“Thank you,” Tim said briskly. He passed the warrant to the clerk. “Now, Agent Baldwin, please continue where you left off.”
Baldwin glanced at Yardley, and an understanding passed between them as surely as if they had spoken it: Tim was going to lose this motion.
“As I said, Ms. Yardley had the warrant signed by this court, and she entered the home first. She was already there, so she went in with the warrant, as there was a likelihood evidence could be destroyed if she waited for Mr. Paul’s permission. My partner, Oscar Ortiz, and myself arrived not long afterward. We heard voices coming from the bathroom.”
“What did you do then?”
“I went in and saw Ms. Yardley standing in the bathtub with Mr. Paul standing in front of her.”
“How did Ms. Yardley appear?”
“Terrified. She was trembling. She had her firearm, a weapon registered to her that she later informed me she had in her purse, out. It was pointed at Mr. Paul.”
“What was Mr. Paul doing?”
“He was threatening her.”
“Objection,” Wesley said. “Your Honor, hearsay. Mr. Baldwin heard no threat and is quoting Ms. Yardley.”
The judge looked at Tim, who said, “Did you hear a threat?”
“Did I personally hear it, no. But I could tell from Ms. Yardley’s demeanor that she was terrified.”
“What happened then?” Tim said.
“I drew my firearm and told Mr. Paul to release his grip on the weapon. His hand had come up on the muzzle of Ms. Yardley’s weapon. He released the weapon and put his hands behind his head. Agent Ortiz then effectuated an arrest.”
“Then what?”
“Mr. Paul was placed in a patrol car while a search of his condominium began. He was then transported down to the local Las Vegas Police Department station for interview.”
“Explain what happened then.”
Baldwin glanced once at Ortiz, who had his head down.
“We sat in an interview room with Mr. Paul. He informed me that he didn’t like me and wished only to speak to Agent Ortiz. So I left the room. He then asked to have the video recorder turned off, which Agent Ortiz did. Agent Ortiz then left the room and borrowed a digital recording device from the LVPD and reentered the room.”
“Could you see what was taking place in the room?”
“No. There were no windows.”
“What happened next?”
“We heard shouting, loud shouting, and then the crash of a chair on the floor. I rushed in and saw . . . I saw Agent Ortiz standing over Mr. Paul. Mr. Paul was cuffed to the desk and on his back.”
“What was Agent Ortiz doing?”
“He was striking him and shouting, ‘Where is she?’ Mr. Paul had informed him that—”
“Objection, Your Honor, hearsay.”
“Sustained.”
Baldwin cleared his throat and continued. “Mr. Paul had said something to upset Agent Ortiz, and Agent Ortiz assaulted him.”
“Did Mr. Paul say anything during the assault?”
“Yes. He stated that he had committed the murders and that there was a storage unit that contained various pieces of evidence of the murders.”
“Your Honor, I’d like to introduce the audio recording of Agent Ortiz and Mr. Paul’s interaction as the prosecution’s exhibit two.”
Tim was about to walk toward the clerk but stopped and looked at Wesley. Wesley nodded once and grinned.
The clerk played the recording over the speakers of the court. The blows sounded vicious. Like someone punching the back of a frying pan. Wesley begged for Ortiz to stop with all the passion of a man holding onto the ledge of a cliff and pleading to be saved. It was difficult even for Yardley to pick up that he was disingenuous.
She glanced to Tara. She sat perfectly still as she listened to the recording, glaring at Wesley’s back.
Tim then went into the specifics with Baldwin about how they would have found the storage unit even without the confession. It was a doctrine known as “inevitable discovery.” Inevitable discovery said the evidence should be allowed in since the police were going to obtain it anyway.
Tim spent an hour going through the details of the investigation and attempting to make logical links to how the evidence would have been discovered even if Wesley hadn’t confessed.
When he was through, he went into detail about the warrant. About the affidavit that Yardley had told, word for word, to Baldwin over the phone. Yardley knew how most warrants were deemed deceptive, and she knew how to exclude the language that would lead to that. Still, the evidence they’d had at the time was weak.
“Thank you, Agent Baldwin,” Tim finally said. “I tender the witness to Mr. Paul.”
52
Wesley strolled to the lectern. He had no notes with him. He simply watched Agent Baldwin awhile before saying, “How are we today, Agent Baldwin?”
“Fine. Thank you.”
“Mm-hmm.” He grinned at him and held his gaze. “I’d like to chat about inevitable discovery. A phrase Mr. Jeffries didn’t actually use during his direct examination. Do you know what inevitable discovery is, Agent Baldwin?”
“Yes.”
“And you gave the impression to this court that you would have eventually found the storage unit, correct? That it was inevitable?”
“Eventually we would have found it—yes.”
“Yes,” Wesley said, drawing out the s. “Could you please list the physical evidence pointing to a suspect that you had gathered in the—” He hesitated slightly, and Yardley was certain she was the only one in the courtroom that picked up on it. Wesley cleared his throat and continued. “In the Dark Casanova Junior slayings?”
“The physical evidence? We didn’t have any physical evidence pointing to a suspect.”
“No DNA from saliva or blood? Semen?”
“No.”
“Hair?”
“No.”
“Any fibers?”
“No.”
“Dirt, sand, paint?”
“No.”
“Any physical or trace evidence at all found at the Deans’, Olsens’, or Mileses’ home that matched a suspect or pointed you in the direction of a suspect?”
Baldwin had to swallow before he said, “No.”
“Well, then surely you must’ve had eyewitness evidence. Please list the witnesses to the Dean and Olsen murders and the Mileses’ home invasion.”
“We have Mr. Miles and his wife and children, of course. A neighbor, Mr. Cox, witnessed a man in an alarm company uniform inspecting the Mileses’ home a couple days before the attack. The alarm company confirmed that no one was scheduled to be out there at that time.”
“I see. And did you do a photographic lineup recently with this neighbor?”
“We did.”
“Did he identify me as the man in the alarm company uniform?”
Baldwin slowly shook his head. “He did not. He was elderly and easily confused. After ten or so minutes, I felt it would be counterproductive to have him continue.”
“Huh. Well, please list the other witnesses to these crimes.”
Wesley picked up a pen and a legal pad off the defense table and readied them in front of him on the lectern, as though he were going to have to make an exhaustive list.
“There was another neighbor of Mr. Miles, a Mrs. Colleen Boyle, but she said she couldn’t remember anything about the person other than that he was wearing an alarm company uniform.”
“I see. Anyone else?”
“No. There are no other witnesses.”
“The Mileses weren’t able to identify anybody?”
“No, the attacker was wearing a mask of some sort.”
Wesley cocked his head slightly to the side. “Why, Agent Baldwin, if I didn’t know better, I would say you didn’t have any physical or DNA evidence, you didn’t have any trace evidence, and you had no witnesses indicating a single suspect in these attacks before you arrested me for them, correct?”
> Baldwin said nothing.
“Your Honor, please direct the witness to answer.”
“Agent Baldwin, please answer Counsel’s question.”
“No, we didn’t have any of those things.”
“Actually that’s incorrect, is it not? Was there not a damaged hinge on a door at the Olsens’ home with markings around it on the frame?”
“There was.”
“Yes, I believe Ms. Yardley found that on a casual stroll through the home. You and the entirety of the FBI’s evidence response team must’ve been tired or hungover that night, I suppose.”
“Your Honor—” Tim said.
Wesley quickly said, “Would it be fair to say, then, the entirety of the case against me was built by Ms. Yardley?”
“She got the warrant that led to your condominium and the video, which led to your confession and the storage unit, so in a way, yes.”
“So the entire case is built on the confession, the storage unit, and Ms. Yardley’s eyewitness testimony of the video?”
“Yes.”
“If those did not exist, please list the evidence you and the prosecution would present to this court to evince my guilt.”
Baldwin bit down—Yardley could see his jaw muscles flex—and then he said, “There is none.”
“Thank you,” Wesley said with a smile. “Nothing further.”
53
“The prosecution would call Agent Oscar Ortiz to the stand.”
Ortiz rose and ambled to the stand. He was sworn in and sat down, taking a tissue and wiping his nose. His hair wasn’t done, his tie loose on his neck. It didn’t look like he had slept.
“Please tell us your background in law enforcement, Agent Ortiz.”
Yardley nearly winced.
Wesley stood up and said, “Your Honor, as much as I would prefer to be in this courtroom than back in a cell, there is no reason for this. My understanding is that Mr. Ortiz is going through a family emergency right now. I would request we get to the point and release him. I will stipulate qualifications, location, offense, venue, and date of these attacks, only for the purpose of this hearing, to speed matters along.”
“Mr. Jeffries, let’s get to it.”
Tim sighed and said, “What happened, Agent Ortiz?”
Ortiz glanced up at him and then back down to the floor. “We had . . . him, the defendant, in the interview room at the LVPD. He asked for Agent Baldwin to leave and said he wanted the camera turned off but that I could record it. Before I could start the audio recorder, he asked about my daughter, Emilia.”
“What did he say?”
“He said she was gone. That I should call home and ask. That I would find my wife waking up from a sedative. I called, and my wife checked upstairs.” He had to bite his lip. “Emilia was gone.”
“Do we know what happened?”
He shook his head. “My wife said she was in the shower and came out and fell asleep on the couch. She thinks something was in a drink she’d left out on the counter. A soda she was drinking before her shower.”
“What time was this?”
“Afternoon, around three.”
“Does she often take naps around three?”
“No. Never. She doesn’t like naps.”
“What happened then?”
Ortiz shifted in his seat. “She said the phone woke her up, me calling. Then she went upstairs, and the baby was just gone. The windows weren’t opened, the doors were locked . . . she was just gone.”
Tim established the timeline, showing that Wesley would’ve had time to stop at Ortiz’s house before going to his condominium to find Yardley. Ortiz wasn’t doing well. Several times Yardley noticed him shaking, and when he would glance at Wesley, the venom in his stare seemed to fill the room.
“So what happened in the interview room?” Tim finally said, his hands thrust in his pockets.
“I just . . . I lost it. I lost my temper. He had my daughter.” Tears came to his eyes. “My baby girl. She’s gotta be so scared. She’s all alone and doesn’t know what’s going on.” He stared at Wesley. “Just tell me where she is.”
The judge said, “Agent Ortiz, please dire—”
“Tell me where she is!”
Everyone in the courtroom focused on Ortiz because of his shouting, but Yardley watched Wesley. When he was certain no one else was looking, he winked at Ortiz.
Ortiz leapt over the witness box. He rushed Wesley like a linebacker. The marshals had been so focused on preventing Wesley from attacking anyone they weren’t prepared for a witness on the stand to.
Wesley leaned back, anticipating the blows, and closed his eyes as the first one came. The fist crashed into his cheek and sent him to the floor. Ortiz grabbed him by the jumpsuit and managed to get two more blows in before being tackled by the marshals and Baldwin.
Ortiz wept and screamed, “Emilia! Baby, no!” as the marshals hauled him back to the holding cells. “Where is she? Where is she?”
54
Dinner consisted of steaks and mashed potatoes at a restaurant near the court. Yardley sat next to Tara, and her grandparents sat across from them. Steven sensed that Yardley wanted to speak with her daughter privately, and he announced halfway through the meal that he was exhausted and they would take a cab home and meet them there.
“Nonsense,” Yardley said. “I’ll drive you.”
“No, it’s fine,” Steven said with a glance to Tara.
Yardley gave him a melancholic grin, letting him know she appreciated what he was doing. They hugged their granddaughter and left.
The restaurant was quiet, a place for retirees to come for early bird specials and lunch buffets. The lighting was dim, and there were few windows. A country song played quietly over hidden speakers.
Tara absently forked her mashed potatoes but hadn’t taken a bite.
“Not hungry?” Yardley asked.
Tara set her fork down and looked up. “He’s going to win, isn’t he?”
Yardley was about to tell her no, that they would find a way to convict him, that she was safe, but Tara wasn’t a child anymore. Not really. The most painful realization Yardley had to make was that she couldn’t protect her little girl from the world any longer.
“Yes, he is.”
“When he gets out, he’s going to come after us. I can tell. I read about malignant narcissism last night. He thinks that other people aren’t worthy to be around him. That we’re all just here for him to play with.”
“He’s . . . unique. He has traits of malignant narcissism, but he also worships—” She almost said your father but managed to stop herself. “He worships Eddie Cal. I think he would do anything Eddie told him to. It’s a difficult balance to be a narcissist and still know you’re entirely under the sway of someone else.”
“I want to see him. I want to see Eddie Cal.”
It felt like Yardley’s blood froze in an instant. “No.”
“He’s my father.”
“So what? What does that word even mean? Just because you have a genetic link—”
“Mom,” she said gently, her eyes gazing into Yardley’s, “he’s my father.”
Yardley stayed quiet a long while. “Yes, he is.”
“I want to see him. He might be able to help you if you give him what he wants.”
“Tara, you don’t have to do this. Whatever else is going on with all this, you will be safe. No matter what happens.”
Tara picked up her fork and began playing with her mashed potatoes again. “I think that’s the first time you’ve ever lied to me.”
At home, Yardley made sure that Tara was settled in her bedroom and the Cals were comfortable. Then she changed into jeans and a sweatshirt and left.
The hospital was clean and lit well. It took a call to the supervisor of the two marshals guarding Wesley’s room for her to be allowed inside by herself.
Wesley lay on a hospital bed, watching a symphony on television. He saw her, and a smile came to him before he clicked
off the sound and motioned with his head toward a stool near the sink. Yardley sat a few feet away from him.
“I think he fractured my cheek. That gentleman can hit.” He grinned at her and said, “Please remove the digital recorder and put your purse outside of the room.”
Yardley hesitated a moment and then did as he asked.
“Pockets?” he said.
She showed him her pockets were empty.
“Bra and underwear.”
“No.”
He shrugged. “Then have a nice night.”
A deep breath escaped her, and she showed him underneath her bra and lowered her jeans, running her hands along her underwear, showing she wasn’t wearing a microphone or any other digital recorders.
“I’d get anything I said suppressed anyway. Would you like a soda? I can have the nurse bring you one.”
“I’m fine. Thank you.”
He watched her a long time. “Lord, you’re beautiful. It stuns me every time. Almost like I forget.”
Yardley had to swallow her revulsion. He reminded her now of a slick lizard, licking the air around him, and it seemed shocking that she would ever have let him into her home.
Hindsight has the power to make us feel like fools, she thought.
He turned back to the television. “You want to ask where Emilia is, correct? Beg for her life?” He looked at her again. “Well? Beg.”
“I won’t beg you for anything. You find it . . . amusing.”
“Amusing is what I have now, Jessica.”
“I’m assuming when you win this motion hearing, you’ll be gone. Out of the country?”
He grinned but said nothing.
“Can I also assume that there won’t be any retribution toward me or Tara before you leave?”
“Depends how nice to me you are during this whole proceeding.”
She leaned forward. “Tell me where the girl is, Wesley. There’s no reason to keep her anymore. You know you’re going to win and we’ll have to dismiss. Why keep her from her parents?” She swallowed. “Let them bury their child. The not knowing what happened, it’ll eat them alive the rest of their lives.”
“I know. Isn’t it delicious? The gift that keeps on giving.”
A Killer's Wife (Desert Plains) Page 19
