“He kidnapped the child of a federal agent. No judge in their right mind—”
“No judge in their right mind would ever rule that beating a defendant during an interrogation is acceptable. And even if they did, the Ninth Circuit would overturn them in a second. What you have to go on is a broken door hinge and a video only I saw that they can’t find now because Wesley hid it so well. He will paint me as a vengeful lover. He’ll say we planned to get married but he called off the wedding because I became obsessed with this case. Oscar and Cason came into the bathroom when I had a gun pressed to his chest. He didn’t have one pressed to mine. He’s going to get away with this, and he’s going to keep killing. Maybe starting with me.”
48
The sun had already set, and there was no moon. The lighting in the death row meeting room was harsh fluorescence, giving everything a pale greenish-yellow glow. Yardley picked up her cell phone. The lock screen was still a photo of her, Wesley, and Tara hiking in the canyons. She deleted it, then deleted all the photos she had of him.
Cal was brought in and sat in front of her. He had cuffs on this time that ran down to his ankles, and Yardley wondered if he’d attacked somebody again.
“Did you know?” she said.
Cal watched her, a mischievous grin coming across his dry lips. “He’s something else, isn’t he? Like a lost puppy looking for his place in the world.”
She leaned forward. “Did you know?”
Cal leaned forward as well so their faces were less than a foot apart. She could see her reflection in the glass barrier. “Who do you think sent him to you in the first place?”
Yardley leaned back, feeling a sudden chill, though there were no drafts possible in the room. “Why?”
“I wanted to keep tabs on you and Tara, and you would never respond to my letters. Wesley seemed like a good alternative. He would bring me photos and give me updates on what was happening in your lives. You should be flattered. He’s quite fond of you, and he’s a person incapable of real attachments. It speaks to your charm.”
Yardley felt an agonizing disgust but made certain that her face remained passive.
“Why did he start killing? He went years without it and then suddenly began with the Deans. Why?”
“Did he start with the Deans? Hmm.”
They held each other’s gaze. “I’m going to convict him, and he’s going to join you in here.”
He shrugged. “I hope you do convict him. Rest assured, I’ve got more fans.”
She glanced back to the door and saw the guard outside the square window speaking with somebody. “If I’m not able to convict him, is he going to come after me and Tara?”
“Why would you think that?”
“He might think it’s fun or that it benefits him somehow.”
Cal nodded. “It’s certainly possible, mostly because he doesn’t understand himself. He thinks he did this for the trauma it imposed on the children. But he doesn’t enjoy killing; he’s only convinced himself he does. He’s a stalker, Jessica. And right now you’re his obsession. Do you know much about stalkers?”
She nodded. She had prosecuted dozens of them. “Yes.”
“What do you know?”
“They’re one of the most dangerous types of offenders. They have a fantasy about the relationship with their victims, and when that fantasy is threatened, they feel it’s better to kill the victim than have someone else take their imagined place.”
He took two breaths before speaking. “I would say it’s a good likelihood he will come after you and Tara if he is released. He won’t let go of the fantasy just because you know who he is.”
She shook her head, hardly able to stomach looking at Cal. “Do you even care if she dies, Eddie? I don’t expect any sympathy for me, but is there any part of you that cares if your daughter is torn apart by a savage?”
He exhaled loudly and leaned back, his chains rattling. “You have to prosecute him. You can’t let someone else do it.”
“Why?”
“His legal acumen is impressive. Someone that knows him, knows his faults, has to be the one to go head-to-head with him. Besides, he’ll want it to be you. He thinks you’re naive. He’ll assume you’re too emotional to do a good job. And he’ll want to spend time with you. Maybe he thinks he’ll impress you in court with his skill. Regardless, his obsession with you will make him reckless. He won’t be that way with anyone else.”
She nodded, her eyes narrowing on him. “Goodbye, Eddie. I won’t be back here again.”
As she was leaving, Cal said, “Let me see Tara, and maybe I’ll give you something that can help convict Wesley.”
“What?”
“Bring her here, and I’ll tell her directly.”
Yardley stared at him. How, she wondered, had she ever loved something like that?
“Understand this, Eddie: I will die before I let you see her.”
He smiled. “You might die anyway.”
49
The day before Wesley’s bail hearing, Yardley had every one of his items packed up in boxes and stored in a storage unit across town: from his toothbrush and slippers to his professional awards and pens. As soon as the case against him was completed, she would donate everything. His laptop she had handed over to the FBI.
The judge denied bail, and Wesley didn’t put up a fuss. No one expected a judge to let him out to roam the streets.
Two days later, he filed one of the most insightful, persuasive motions and memorandums she had ever read. A motion and memorandum to suppress all the evidence in the storage unit, and any evidence that had arisen from it, as fruit of the poisonous tree. The motion was over 170 pages, citing case after case after case supporting his position. Two days wouldn’t have been enough time to draft it. This motion had been drafted long ago for this very circumstance.
In addition, he challenged the warrant Yardley had gotten. Saying the warrant was so prima facie deficient, so obviously flawed, that no reasonable judge should have signed off on it. If granted, that would mean she hadn’t had authority to be in his condominium and could be barred from testifying about what she’d seen on the video.
Ortiz had been put on leave from the Bureau. The officers, agents, and volunteers combing the neighborhoods and putting up flyers about his daughter had been unable to find any trace of her, though their efforts continued. No one had been in the room when Wesley had told Ortiz his daughter was missing, and Wesley denied it was said. Without physical evidence or witnesses, a kidnapping charge would never be brought.
Three days after that, Yardley picked up Steven and Betty Cal from the airport.
The Cals had always been fond of Yardley; she had known that from the moment they had met her. And throughout the years, they had been deeply involved in Tara’s life. The fact that they lived in Las Cruces, New Mexico, made only twice-yearly visits possible: two weeks for Christmas in New Mexico and three days of them here for Tara’s birthday. This was the first time they had come out because they were needed.
When Yardley met them at the airport, Steven pulled her close and held her. He smelled like leather and aftershave, and his big arms and barrel chest comforted her. She could’ve wept right there if she’d allowed herself.
They spoke little on the drive home, avoiding talk of Wesley entirely. She had told them enough on the phone, and she figured they had read about it. Martha, her neighbor, had told her she had seen a story in the New York Times about it.
Tara ran to her grandparents the moment they came through the door. The three of them held each other and cried.
When the crying was done, the joyful conversation and reminiscing began. Tara told them everything about UNLV and the mathematics program. About what she wanted to study and what industries she could change. Seeing her like that, surrounded by family, Yardley realized how isolated the two of them were and how deeply Tara longed for it to be otherwise.
“Let’s go get a late lunch somewhere,” Steven said.
; “Why don’t you guys go?” Yardley said. “I have something I have to do for work.”
“You should take some time, Jessica. We’ll stay as long as you need, but when you’re done, you should come out to the ranch and stay there. We would love to have you both for as long as we can.”
Yardley forced a grin and nodded. “Maybe. I’ll be back this evening and bring dinner.”
She showered and dressed in a blue suit with heels. Wesley Paul’s hearing on his motion to suppress was at four.
50
Reporters and television crews crowded the hallway of the court and shouted questions at Yardley as she came in. One asked if she was still in love with Eddie Cal. Another if Tara was really his biological daughter.
Austin Ketner had been cleared of any involvement in the murders and released last night. One reporter asked if Yardley planned on apologizing to him.
The judge had, thankfully, closed the courtroom to the media.
The courtroom smelled of old wood and orange-scented floor polish. Yardley sat down in the back row of the audience pews. The only case on the calendar for this afternoon was Wesley’s.
She was early, and only a marshal and the clerk were there. They nodded to her with sad grins, the way Lieu had. Baldwin and Ortiz came in a moment later. As did two men with LVPD badges on lanyards around their necks and guns in holsters underneath their blazers. The detectives that had been at Wesley’s condominium.
Wesley came next.
Two federal marshals brought him out, one in front and one behind. He wore a white jumpsuit and white slippers, and his hands were cuffed in front of him. A neck brace clung to him as though it were glued to the skin. Both eyes had been blackened so deeply that dark blemishes still adorned them; his nose had a slight crookedness to it now. Even this long after Ortiz’s beating, he looked like he’d been in a car accident just this morning.
A subtle sneer pinned his lips, as though he thought the entire system a joke. He turned around just once and winked at her.
The judge came out, and a bailiff bellowed, “All rise: Federal District Court for the District of Nevada is now in session. The Honorable Madison Aggbi presiding.”
Judge Aggbi came out with glasses hanging low on her nose and eyed the courtroom over the frames before sitting down. “Be seated.” She punched a few keys on her computer and said, “We are here today for the matter of Wesley John Paul versus the United States. Representing the government is Mr. Timothy Jeffries of the United States Attorney’s Office. Mr. Paul has indicated he will be proceeding in this matter pro se.” Aggbi looked directly at him. “Mr. Paul, you are barred here in Nevada as an attorney and have been a professor of law at various universities for over fifteen years, so I certainly do not need to remind you that representing yourself in any matter is a bad idea, much less with charges like this against you. Do you understand that I am advising you to be represented by counsel and that if you cannot afford counsel, this court will appoint counsel for you?”
He stood up. “I do, Your Honor. Thank you. I appreciate your concern for me. But I am fully of sound mind, not under the influence of any narcotic or alcohol, take no prescription medications, and am fully aware of my right to counsel and waive it knowingly. I have signed and filed a waiver of counsel document from the jail computers.”
“Yes, and I have received your waiver of counsel and will now sign it and incorporate it into the record. If at any point in the proceeding you feel that you have changed your mind and would like representation, please let me know right away.”
“I will, thank you.”
The courtroom doors opened, and Tara slipped in with her grandfather.
Yardley rose and met them at the entrance. “You can’t be here,” she whispered.
“He slept ten feet from my room . . . I need to see this. Please.”
Yardley looked to Steven, who said nothing, and then she moved out of their way as they sat down in the pews.
Judge Aggbi read through the charges. They ranged from burglary, breaking and entering, trespassing, and kidnapping, to aggravated assault and criminal mischief and mayhem, till she announced the most serious charges: four counts of first-degree murder. Sixty-three counts in all. Lieu had thrown in every single charge he could think of. She pictured Lieu and Tim and several of the other men in the office sitting around Lieu’s office going through the federal criminal code, looking for anything and everything to charge Wesley with since the media was involved. There was a group of seven of them that spent time together, went for lunches and drinks. A few times a year they would ride four-wheelers in the sand dunes or take a trip to Catalina Island. None of the female prosecutors were ever invited.
Murders were usually handled in state courts, as the qualifications for the federal government to take over were so stringent, but because of Adrian Dean’s background with the DEA, the judge had approved moving the entire case to the federal system. Defendants, whenever possible, preferred to be in state court. The federal system had far harsher sentencing guidelines.
“Okay, we are here on two motions filed by the defendant. The first is a motion to suppress the confession and exclude any evidence as per United States v. Batane. The second motion is a motion to suppress any evidence and witness testimony as obtained by a search warrant executed by this court and the Honorable Jacob Stein. The defendant has challenged the affidavit establishing probable cause that led to the granting of the search warrant by Judge Stein, stating that the affidavit is fatally flawed and deceptive.” She looked at Tim. “Mr. Jeffries.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. I’d first like to address the motion to suppress the confession and any subsequent evidence acquired and move to the motion as pertaining to the search warrant afterward.”
“Sounds good.”
“The prosecution would call Agent Cason Baldwin to the stand.”
51
Baldwin strode up to the stand. A bailiff—who in the federal courts was required to be a federal marshal—swore him in, and he sat down and unbuttoned the top button on his suit coat. In court, he always wore a transparent elastic in his hair, pulling it back to appear more respectable. Yardley had once told him he looked like a shy accountant that way, and he’d laughed.
Tim went through the preliminary questions. A motion hearing was not a trial, and there was no jury to build a connection with or impress. The standard was to simply have the witness state who they were and their relation to the case before diving into the facts. Tim started by asking Baldwin his background—unnecessary and a massive time waster at a motion hearing. Then he said:
“What is your relation to this case, Agent Baldwin?”
“I am the primary investigator on this case.”
“Please expound.”
Baldwin described how the FBI had gotten involved with the murders of the Deans and Olsens and his grounds for making it a federal case rather than letting the local detectives maintain jurisdiction. He described the scenes and the investigation in brief sentences, knowing most of it was irrelevant to this hearing, but Tim kept asking him to continue. Finally Wesley stood up and said, “Your Honor, the defense, for the sake of time, would be happy to stipulate that the Deans and Olsens were found dead and that the FBI conducted an investigation that led to my charges. Perhaps we could simply get to the meat of the matter?”
“Thank you, Mr. Paul. Mr. Jeffries, let’s get to the relevant portion of the testimony, please.”
Tim exhaled loudly, as he had to flip past several pages of questions. It was loud enough and so near the microphone that Judge Aggbi gave him a pointed glance.
“Please describe what you saw on the date in question, Agent Baldwin,” Tim said.
“Certainly. Ms. Yardley had applied for a search warrant to be executed at the home of Mr. Paul and—”
“This search warrant right here?” Tim said, holding up the original warrant.
“If that’s the one I brought with me, yes.”
“Your Honor, the p
rosecution moves to introduce exhibit one into the record.”
Wesley rose. “Your Honor, I believe decorum and rule twenty-two require Mr. Jeffries to let me examine the warrant before entry into the record.”
“Certainly,” Aggbi said.
Tim stood there a second and then showed the warrant to Wesley, who took the document and then looked it up and down before setting it onto the table. He tried to reach into the pocket over his heart. “Your Honor, I am sorry, but if I were simply the defendant, I would have no objection to these shackles. However, as my own attorney I will be required to examine certain things and be at the lectern and perhaps even approach witnesses. Mr. Baldwin will, I’m sure, be the first to tell you I surrendered peacefully without a fight and have no intention of going anywhere. I would ask that the shackles be removed.”
“Marshal,” Aggbi said, “please remove the shackles, but stay close by. If Mr. Paul approaches the witness stand or the bench without permission or attempts to go toward the audience pews, please restrain him for the remainder of the proceeding.”
A marshal unlocked the shackles. Wesley sat down and slipped out the reading glasses from his pocket. He examined the warrant, something he’d probably read five times already, and his lips moved slightly as though reading along.
The warrant wasn’t more than four hundred words, but Wesley took ten minutes to read it. Yardley didn’t watch him, though. She watched Tim. He grew frustrated with every second, at one point asking, “Finished?”
“Not quite yet, Mr. Jeffries. Trials are marathons, not sprints,” he said with a smirk.
The motion hearing had been going on for maybe thirty minutes, and he had already disturbed Tim’s balance.
Wesley handed the warrant back and said, “No objection to the introduction.”
A Killer's Wife (Desert Plains) Page 18
