand, her face pinched with grief and wet with tears. “Thank you for everything.”
“I just hope it was enough.” Michael would have felt much more confident if Rachelle had been able to testify in person.
“It’s in God’s hands now,” Mrs. Sargant said.
As Officer John Tanner escorted Michael and George back to their office, Michael tried to remember what life had been like before he was accompanied by police officers everywhere he went.
“That went really well,” George said. “I don’t think there’s anything else we could’ve done.”
“I guess,” Michael said, thinking of Rachelle and how desperately he wished he had the whole thing to do over again.
“Your closing was really good, Mr. Maguire,” Tanner said, surprising Michael.
The young officer hadn’t had much to say since the rock went through Michael’s window on his watch. “Thank you.”
When they arrived, Michael went into his office and closed the door. He hated waiting for juries. Usually, it was the most stressful part of any trial. Not this one, though. The whole thing had been stressful. He picked up the phone to call Juliana.
“Hey,” he said. “What’re you up to?”
“Having lunch between appointments. How’d it go in court?”
“Good, I think.”
“Did you use my line?”
“Sure did. I ended with it, just like we practiced.”
“I wish I could’ve been there to watch you.”
He wished he’d thought to bring her. “Me, too. Next time, maybe? If there is a next time…”
“I’d love that.”
As he was thinking about how much he loved her, there was a knock on his door.
“Hang on a sec, hon.” With his hand over the phone, he said, “Come in.”
“They’re back,” George said.
“Already? It hasn’t even been an hour.”
George shrugged. “We’ve got thirty minutes to get there.”
“Tell Tom.” Into the phone, Michael said, “I’ve got to go. The jury’s back.”
Juliana gasped. “Are you worried it was too fast?”
“That’s often good news for us, but you never know.”
“Good luck, Michael. I love you.”
“Love you, too. Turn on the news in about forty-five minutes.”
“I will.”
The jury filed into the courtroom half an hour later. Michael was encouraged when several of them glanced over at him as they were seated. In his experience, it was when they didn’t look at you that you needed to worry.
After they were settled, Judge Stein asked, “Have you arrived at unanimous verdicts?”
“Yes, your honor,” said the foreman, a tall, burly man who worked on the docks in the port of Baltimore. He handed the verdict paper to the bailiff who walked it over to the judge.
Judge Stein read the verdicts, passed the paper back to the bailiff, and asked the defendants to rise. “In the matter of the People versus Marco and Steven Benedetti, murder of Jose Borges in the first degree, what say you?”
Michael held his breath.
“Guilty,” the foreman said.
The gallery erupted.
Judge Stein wrapped his gavel. “Order!” he bellowed. “There will be order in this courtroom!”
When the only sound was the quiet weeping of the victims’ families, Judge Stein continued. “In the matter of the People versus Marco and Steven Benedetti, murder of Timothy Sargant in the first degree, what say you?”
“Guilty,” the foreman said to more whimpering from the gallery.
“In the matter of the People versus Marco and Steven Benedetti, murder of Mark Domingos in the first degree, what say you?”
“Guilty,” the foreman said.
Michael rested his head on his hands and fought the urge to weep.
Guilty.
Thank you, God.
Pandemonium broke out all around him as the families of the victims rejoiced and the people sitting behind the Benedettis sobbed.
It took Judge Stein several minutes to restore order. He thanked the jury for their sacrifice and hard work. “Sentencing is set for one month from today. We are adjourned.”
Michael stood up to accept the congratulations of George Samuels, Tom Houlihan, the paralegals who worked with them, and the overjoyed families of the victims.
He was talking to Mr. and Mrs. Borges when out of the corner of his eye he saw Marco Benedetti lunge for the gun belonging to the sheriff deputy who was attempting to cuff him.
Michael screamed and everything shifted into slow motion.
Before the other deputies could reach him, Marco waved the gun erratically and fired a wild shot.
The people still in the courtroom dove for cover under chairs and tables. Michael, on the other hand, couldn’t seem to make his legs move. He watched, transfixed, as Marco grabbed one of the other deputies, held the gun to her head, and screamed for his brother to help him.
Michael glanced over to find Steven locked in an epic struggle with another deputy. Steven prevailed, wrestled the gun from the deputy, and rushed to his brother’s side.
Marco flashed a victorious grin at the people who remained in the courtroom before he shoved aside the woman he’d held hostage and zeroed in on Michael. “Fuck you, Maguire.” He aimed the gun at Michael.
Too surprised to even move, Michael locked eyes with Marco, and for a brief, sickening moment he found out what goes through the mind of someone who’s about to die.
Marco fired, and another shot rang out from behind Michael, who was suddenly flying through the air. He landed on the floor under
John Tanner as one of the other deputies put a bullet between the eyes of Steven Benedetti.
With that final shot, the case of the People vs. Marco and Steven Benedetti came to a bloody and deadly end.
Juliana forced herself to stay busy at home while she waited for the local news to break into programming to announce the verdicts. When she couldn’t sit still any longer, she paced back and forth, praying they would be found guilty. While she wanted justice for the families of the three boys, she had her own reasons for wanting to keep the Benedettis in jail. She opened the front door to ask the cops if they’d heard anything.
“Not yet. We’ll let you know as soon as we do.”
“Thanks.”
She went back inside and paced for another ten minutes before the local anchors came on with the news that verdicts had been reached in the Benedetti trial. They went live to their reporter on the scene.
Juliana sat down on the sofa and clasped her hands together in prayer as anxiety and adrenaline coursed through her.
“Just a minute ago, we received word that Marco and Steven Benedetti have been found guilty on all three counts of murder in the first degree. To repeat, the Benedettis are guilty.”
Juliana screamed with joy and relief as she bolted to the front door in search of someone to celebrate with. She ran down the stairs and jumped into the arms of one of the two cops guarding her that day. Imagining how Michael must feel at this moment, tears slid down her cheeks. He had done it. He’d gotten them—for the families of the three boys, for Rachelle, and for everyone touched by their reign of terror.
She was still talking to the police officers when their radios began to crackle with the news of shots fired at the courthouse. “What’s going on?” she asked in a tiny voice.
The cops listened intently to the back and forth, much of it in code that Juliana didn’t understand.