The Trials of Max Q, page 18
We agreed for a preliminary hearing to be held on Thursday—a prompt gathering to determine whether there is a “probable cause” to believe the defendant committed the crime. Most defendants waive it and move directly to a grand jury proceeding, but Kerri chose to have the hearing.
For myself, I think the court proceeding will be a great break from the barrage of scrutiny. I’ll get a chance to do some actual lawyering. Take a vacation to my comfort zone.
On the other hand, Kerri is not suffering from any camera-shyness—one person’s torture chamber is another person’s reason to get up in the morning. She’s been doing the media circuit like she’s on a press junket promoting a blockbuster movie. But maybe that’s exactly what this case is—a big budget film with some law thrown in for effect.
I’m intrigued by her attraction to the spotlight, especially since the Lawsons have spent centuries working behind the scenes, and preaching the importance of doing so.
Shep and I have been more concerned with the “accident” and what it means to our case, than preparing for a rubber-stamp hearing. We both got a good look at the grill of the pickup truck that had the roo-guard on it—one of Lansdale’s goons was behind it. And surprise-surprise, he reported a pickup truck stolen from his property the day of the accident.
Shep picks me up in a black Lincoln Navigator with bulletproof glass, which is on loan to the Otsego County DA’s Office from the state of New York. The state granted our office a budget for the case that is much greater than normal, but LB&G has an unlimited budget, and now we have to use a chunk of the budget on security. I have a guard stationed around the clock at my residence, while Shep’s getting the same treatment at her apartment. This is Gifford’s call, not ours.
I trade glances with Shep, who returns an unsure smile. Her face is rapidly clearing up, and with help from make-up, it’s hard to tell that the accident was only a few days ago. It’s her bruised sternum that’s giving her the biggest problem. It hurts every time she laughs. The good news is that doesn’t happen often.
“You look nice,” I say. She’s dressed in her pinstriped suit. It’s the one she wore at her successful initial appearance, which I think it might be a superstition thing. Mac once told me the story of a Hall of Fame inducted ballplayer who wore the same underwear for months during his career because he thought changing would jinx a hitting streak he was on.
Becoming more media savvy by the day, I wear my best charcoal colored Armani suit that I usually save for the funeral of a relative that I couldn’t stand.
“Thanks, so do you.”
“What’s the verdict on your car?”
“Totaled.”
“Ouch—at least you’re okay.”
“I guess.”
We continue down the country road on the hazy summer morning. There’s not even a hint of a cool breeze coming from the lake. We pass the spot where we were forced off the road, and we both look away.
After some silence, I address the attack, “I think the video scared Lansdale. They were convinced that the charges would be dropped at an early stage with a big fat apology from us. But the video means we are likely going to trial, and even if he doesn’t get convicted, the video, if played in open court, will harm Anderson’s reputation, and he can kiss Albany goodbye. Anderson and his supporters are scared to death of going to trial, so they went for a mistrial the old fashion way, by threatening the prosecutors.”
Shep doesn’t necessarily agree, which might be a sign that things are getting back to normal, and she provides her alternate theory.
“Remember what Gifford always says,” I tell her.
“I can’t believe you’re quoting Gifford Brown,” she sighs. “It’s always about the amount of money.”
“What’s the other thing?”
“Don’t ignore the obvious, because there is usually a good reason why it’s the obvious.”
“Exactly. And the obvious is that Drew Anderson was the one who Laney was blackmailing. He was the one she was with on that tape when he threatened her. He was the one she was obsessing about for years. And he was the only one in the house when she was killed.”
Lansdale might be working on Drew’s behalf to end the trial, but they are up against a worthy opponent in Laney Bang. It appears that she had set up a contingency plan in case of her demise. Someone, whether it be Amber, Maxon, or some unknown party, is providing us evidence to keep the trial going. And Shep and I are caught in the perilous middle.
The courthouse appears in the distance and the butterflies in my stomach turn to pterodactyls. And this is only the preliminary hearing.
We receive a police escort to an area in front of the courthouse, which is blocked off with wooden barriers. Security hovers around us as we get out of the SUV.
We make the slow walk to the courthouse steps like we’re the ones on trial. In a way, we are. The prizefight of the century is about to begin and Jack Lawson and Jessica Shepherdson are entering the ring as heavy underdogs, even with the soon-to-be infamous video on their side.
We keep looking forward, acting as if we don’t hear the whirlwind of questions and comments being shouted at us. Lansdale’s group is marching as close to the courthouse as security will allow, holding picket signs like union workers on strike.
Before entering, I take one last look at the craziness around us. I picture Reyanne looking down and laughing at me. Her mission statement was always to remove me from my comfort zone, which she said was the only way I would ever be challenged to grow. And now I find myself in the epicenter of a great storm. You win, Rey.
Standing in the entrance portico of the old courthouse, I look to the ceiling and whisper, “LLF.”
Chapter 46
The Otsego County courthouse fits neatly into the Cooperstown landscape with its Victorian Gothic style. It’s no spring chicken—built in 1880, and despite the face-lift it received in the 1980s, I always feel I should be wearing a powdered wig upon entering.
We proceed up a creaky staircase to the second floor, and make our way to the historic St. Anne’s Courtroom. With its timber trusses and large stained glass windows, it reminds me of an old church. The high vaulted ceiling causes the courtroom to act like an echo chamber.
We move past the packed gallery and place our briefcases on a wooden table that faces the altar of Judge Schanz. To our left sits Kerri, her co-conspirator Hal Metzer, and the star of the show, Drew Anderson.
Anderson is wearing a navy suit and happy yellow tie. He sits expressionless, his only movement occurs when Kerri reaches over to whisper in his ear. My focus switches to the beautiful woman in the front row with dark curly hair and dressed in a light blue sundress. Marissa Torres-Anderson.
Like her husband, she looks stoically ahead. Her body language doesn’t match the cocky, ball-busting persona she displayed in our first meeting. I feel instantly bad for her, as I’m sure word has reached her about the video. My eyes return to her husband and I feel a rush of anger. Not just for Laney Bang, but for what he has done to Marissa.
Next to Marissa sits Drew Anderson’s other staunch supporter, James Lansdale. He is dressed in a navy sport coat and khakis, no tie—blue seems to be the official color of Team Anderson. He keeps checking the expensive watch like he is late for his tee-time. He occasionally grabs Marissa’s hand in an attempt at support. I notice that Shep is fixated on Lansdale. A good Beemer is hard to replace.
Shep and I have our own support today. Ashley gives me a toothy grin, along with an excited wave from the gallery. Mac coolly displays a thumbs-up sign like this is some sort of everyday occurrence.
Kerri stands and opens her briefcase. She takes out a pile of paperwork, which I know is an attempt to intimidate us. Look, Jack—more surprise witnesses. Her designer look provides the outward appearance of sophistication, but at her core is a street fighter who’ll do whatever it takes, not only to win, but to embarrass her opponent in the process.
“What’s wrong, Jack? Can’t say hello to your big sister,” she says as she takes a seat.
“My apologies, I was thrown off by your early arrival. I figured that you’d use the time to mix in a couple more network appearances.”
“Early bird gets the worm.”
“But it’s still eating worms.”
“Well, maybe you can find me a few more to munch on when I wipe the floor with you.”
And this is only the preliminary hearing. Our “pleasantries” are interrupted by the court clerk announcing the Honorable Patricia Schanz.
She orders us to be seated, before getting right to the reason for being here. “This is the preliminary hearing in the case of the State of New York versus Andrew Christian Anderson. The charges are one count of murder in the first-degree of Darby Kelleher.”
It’s really strange to hear the stunning charge read in open court with Max Q sitting just feet from us. I take a deep breath and call our first witness, Roger Beneke.
I walk in front of the table and begin what I believe should be a smooth questioning. “Good morning, Officer.”
“Good morning,” he responds in a shaky voice. The whole world will be over-analyzing his every word—who wouldn’t be nervous, right?
“Please state your name for the court,”
“I am Officer Roger Beneke of the Otsego County Sheriff’s Office,” he states, and spells his name for the recorder.
“Officer Beneke—what were you doing on the morning of July 24?”
“I was patrolling the north end of Otsego Lake as was my normal beat.”
“While on patrol, you received a call pertaining to a potential incident involving Laney Bang, is that correct?”
“I did—I received a call from Deputy Sue Kirkland in the Sheriff’s Office. She reported that a woman claiming to be Laney Bang had placed a call to 911 at 6:05 a.m.”
“And what location did the caller give?”
“The Anderson Estate in Cooperstown.”
Not that anyone needs a refresher course, but I note for the record that Laney Bang is an alternate name for Darby Kelleher and that Anderson Estate is the defendant’s home. I then come to the first pothole I need to navigate around.
“Officer Beneke, why is it important that the name given by the caller to 911 was Laney Bang?”
Beneke takes a deep breath and releases. “Laney Bang was a well-known celebrity who was in town for a publicity appearance. All weekend long, the Sheriff’s Office received numerous calls in which the caller falsely identified herself as Laney Bang. We couldn’t possibly send an officer every time we received a call.”
“So that is why you didn’t respond until 7:30?”
Beneke tilts his head down, showing subtle regret. “Thinking it was a hoax, I didn’t plan on responding at all, which was a logistical office policy that weekend. But the more I thought about it, the more the call bugged me. So since my schedule was light that morning, I decided to take a trip up to Anderson Estate and check it out.”
“What exactly bugged you about this call, compared to other false alarms?”
“Nothing specific. Just gut instinct of a police officer, I guess.”
“What did you see when you arrived at Anderson Estate at 7:30,” I ask, glad to move past the response-time issue.
“Everything seemed normal when I approached the gate. John Scurry, the long time gate attendant, was there. We spoke of the weather, and I explained that I received a call, and it was my duty to check it out no matter how ridiculous it sounded. I proceeded to the main house.”
“Did everything still appear normal?”
“When I had previously been to Anderson Estate, there was always a bunch of workers present, performing typical tasks such as mowing grass and general landscaping. But I didn’t observe any staff that day. I thought it was strange, but I wasn’t alarmed.”
“Then you arrived at the house—still appear normal?”
“I found the front door open. I called at least three times and received no response. By itself, it wouldn’t have raised my suspicions, but when combined with the 911 call, it put me on high alert. I drew my gun and entered the house.”
“What did you find?”
“At first, nothing. I identified myself and called to see if anyone was present, but received no response. I moved to the second floor and that is where I confronted Mr. Anderson.”
“Please describe Mr. Anderson’s appearance that morning.”
“He was in a T-shirt and shorts. He was sweating profusely. I told him of the 911 call and he responded that no such woman was there, or had been there. He appeared nervous, and his eyes were jitterbugging, much different from the self-contained man I’d met on occasion.”
“So you grew alarmed?”
“Yes, I pushed past Mr. Anderson and began a search for Ms. Bang.”
“And what did you find?”
“I entered the first door on the right, which was the master bedroom. The victim was lying face up, naked, on the bed with multiple knife wounds to her chest. I took her pulse, hoping she might still be alive, but she was clearly dead.”
Beneke looks physically upset as he recalls the bloody discovery. The standing-room-only gallery buzzes, despite this being common knowledge.
I pause for effect, then ask, “What did you do next, Officer Beneke?”
“I secured the area and called for back-up. Then I questioned Mr. Anderson.”
“Did you consider him a suspect at that time?”
“Honestly, I wasn’t sure what to think. I was just buying time until back-up arrived. This was my first time at a murder scene. Mr. Anderson was receptive to talking, but still appeared to be dazed and confused.”
“When he talked, did he tell you the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”
“No, he told me that he had no idea how she got there.”
I catch a glimpse of Marissa, who’s still looking ahead with a stone face. I feel for her, but continue on.
“And how did you know this wasn’t true?”
“Because I was in charge of security for Ms. Bang the night before at her book signing. When it ended, she asked me if I would be able to drop her off at Mr. Anderson’s house for what she termed a business meeting. And I obliged.”
“So you escorted Laney Bang to Drew Anderson’s home on the evening of July 23?”
“That is correct.”
Another murmur from the gallery—the police escort had only been known to us.
“What about those who say this is your word against Mr. Anderson’s?”
“I have it on tape—that would tell them all they need to know.”
I pause to savor the small victory, and sneak a glance at Kerri. She looks to be bubbling with confidence, which concerns me. “No further questions.”
Chapter 47
Kerri approaches the witness like a tornado. Beneke looks worried. He probably should be.
“You mentioned that the no-respond policy of the Sheriff’s Office was related to being overrun with Laney Bang pranks and hoaxes. Please tell us how many Laney Bang requests you received while you were on duty the morning of July 24?”
“The call center was in charge of filtering them, so I really don’t know.”
“I asked you how many you received. I imagine it must have been a large number, being that you couldn’t find the time to check it out for approximately an hour and a half.”
“That was actually the only one I personally received, but like I said, the call center dealt with most of them.”
“In that case, I’m assuming you had plenty of non-Laney Bang calls during that time.”
Beneke squirms in his seat. “As I mentioned earlier, my schedule was light.”
“According to your logbook, you had no calls—not one—during that time. No Laney Bang hoaxes, no domestic disputes, not even a request to rescue a cat from a tree.”
Kerri introduces his logbook as further proof of such.
“For the life of me, I can’t figure out what you were doing while Laney Bang was being murdered,” she says, sounding perplexed.
Beneke looks embarrassed, and tilts his head downward. “I was sleeping.”
Kerri looks shocked. “Sleeping!?”
“My schedule was usually light during the morning shift, so I would often take a nap up at Glimmerglass State Park.”
“Can anyone vouch that you were at Glimmerglass State Park between the last entry in your log book at 5:45 a.m. and arriving at Anderson Estate at 7:30?”
He looks taken aback by the question. “Not that I know of. I didn’t go out of my way to let people know I was sleeping on the job.”
Kerri flashes a superior look and moves on. “In your earlier testimony, you mentioned that you were the lead security for Laney Bang on her publicity appearance at Cooperstown Books, and escorted her to Anderson Estate that night.”
“Yes, that is true,” Beneke replies, sounding proud.
“Was it part of your security guidelines to make illicit advances upon Ms. Bang? Then when she rejected your proposition, you responded with inflammatory and threatening language.”
Kerri displays numerous signed affidavits as evidence, from witnesses at Cooperstown Books, who allegedly witnessed Beneke’s advances and the specific remarks that followed.
“Objection, Your Honor,” both Shep and I scream out and the judge calls a sidebar. I question the relevance of Kerri putting the police on trial, but the Judge Schanz disagrees with me. Not surprising.
Kerri clicks her heels back to the defense table, and picks up more notes. “Let’s move on to when you finally showed up at 7:30 at Anderson Estate. You said you didn’t find anything, to use your words, alarming.”
“Correct”
“So let me get this straight—you didn’t find this to be an important call, and when you arrived you don’t find anything alarming. But the fact that Mr. Anderson’s door was open totally changed your thinking?”
