It’d been a long time since Yardley had seen the inside of a state district court. The atmosphere felt frantic. In federal court, she typically had only her case slotted for a particular time, but in state court, the entire court calendar was packed into the morning or afternoon session, and the gallery overflowed with people. Attorneys at the lectern quickly told the judge what they needed, and a lot of the time the judges set dates or said yes or no without looking up from whatever documents they were signing.
Yardley took her place on the bench behind the prosecution table, where two prosecutors sat with files spread out in front of them. A man was at the lectern with his attorney, pleading guilty to carjacking and fleeing from a law enforcement officer. The plea took less than four minutes, and then the next case was called.
Yardley saw Aster hurry in a few minutes late, still putting on his suit coat. He came over and crouched in front of her.
“He’s innocent.”
“They’re all innocent, Dylan. Didn’t you know?”
“Yeah, but I think he’s really innocent.”
“I disagree.”
“Jess, none of this makes any sense. He kills his lover and tries to kill his girlfriend and then keeps all the evidence in his garage? Maybe if he’s got a fifty IQ, but not a freaking doctor who would’ve planned this for weeks or even months.”
“Maybe he wanted to get caught.”
“Jess, come on.”
“If it helps ease your conscience, I don’t think he acted alone.”
He grimaced. “What’s the motive? There’s no life insurance; there’s no indication they were having relationship issues or that the guy is violent or anything. Why do it?”
“Ask him.”
“Come on, don’t be like that. Really, what’s the motive?”
“What was Ted Bundy’s motive, Dylan? What was BTK’s motive? They killed strangers and no money was involved. They did it because they enjoyed it.”
“You’re comparing him to Ted Bundy? Good luck saying that with a straight face to the jury.”
“So I take it he’s not interested in a plea deal?”
“I don’t know. Maybe manslaughter.”
“I’ll pass, but murder two with life and the possibility of parole in thirty years might be an option.”
“Pass.”
“Well, we’ll see if you stick to that as the trial gets closer.”
The clerk called out, “The matter of the State of Nevada versus Michael Jacob Zachary, case number 14923A.”
Aster went up to the lectern, and Zachary was brought out of the holding cells in back by a bailiff. He wore a white jumpsuit and had thick cuffs around his wrists. Yardley stood and went to the jury box, leaning against it as the judge opened the file. Her phone buzzed, and she sent it to voice mail.
“Dylan Aster for Mr. Zachary.”
“Jessica Yardley for the State.”
“What are we doing here, Counselors?” the judge said without looking up from the file.
Aster said, “Waive reading and ask for a preliminary hearing date, Your Honor.”
“Next Monday work for everyone?”
“Should be fine.”
Yardley glanced at Zachary, who was staring at her. “That works, thank you.”
Aster whispered something to Zachary before he was led away by the bailiff. As Zachary passed by Yardley, he said, “I didn’t do this, Jessica. You know I didn’t.”
The bailiff barked at him to not speak. Yardley left the courtroom, and Aster followed her.
“I don’t think he had help,” Aster said as they headed to the elevators. “I think someone else did all this and put those things in his garage.”
“Who?”
“Tucker Pharr, who you guys almost arrested for this anyway.”
“I agree. If Zachary wanted help getting rid of his girlfriend and his lover, who better than the husband of his lover, who also wants to get rid of her? And if Tucker was the one who tried to kill Angela, it would make perfect sense that he might get the dose of ricin wrong. Where we differ is that I think they were working together.”
“You think they each agreed to kill for each other? That’s stretching, Jess. No jury is going to buy that. And why pose them and go through all that nonsense? Just shoot ’em in the middle of the night and leave them in the street.”
Yardley stepped onto the elevator. “I disagree, Dylan. Show me more and I’ll hear you out, but as of right now I’m going forward.”
She stared at her reflection in the chrome as the elevator doors closed. The possibility that she was wrong, that Zachary had nothing to do with this, weighed on her. Sometimes, when she was prosecuting someone who could potentially be innocent, she would get physically ill. As though her immune system were weakened along with her resolve. She didn’t feel that here, though. She felt justified going forward, even if a feeling in the pit of her stomach told her to keep digging.
Her phone buzzed, telling her that she had a voice mail she hadn’t checked. It was River. Yardley listened to it, and a shot of adrenaline coursed through her.
When the elevator stopped, she rushed to her car.
46
Yardley came to a quick stop in front of Angela River’s home. She hopped out and hurried to the front door. It was unlocked.
Inside, the home was still and quiet. The air conditioner wasn’t on, and the air was muggy. Sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
“Angie?”
A faint voice replied, “I’m in the bedroom.”
Yardley hurried toward her.
River lay on the massive bed. Several amber bottles of medication were scattered on the duvet, and an empty bottle of red wine sat on the nightstand. Yardley read the labels on the medicines. Antianxiety meds, tranquilizers, and an antidepressant. The only one that worried her was the tranquilizer.
“Did you mix this with alcohol?”
River’s eyes were red and puffy. Used tissues were wadded up on the nightstand.
“I only took a few.”
“How many?”
“Just a few.”
“Get up. We’re going to the ER.”
River gently took her wrist. “No, it really was just a few. I can take six of those in a day, and I only took a few. I drank most of the wine last night.”
Yardley watched her a second and then sat down. “Your message said you didn’t know how much more you could take. I thought you were going to do something stupid, Angie.”
“I thought about it, but I called you instead. Maybe I’m just a coward, I don’t know. I’m sorry I bugged you.”
“Don’t be sorry.”
River closed her eyes and shook her head. “Life seems like it’s just one shit storm after another. It never lets up.”
Yardley put her hand over River’s, and they sat in silence a long while.
“Well, at least I can keep all the old records we have when Zachary’s in prison. Guess he won’t be needing Hall & Oates Live.”
Yardley grinned. “No, he won’t.”
She sniffed and took another tissue before sitting up in bed and pulling back her hair. “I bet I look like shit warmed over right now.”
“Well, I didn’t want to say anything, but Animal from The Muppets came to mind when I saw your hair.”
River chuckled. She rose and looked in the mirror above the dresser. “Think maybe I should start playing the drums?”
“Never too late to change careers.”
River turned to face her, letting out a deep breath. “Thank you for coming here. I, um, don’t have any other friends.”
Yardley picked up an empty bottle of medication off the floor and put it on the nightstand. “Neither do I.”
Five days later the preliminary hearing got underway. Many attorneys thought of preliminary hearings as minitrials, with evidence presented and testimony given, but a growing trend had been for prosecutors to submit what were called 1102 statements in lieu of testimony, robbing the defen
se of the chance to cross-examine witnesses before trial.
Yardley had brought 1102 statements from Baldwin, Detective Garrett, the assistant medical examiner, Angela River, a forensic toxicologist with the Centers for Disease Control, an investigator with the Department of Homeland Security discussing the ricin, the neighbor who had made the initial call on River’s case, and the real estate agent who had found Kathy Pharr’s body. Several statements from people tangentially involved were included in case the judge had any specific questions the other statements didn’t address.
Yardley sat at the prosecution table until the judge came out. The courtroom still held the scent of lemon disinfectant from last night’s cleaning.
Judge Harvey W. Weston was an older judge close to retirement. Yardley had asked around at the DA’s Office about him, and the consensus seemed to be that he didn’t have a pleasant demeanor but didn’t have an unpleasant one either. Many prosecutors said he tended to rule randomly, one day favoring the defense and the next favoring the prosecution without much regard to the actual arguments.
Judge Weston groaned as he lowered himself into his chair and said, “Please be seated.” He booted up his computer. “Who’s first?”
The clerk, a young man Yardley had never seen before, said, “State of Nevada versus Michael Jacob Zachary, case 14923A. Set today for preliminary hearing.”
The attorneys introduced themselves for the record, and then the judge said, “Ms. Yardley, go ahead.”
“May I approach, Your Honor?”
“Certainly.”
She went to the clerk and handed him a stack of documents, a stack she had scanned and emailed to Aster days ago.
“The State would like to introduce the following 1102 statements marked as prosecution exhibits one through eighteen in place of live testimony.”
“Mr. Aster, what say you?”
“I would certainly object, Your Honor.”
“Of course you would,” he said.
“I’m sorry?”
“I said, ‘Of course you would.’ Go on, though, tell me what you’re dying to tell me.”
Aster glanced at Yardley, then said, “This is an obvious attempt by the State to get around the Kimball ruling that gives the defense a meaningful opportunity to challenge the State’s assertion of probable cause. I can understand one or two . . . I’m sorry, did you just roll your eyes, Your Honor?”
“No, keep going. Let’s just get through this.”
Aster hesitated, gazing at Weston as Weston gazed back.
“As I was saying, the Ninth Circuit in Kimball looked at the issue of whether 1102 statements provided an adequate opportunity for the defense to fully challenge probable cause in a criminal proceeding. What they found was that while 1102s are perfectly acceptable for instances . . . Your Honor, that time was definitely an eye roll.”
“It wasn’t. Now, do you want a ruling or not?”
“Well, yes, but I’d like a proper ruling based on what the Ninth Circuit—”
“Ninth Circuit’s a bunch of pot-smokin’ hippies. Don’t know how the hell we didn’t end up in the Tenth. You tell me that, Mr. Aster. How exactly is Nevada so similar to Hawaii and California that we should be grouped with their jurisprudence rather than Utah and Colorado? Can you answer me that?”
Aster looked at Yardley, who gave a little shrug.
“No, Your Honor, I couldn’t say. But I would like to talk about the matter at hand.”
The judge grumbled something and said, “Ms. Yardley. Your take on Kimball.”
“In Kimball, the Court stated that it was a unique circumstance applicable only very rarely. Essentially, they didn’t know if the confrontation clause had been violated because the State couldn’t be certain they had the right person, namely because the defendant had an identical twin. Whereas here, Mr. Zachary was caught, to put it mildly, with his hand in the cookie jar and has no twin. The confrontation clause is not an issue here based on prevailing caselaw dealing with 1102s, and there is no doubt probable cause will be found.”
“Frankly, Judge, that’s not up to her to say. That’s for you to decide.”
“It is, and I find these statements to be sufficiently reliable and trustworthy in lieu of live testimony. I will admit all—”
“Your Honor, that’s ridiculous. You haven’t even read them yet; how can you possibly know they’re sufficiently reliable and trustworthy?”
The judge’s face went stern. “I have known Detective Garrett since you were in grade school, Mr. Aster, and Cason Baldwin appears to be an instructor at the FBI Academy in addition to a nearly fifteen-year field agent. If I can’t credit their sworn affidavits as reliable and trustworthy, then whose can I? Now, please don’t interrupt me again.”
The two of them stared at each other in silence. The anger Aster was holding back was evident in his face, but he said nothing.
Weston said, “I’m admitting all eighteen statements and will take an hour break to read them and determine if they constitute sufficient probable cause to bind the defendant over for trial. Unless you have anything you’d like to present to the Court, Mr. Aster.”
“No, Your Honor.”
“Then we’re adjourned for an hour.”
Yardley watched as Zachary was taken back to the holding cells. He kept looking at the gallery, but Yardley knew River wasn’t there. She wouldn’t be coming to any more of his hearings.
“Cheap shot, taking away my prelim,” Aster said.
Yardley lifted her satchel. “Why? Because you don’t get to look at my cards before we bet?”
“Hey, don’t hate the player, hate the game. Our system gives me prelims for a reason. And it’s not so he can speed-read through affidavits and then just agree with you. If he even reads them at all. I’ll bet you he just watches YouTube back there for an hour.”
“Do you have any doubt that I would’ve won the prelim?”
“No.”
“Then what are you complaining about?”
“That’s not the point. The process has to be respected, Jess.”
“I know it does. No one in this courtroom is more aware of that than me. But the courts have given me the ability to get this nonsense out of the way so we can get to a trial. That’s what you want anyway, isn’t it? To get in front of a jury?”
“I’m just saying,” Aster said, “you play fair and I’ll play fair. You’re one of my favorite prosecutors, and you’ve got a good rep, but you start pulling shit like this, and maybe I gotta not play fair.”
“You do whatever you have to do to defend your client, Dylan. I promise I won’t take it personally. But don’t think I won’t use every avenue the law gives me to make sure he doesn’t get out and get a second chance at Angie.”
They stared at each other a moment, and then Aster grinned, as though he’d just come to understand something he’d been puzzling over.
“I saw you two in court at the grand jury. That wasn’t just prosecutor/victim, was it? You held her hand through the entire thing.”
“She was frightened.”
“They’re all frightened. Is that why you’re fighting so hard on this, Jess? You’re buddies with the girlfriend, so you’ll do anything to make sure he gets a life sentence? Whether he’s guilty or not?”
Yardley stepped close to him so they were nearly face to face. “I like you, Dylan. But if you ever question my integrity again, I will make sure you regret it.”
He chuckled. “That might be worth it just to see what you’d do.” He took a few steps back to leave and said, “We’ll still take manslaughter whenever you’re ready to offer it.”
“Ms. Yardley?” the clerk said from behind her.
“Yes?”
“Sorry, I forgot to ask. Do you know how many pretrial motions you and Mr. Aster are anticipating? I’d like to give you a special setting before the calendar fills. If the judge binds over, of course.”
“Nothing from me, but I have a feeling you better set aside as much time
as you can.” She looked at Aster. “I don’t think Mr. Aster is going to let this case move forward without a battle on every issue.”
Weston came back an hour later and declared that there was enough evidence to bind the case over for trial. Michael Zachary was officially arraigned and entered not guilty pleas. Aster requested the case be set for a motion hearing challenging the search warrant that led to the evidence in the garage, saying it was deceptive and should not have been granted. The hearing was set for eight days from today. Yardley objected and asked for more time.
“I have to respond to whatever motion Mr. Aster files, and he has five days to do it, leaving me three to draft a response and prepare my arguments.”
“What can I say?” Weston said. “Life kicks you in the nuts, and then you die. Next matter.”
Aster leaned over to her and whispered, “Don’t feel so nice when the idiocy gun is pointed at you, does it?”
She said nothing as she took her satchel and left the courtroom.
47
Aster and Ricci parked in the strip mall parking lot and got out of the truck. Customers from a marijuana dispensary took up most of the spaces, but at the end of the first row were a couple of spots reserved for a retail space that didn’t have any signage up.
Anyone at the door had to be buzzed in. Aster knocked on the glass. A tall man with a smooth bald head and a suit came to the door.
“Sweet Mary,” he said as he opened the door. “You buying your suits at the grocery store now?”
“Comfort first,” Aster said.
“Well, get your comfortable ass in here before my neighbors see that ugly thing.”
Aster sat on a couch across from a massive oak desk, and Ricci sat next to him. Brody Hanks groaned as he sat in his executive chair and said, “Damn knees. Hate getting older. Anyway, you ain’t here to listen to me complain.” He took a thumb drive out of a drawer in his desk and tossed it to Aster. “Agent Baldwin seems clean. Found a few too many OxyContin prescriptions going back a few years, but you didn’t hear that from me. Could lose my license for knowing that. The HIPAA people live for that shit.”
Crimson Lake Road (Desert Plains) Page 19
