by Jance, J. A.
And Hannah Gilchrist hated them all, every last one of them.
16
Santa Clarita, California, April 2012
Day after day the prosecution laid out its case. Zero forensic evidence was offered to link Eddie to the murder, but the circumstantial evidence was overwhelming. Hannah’s first glimpse of the alleged hit man came when Leo Manuel Aurelio took the stand. Other than a facial image grabbed by a neighbor’s security footage, he had left no physical evidence at the scene of Dawn’s homicide. If he’d kept his mouth shut, he might have gotten away with it. Unfortunately for him and for Eddie, while in jail in San Diego on an unrelated charge, Leo had made the mistake of bragging to a cellmate that he’d gotten away with slicing a woman’s throat two and a half years earlier in Santa Clarita.
The cellmate, looking to cut a deal with the DA on his own charges, had turned jailhouse snitch. Trying to verify if there was any truth to the story, prosecutors in San Diego had contacted authorities in Santa Clarita. The Dawn Gilchrist homicide investigation might have gone cold by then, yet it was anything but forgotten.
After comparing Leo’s mugshot to the image from the security footage, detectives from Santa Clarita headed for San Diego. They read Leo his rights and then stayed on for the better part of a week, interviewing him on a daily basis. During that entire time, Leo spoke to them willingly enough, denying all knowledge of the crime without bothering to ask for an attorney. It wasn’t until the cops played their winning hand by placing the two telling photos side by side on the table that Leo finally cracked and asked for an attorney. A young public defender, barely out of law school, had negotiated a deal—that Leo plead guilty to second-degree murder rather than first in exchange for testifying against Eddie, which is how Leo ended up with a sentence of twenty years to life rather than receiving the death penalty or life without parole.
Hannah and everyone else in the gallery listened with rapt attention while Leo told his story. He might have been a gangbanger thug when he committed the homicide, but the young man who came to court to testify against Eddie was a totally sanitized version of his former self. The smooth-shaven, cherub-faced young man—all decked out in a suit and tie and with his gang tats invisible under the sleeves of his jacket—looked more like an upstanding college kid than a convicted murderer. He told how Eddie had come looking for a contract killer and had paid him five thousand bucks in cash, half before the hit and half after. In well-rehearsed testimony, Leo reported how he had snuck into Dawn’s garage as she was parking her car, dragged her out of the vehicle, and then slit her throat, standing over her and making sure she was dead before exiting the garage.
Hannah had watched the shock reflected in most of the jurors’ faces when Leo related that chilling detail. She knew then that there was nothing Calvin Wilkins could do and that all was lost, but she didn’t let on. With people watching her every move, she kept the expression on her face completely impassive. The spectators in the gallery probably thought she would fall apart, but she refused to give them the satisfaction.
Then the prosecution called Kaitlyn Todd to the stand. Hannah knew that the young woman had been Eddie’s nurse/receptionist. It wasn’t until she was on the stand that Hannah learned she’d also been first Eddie’s girlfriend and later his lover, but that was hardly surprising. Like father like son.
Ms. Todd reported that one night, after Dawn’s death and with the Progeny Project trial date approaching, she and Eddie both had a bit too much to drink. In the course of the evening, Kaitlyn had asked him about the missing records, the ones Alexandra Munsey had come asking for when she was in search of a matching kidney for her son.
“What did he tell you?” the prosecutor asked.
“ ‘I had her shred them,’ ” Kaitlyn reported.
“Those were his exact words?”
“Yes,” Kaitlyn said.
“And when he used the word ‘her,’ who do you think was the person to whom he was referring?” the prosecutor continued.
Calvin Wilkins objected. “Calls for a conclusion on the part of the witness.”
“I’ll allow it,” Judge Ratcliff said. “Witness may answer.”
Kaitlyn had seemed to shrink in her chair each time she glanced in Eddie’s direction. This time, though, she straightened and stared directly at him. “Dawn,” she said quietly but accusingly. “Ed’s ex-wife. At the time the files disappeared, they were married, and she was his nurse. I came to work for him later on.”
“How much later?” the prosecutor inquired. “Were the defendant and the deceased still married at the time you went to work for him?”
“Yes.”
“No more questions of this witness,” the prosecutor said.
When it was Calvin Wilkins’s turn, he did his best to discredit her. “How would you characterize your relationship with the defendant?”
“He was my boss,” Kaitlyn said, “but we were also lovers.”
“While he was still married to Dawn?”
“Yes.”
“Were you ever under suspicion with regard to her homicide?”
“I guess,” Kaitlyn admitted with a shrug. “I was the one who made the travel arrangements for his trip to Vegas, the one that gave Ed an alibi at the time of Dawn’s death.”
“Were you ever charged in connection with this crime?”
“No.”
“Were those charges dropped because you agreed to come testify against him—a quid pro quo arrangement, as it were?”
“As I already said, I was never charged, so how could the charges be dropped?”
“I understand that sometime after Dawn Gilchrist’s homicide you went home to care for your father, who had been seriously injured,” Calvin said. “How is he doing?”
“Some of his injuries are permanent.”
“So he continues to need help?”
“Yes.”
“And yet you flew down here—at the prosecution’s expense, I assume—to testify against your former lover?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you do that?”
“Because I believe he killed her,” Kaitlyn declared defiantly. “And I want to see him get what he deserves.”
“Or was it maybe to get revenge on the man who had dumped you?” Calvin asked accusingly, letting his words hang in the air.
When Kaitlyn replied, her voice was barely audible. “He didn’t dump me,” she said softly. “I left.”
Hannah shook her head. Instead of undermining Kaitlyn’s testimony, Calvin had instead made her more believable.
Next up was Curt Clavell, the attorney who had handled the Progeny Project’s short-lived class-action suit, who spoke about his unsuccessful efforts to contact Dawn Gilchrist in hopes of persuading her to come to court and testify against her former husband.
“What kind of testimony did you expect her to offer?”
“We had heard from more than one source that she had personal knowledge about what had become of the missing records from Dr. Gilchrist’s office.”
“This is hearsay,” Calvin objected.
“Disregard.”
“Did you believe that she would have come to testify?”
“I do.”
“Calls for a conclusion on the part of the witness.”
“I’ll allow it,” Judge Ratcliff said.
“And why did you believe she would have done so?”
“Because we were given to understand that she continued to harbor ill will toward Mr. Gilchrist.”
Calvin Wilkins objected to that, too, but again he was overruled, and once that testimony was allowed to stand, it was the capper on the jug. The prosecution rested, because Clavell’s testimony had given them exactly what they needed, a final piece of the puzzle—motive.
When Calvin Wilkins took over, he offered a spirited defense, but there was little he and his team could do to overcome the damning testimony. On advice of counsel, Eddie declined to testify on his own behalf. The defense rested at one thirt
y on a Thursday afternoon. Hannah stayed where she was while the jury filed out and Eddie was led away. Only then did she make her way through the crowd. No one spoke to her. Since she was clearly there in support of her son, the people milling around outside the courtroom regarded her as their enemy, a feeling that was, as far as Hannah was concerned, entirely mutual.
The next evening when Calvin called at 7:00 P.M. to say that the jury had a verdict, Hannah returned to the courthouse, once again in the backseat of the Rolls and once again down that now all-too-familiar stretch of road along the Magic Mountain Parkway. During the trial she’d had Marco drop her off and return for her later. This night she asked him to wait.
When the jury filed into the room, Hannah was back in her accustomed place. She had watched enough crime TV to know that if jurors enter the courtroom without looking at the defendant, it usually spells bad news for the accused, and that was definitely the case here. Not one of the passing jurors glanced in Eddie’s direction, and not in Hannah’s either.
Leo Aurelio’s judicial outcome was already a done deal. He had been transported to and from prison to offer his Judas-worthy testimony, but right that moment, as the jurors took their seats, the decision as to Eddie’s guilt or innocence was still very much up in the air. He was charged with murder in the first degree along with conspiracy to commit.
A conviction for murder in the first degree called for either the death penalty or life without parole, no exceptions. The conspiracy charge could possibly result in a similar sentence. So either he was innocent or this Friday evening would end up being the worst day in Hannah Gilchrist’s life. She sat ramrod straight in her usual chair, the one positioned directly behind Eddie’s. When her son was led into the courtroom and seated at the defense table, she forced herself to maintain her composure, smiling and nodding at him as he took his seat. Then she sat there, staring at the back of his head.
For some reason the only thing that came to mind just then were the lyrics to one of Helen Reddy’s long-ago songs—“You and Me Against the World.” That’s exactly how it was now—Hannah and Eddie against everyone else.
A moment later the bailiff called, “All rise for the Honorable Judge William Ratcliff.”
The black-robed judge entered from his chambers, marched to his seat behind the bench, pulled down the pair of horn-rimmed glasses he wore on top of his head, and turned to address the jurors. “I understand you have reached a verdict?”
Nodding, the foreman rose to his feet. “We have, Your Honor.” With that he walked over to the judge and passed him a single sheet of paper before returning to his place in the jurors’ box.
“And how do you find?” Judge Ratcliff asked.
“With regard to the first charge of murder in the first degree,” the foreman replied, “we find the defendant guilty.”
Gasps and at least one muted cheer were heard inside the room. The judge immediately rapped his gavel. “Silence,” he ordered.
“With regard to the second charge,” Judge Ratcliff asked, “conspiracy to commit, how do you find?”
“We find the defendant guilty,” the foreman responded.
“Thank you, jurors,” the judge said. “You are free to go.” Then, after delivering another sharp-eyed glare to the gallery, one designed to stifle any additional emotional outbursts, he added, “The defendant will be remanded into custody and returned to the county jail to be held there until his sentencing hearing, one week from today.”
With that the judge departed the room. Ignoring the hubbub around her, Hannah sat unmoving and watched as a pair of uniformed deputies stepped up to the defense table. Each took hold of one of Eddie’s arms to lead him away. Before they fastened the cuffs around his wrists, he signed her a quick message: “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she signed back. “I love you.”
She understood that the sentencing hearing was a mere formality. The mandatory sentence for first-degree murder would most likely be life without parole. All the hearing would do was give Dawn’s relatives a chance to vent their feelings in public. Like it or not, Hannah supposed she’d be there to hear them do so. She had been her son’s only ally throughout the ordeal of his trial, and she would serve in the same capacity when it came time for his sentencing.
Hannah stayed where she was until the room finally emptied. “Ma’am,” the bailiff said at last. “If you wouldn’t mind going, I need to lock up.”
“Of course,” she said, getting to her feet.
Hannah stumbled out into the marble-tiled corridor in time to see two uniformed deputies escorting a jumpsuit-wearing prisoner down the hall. At first Hannah didn’t recognize Leo Aurelio, the formerly suit-clad man who had served as her son’s primary accuser. She wasn’t sure why he’d been allowed to remain in the gallery for the duration of the trial. Maybe that was another gift from the prosecutor, just like his conviction for second-degree murder.
The three men boarded an elevator. Just as the doors were closing behind them, a woman Hannah recognized as one of the local TV reporters managed to squeeze in behind them. Hannah was happy to stay behind in the corridor and let the elevator descend without her. She had no intention of breathing the same air as Dawn’s knife-wielding killer, who had just ensured Eddie’s conviction.
Hannah knew that Leo had been sentenced to twenty years to life, but she also knew that with good behavior he could be out in far less than that. Unless Calvin Wilkins could make a successful appeal of this conviction, Eddie wouldn’t be out ever, and that wasn’t fair—not at all.
Hannah went home that night and turned on the TV. All through the trial, she’d been conflicted—torn between wanting to know how the local media were reporting the story while at the same time not wanting to know. She turned on the news right at eleven o’clock, where the conclusion of Eddie’s trial was the top story. A news anchor with very white teeth and long blond hair introduced the segment.
“Earlier this evening a jury found longtime Santa Clarita physician, Edward Anthony Gilchrist, guilty of first-degree murder and conspiracy to commit murder in the death of his former wife, Dawn Lorraine Gilchrist, who was stabbed in the garage of her town home more than three years ago. Shortly after the verdict was read, our crime reporter, Magda Herman, who has been covering the trial for the past three weeks, caught up with one of the case’s star witnesses as he was leaving the courthouse. What’s the story here, Magda?”
The moment Hannah saw the reporter’s face, she recognized her as the woman who’d hopped into that descending elevator at the last moment.
The reporter smiled to acknowledge the introduction and then took up the story. “Because I was separated from my camera crew at the time, I’m sorry to report that I don’t have any film of this incident, but after leaving the courtroom I rode down in the elevator with the prosecutor’s primary witness against Dr. Gilchrist, the hit man who at Gilchrist’s behest actually committed the crime. Leo Aurelio pleaded guilty to second-degree murder four months ago and is currently serving a twenty-year-to-life sentence for his participation in the homicide. He was transported from the Protective Housing Unit at Corcoran State Prison to the Santa Clarita Courthouse in Santa Clarita in order to testify. I asked him if he had any comment on Dr. Gilchrist’s conviction and was able to record his reply on my iPhone.” She held the device up to her microphone and pressed play. “Yeah, I got a comment all right,” a man’s voice replied. “He ruined my life. He’s going down, too, and that’s just what he deserves.”
“Sounds like there’s a little bad blood there,” the smiling anchor commented.
“Yes, it does,” Magda agreed. “No love lost at all.”
And again completely unfair, Hannah thought as she shut off the TV set and went into the bedroom to get ready for bed. Leo was the one with the knife. He was the one who spilled the blood and did the actual killing. Why should he get off with such a light sentence when poor Eddie was losing everything?
In the bathroom Hannah removed h
er wig before she removed her makeup. Years earlier, after she’d undergone chemo for a bout with breast cancer, her hair had fallen out. That was a given, but when it grew back in, it was so spotty and thin that ever since she had resorted to having her head shaved and wearing a wig whenever she left the house. That had been five years ago, and her oncologist assured her she was in remission, but Hannah couldn’t help feeling as if she were living on borrowed time. And what would become of Eddie once she was gone? Who would look after him then?
She lay awake for a long time thinking about that. She might not be able to do anything for Eddie after she died, but maybe there were things she could do for him on her way out.
17
Sedona, Arizona, April 2012
Ali Reynolds was surprised and a little disappointed that Alex Munsey didn’t break her silence and contact her about Gilchrist’s upcoming trial. She’d had to learn about it on her own. Far from the courthouse in Santa Clarita, California, Ali kept track of the progress of the trial by checking with L.A.-based news sites, sometimes even live-streaming the evening news onto her computer screen. On Thursday afternoon the jury had retired to deliberate. When she tuned in to the evening news on Friday and there was still no verdict, she figured the coverage for the week was over. It seemed unlikely that the jury would return a verdict earlier than Monday.
Ali shut down the computer, feeling more than a little blue. The reporter who had delivered the “live report” from the courthouse steps in Santa Clarita, Magda something-or-other, was clearly a new hire, a sweet young thing who looked like she was barely out of high school. Liz Cassidy, the news anchor now seated behind the desk where Ali had once held sway, was a known entity. Liz had been a pushy beginning reporter back then, and Ali remembered their having had several run-ins along the way. Liz had probably done her best to wipe Ali’s name out of her random-access memory. Magda, on the other hand, had most likely never heard the name Ali Reynolds. Yes, it seemed as though she had left her news-anchor days without leaving behind so much as a trace of her presence.