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Dark Moon, A Work in Progress, Chapter Twenty-Three

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged artist, attorney, California, fiction, law, lawyer, legal thriller, murder, mystery, novel, story, storyteller, thriller, writer, writing on January 24, 2014| Leave a Comment »

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“Good morning,” Judge Tomlinson beamed at his courtroom. “I trust everyone had a good weekend.”

Sarah smiled in return as she stood at the defendant’s table with Bob Metcalf dressed in another ill-fitting suit, but she noticed that Tara Jacobs on the plaintiff’s side with Preston Baldwin, remained taughtly grim-faced. Probably because her surgeon had eliminated any possibility of smiling a couple of facelifts ago. Everything about Tara was so sleek she looked plastic. Her dark hair was pulled into the tightest bun on record. Her cobalt blue suit appeared to have been steamed within an inch of its life to remove every wrinkle. She was so thin Sarah doubted she ever touched food. Her French manicured nails were so long she could barely pick up a pencil. Every bit of her screamed she was trying too hard to be sleek, chic, and expensive.

“Let’s see, we’re here this morning on a motion Ms. Jacobs filed to quash Ms. Knight’s subpoenas for Ronald Brigman and Michael Reed’s bank records. Is that right?”

“That’s correct, Your Honor.”

“Mr. Baldwin, this isn’t your motion. I’m not even sure why you’re at this hearing.”

“Well, Your Honor, the state is opposed to disclosure to the defendant of the sensitive personal documents of the victims.”

“They aren’t going to be disclosed to Mrs. Reed, Mr. Baldwin. Ms. Knight as counsel of record will receive them. And I’m still not sure what your interest is in this hearing.”

“The state represents the victims –”

“The state is seeking justice on behalf of the People, Mr. Baldwin.”

Sarah suppressed a smile. It was fun to watch the arrogant Preston Baldwin being raked over the Monday morning coals even if she guessed her own turn was coming.

“Well, of course, Your Honor, but – ”

“No ‘buts,” Mr. Baldwin. I’ve heard more than enough from you. Ms. Jacobs scheduled this hearing. If you don’t sit down and be quiet, I’ll ask you to leave.”

Preston Baldwin folded his lawyer tail between his legs and sat down next to Tara, who was still standing.

“Now, let’s see. I neglected to have you enter your appearances. Ms. Knight, obviously you are here on behalf of Mrs. Reed. I hear she’s doing better at the hospital?”

“That’s correct, Your Honor.”

“We like to hear every bit of good news we can get on Monday morning. And you have a gentleman with you whom I see is not your investigator.”

“That’s correct, Your Honor. This is Bob Metcalf, who represented Mrs. Reed in the family court proceedings. He may or may not be called as a witness.”

“Very good. Welcome, Mr. Metcalf.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.”

“Now, Ms. Jacobs, as to your appearance. Who are you here to represent?”

“Ronald Brigman and Michael Reed.”

“Hm.” Judge Tomlinson’s kind gray eyes studied Tara’s taught eagerness intently. “Don’t you have a bit of a problem, there?”

“Problem, Your Honor?”

“Yes, a problem of “standing.” You remember the legal concept of “standing,” Ms. Jacobs, from first year civil procedure in law school? You have to have “standing” to bring a matter before a court. You have to be an eligible party as the law defines ‘eligible party to a legal proceeding’ before you can ask the court to hear your position.”

Tara pursed her haughty collagen filled lips with utmost derision for the mild, rotund civil servant looking down at her from the bench. “Ronald Brigman and Michel Reed have standing to oppose disclosure of their personal bank records.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Jacobs, but you are wrong. They are both dead. That means they no longer have standing to oppose anything. The representatives of their estates can offer an opposition on their behalf, but Mr. Brigman and Mr. Reed are no longer able to be litigants in a court of law.”

“Yes, but I represented Michael in his family law matter.”

“Right, but you aren’t the executor of his estate nor do you represent the executor of his estate. And you’re not in family law court this morning. Correct?”

“Correct.”

“And I was not aware that Ronald Brigman was ever your client. If he had been, the State Bar would doubtless have been concerned about your conflict of interest since he was appointed to evaluate a number of your family law clients.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Sarah saw Bob’s eyes widen as he struggled to keep the rest of his face lawyerlike and impassive. She guessed no judge in family court had ever talked to Tara this way. On the other side of the courtroom, Preston Baldwin was visibly shrinking in his chair as he began to understand the scope of the legal problem Tara’s ignorance had created.

“I – I well, Dr. Brigman was not a client. He was a friend.”

“Right. I understand that, but when has the attorney-client privilege applied to communications between friends?” Judge Tomlinson was enjoying watching her squirm because she was so obnoxious in her ignorance, Sarah thought.

“I – I – well, the privilege applies to Michael’s confidences to me. And some of those were disclosed to Dr. Brigman in the course of his work in this case.”

“And that gives you an even bigger problem, doesn’t it, Ms. Jacobs?”

“I’m sorry, Your Honor. How does telling a court-appointed evaluator information provided by my client create a problem?”

“Think hard, Ms. Jacobs. First-year law school again. Your first class in professional responsibility. What happens when you disclose a client’s confidences to a third party?”

Tara was bright red. “Well, they’re waived, of course. But, Dr. Brigman was a court-appointed evaluator.”

“Can you show me some authority that says court-appointed evaluators aren’t third-parties when it comes to attorney-client privilege?”

“I – I – no.” Tara looked stunned.

“Well, then. I think this hearing is over. You don’t have any standing to move to quash Ms. Knight’s subpoenas.”

“But Your Honor!” Preston Baldwin leapt to his feet and threw himself into the breach Tara’s incompetence had created.

“Mr. Baldwin, I thought I asked you to sit down and be quiet.”

“Please, Your Honor. At least hear Ms. Jacobs on the public policy issue.”

“Public policy issue?” Judge Tomlinson frowned.

“Yes, Your Honor,” Tara gave him the smile that apparently won judicial hearts and minds in family court. Only it wasn’t working here, Sarah thought.

“Okay. It’s Monday morning. I’ve had a nice weekend. I hear Mrs. Reed is recovering. I’m in as good a mood as I’ll probably be in all week. Tell me these ‘public policy’ reasons of yours to quash Ms. Knight’s subpoenas.”

Judge Tomlinson settled back in his chair and kept his eyes on Tara Jacobs.

“May it please the court.”

“Ms. Jacobs, I’m not pleased, in case you haven’t noticed. And this isn’t first-year law school moot court, nor are you in the court of appeal. This is superior court where I am vastly underpaid and very overworked. Just get to the point.”

“Sorry, Your Honor. The points is Alexa Reed should not profit by her decision to kill her husband and Dr. Brigman. Mrs. Reed is a lying, devious, manipulative individual with a psychopathic borderline personality disorder, whose only goal in life was to live off her husband’s money. She – ”

“Wait, Ms. Jacobs. Just wait, please.” Judge Tomlinson held up his hand. “No one, particularly a criminal defendant who is presumed innocent until proven guilty, is going to be called lying, manipulative, or psychopathic in my courtroom by an attorney, unless an expert has first testified to that based on authorities reasonably relied on by experts in the field. I am not persuaded by character assassination. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Your Honor. If I might finish?”

“You’re finished, Ms. Jacobs. I did my tour as a judge in family law court a few years back. The kind of language you are using disgusted me then, and it does now. I feel like levying a hefty sanction on you for wasting my time this morning. If you’d done your legal research, you’ve have known you had no standing. If you will kindly fold up your papers and exit now, I won’t impose the $2,000 fine I’m considering. Your motion was frivolous, and it is very, very denied.”

Sarah thought she heard a slight whimper from Tara as she swept her legal pad into her Louis Vuitton brief case and headed for the backdoor. She could see Bob was still working hard to suppress a grin of delight.

Fortunately, he continued to be successful because the judge turned to him next, “Mr. Metcalf. Again, thank you for spending part of your Monday with us. I’m going to let you go now, because I need to talk to Ms. Knight and Mr. Baldwin about scheduling in Mrs. Reed’s case.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.” Bob picked up his well-worn briefcase and headed for the exit.

Judge Tomlinson frowned at Preston Baldwin as the door closed behind Bob.
“Did you know that was going to be her motion?”

“No, Your Honor. I thought she was going to say she represented the estates of the two victims.”

“If I hadn’t been on the bench in family court and seen the way they practice over there, I wouldn’t have believed anyone who had passed the California Bar would have pulled a stunt like that. Anyway, that’s not why I kept the two of you. I understand Ms. Knight wants Mrs. Reed out on bail when she leaves the hospital.”

“That’s correct, Your Honor.” Sarah willed herself to be calm and not to give away too much of her case for Alexa’s release.

“Your Honor, Ms. Knight is as out-in-left-field as Ms. Jacobs. There’s no right to bail in a capital case.”

“True, but she has a right to a bail hearing. And you’ve calendared one for October 1, haven’t you?” Judge Tomlinson looked at Sarah.

“I have, Your Honor.”

“I was just putting out some feelers to see if the two of you might reach an agreement on Mrs. Reed’s custody status to save us the trouble of the hearing.”

“The people want her in jail. Period.”

“Then I think we’re on for October 1. You do know, Ms. Knight you have to show facts that demonstrate she may not be guilty?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“I just want you to be aware I’m not going to be any happier than I was today if you waste my time.”

“I understand, Your Honor.”

“And now I believe you wanted to talk to me about hiring the experts you need for Mrs. Reed’s defense?”

“That is correct, Your Honor.”

“Very well. Mr. Baldwin, you may go. I need to meet with Ms. Knight in my chambers for a few minutes.”

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Dark Moon, A Work in Progress, Chapter Twenty-Two

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged attorney, California, fiction, law, lawyer, legal thriller, murder, mystery, story, storyteller, thriller, writer, writing on January 17, 2014| Leave a Comment »

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Jim headed out of the parking lot at the hospital at eight that night. Since Alexa had been off the ventilator, he’d given her a cell phone programed with his number to call if she needed him. She’d been tired after her meeting with Sarah, and she’d slept most of the afternoon, but she’d bounced back by six when he arrived for dinner.

In the last week, he’d checked on her throughout the day and had kept her company at supper time, trying to tempt her to eat more than the tepid food the hospital provided. Sometimes he brought his own creations, sometimes he only had time to pick up fast food, but eating together in the evening had become a ritual in the past week.

She was lonely, and he was lonely. He knew what a dangerous combination that was. But as Alexa struggled back to life, he saw traces of the bright, charming woman she had once been in her thin, tired little form, and he was intrigued. Even if her memory about the events in her own life was cloudy, her ordeal had spared her legal mind. She was a gifted lawyer, and Jim enjoyed their legal discussions and liked hearing about the inner workings of the Supreme Court. He remembered poor Bob Metcalf’s happy face when he’d talked so gratefully about how Alexa’s writings had made him look good as a lawyer for the first time in his career.

He navigated the winding side streets until he reached Washington Street and then merged onto I-5 North to head home. He knew he needed to be honest, at least with himself. His newfound interest in Alexa was a soothing antidote on the nights when he knew Sarah was occupied with David Scott. Last week had been tough for him because he had offered several times to come by her place after he had felt it was okay to leave Alexa at the hospital, but she had turned him down because she had plans every time.

Driving along in the lonely dark toward his empty house, Jim knew how much he had wanted to see Sarah and how much her refusals had hurt. So it was quite natural, he assured himself, to be drawn to someone who needed his friendship.

But the thought of Sarah still nagged him. Since the night he’d first seen her in Trend, she had always been at ease and comfortably in charge. Yet this morning, she’d seemed hesitant and awkward in the interview with Alexa. Instead of the experienced Wall Street attorney she was, she’d had the demeanor of a fourth-year associate who’d been send on her first client interview without the supervising partner.

Suddenly as he drove down Garnet Avenue just minutes from his house, he was overcome by the need to see her. Recklessly, he abandoned the road toward home and headed up the back of Mount Soledad toward La Jolla and Sarah.

* * *

He was relieved when she answered on the first knock because it was less likely David Scott was lurking inside.

She was wearing soft gray sweat pants and a black t-shirt, and she was barefoot. The scar on her cheek seemed more prominent than usual. She was cradling a thick book in her arm like a baby.

“Is everything ok?” She was obviously surprised to see him.

He wanted to say no, why did you shut me out last week. But he knew better.

“Fine, just fine. I wanted to see how you thought the interview went this morning.”

“Oh.” Her face went blank as if she’d forgotten the whole thing. “Better come in and have a drink.”

He followed her into the living room where he could see she’d been curled up on one end of the sofa, doing legal research and scribbling on a yellow pad. She’d lost that air of hesitancy and was her usual in-charge self again. She motioned for him to take off his suit jacket and lay it across one of the chairs.

“Here, have a seat, and I’ll get another glass.”

He noticed the open bottle of wine on the coffee table and a half eaten sandwich wrapped in deli paper. Instead of the chair facing her, he deliberately chose the other end of the sofa, but she was unphased when she came back from the kitchen.

“I thought the interview went pretty much as I thought it would.” She handed him the glass of wine. “No real surprises except her memory loss over Brigman. And just as Bob Metcalf said, we have nothing to prove domestic violence except her word.”

“So far.” Jim realized he had spoken too quickly because she looked over at him sharply.

“That’s right. So far.” She frowned slightly. “I mean, the typical domestic violence pattern is right there. We have the bright, intelligent woman who is drawn to the charming man. By the time she learns the truth, he’s beating her and controlling her through her children. I’ve never figured out why judges are so thick about this stuff. The fact patterns are all pretty much the same. The husband hits the wife and then finds a way to lie about it and to blame her for everything.”

“I’m going to find that nanny.” He realized he must have spoken with too much emotion because she looked surprised. Well, if she guessed his new interest in Alexa, so much the better. She held David Scott over his head.

“Ok. Fine. I figured you’d say that. But I’m not optimistic. Those people have a way of vanishing.”

“And we need to talk to the children.”

“No.” Sarah shook her head emphatically.

“What do you mean ‘no’?”

“I mean ‘no.’ It’s too big a risk.”

“I don’t see how.”

“We have no idea who Michael was arguing with that night.”

“Yes, we do. The kids said ‘a woman.’”

“Right. And Alexa is ‘a woman.’”

Jim frowned. “You mean Michael could have been arguing with Alexa?”

“It’s not impossible. We know she went to Brigman’s at 9. We know Brigman died at 11:00 and her gun killed him. Her only memory supposedly is ‘driving around.’”

“So you are saying what if she went to see Brigman, he made her angry, she came back and killed him, and then went to Michael’s where they argued and she killed him?”

Sarah nodded. “We shouldn’t do anything to stir up evidence against her. And right now I don’t think I have enough to get a court order to interview the children.”

“So what do we do next?”

“You continue to line up those witnesses for the bail hearing on October 1, and keep the hospital from killing our client. And if you could do some of your unauthorized FBI magic to find out about Coleman Reed and offshore accounts, that would be much appreciated. I have to go to court in the morning because Tara Jacobs is going to try to quash my subpoena’s for Brigman and Michael Reed’s U.S. bank records.”

“Can she win?”

Sarah patted the thick book she had been holding. “In a word, no. I’m hoping those bank records will give us something to work with.”

“Me, too. Can I make you something to eat before I leave?” He sensed she wanted him to go, and he wanted to stay.

“No. I had a sandwich.” She motioned toward the sad little concoction next to the wine bottle.

“I’m not sure that merits the name.”

“Well, you won’t even find eggs in the fridge tonight. Anyway, I have to get on with preparing for this hearing tomorrow.”

“Do you want me there?” He willed the answer to be yes.

“No, I asked Bob Metcalf to come. I thought he deserved to see Tara lose for a change. I need you to keep an eye on Alexa.”

“And do my unauthorized ex-FBI agent magic on those overseas accounts?”

“Absolutely.”

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Dark Moon, A Work in Progress, Chapter Seventeen

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged attorney, California, children, family, fiction, law, lawyer, legal thriller, murder, mystery, novel, story, storyteller, thriller, writer, writing on December 13, 2013| Leave a Comment »

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

When the priest was finished, he took a few minutes to pack up the vials of holy water and oil in his little black leather sacrament case. Then he removed the stole from around his neck and folded it over his arm the way a maitre d’ carries a folded napkin.

“Thank you, Father.”

“Of course. That’s why I’m here. I’m on duty all night, so if things change, please call me. I think prayer over a departing soul eases its passage.”

I wish I believed in souls, Sarah thought. But aloud she said, “I’m sure you’re right.”

After the door swung shut behind Father Morley, Sarah sank into the chair by the bed once more. The puke green curtains turned the blank walls their sickly shade of death and disease in the low light. Sarah listened to the whir and thump of the ventilator, and watched it labor to keep Alexa Reed on this side of eternity. She considered once more what would happen if she eased its plug out of the outlet.

Jim would be upset with her; she knew that for sure. In his mind, the two of them were a team. He wouldn’t want her to make that kind of decision without him. And deep inside Sarah knew he wouldn’t want her to make that kind of decision at all.

Bob Metcalf had talked about bribes, so she had subpoenaed Brigman and Michael’s financial records yesterday. Maybe something in them would save Alexa, after all.

She was suddenly irritated that Jim had not come back after the priest left. She had drunk too much at dinner, and now it was 1:30 in the morning, and her head was throbbing with stale alcohol and fatigue. Her car was at Jim’s; and even if it had been at the hospital, she knew she was in no shape to drive.

She touched Alexa’s dry lifeless hand once more, and went out into the corridor to find Jim. No sign of him.

The deputy gave her a grudging nod. She thought of asking him if he’d seen her investigator but decided he wouldn’t tell her if he had. His face sent the message the jail guard had not hesitated to voice: in his world she was “defense lawyer scum.”

Sarah walked down the long, white deserted corridor until she saw the nurse’s station ahead. Jim was leaning over it, absorbed in something. Then, as she got closer, she realized he was flirting with an attractive red-headed nurse who was seated at a computer monitor. The woman alternated between pointing to something on the screen and looking up at Jim adoringly.

What had been fatigue and annoyance now threatened to boil over into visible anger. Sarah hadn’t taken Jim for a ladies’ man, but he was doing a good impression of one at that moment. She reminded herself to get her emotions in check before opening her mouth. After all, she had no right to criticize him; she was sleeping with someone else. And intended to go on doing that.

Jim looked up, and for a moment she thought she saw a flicker of embarrassment that he’d been caught. But his eyes immediately went dark and unreadable, and she wasn’t even sure she’d seen anything.

“Is the priest finished?”

“Yes. We can’t do any more tonight. I’m ready to go back and get my car.”

“There’s something I have to tell you first.” He handed the nurse his business card, who handled it the way a rockstar groupie cherishes a souvenir from her idol, took Sarah’s arm, and drew her down the hall to a tiny empty room marked “Family Waiting.” He pulled her inside and closed the door.

“What’s going on?”

“I chatted up the night nurse on purpose because I had a hunch.”

“A hunch?”

“That this wasn’t an accident.”

“You mean the jail psychiatrist tried to kill our client?” Sarah’s head was now spinning with shock as well as fatigue. “You’d need evidence of that, Jim. A hunch wouldn’t get you to first base with the court.”

“I know. But it’s way more than a hunch. Listen. Based on what happened today, I suspected Alexa was allergic to Lexapro, and that’s why they gave it to her.”

“And was she?”

“Yes. Her private doctors were all affiliated with USCD and this hospital. So all of her medical records are in their system. And they show that back in ‘09 a few months after Michael started the divorce war, the stress got to her. Her own doctor referred her to one of the psychiatrists here, and he gave her a low dose of Lexapro. She had a mild allergic reaction.”

“But that doesn’t prove the jail shrink tried to kill her.”

“Yes, it does. I haven’t finished. My little red-headed friend out there said the jail shrink requested all of Alexa’s records a few days ago, and privacy laws notwithstanding, they handed them over.”

“They should have contacted me before doing that.”

“True, but you know what the jail people think of defense attorneys. Anyway, at the time they gave her the Lexapro, they knew she was allergic, and they gave her a much larger dose than they should have, so her reaction was much more acute than before.”

“I’m still seeing negligence here, not intent to murder.”

“There’s more.”

“More?”

“They waited to summon medical help until they thought it would be too late. When the ambulance got there, her throat was nearly swollen shut, and she was almost gone. The only thing that saved her, was the emergency tracheotomy the paramedics did at nearly the last second.”

“And you learned all this from What’s Her Name out there?”

“Tammi. Nice girl. And willing to be helpful. Be grateful.”

“You’re right. I’m just exhausted.”

“I can see that. Here’s what I think we should do. Alexa shouldn’t be left alone. I’m able to stay up with her now and let you go get some sleep. I’m going to call you a cab. Be back tomorrow at 10 a.m., and we’ll take turns watching her.”

“USCD isn’t going to kill her.”

“Right. But we don’t know who else is lurking out there. We can’t leave her alone until she wakes up.”

“If she wakes up.”

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Dark Moon, A Work in Progress, Chapter Sixteen

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged artist, attorney, California, fiction, law, lawyer, legal thriller, mystery, novel, story, storyteller, thriller, writer, writing on December 6, 2013| Leave a Comment »

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Hospitals are white and barren at night, Sarah thought, as they headed down the wide linoleum corridor on the third floor where she’d been told she would find Alexa’s room. She matched her step to Jim’s long stride and raced along, praying the news wouldn’t be bad. Her heart was hammering hard in her chest. A big circle of clock pinned to the white tile wall said it was 11:30.

A deputy sheriff in his khaki uniform was on guard outside Alex’s room. He stopped them as they tried to enter.

“You can’t go in there.”

“Yes, I can. I’m her attorney, Sarah Knight, and this is my private investigator, Jim Mitchell.” They flashed their bar cards at the grim deputy as if they were light sabers, and went in.

Her breath caught the minute she entered. In the dim light, she could make out Alexa’s tiny form in the big hospital bed. They had tubes down her throat and an IV ran into one arm. The other was handcuffed to the bed. A machine was obviously breathing for her.

White-hot anger boiled up in Sarah like a monstrous dragon rising from the depths of the earth. She turned and pulled open the door and barked at the deputy, “Come in here, right now!”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I can’t – ”

“Yes – you – can!” Sarah formed each word with insulting clarity.

The deputy shifted his head from side to side to see who was watching, and then obeyed her.

“Take those handcuffs off right now!”

“I can’t, ma’am. The prisoner is being held for double murder.”

“I said, Take them off! There’s no possibility Mrs. Reed is going anywhere!”

The deputy frowned but obeyed. “You’re responsible if she escapes.”

“Gladly!”

After the deputy had shuffled back to his post in defeat, Sarah took some long breaths to calm down. Her pulse was racing as if she’d just run a marathon. Jim, who was standing beside her, laid a hand on her arm as if to remind her she wasn’t alone.

“It’s worse than I pictured,” she said.

“Agreed.”

The door opened and a fortiesh woman in dark gray scrubs with tired eyes and wisps of hair escaping what had started her shift as a bun came in. “Who are you? You can’t be in here.”

“I’m Alexa’s attorney, and this is my investigator. She doesn’t have any family that anyone knows of. We came to see what happened and how she’s doing.”

“She had a reaction to the drugs the jail gave her.”

“What were they?”

“Lexapro and Depakote.”

“Did they check for medical allergies before they prescribed them?”

“I have no idea. I work here. You’ll have to ask the people downtown in the jail what they knew about her medical history. Look, don’t give me a hard time, ok? I’m just supposed to check her vitals and fill in her chart and note that she’s still alive. Barely.”

Sarah frowned but said no more, bowing to the frazzled nurse’s exhaustion.

After she left, Sarah tired to sit down on the side of the bed, but because of all the machines close by there was no space. Jim pulled up a chair for her.

“Here.”

“Thanks.” Sarah sank into it as she reached for Alexa Reed’s lifeless hand.

“Do you want some time with here alone?” Jim asked.

“Yeah. I think so. Those handcuffs really set me off.”

“And they should have. As much as I hate to say it, she’s not looking as if she’s going to come out of this.”

Sarah sighed. “Agreed. They’re such bastards, they’d let her die without a priest.”

“Is she Catholic?”

“Pretty close. Episcopalian. I read it in her file. Brigman made a big stink about her wanting to raise the children in her church supposedly to alienate them from Michael who wasn’t religious.”

“I’ll go see if there’s any kind of priest on duty.”

“Even a Catholic one would do.” Sarah touched the lifeless form on the bed. “She deserves a better send off to the next world than she’s had in this one. How I wish I still believed in God!”

* * *

Sarah sat in the dim room with Alexa’s lifeless form for a long time. The respirator mechanically and rhythmically pushed her lungs up and down as if Alexa herself were resisting continuing to live.

Why save her for the purpose of killing her, Sarah wondered. What would happen to me if I pulled the plug on the machine? I could say I tripped. I could end all of this in a split second. She stared at the tangle of wires under the bed, trying to decide which one to disconnect to free Alexa Reed forever. She had a feeling Hal Remington and the San Diego legal community and Coleman Reed would be so grateful, she’d never lack for court-appointed work. Not that she cared about that.

This is when you pray, Sarah reminded herself. But she had prayed once. No, not once. She had prayed every day for hundreds and hundreds of days. She had worn out her knees proving there was no God because if there had been, her prayers would have been answered. But God was merely a figment of suffering peoples’ imaginations. He was no more than an effort to explain the unexplainable horror of unbearable suffering. The nightmare of those hundreds of unanswered prayers had altered her life forever. She would always be alone.

Suddenly and almost silently, the door swung open, and Jim appeared with a thirtyish man in a priest’s collar and black suit.

“Sarah, this is Father Richard Morely. He’s a Catholic priest, but he’s on duty right now as the night chaplain.”

“She needs the last rites, Father,” Sarah said. “She’s Episcopalian. Can you still do that for her?”

“Of course. Do you know if she was ever baptized? That’s more the important sacrament.”

“No, we don’t know. I’m her attorney. We don’t think she has any family. Her file says she grew up Episcopalian, so I’d bet she was baptized. I know her children were.”

“I’ll do both, just to be very sure,” Father Morley said. “I’ll need to fetch some holy water from the chapel and anointing oil. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

Jim’s kind eyes met hers, and she struggled to keep her face impassive. “Thanks for finding him.”

“Of course. I didn’t know you were religious.”

“I’m not. But Alexa is. Or was.”

Jim looked over at the little form on the big bed. He walked over and gently stroked the tangled blonde hair as if she were a child. Sarah marveled at the compassion in his touch.

As he smoothed Alexa’s matted curls he said, “I was religious once. Gail wanted Cody to be raised Catholic because she is. I went to mass with them every week. I thought of converting. But then Gail hit me with those divorce papers; and I lost what I loved best in the word. I wondered why God didn’t at least send me a warning. After that, I wasn’t so sure about Him anymore.”

“A benevolent God would have Alexa Reed home safe and sound with her children right now.” Sarah could see the bitterness in her voice had startled him. “I’m sure it’s a pretty safe bet that heaven is the empty hole we think it is.”

The door swung open and Father Morely came back with his priest’s stole, holy water, and anointing oil. Sarah was surprised when Jim suddenly left the room as if he didn’t want to watch what was about to take place.

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Dark Moon, A Work in Progress, Chapter Fifteen

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged attorney, California, community, fiction, law, lawyer, legal thriller, love, mother, murder, mystery, novel, story, storyteller, thriller, writer, writing on November 22, 2013| Leave a Comment »

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“You’re very quiet, tonight,” Jim observed.

It was Friday night, and Sarah had accepted another dinner invitation against her better judgement. She was sitting on the stool in his kitchen with a glass of wine, watching him pound veal for piccata. He’d wanted her to come over last night, but she’d been too drained after the interview with Bob Metcalf. She’d lied and said she had a date with David, although she had actually gone home, poured herself a drink, and sat on her patio, staring at the stars. She had wanted to shake her fist at God and demand why she had to be Alexa Reed’s lawyer. But she didn’t believe in God anymore so there was no one out there to shake her fist at. She could barely remember the days when she had believed, had gone to church, had sung hymns, had had what they called “faith.” But “faith” had only taught her God was the ultimate abuser and the consummate cosmic joke from a sadistic universe. What kind of compassionate God would create Alexa Reed’s hell? Or hers?

“I said you’re very quiet tonight.”

“Just tired.”

“Do you think we have an insanity defense now?”

“You mean after talking to Bob Metcalf?”

“You’ve got to admit, Alexa a had a good reason to snap under that kind of pressure.”

“We’d lose on insanity.”

“Why?”

“Because insane people can’t premeditate, and she had lots of time that night to plan her moves. She arrived at Brigman’s at 9:30, and he didn’t die until 11:00. That gives her a couple of hours to decide to kill him. Maybe I could argue it was a snap decision to go finish Michael off, too, but I doubt the jury would buy it. The story Bob told hurts Alexa more than it helps because it gives her a strong motive for first degree murder as revenge for all the injustice she suffered. If I were the prosecutor, I’d argue ‘vigilante justice.’”

“But there must be something in all that horror that would swung the jurors her way?”

“Only if we can show he beat her. Then we have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and Battered Women’s Syndrome going for us. That would get us down to manslaughter and keep her from lethal injection. Based on Bob’s story, I’d say it was plausible she regarded Brigman as an abuser as much as Michael. We just need some evidence besides what has come out of Alexa’s own mouth.”

“I’m still trying.”

“I know you are.”

Sarah watched Jim cut, slice and pound with a thoughtful look on his face.

“What are you thinking about so hard?”

“Wishing there were some way we could get her off completely. Manslaughter would still get her eleven years. That’s too much after everything she’s been through. And a manslaughter verdict means she won’t get her children back.”

Sarah tried to find her tough-as-nails defense lawyer face, but she knew it wasn’t working. “Well, there’s jury nullification. It’s rare, and courts hate it. But sometimes jurors just say, we don’t care about the law. We’re not going to convict.”

“I’d agree with that one here,” Jim said as he started to saute the veal.

* * *

It was a warm night for September in San Diego, and they ate on Jim’s jasmine scented patio, listening to the ocean rolling onshore in the distance. The good food and the wine lulled the pain that had gripped Sarah’s soul since meeting Bob Metcalf. She drank too much as she listened to Jim talke about Cody’s passion for model trains and Lego’s.

“He has a huge train layout in Josh and Gail’s basement. And he uses the Legos to build cities for the trains to run through and to create the people who live in them. Every time he comes to see me, he wants to go to Legoland to get more ideas for his projects.”

“What’s Legoland?”

“Oh, I forgot. You don’t have kids. You know what Legos are, right?”

She nodded.

“The company is based in Denmark. They’ve built an amusement park here at Carlsbad with rides and sides, and tiny cities and people made out of Lego blocks.”

“And you like to go?”

“With Cody, yes.”

Sarah watched him stare vacantly at his empty plate. The visit to Bob had upset him, too.

“When do you see him again?”

“Christmas. If I’m lucky. More and more he doesn’t want to come because he has things to do with his friends. He’s beginning to be interested in girls. When he gets a girlfriend, he won’t come at all unless she can come, too. And you know her parents will say no.”

“It hasn’t happened, yet. Don’t borrow trouble.”

Jim gave her his heart-melting smile, and she reminded herself theirs was a business relationship in the end-of-summer romantic dark.

“Good advice. Go sit on the loveseat over there while I take these plates inside and bring desert.”

“Desert? No, I’ve eaten too much already.”

“You can at least taste it. Coconut flan with raspberry sauce. And since you don’t eat at home, too much here is a good thing.”

Spinning happily in her wine-induced haze, Sarah obeyed him even though a few minutes later, he had returned with one plate and two forks and was sitting much too close for a professional relationship. She tried to concentrate on the flan. The soft, sweet pudding was the ultimate comfort food.

“Good?”

“Fantastic. And I don’t like sweets.”

He grinned, happy at his triumph. But then his face darkened. “You know, the toughest thing for me is knowing Cody’s happy in a world I can’t belong to. I mean, I’m glad Josh filled the void in Gail’s life my stupidity created, but the pain never ends for me. Every day I think about Cody getting up, going to school, doing his homework, playing with those trains without me. And all I can do is send him more trains and more Legos, but I can’t build them with him or watch them run. Another man gets to do that.”

His pain was so raw and so real that without thinking, Sarah put her hand over his. His dark eyes held hers, and he leaned toward her, his lips inches from hers. She wanted him to kiss her, but she knew it would change everything. And she wasn’t ready for everything to change. Suddenly her cell phone shrilled, and she jumped up at the last minute to answer it.

* * *

What had he been thinking? Jim asked himself as Sarah frowned into her phone. She’d been sleeping with David Scott the night before. He’d been stupid beyond stupid to turn tonight into a show of his personal feelings. But how to control himself on a gentle summer night with the ocean purring on shore and the jasmine in full bloom and her own gardenia scent overwhelming his senses. She’d had just a little too much to drink, and he’d been hoping to keep her here tonight.

But now she was frowning into the phone with her lawyer face on, and he knew the moment was lost forever.

He heard her say, “Very well. I understand. I’ll be right there.”

She ended the call with a decisive click of the “end call” button.

“What’s wrong?”

“That was the jail. Alexa Reed is in the hospital and not expected to make it.”

Jim’s mouth went dry, and the bottom dropped out of his stomach. “I thought they had her on suicide watch.”

“They did. It wasn’t suicide. It was a reaction to the medication the jail psychiatrist prescribed for her. They took her to USCD in Hillcrest. I’d better get down there. She doesn’t have any family that I know about.”

“You’d better let me drive.”

* * *
The Lord Be with you. And also with you. As she lay on her bunk, day after endless day, Alexa liked to chant to herself the words of the Episcopalian liturgy. She was ten years old again and holding Gramma Beth’s hand and believing God would always keep her safe.The rhythm of the words brought her peace.

Someone was whispering outside her cell.

“I’ve prescribed Lexapro and Depakote for her. Here’s the first dose.”

When the guard opened the door with the white paper cup in her hand, Alexa said a prayer of thanks and downed all of it. Within ten minutes, she could not breathe.

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Dark Moon, A Work In Progress, Chapter Fourteen

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged attorney, California, children, fiction, law, lawyer, legal thriller, murder, mystery, novel, story, storyteller, thriller, writer, writing on November 15, 2013| Leave a Comment »

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Metcalf had a seedy little office in a ratty brick building, two blocks down from the family law courthouse. Sarah led the way with Jim following up three flights of narrow dingy stairs to Suite 312, etched on the frosted glass door. Inside they found an empty receptionist’s desk, a cheap plastic couch with two matching gold plastic chairs, and some tattered magazines on a rickety coffee table.

Before they could sit down, the door to the inner office opened, and Bob himself appeared. He was in his late fifties with a thin, wiry build, a high forehead and a receding hairline. He was wearing a cheap brown suit and a light blue tie that bore the stains of a lunch, either past or present.

Sarah and Jim took the seen-better-days chipped pressed wood chairs in front of Bob’s desk and declined his offer of bottled water from the dorm-room fridge behind his desk.

“Thanks for meeting with me,” Sarah began. “This is Jim Mitchell, my private investigator.”

Bob shook all hands offered and sat down behind his desk. Sarah noticed a stack of thick folders in front of him.

“Are all those files Alexa’s case?”

He nodded. “If she got the children to Michael’s for visitation fifteen minutes late, he’d drag her to court over it. He litigated everything. How is she by the way?”

“Not good.” Sarah briefly recapped the hearing in front of Judge Tomlinson.

“Sorry to hear it. She’s a sweet woman. Not a malicious bone in her body, but she ruined her life by marrying a class A dick like Michael Reed.”

“Really? Her former criminal defense lawyer called her a ‘lying, manipulating bitch.’”

Bob Metcalf waved his hands impatiently. “Well, he didn’t talk to me, then. He must have been talking to Tara Jacobs. She was Michael’s lawyer.

“Alexa came in here just trembling the first time we met. She’d been served with one of the most vicious sets of divorce pleadings I’ve ever seen. Michael hired the nastiest family law attorney in San Diego County to make all out war on her. Obviously you can tell I don’t have high-end clients,” he waved his arms around the small office, full of sagging book cases, with the view of a pay-per-hour parking lot below. “The truth is, none of the attorneys who are able to stand up against Tara Jacobs would take Alexa’s case because she couldn’t afford them. And no one wanted to be crosswise of Coleman Reed.”

“Why did you take it?” Jim asked.

“Truth be told, at first I thought I’d get some attorney’s fees out of it. Not from her, of course. Michael had tied up all their money, so she couldn’t touch a cent. But judges usually award attorney’s fees out of the deepest pocket. Since Michael had all the money, I figured he’d have to pay for Tara and me, too.”

“But I gather that didn’t happen?” Sarah said.

“No. This was the damnedest case I’ve ever seen. Right from the get go.”

“What do you mean?”

“The judge threw her and the kids out of the family home in La Jolla and gave it to Michael. That’s unheard of. At the time, she had a two-year-old and a one-year-old, and she was a full-time stay-at-home mom. No judge makes the primary parent move out of the family home. But that was just the beginning.”

“Was that when you realized you weren’t going to get any money out of the case?”

He nodded. “I made the usual request everyone makes at the end of the hearing, and I thought Judge Watkins was going to hold me in contempt. He said, ‘Mrs. Reed graduated first in her class from Georgetown. She’s perfectly capable of getting a job that will pay your fees. I see no reason why she should sponge off the plaintiff.’”

“Wow!” Sarah breathed. She noticed Jim wince as he sat beside her taking notes on a yellow pad.

“Yeah, nasty stuff. And, again, remember she was unemployed with a toddler and an infant, and Michael was about to become a full equity partner at Warrick, Thompson. In most cases like that, the judge awards the wife a huge chunk of child support and temporary alimony. Alexa got a little, but nothing like what she was entitled to.”

“So why did you stay on the case?”

Bob shrugged. “I thought, why not? Most of my other clients pay me pennies on the dollar. She was so sweet and grateful, and I knew she was in a desperate situation. We worked out a deal. She’d prepare papers for me, memoranda, briefs, things like that. I’m a rotten writer, and I barely passed the bar after going to an unaccredited law school. She made me look really good on paper for the first time in my career.”

“So what happened after that?”

“I tried to negotiate a settlement with Tara Jacobs. It would have been in everyone’s best interests to settle. Alexa needed to focus on her babies and finding a job. Michael had no use for kids; his career and his women were his life.”

“Did you know about the abortion Warrick, Thompson paid for?” Jim asked.

“The paralegal he knocked up in his first year?”

Jim nodded.

“Sure. Alexa told me about that. And about his affairs.”

“So she knew about the other women?” Sarah asked.

“Yeah, Michael wanted her to know. He liked taunting her with them to show her how powerless she was. That was Michael’s biggest ego trip. He knew he had gotten where he was riding on his old man’s coat tails, and he hated Alexa because she was so much smarter and had earned her way to the top. I believe he married her solely for the sadistic pleasure of destroying her.”

Jim wrote faster and faster.

“Could you testify to this at trial?” Sarah asked.

He nodded. “Actually, it would give me great pleasure. It’s been far worse for Alexa, don’t get me wrong. But it took an emotional toll on me, too, having to go into those hearings with her and watching the judge call Michael a saint and her a no-account free loader.”

“Was it really as bad as that?”

“I can pull some hearing transcripts, if you’d like to read them.”

“I would,” Sarah said. “So how did Alexa react to Michael’s affairs?”

“The way any wife would. Tried to reason with him. Tried to get him to go to counseling. But he beat her instead.”

Jim’s head shot up from the legal pad. “I’ve looked for evidence of that, but I haven’t found any. What have you got?”

“Only Alexa’s word. That’s why Brigman got away with shafting her the way he did. He labeled her a borderline personality disorder and declared her a chronic liar. And she didn’t have the money to bring in an expert of her own to testify against him. Wouldn’t have done any good, anyway. All the family law judges thought Brigman was the voice of God. They just rubber stamped anything he said. What Brigman called borderline personality disorder was post traumatic stress disorder from all the beatings.”

“But a judge can’t do that,” Sarah insisted. “Wholesale adoption of expert opinion is an unauthorized delegation of judicial power.”

“You graduated in the top of your class like Alexa. That’s exactly what she said. And we took it to the court of appeal. And lost. Some of the judges up there had been on the family law bench before they were kicked upstairs. They knew how much they liked to have a so-called expert to decide the tough issues, so they didn’t have to split the baby themselves. They didn’t want to take that out away from their brother judges still on the hot seat.”

“How did Brigman come to be involved in Alexa’s case in the first place?”

“Ah, that’s where the plot thickens. When Alexa first came to me, I thought Michael just wanted to dump his inconvenient family and be free to do his fooling around on the books instead of off. He was a good-looking guy, as you know, and attractive to women. But he was about to make partner, and being a Warrick partner and the son of a sitting United States Supreme Court justice would make him hotter than George Clooney. So I thought he’d just pay Alexa off, do a couple of pro forma visitations a year with the kids, and let everyone go about their business.”

“But that didn’t happen?”

“Not by a long shot. As soon as I tried settlement negotiations with Tara Jacobs, I knew something really sinister was up. She laughed in my face, and two days later filed a motion to give Michael full custody of the children.”

“But he couldn’t raise them. His career wouldn’t let him do that.”

“Right. And that should have been the beginning and end of the matter. But he’s Michael Reed, son of Coleman Reed. If he wants something, he gets it.”

“And he wanted Alexa’s children?”

“Exactly. Because he could control her through them. For men like Michael, its only about power and control.”

“So what happened?”

“I tried to knock it out of the water at that first hearing on the career issue, but I never had a chance. The court ordered both parties into psychological evaluations. As a practical matter, that meant Ronald Brigman would decide who got the children.”

“And he gave them to Michael?”

“Not at first. Michael didn’t want that in the beginning because if he had gotten the kids from the get go, he would have lost his power to control Alexa. No, what Michael wanted was to humiliate her over and over again in the place a lawyer like Alexa should have been most respected – in the judicial system.”

Bob paused to open the top file on his desk, and Sarah marveled at his insights. Maybe he didn’t understand every esoteric legal innuendo, but he had a PhD. in street smarts.

“Here’s a couple of examples. A hearing on February 15, 2009, because she was ten minutes late bringing the kids for visitation. Her excuse: Sam pooped in his diaper as they were leaving the house and she had to change him. Court reamed her out. The next month, March 18, 2009, she was a half hour late because Meggie was crying and too upset to get in the car. Alexa’s explanation: Meggie was beginning to have nightmares because she had to sleep in a strange bed at Michael’s. The court told her it would hold her in contempt if she ever again referred to the bed at Meggie’s father’s house as a ‘strange bed.’” Bob let the file drop shut and looked at Sarah and Jim with his mild, watery eyes. “That went on from 2009 until the day Michael died.”

“How did Alexa manage?”

“She tried to hold up – at first. She obviously knew even better than I did that almost every word out of the judge’s mouth was a violation of her and the kids’ federal constitutional rights. That’s one thing I never understood in law school, con law. But Alexa had it down. Like you, Ms. Knight.”

“Sarah, please.”

“She’d sit up late at night, drafting motions and supporting memoranda in her case. Beautiful things. And I’d file every one of them. And then Tara Jacobs would come to court and snarl about how Alexa was just a lush who was demonstrating she had the smarts to go back to work as a lawyer but who was trying to live off her ex to punish Michael for divorcing her and showing the world what a crazy psycho she was.”

“And the court bought that?”

“Every time. I could never get the judge to listen to the legal merits of Alexa’s motions because Tara would turn every hearing into a character assassination. Little by little, defeat by defeat, it started to wear her down.”

“How was she supporting herself?”

“Ok. This next part I might not be able to testify to unless Alan Warrick agrees.”

“What do you mean?”

“The legal community here is really just one small town. Full of backstabbing and politics.”

“I’m discovering that.”

“Well, Coleman threatened to pull all of the clients that his rainmaking had brought to Warrick, Thompson and divert them to other firms if Alan hired Alexa back. And Michael poisoned every other legal well where she could have possibly gotten a job. I know that because Alan told me. That’s why he’d have to testify for you, if you needed that evidence.”

“So Tara Jacobs would stand up in court and claim Alexa was a lazy freeloader who wouldn’t go back to work, while Michael was making sure she couldn’t get a job in this town?”

“Exactly.” Bob nodded at Jim.

“And she couldn’t get a job out of town because Michael wouldn’t let her take the kids. So how did she make any money?”

“Alan sent her research projects to do for him and a couple of other sympathetic partners on the down low. He paid her in cash, so there’d be nothing to show up if Michael subpoenaed her bank records. And Michael did subpoena those records more than once.”

“So she eeked by on the secret work from Alan and the little bit she got from Michael?”

“Right. And then her world went up in flames.”

“How?

“Well, Meggie and Sam were afraid of Michael. They had barely seen him before the divorce. He was always at work or on a date. I mean kids that little don’t want to leave their mothers in regular families. But the stress on those babies was horrible. They cried, they wet the bed, and Meggie stopped eating for a while.”

“And Brigman blamed Alexa?”

“Who else? He claimed she was working to alienate them from Michael.”

“When they’d never been bonded to Michael in the first place.”

“Common sense was never part of Ronald Brigman’s approach to life. He was also a colossal control freak. I think he enjoyed tormenting Alexa as much as Michael did. She was smart enough to know everything he did was illegal, and he loved rubbing her nose in the fact she couldn’t do anything about it.”

“So what happened?”

“Well, Michel kept her in court pretty continually from January to July 2009. Then fate got a little kinder to Alexa for a bit The actual divorce went through in July, and Michael made partner in August. He was so hot on the dating market that, for a while, he forgot how much fun he was having in family court. And Alexa somehow got those little babies to understand that even if they had to go to Michael’s for a weekend, they’d always get to come back home. Of course, separation was the greatest fear for all three of them because Michael had built a record in family court that would have given him full temporary custody in a heartbeat if he decided to pull that string. It was the most powerful weapon he could have held over Alexa’s head.”

“So when did things change?”

“They managed to get through 2010 without much happening. But then, in January 2010, Michael lost it with Sam, who was going through the terrible two’s. Michael knew he was always at risk of beating somebody up, so he usually had a girlfriend there when the kids were with him. But one Saturday night, his date fell through and Sam ran all over the house after his bath and wouldn’t come put on his pajamas. Michael took the kids home on Sunday and told Alexa the bruises on his arms were from a fall in the backyard, but Meggie had seen the whole thing and told the truth.”

“So wouldn’t proving Michael was the abuser help Alexa’s case?”

“In a normal family law situation, yes. But, again, this is Michael Reed.”

“So what happened?”

“We went to court to change the visitation. The court denied the motion and referred the whole thing to Brigman again for another psych evaluation.”

“And he turned it all against Alexa?”

“Yep. His report said she did it, and she coached Meggie to lie. He ordered her to go to counseling with some hack court-appointed evaluator like himself, and the court ordered anger management counseling for her. It was one of Michael’s finest acts of humiliation.”

“Did you all appeal that?”

“No. Alexa had figured out that if she’d quietly dance to Michael and Brigman’s tune, she’d get to keep the children. And she loved them above all else. I mean, she was literally going through hell for them. And there was no chance of her starting a new life for herself. No man in his right mind would have wanted to get mixed up in that mess and get his own character assassinated in court.”

“So she did as she was told?”

“She did. But then Michael lost it again, this time with Meggie. It was January 2012. She was four and Sam was three. Brigman did exactly the same thing again: he turned it around on Alexa. But this time he went farther. He ordered the kids to go to counseling to ‘improve’ their relationship with their father. When he got it ‘improved’ enough, he was going to ‘enlarge’ their time with their father. In lay terms, that meant he was brainwashing the kids against their mother a little at a time to prepare them to go live with Michael full-time. And she was helpless to stop it.”

“Who was the therapist who was working on the kids?”

“Brigman himself.”

“But that’s a blatant conflict of interest. Not to mention the constitution does not permit involuntary psychotherapy to change children’s bond with their parents.”

“Again, that’s what Alexa said. And this time we went to the court of appeal.”

“And lost.”

“And lost. She actually argued her own appeal. You should have seen her in her suit. Alan Warrick came, too. He had tears in eyes when it was over. But he got out of there before Michael and Tara Jacobs saw him.”

“And after that?”

“I told her to pack her bags and get out of this town.”

“You mean, leave her children?”

Bob nodded grimly. “She was never going to have a life here. Michael and Brigman would see to that. I told her better a clean break with the kids than losing them a day at a time for years and years and never knowing when the final blow would fall. She had the credentials to make partner in one of those big Wall Street firms. I told her to go back east and rebuild her career, get married, and have some more kids with someone else.”

“What did she say?”

“That she’d never leave Meggie and Sam.”

“I can only admire your endurance, Mr. Metcalf.”

“Bob, please. If she ever wakes up, you’ll see she deserved my help and more. I’m glad she’s got someone at the top of the class, this time. I hope you can save her life.”

“Me, too. But there’s one more thing I have to ask.”

“Anything for Alexa.”

“This whole story is so one-sided – ”

“You’re going to ask if Michael was bribing Brigman. We think he was. We never had any way to prove it, though.”

“No evidence at all other than losing every hearing you went to?”

“There’s long been a rumor in the bar that Tara Jacobs has bribe deals arranged for her clients with certain evaluators. It’s possible that Michael decided to put Alexa through hell, heard about Tara, and signed up with her knowing his money would buy himself an evaluator.”

“So Michael filed for divorce in January, and Brigman was appointed in what month?”

“March.”

“Did you ever subpoena Michael’s bank records?”

“We tried, but Tara would only turn over his tax returns, and even though Alexa was entitled to see the bank records – Lord knows, he’d seen hers several times – the court bought his claim they were covered by attorney client privilege because he sometimes deposited client money in his accounts before it went into the firm trust account.”

“Another violation of the Rules of Professional Conduct.”

“The court didn’t care. It’s also possible that Judge Watkins was on the take, too. There were some judges up in Orange County back in the nineties who were caught favoring clients who donated to a “Judicial Retirement Fund” that funneled the money to individual judges. Let me know if I can do anything else to help you. I know what you’re up against.”

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Dark Moon, A Work In Progress, Chapter Thirteen

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged artist, attorney, California, fiction, legal thriller, love, murder, mystery, novel, story, storyteller, thriller, writer, writing on November 8, 2013| Leave a Comment »

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Jim drove Jordan to the train in Solana Beach that afternoon. Despite her protests she didn’t need any help, he carried her overnight bag across the parking lot to the gunmetal gray, half-cylinder station, surrounded by red, white, and blue Amtrak kiosks and a single coffee vender under a green umbrella with gold fringe.

“Thanks for putting me up,” Jordan said. “You were right about the breakfast. Michelin would give you six stars if they knew about you.”

Jim grinned. “For that I have to buy you coffee. You’ve got time before the train, and Amtrak isn’t stellar in the coffee department.”

They stood by the chain link balcony overlooking the tracks below, basking in the mild afternoon sun and the cool salt breeze as they sipped lattes from paper cups with lids shaped like toddlers’ tippee cups.

“Sarah is taking this loss pretty hard,” Jordan observed.

“I haven’t worked with her long enough to know how she usually reacts.”

“She’s normally unphased. Actually, sometimes I think she’s too unphased. She doesn’t seem to show much emotion except when she’s in front of a jury.”

“Some people aren’t upset easily.”

Jordan shook her head. “This is more than that with Sarah. It’s as if feelings bounce off of her. Or as if they are embedded so deeply inside her, she can’t experience them.”

“Any idea why?”

“No. She never talks about her past. As far as I know, she grew up here, went to Yale, and spent all her days and nights at Craig, Lewis, and Weller until she came back to San Diego in January. I will say, she seems more tightly wound since she came back. She was more relaxed in New York. I’d say something was bothering her in this town even before she took Alexa Reed’s case.”

“Most likely the stress of starting her own law practice. I suppose she told you she signed up to take cases like Alexa’s to generate business here in San Diego. All her work was coming from Los Angeles.”

“Maybe business stress is the answer.”

“And then, too, I suppose you know about David Scott?”

“The millionaire married realty tycoon? Well, I will admit that has gone on longer than her usual very-short lived relationships.”

Jim tried not to show any emotion, but Jordan was too quick for him. “Look, we’ve already established you have an interest in her. You don’t have to pretend the David Scott business doesn’t make you unhappy.”

“Ok, busted. It makes me unhappy. Have you met him?”

“I have. Picture stereotypical west coast over-forty male trying to look late twenties. The wife is a plastic surgeon’s version of blonde Barbie, boob job, nose job, and Angelina Jolie lips. No kids. I’m sure she wouldn’t want to spoil her figure for nine months.”

Jordan downed the last of her coffee and tossed it into the trash can. “The train will be here soon. I’d better get down on the platform, so I can get a good seat in business class. Why don’t you stop by Sarah’s place tonight and check on her? I’ll text you the address.”

* * *

He waited until 7:30 to drive to the cottage in La Jolla Shores where Sarah lived. She was three streets from the beach in one of the small stucco houses that had been built in the forties and probably had all of fourteen hundred square feet. Hers was the same shade of beige stucco as its neighbors, but the windows had deep terra cotta shutters that gave it a personality of its own. Land values had made these tiny homes worth millions; and every one, including hers, was an expensively landscaped gem with strategically placed potted palms in clay pots, pink bougainvillaea vines trailing up the walls, and a jungle of feathery maiden hair ferns in the flower beds.

He was as nervous as a kid on his first prom date as he stood on her front stoop in his jeans, loafers, and yellow knit shirt after ringing the bell. No one answered. The butterflies in his gut began to swoop and soar. This had been a stupid idea. What if she was tucked up with that Scott character? He didn’t embarrass easily, but he’d not get over that one in a hurry, especially because they worked together.

But he wanted to see her, so he threw caution to the wind and rang again. This time, he heard someone shuffling toward the door and felt himself being scrutinized in the peep hole before he heard the click of the deadbolt’s release.

She was barefoot, wearing black yoga pants, a black camisole, and no makeup. Her pixie hair was tousled as if someone had run fingers through it. Jim thought of David Scott once more with foreboding.

He licked his dry lips and tried to sound nonchalant. “I thought I’d come by and offer to take you out for a drink. I was thinking you might want to unwind after the hearing today, and I’ve got some new information on Michael Reed.” He wished he could add, “Are you alone,” but, of course, he couldn’t.

“Thanks, but I’m pretty exhausted.” His hopes fell. But she went on, “Besides, we can’t talk about the case in public. Why don’t you come in though and have a drink here, and you can tell me about Michael. I’d like some good news after today.”

The butterflies had left his stomach and were flying around his heart. He was weak with gratitude and relief. She was alone.

He followed her down the hall, his loafers clattering slightly on the polished, golden hardwood floor. She led him through the living room, where no lights were on and where he had a quick glimpse of casual but sophisticated white slip-covered Pottery Barn furniture. She led him through mahogany French doors that were opened onto a miniature stone patio surrounded by palms and bougainville mixed with more ferns and bright blue morning glory vines and red hibiscus.

She had been sitting on one of the redwood lounge chairs covered in crisp white linen cushions, apparently killing a bottle of expensive California red zin by herself in the soft pink twilight. She motioned to the other lounge chair and said, “Sit down. I’ll go get another glass. And another bottle of wine.”

“Have you eaten?”

“I’m not hungry.”

She’d been thin when they met, but she’d lost weight in the last month. Another reason to worry about what this case was doing to her.

“If I cook, you’ll be hungry.”

“But there’s nothing here to cook. I – I haven’t had time to go to the market.”

He bet she kept little in the house to eat as a general rule. “I’m a food wizard. Let me take a look.”

She led him back through the living room to the miniature but very modern white tile and stainless steel kitchen. He opened her Sub Zero refrigerator to find butter, eggs, cheese and some port wine salami.

“One of my amazing omelettes will fix you right up.”

She opened the second bottle of wine and poured him a glass. She watched in silence as he transformed her scant variety of ingredients into two omelettes that they ate on the patio in the deepening, brine-scented twilight.

“I like it here,” Jim said, as he put his empty plate on the table between the two chaise lounges where the bottle of wine now also stood.

“I wanted to be close to the ocean. The previous owner remodeled just before I bought it. Everything’s new. I was lucky.”

“You never asked how I found your address.”

“You’re an ex-FBI agent turned private investigator. I didn’t need to ask.”

“I hope you don’t mind that I came by. I thought you might want company because today was a tough loss.”

She shrugged and sipped her wine. “But not unexpected. Although, I will admit Judge Tomlinson got my hopes up when he wanted time to think it over. Jordan did her usual brilliant job. She’s believable because she’s honest.”

“Unlike the opposition.”

“True. But we have one more crack at this at the next hearing in thirty days. Meds may not bring her back enough to stand trial. The judge didn’t count out that possibility.”

“True.” He could smell her gardenia perfume across the small space that separated them. Like a high school kid, he wished they were side by side on a sofa where he could casually drop his arm across the back, hoping for skin-to-skin contact.

“Great food, again, by the way.”

“I have the feeling you need a personal chef.”

“I can’t cook. I burn everything. No patience.”

“Patience to do complex legal work but not to follow a recipe.”

“Yeah, go figure.” For the first time, she let her eyes meet his, and she smiled. His heart was like a runaway freight train on the downhill.

“You had news about Michael Reed? Evidence he beat his wife, I hope.”

“No, I haven’t found that yet. But interesting evidence, nonetheless.”

Sarah polished off her wine and poured another. “So tell me.”

“Okay, Michael, like his father The Honorable Coleman Reed, was chronically unfaithful to his wife.”

“Ah, chip-off-the-old block syndrome.”

“Exactly.”

“So as you’d expect, Michael had tons of affairs.”

“Did Alexa know?”

“Well, we won’t know that, of course, until she talks to us. But there were so many she must have known. He thought everything in skirts was fair game. She may even have known he got a Warrick, Thompson paralegal pregnant during their first year at the firm.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very sure. I have a copy of the payment to the abortion clinic from Warrick, Thompson.”

“Are you telling me, the law firm paid for her abortion?”

“Yep. I have a copy of the cashier’s check they used.”

“Who is your source?”

“Unfortunately, not someone we can call as a witness. A friend of mine is chummy with Warrick’s nonlegal personnel director. He managed to get me the names of all the women paralegals who were at the firm the year Alexa and Michael came to work there. When I was in D.C., I had heard rumors about Coleman’s infidelities. It was just a hunch that the apple wouldn’t fall far from the tree.

“Most of the women on the list don’t work for Warrick, Thompson anymore. But a Lisa Miller is still there, and she was willing to talk to me. She likes Alexa and thinks she was treated unfairly when they fired her. She’s a stunning redhead, about the same age as Alexa and Michel. And, of course, Michael had come on to her more than once.

“She said the woman Michael got pregnant was named Toni Anders. The firm paid for her abortion and gave her a big severance check. Toni gave Lisa a copy of the firm’s checks, one for the clinic, the other for the severance pay, in case something happened to her. If Lisa got word that Toni had been killed, she was to take them to the police to prove Warrick, Thompson’s involvement.”

“Any way to find Toni Anders now?”

“No luck so far.”

“Too bad. It would be interesting to know if Michael was violent with her. If I were a betting woman, I’d say yes.”

“Agreed. I’m going to keep looking, of course.”

“I don’t understand why the firm paid for an abortion. That’s not the kind of thing Alan Warrick would do. I know he and his wife have an arrangement like David and Tessa’s, but Alan would never use firm money for something as personal as that.”

Jim winced when she mentioned the real estate mogul. “I would bet Coleman Reed forced them to do it.”

“But he was on the Supreme Court by 2005.”

“Right, but he left his clients in the hands of Warrick, Thompson’s attorneys didn’t he? And he had a reputation as quite a rainmaker.”

“So you think he could somehow force Alan to pay for Michael’s mess up?”

“Yes.”

“I wonder if Alan would admit to that.”

“I still think we need to pay him that visit in Paris.”

“No time now. There are people here we need to see more urgently than Alan. I was going to call you to let you know her family law attorney, Bob Metcalf, agreed to meet with me tomorrow at two.”

“Do you want me along?”

“Yes. He might, indeed, be a witness in this case.”

His heart raced with joy.

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Dark Moon, A Work in Progress, Chapter Twelve

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged artist, attorney, California, children, family, fiction, law, lawyer, legal thriller, murder, mystery, novel, story, storyteller, thriller, writer, writing on November 1, 2013| Leave a Comment »

CHAPTER TWELVE

September 2013

Sitting at the defense table with Jim next to her on the Tuesday after Labor Day, Sarah stared up at The Honorable John Charles Tomlinson and tried to quiet the butterflies in her stomach. Judge Tomlinson was the opposite of Judge Tyler, who had been thin and sharp. He appeared to be around Sarah’s age, and he had no angles. He was slightly portly, with an open, round face, kind gray eyes, and a thatch of light brown hair sparsely streaked with gray. He treated everyone in the courtroom with the utmost politeness. He had been more than willing to listen to Jordan Stewart’s testimony although Sarah had entered the hearing very worried about whether her witness would be allowed to take the stand.

As expected, Percy Andrews had opined only psychotropic drugs would render Alexa able to stand trial. And he lied through his teeth about being biased when Sarah tried to impeach him with his loyalty to Ronald Brigman.

Then Jordan’s turn came, and she explained why, even if Alexa were given drugs, she still wouldn’t be competent to assist in her defense.

“She’s been through too much trauma. She lost custody of her very young children, and that was a shock. And then she was the one who found Michael dead that night, and that was a shock.”

“But it was a shock only if she didn’t kill him.” Judge Tomlinson broke in.

“At this point, Your Honor, we have to presume she’s innocent,” Sarah reminded the judge. “She reported finding Michael to the police, didn’t leave town, and went in voluntarily for questioning.”

“Okay. For the moment, I’m going to make that assumption. But haven’t you also testified, Dr. Stewart, that she’s so depressed it will require medication to get her even to talk to a counselor? Why put her in the hospital if meds will make her able to talk to her attorneys and assist with her defense?”

“Because there’s no guarantee medicating her will restore her to competency. She can only be competent after she heals from the underlying trauma. Drugs might make her able to talk again, but healing requires being able to talk about the traumas and working through her emotions. Right now she’s so overwhelmed by her feelings, she’s completely nonfunctional, and she will still be overwhelmed even if she’s no longer too depressed to talk.”

“I see.” Sarah watched the judge make notes on his yellow legal pad.

He continued to scribble furiously after Jordan stepped down. After a few more minutes of writing, he looked directly at Sarah.

“Ms. Knight, I have a few more questions for Dr. Andrews. Would you object to allowing Mr. Baldwin to recall him briefly?”

I object with every fiber of my being, Sarah thought. But she could tell Judge Tomlinson had taken Jordan’s testimony seriously, and she didn’t want to risk making him angry by saying no. “That’s fine, Your Honor.”

Percy Andrews slithered from the back of the courtroom and wrapped himself around the chair on the witness stand after being resworn.

“Dr. Andrews,” the judge began, “you’ve heard Dr. Stewart’s opinion. She believes medication alone will not restore the defendant. In Dr. Stewart’s opinion Alexa Reed needs counseling. Do you agree?”

“Not at all. A good drug like Lexapro will have Alexa Reed ready to assist her attorneys in her defense within two weeks. I’ve already said she’s faking mental illness to avoid being tried. She’s a very bright, clever young woman.”

Judge Tomlinson frowned. “I’m not seeing evidence of faking on this record.”

“That is my professional opinion,” Andrews insisted.

“Very well. I need a few minutes in chambers to look over the expert’s reports before I decide.”

Sarah watched Tomlinson’s round figure waddle off the bench. She and Jim stood up, and Jordan came from the spectator section of the courtroom to join them.

“I’m pleased he didn’t buy the ‘faking’ it line from Andrews,” Jordan said.

“I’m holding my breath.” Sarah was a taught as a wire.

“Whatever happens, I thought both of you did a great job,” Jim observed.

“Thanks,” Jordan smiled, but Sarah didn’t look at him. She was staring at the bench with a dazed look in her eyes as if she were reliving some horrible memory.

“Are you all right?” Jim asked.

“Of course.” She turned to him and smiled although he thought it was forced. “I’ve got to make a phone call. I’ll be out in the hall. If the judge comes back, let me know.”

“She’s letting this get to her,” Jordan remarked as Sarah vanished through the courtroom doors. “I’ve never seen her this worried about an outcome.”

“Were you involved when she did the Joey Menendez case?” Jim asked.

“No. Why do you ask?”

“She got a very big crime boss off. No one thought she had a chance in hell of succeeding.”

“And you’re thinking this is like Menendez?”

“Well, it’s certainly a case that looks hopeless on what we have now.”

* * *

Thirty minutes went by before Judge Tomlinson resumed the bench. Sarah had paced in the hallway the entire time, hoping against hope the delay meant a favorable ruling. Jim, who had remained in the courtroom, came to tell her the judge was ready to rule on Alexa’s competency to stand trial.

“Everyone can sit down,” Judge Tomlinson said. “You don’t need to be standing as if the clerk were reading the jury’s verdict.”

Sarah was grateful to feel the chair under her. She was so nervous her legs were shaking.

“Your expert makes out a good case for hospitalizing Mrs. Reed.” The judge’s mild gray eyes met hers. “Whatever the truth is about the night of June 2, she suffered a significant trauma. And being separated from her children certainly has to be a factor in her breakdown.

“I think from a medical/psychological stand point, Dr. Stewart has the better recommendation. But the trouble is, the law isn’t asking what is best for Alexa Reed from a medical/psychological point of view. The law is asking how to make her able to assist in her defense and to understand the proceedings at trial. And from that point of view, Dr. Andrews’ opinion better answers the question. So I’m going to adopt Dr. Andrews’ recommendation and find that there is no less intrusive procedure.”

“Your Honor, I have a request,” Sarah spoke up.

“And that would be Ms. Knight?” His mild demeanor never changed even though it was clear she was going to challenge him.

“I want to take this up to the court of appeal on a writ.”

Again Judge Tomlinson was unphased. “I’m not surprised. You’ve very set against using these drugs on her, aren’t you?”

“She’s on trial for her life. It’s not fair to put her in front of a jury looking like a drugged-up zombie.”

The judge looked over his half-glasses at Percy Andrews, who was sitting next to Preston Baldwin at the prosecution’s table. “Do you agree the drugs will alter her demeanor?”

Sarah expected him to lie through his teeth and deny they would have any effect. To her surprise he didn’t. “I can’t say for sure, but patients on these meds do have a rather flat affect. They don’t seem to feel anything, and they can appear distant and detached. On the other hand, not every one of these medications has that effect on every patient.”

“Okay.” The judge looked back at Sarah. “Here is my ruling, Ms. Knight; and I’m taking into consideration your concerns. I’m going to order the jail psychiatrist to prescribe the appropriate medications for Mrs. Reed. We’ll have another hearing in thirty days to hear from Dr. Andrews to see if, in his opinion, she is competent to stand trial. And I will be happy to hear from Dr. Stewart, too, if you want to bring her back. That is my order.”

* * *

The woman with the beautiful face with the terrible scar and the man with the kind eyes had come to see her. They had been coming for many days, Alexa knew, and she thought there might even be a pattern to their visits. Maybe every other day or every two days. Floating in her protective bubble dissolved time, so she wasn’t sure.

For the last several visits, they had talked about a hearing to decide if the jail could give her drugs to lift the depression, so she could talk to them and stand trial. The woman didn’t want that. She wanted Alexa sent to the psychiatric ward of the state hospital to talk to the doctors about everything that had happened.

“You need to be well before they put you on trial,” she said.

But Alexa had thought, “I will never be well because I’ve lost Meggie and Sam.”

Now they were here again, but the woman’s eyes were even sadder than before. And the man with the kind eyes squeezed her unresponsive hand just a little tighter and looked sad, too.

“We lost, Alexa,” the woman said. “The jail psychiatrist is going to prescribe antidepressant medication for you. Then there will be another hearing to see if you are able to stand trial. I’m so sorry. I wanted to win this one as much as I’ve ever wanted to win anything.”

But Alexa smiled inside because she could not smile outside. God hadn’t let the beautifulwoman win because He had other plans. He knew Alexa hadn’t killed anyone, and He had not forgotten her.

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Dark Moon, A Work in Progress, Chapter Ten

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged attorney, fiction, law, lawyer, legal thriller, murder, mystery, novel, story, storyteller, thriller, writer, writing on October 18, 2013| Leave a Comment »

CHAPTER TEN

He arrived at her office in La Jolla at eight forty-five on Monday. He Was carrying two grande Starbuck’s lattes and a paper bag containing two scrambled egg and bacon sandwiches. He wished his heart didn’t beat so fast at the sight of her in tight jeans and a simple black blouse.

“You’re early.”

“I thought you’d be hungry.”

Sarah smiled and took a fortifying sip of coffee from the covered paper cup. “I can’t argue with that.”

He sat down in one of the two chairs in front of her desk and opened the sandwich wrapper. Sarah noted his uniform of casual khaki’s and starched shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He saw her take in his attire.

“Real men do wear pink.”

“I wasn’t disputing that. It looks good on you.”

“Thanks. And I’m admiring those jeans.”

“I’m not headed to court today. Thank, God. I can get away with these out here.”

“But not back on Wall Street I take it. So what happened on Friday?”

She recounted the debacle in Judge Tyler’s chambers.

“That bad?”

“Yeah. And the funny part is, I didn’t expect it. I thought he’d play fair and say yes.”

“This isn’t ‘Play Fair’ world.”

“I’m beginning to understand that. Sometimes I feel like Alice in Legal Wonderland. I’m expecting the see the Red Queen sitting on the bench at any minute.”

“So what are you going to do? Take a writ to the court of appeal and demand an order to get an expert appointed?”

“No. As I was leaving, Judge Tyler reminded me he plays golf with the presiding justice of the court of appeal every Tuesday afternoon. I have a feeling I’m going to be up there seeking a writ before this case is over, so I’d better pick my spots.”

“Go up too often, and you look like a whiner.

“Exactly.”

“Well, I’ve got some more bad news for you.” He licked the last drop of ketchup off his fingers as he spoke and noticed she had eaten a third of her sandwich and put it down. “Don’t you like the chow, by the way?”

“No, its great. Thanks. Talking about Judge Tyler took my appetite away. What’s your bad news?”

“I didn’t find any incidents of domestic violence on Michael Reed. Nothing. Nada. Zip.”

“Wow, and I assume you’ve illegally checked the Bureau’s data bases. So we are big time out of luck on that one.”

“For now. You don’t know what Alexa is going to say when she wakes up.”

“Oh, you mean when they med her to make her talk to us.”

“Look, I agree they’ll be acting illegally. But at least she’ll talk to us.”

“Meds are not a cure-all. Sometimes the clients hallucinate, and when they talk to you, you can’t tell what’s real and what’s fiction. And meds make them zombie-like in front of the jury.”

“Sounds like more issues for the appellate attorney.”

“Do you read lawyer fiction?”

Jim smiled. “Some of it.”

“Know what Scott Turow calls an appellate attorney? ‘The designated looser.’ I hate to think my sole function as trial counsel is making a record for him or her to take up on appeal.”

“Got you. Well, I’ll keep digging on Michael. There are more places to look.”

“And I want to give you some work in another case, too. This is a proposed witness list in a mail fraud prosecution that may or may not go to trial in federal court after the first of the year. I need to know what you find out about them. Hopefully lots of stuff to make them look bad in front of the jury.”

“Aye, aye, sir. Will get on it.” Jim was happy because she was enlarging his involvement in her work, despite David Scott. “So what are we going to do about an expert for Alexa?”

“I’m going to hire Jordan Stewart out of my own pocket.”

“Wow, you do want to win this thing!”

“Guilty as charged. And if we do get the evidence to use a battered woman defense, I want Jordan on board. And at that point, the court will have to pay for her. I’m going up to Los Angeles to see her in the morning.”

“Need me with you?”

“No, get going on those mail fraud witnesses. There are a lot of them. I will need you when we go to the jail to see Alexa.”

“And when will that be?”

“I’m thinking we should go every few days. For one, it might turn her around enough to talk to us. For another, I think how often I’ve tried to get her to cooperate might be a subject at the hearing.”
“You mean they’ll say you didn’t try hard enough.”

“As you know, the defense trial lawyer gets blamed for everything.”
“I’d like to say you’re being paranoid, but you’re not. So when do we go to see her again?”

“Let’s meet at the jail at two o’clock on Tuesday afternoon.”

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Dark Moon, A Work In Progress, Chapter Eight

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged attorney, California, fiction, law, lawyer, legal thriller, love, mothers, murder, mystery, novel, storyteller, thriller, writer, writing on October 4, 2013| Leave a Comment »

CHAPTER EIGHT
Percy Andrews kept them waiting on Friday morning. Sarah was not amused.

Jim had met her promptly at nine at Andrews’ sterile glass and chrome office on the eleventh floor of the Ximed Building next to Scripps Hospital. He was way too attractive in a dark suit with a maroon tie, smelling of fresh shaving cream and laundry starch, and Sarah wished that two nights with David had done more to put him out of her mind.

“Looks like the court-appointed expert business must be pretty good,” Jim observed as they sat in Andrews’ glass and chrome waiting room gazing out at North San Diego, stretching flat and brown in the August heat toward the blue Pacific on the horizon.

“Agreed. Nice digs. These guys all practice the black arts for a considerable sum.”

He grinned and his eyes twinkled, and her heart flip flopped like a teen’s. This, she told herself, was not good. The implacable Sarah Knight, toughest defense attorney on Wall Street, had to return at once and banish the dangerous idiot with the school girl crush on the ex-FBI agent.

“I thought defense attorneys swore by hired guns.”

“No, you’ve got that wrong. I’ve met a few psychs with integrity, but not many.”

Percy appeared at the door to summon them to his inner sanctum. As they crossed the waiting room, Sarah heard Jim mutter under his breath, “Why do I think we are about to meet one of the latter?”

Percy Andrews, a thin balding man in his fifties wearing the cliche gray cardigan and baggy brown trousers associated with psychs, led them to his inner office which was cozier than the wasteland of his waiting room. He motioned for Sarah and Jim to sit on the large down sofa in the middle of the room, while he stretched out like a snake on a modern reclining chair opposite.

Did digging your heals into a thick, shaggy brown carpet make a patient want to spill his or her most private secretes Sarah wondered as her Jimmy Choos sank into the deep pile. She noticed a package of Rorschach test cards on his desk, and a sand box in the corner of the room, filled with dozens of tiny plastic people and animals, with sand spilled on the floor all around as if the childish exuberance of play with sand indoors could not be contained. Had Brigman used sand play to lure Alexa’s children in Michael’s direction?

“I’m Sarah Knight, and this is Jim Mitchell, my investigator.”

“I know. Let’s not waste anyone’s time here. I’m going to testify she’s competent to stand trial.”

“What?” Jim nearly lept out of his chair, and Sarah thought he was going to throttle Andrews. She pictured him standing next to Alexa’s cot on Tuesday and tried to extinguish the wave of jealousy.

“I said, I’m going to find her competent.”

Unlike Jim, Sarah had retained her lawyer cool. “On what basis? She’s practically comatose, and she hasn’t spoken a word to me or to Jim. In fact, we don’t know if she can speak.”

“Oh, of course, she can.”

“And she spoke to you when you evaluated her?” Sarah wished she could tell Jim to be silent and let her lead the interview.

“No, she was curled up on the cot, like she was when you visited, I bet.”

“Then how can that be competency to stand trial?” Sarah hoped Jim would take the hint and become the observer he was meant to be.

“Meds. Give her some Lexapro and she’ll be right as rain.”

“But there’s a very strict United States Supreme Court test for ordering medication. And Alexa doesn’t meet it.”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass. She killed my colleague of more than twenty years, and she’s going to die for that.”

“But only after a fair trial in which she understands the nature of the proceedings and can assist in her defense.”

“What defense? Her cell phone puts her in the neighborhood at the time of the murders that were committed with her gun. She hasn’t got a defense, Ms. Knight. Ronald took her children away because she was a crazy lunatic, and she proved him right by killing him and Michael.”

“Obviously you aren’t familiar with the correct legal test.”

“I’m familiar with Sell v. United States. I’ve been a forensic psychologist for twenty-five years.”

“Then you know she doesn’t meet the test. You can’t show that less intrusive procedures such as counseling wouldn’t produce the same results as forcing her to take Lexapro or some other drug.”

“That’s a pile of crap, if you’ll excuse me for being blunt. Look, Alexa Reed is faking incompetency big time. She graduated first in her class from Georgetown Law School. She knows if she becomes a comatose blob, she’ll get sent to the state hospital, which is a lot cushier lifestyle than death row where she belongs. And she knows the state can’t execute her while she’s incompetent. She’s counting on me to say she has to go to Patten for treatment until competency is restored, but I’m not going to play her game and let her live out her life in a medical facility when she belongs on death row.”

“It’s not a game,” Jim spoke up.

“Excuse me?” Andrews raised his eyebrows as if Jim were an intruder without a right to speak.

“I said, she’s not playing a game. She’s mentally ill and unable to communicate to help us provide a defense.”

“Too bad for her, you aren’t the court appointed expert. She killed a close friend, and I’m not going to do her any favors.”

“You mean you are biased and you aren’t going to be fair,” Sarah said.

“Save your name calling for the hearing. It won’t do you any good.”

* * *

They were silent in the chrome elevators as they slipped effortlessly from the eleventh floor to the marble lobby of the XiMed building. When they got out, Sarah led the way to a quiet corner where they could talk undisturbed.

“That was not what I expected,” Jim began.

“I wasn’t surprised after my interviews with Hal Remington and Trevor Martin.”

“In other words, the legal community in this town is massed against her.”

“The criminal bar is, at least. I wonder how Alan Warrick feels about Alexa Reed.”

“Want me to go find out?”

Why did he sound too eager, Sarah asked herself. And why did that irritate her?

“I know Alan personally. Better that I approach him. The only problem is he’s on a three-month sabbatical right now. His wife is an artist, and they are in Paris until early October.”

“Jets take off for Paris every day.”

“He wouldn’t like being tracked down when he’s on a holiday. Besides, we’ll have plenty of time to talk to him when he gets back.”

“So what’s next, boss?”

“I’m going to go ex parte this afternoon and request appointment of a defense expert to evaluate her.”

“Got anyone in mind?”

“Jordan Stewart in L.A. I’ve used her before in cases that I tried in New York. She’s an international expert on battered women’s syndrome.”

“Do you think that’s going to be our defense here?”

“No idea. But Jordan knows her stuff, and she’s one of the few who won’t give an opinion just for the money. If she can’t testify favorably for the defense, she won’t get on the stand and perjure herself. According to Trevor Martin, Alexa told Brigman Michael had abused her, but Brigman refused to believe her.”

“Looks like I’d better do some digging on Michael, then. See if there are any police reports for domestic violence or hospital visits.”

“Would it be terrible if I said I hope you find some?”

“Not at all. What about dinner tonight to talk over what I find?”

“Plans, tonight. Sorry.”

“Wife still in Cabo?”

“Until Monday. We can talk about whatever you find on Michael in my office at nine on Monday morning.”

He tried to conceal his disappointment. “Okay. See you then.”

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