Dark Moon, page 17
“So that’s why you sent her work?”
“Yes, and I tried to help her find another job here in town behind Michael’s back.”
“So that’s how you knew he’d poisoned the well against her?”
“Right. Every hiring partner I talked to said they’d heard she was unstable and didn’t want her. When I pressed them for their source, it was always Michael. That’s the way Coleman loves to work, too. By bribes and threats. I’m surprised you haven’t heard from him, Sarah.”
“Oh, I have.”
Jim looked up sharply from his notepad. “You didn’t tell me!” It was an accusation, not a question.
“There was no reason to. Threats are routine when you practice criminal defense. Some unhappy client or prosecutor always wants you dead.”
“An unhappy United States Supreme Court justice is different,” Jim insisted.
“I’d agree with that,” Alan said. “Coleman is a force you cannot reckon with.”
“Well, I can; and I have to. For Alexa’s sake. He was very disappointed when he offered me a partnership here and found out I’d already turned that offer down. He seems to think he still owns Warrick, Thompson.”
“He doesn’t,” Alan said. “I had to work hard to make it happen, but we merged with Drake and Lockyear in Dallas in January, and their client base cancels out Coleman and Michael’s portfolio. If every Coleman Reed client left tonight, our bottom line would still be healthy tomorrow.”
“Did you have any indication Michael was abusing Alexa?” Sarah asked.
Alan sighed and leaned forward to put his empty cup on the table. “This is the part where I blame myself the most. Sarah, you know the firm does some pro bono work with domestic violence clients. I know the profile by heart, and I should have seen what was happening to Alexa and asked more questions. She obviously didn’t get to be a law clerk for Marilyn Steinberg and Paula Moreno by taking sick leave. I should have realized something was going on after Meggie was born when she started to miss so many days of work. She had a full-time nanny, so the baby wasn’t keeping her home.
“But the biggest red flag came right after I let her go. Brenda and I ran into her in the grocery store in La Jolla with a cast on her arm. Her story about tripping and falling the night of firm party didn’t sound genuine. I should have put together the picture: repeated abuse and an over-controlling partner who gradually isolated her from everyone on the outside.”
“How much of this could you testify to?” Sarah asked.
“I could certainly explain how Michael pressured me to let her go, but my conversations with other hiring partners, as you know, can’t come in because they are hearsay.”
“Maybe we could get them in as evidence of Alexa’s state of mind since you told her about them,” Jim suggested.
Sarah looked annoyed. “That only fuels Preston Barton’s claim she killed them.”
“Yes, but it helps the Battered Woman’s Syndrome defense,” Jim insisted. “It shows why she finally snapped.”
“And I told you I don’t want to use BWS!” Sarah shook her head sharply.
Alan studied them both thoughtfully. Then he said, “I’ve read the papers. It doesn’t look good. Her gun, Brigman and Michael killed within minutes of each other, just after the custody change order, and her cell phone and surveillance data put her at the scene of both murders. I mean, Michael had plenty of enemies who would have loved to kill him, including me because I wanted ownership of my firm back. But Michael and Ronald Brigman had only one person in common with a motive to kill them; and that, unfortunately, was Alexa. As much as I don’t want to say this, Sarah, your investigator has got a point about BWS.”
“But she’ll never see her children again if she’s convicted of two counts of voluntary manslaughter. BWS is not good enough. We’ve got to find something better.”
“What does she say about that night?”
“The near-death episode wiped most of her memory about recent traumas.”
Alan looked disappointed. “Not much help, then.”
Suddenly Jim spoke up. “I’m assuming you can’t give us the records of the transfers from Michael’s personal bank account to the Client Trust account?”
“Right. As wrong as the practice was, it is covered by attorney-client privilege.”
“Did Michael have a firm credit card?” Sarah asked.
“He did. And he used it for personal as well as business charges.”
“Could you give us those records?”
“Yes. And tell Alexa, I’ve got plenty of work to send her when she’s feeling up to it.”
Sarah brightened. “That will be good for her. It will help take her mind off things.”
“And tell her she has a job here when it’s over. And my offer to you is still open.”
“Thanks, Alan, but you know what we’re up against. As much as I don’t want to admit it, the odds are not in our favor.”
“You can beat the odds, Sarah. You’ve done it before. If I were sitting where Alexa is right now, you’re the one I’d want next to me at counsel table.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Third Friday Night in October, 2013, Alexa’s Cottage, Pacific Beach
The last few rays of daylight were turning into long fingers of twilight as Sarah sat with Alexa in the living room of the cottage that Sarah thought looked like something straight out of a fairy tale. The little white house sat at the end of a cul de sac named Crescent Court, well away from the Pacific Beach traffic. It was nestled under gigantic pine trees, with a white picket fence meandering around the yard and a curving stone path leading to its bright blue door. Matching blue shutters on the windows seemed to give the little house solemn eyes that watched the street.
Alexa was curled up on the threadbare sofa, a blanket over her legs. Sarah occupied the shabby, overstuffed chair opposite. It was five-thirty, and Sarah was telling Alexa about the details from the competency hearing that morning while they were waiting for Jim to arrive with groceries for Alexa’s pantry. Since she could not go out and Sarah was too busy, Jim stocked the larder each week.
They had fallen into a routine, Sarah reflected. Jim checked on Alexa night and morning and stayed in the evening to make supper and eat with her. Sarah came by for a few minutes in the evenings but did her best to find reasons to turn down the invitation to stay for the meal. Alexa and Jim had grown even closer, and Sarah didn’t like being in the middle of their evenings together. Jealousy wasn’t appropriate, but she was only human.
“So Judge Tomlinson has reversed his earlier order finding you incompetent to stand trial. And I entered a not guilty plea on your behalf.”
Alexa had waived her right to be present for arraignment on the charges.
“The bad news is the judge set December 9 as the trial date. That doesn’t give us much time. Fortunately we have interviewed Justices Steiner and Moreno. And Alan Warrick. He’s very much on your side. And he wants to send you some work to do.”
Alexa smiled. “How like Alan. He thinks work will fix everything. But I’d like to have a project.”
“He offered you a job–”
“Don’t.” Alexa held up her hand. “Don’t talk about what comes after the trial. I can’t think about it. I don’t want to think about it.”
“We’re going to find a defense.”
“I don’t see how you can unless I remember that night. I keep trying. The only reason I ever went to Brigman’s was to drop the children for those horrible therapy sessions. And they weren’t with me that night, so that can’t be it. Maybe he made me go over there so he could gloat because he’d given my children away to Michael. Brigman liked to remind me he was all powerful over my life. There was the humiliation of losing in the courtroom, and then there was the humiliation of being interviewed for those so-called psychological evaluations.”
“Which were nothing more than character assassinations,” Sarah observed.
“I didn’t think I should say that.”
“Well, that’s what they were. I’ve read them. And that reminds me, there is something I should bring up about Meggie and Sam.”
“I think you’re going to say I have the right to speak with them over the phone.”
“Yes.”
“I know. I thought a lot about it when I realized I might not have to go back to jail.”
“I can get a court order for telephone visits. You know that.”
“I do, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Her lovely eyes held Sarah’s, and she realized once more what a compelling presence Alexa Reed could be. “What could I say to them? They’d ask me when they can come home. You know, I can see by their room, Coleman didn’t let them take anything but the clothes on their backs. Meggie’s favorite Miss Janey doll and Sam’s beloved Mr. Wiggles the Bear are still there. They would never have left willingly without them. Coleman wants to finish what Michael started: to obliterate me from their lives.”
“But that’s just it. If the jury acquits you, it will take a custody battle to get them back. The court would want to know why you didn’t at least ask for phone visits.”
Alexa looked away toward the fireplace that she’d filled with dried flowers in happier times. After a minute or two, she said slowly and carefully, “I know you are right. But the odds of being acquitted are slim to none. The best I can hope for is prison time. And it would be a lot of prison time. I can’t do something now that would hurt them by getting their hopes up that I’m coming back when I know what the real story is.”
“I understand,” Sarah said quietly.
Alexa gave her a small, twisted smile. “You’re lucky you never had children.”
Suddenly Sarah wanted to scream. She wanted to run out of the front door and stand under the emerging stars, and howl at the unfairness of it all. And then that tiny voice inside said once again, “Saving this woman is your only hope of redemption.”
At that moment, Jim appeared, carrying two large bags of groceries. He set them on the counter in the kitchen and continued on into the living room where he turned on a lamp.
“What are the two of you doing here in the dark?”
“We were busy talking and didn’t realize the sun had set completely. I was telling Alexa about the interview with Alan.”
“He’s going to turn over the records for Michael’s firm credit card. We might find something there that will help,” Jim said.
“And I’ve subpoenaed Michael and Brigman’s bank records,” Sarah added.
“You won’t get them,” Alexa shook her head.
“I’ll get Brigman’s. His ex-wife is the executor of his estate. She lives in Tel Aviv. I notified her New York attorneys of the subpoena and not a peep out of them. So I don’t think she cares. I agree we won’t get Michael’s. Coleman is his executor, and he’s lined up a team from King and White who’ve filed a motion to quash my subpoena. There’s a hearing next Thursday. I’ve asked Bob Metcalf to come. You’ll need to be there. And Jim.”
Alexa nodded.
“You look tired,” Sarah said. “I’d better go. I’ll be by tomorrow.” She stood up and gathered her brief case and her purse and turned toward the front door just as Jim stepped into her path.
“I think you should stay. You need to eat. I’m making my famous sauce bolognaise.”
“Not tonight.”
His wonderfully kind eyes look down at her and every resolve she had to leave began to melt. “You should stay.”
“I–I can’t. I have some plans,” she lied and fled while her legs were still willing to take her through the enchanted blue door.
* * *
Later that night, Sarah’s house, La Jolla Shores
Jim finished cleaning up the kitchen at Alexa’s at eight-thirty. She liked to dry the dishes after he washed them, but she’d been too tired tonight. She still had a long way to go in her recovery. He’d sent her off to get a good night’s sleep.
He turned out all the lights in the living room except for the small one he always left on in case of an emergency. He was glad he lived only five minutes away.
He backed his Range Rover out of the drive and headed for home. But Sarah was on his mind. He hadn’t really had a chance to talk to her alone since Alexa had left the hospital and since his trip back to D.C.
He was relieved when she answered on the first knock because it was more likely she was alone. He hadn’t bought her earlier excuse that she had plans that night. She was wearing soft gray sweat pants and a black t-shirt, and she was barefoot. She was cradling a thick file in her arm like a baby.
“Is everything ok?” She was obviously surprised to see him.
He wanted to say no, why are you shutting me out this way. But he knew better.
“Fine, just fine. I wanted to talk about the hearing this morning.”
“Better come in, then, and have a drink. How is Alexa?”
“Asleep. She was ready for bed as soon as she finished eating.”
“Poor thing. I’m not surprised.”
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 on her laptop and scribbling on a yellow pad. 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 hearing went pretty much the way I thought it would.” She handed him the glass of wine. “She’s now competent to stand trial. No surprises except that December 9 trial date. That’s too soon.”
“We’ve got to work fast,” Jim agreed. “And we need to talk to the Reed children.”
“No.” Sarah shook her head emphatically. “That’s too big a risk. They’re only five and six. We don’t know if they actually saw anything at all. Alexa found them hiding in a closet.”
“What we really need is a female other than Alexa who had a motive to murder both Michael and Brigman,” Jim observed.
“Alan called today and said he’d have those credit cards records to us by Monday. And then we’ll have Brigman’s bank records on Friday. So you’ll have a lot to look at next weekend. Of course, it would help if we had the numbers of Michael’s bank accounts. Without those, we can’t see what kind of financial relationship Michael and Brigman had.”
“Alexa might have Michael’s account numbers. I’ll check with her in the morning.”
“Sounds good.”
Her tone told him she wanted him to leave. But he wanted to stay. “Why don’t you come over to Alexa’s for breakfast in the morning?”
“No, sorry. I’ve got to work tomorrow.”
“You could work after breakfast.”
But Sarah shook her head.
“Let me make you something then before I leave.”
“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 read four more cases before I can call it a day.”
She was a champion at keeping her distance, Jim reflected sadly as he got up to leave.
She walked him to the front door. “I’ll try to stop by Alexa’s sometime tomorrow.”
“Come for dinner.”
But Sarah shook her head. “Can’t. I’ll probably drop by around midday. I have to go into the office in the morning.”
He turned away, disappointed, got into his car, and started to back out of her drive. But then he noticed something that made his blood run cold. There was a black Nissan SUV parked in the shadows directly across from Sarah’s, and the man in the driver’s seat had binoculars trained on her house. Jim patted his revolver in his shoulder holster. Then he pulled up behind the car and turned his headlights on high beams. A few seconds, later, the Nissan’s engine came to life, and it went roaring down the street.
Jim gunned his Range Rover and chased it in and out of traffic until he lost it just before the entrance to I-5. He hadn’t gotten close enough to get the license plate number.
He drove past Sarah’s house to make sure the Nissan hadn’t returned. Then he checked Alexa’s cottage where all the lights were out except the one he always left on in the living room. Satisfied for now, he went home and slept an uneasy sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Fourth Thursday in October 2013, San Diego County Court House
It did not take the two King and White attorneys in their identical black power suits long to get Judge Tomlinson to agree that Michael Reed’s bank records could not be given to the defense because they contained confidential attorney-client privilege. Moreover the dark-haired one, who seemed to be the leader of the two, insisted that Michael’s records contained so much confidential information that nothing would be left to turn over if the privileged entries were redacted. His blonde counterpart nodded constantly while his colleague spoke, apparently for emphasis. Sarah thought he looked like a bobble-head doll.
What intrigued her far more was the presence of Tara Jeffers, next to Preston Barton at the plaintiff’s table. Alexa had had a physical reaction when she saw her, and Sarah had leaned over and whispered, “I had no idea she’d be here. Don’t worry.” She saw Jim squeeze Alexa’s hand under the table.
Tara remained tautly grim-faced throughout the brief King and White presentation. Sarah thought it was probably because her plastic 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 looked as if she never touched food, and her French manicured nails were so long she could barely pick up a pencil. Every bit of her screamed that she was trying too hard.
