Final Judgment

by Marcia Clark

  I shooed him out. “By all means, get back to work. I could use some new clients.”

  I told Dale to close the door behind him. I needed to think about the possibility that Niko had killed both Bryan and Tanner. I wished it’d never occurred to me, but now that it had, I knew it’d be stuck in my brain until I found evidence to disprove it.

  I agreed with Dale. Niko didn’t seem the type to plot a murder just so he could use the victim as an alibi. But he wouldn’t have killed Tanner just to set up his alibi. He had a pretty solid reason to want to kill Tanner regardless. I wasn’t sure what to think. Ordinarily, I trust my gut in situations like this. But that wouldn’t work now. I was too invested in believing—and proving—Niko’s innocence.

  I rubbed my face. All this ruminating on possibilities was driving me nuts. And getting me nowhere. Until Alex dug up some dirt we could use to identify another suspect, there was no point in these mental gymnastics. The intercom on my phone buzzed.

  It was Michy. “You know you have a two o’clock in Department 118, right?”

  I did? Oh wait. “Yeah, the Stuart case. I’m all packed up.” I wasn’t.

  “And you have to go talk to Angelo afterward. Remember?”

  No. I didn’t. “Of course I remember. I should get out of court in time to make visiting hours.”

  Michy sighed. “You’re not packed, and you didn’t remember shit.”

  It was my turn to sigh. “True and true.” Honestly, I don’t know why I even try to fool her. It never works.

  She gave a mild snort. “Someday you’ll learn.”

  I fished through my briefcase. “Unlikely.”

  I pulled out my iPad, made sure it was up to date with all the files on the Stuart case, and headed out. As I drove downtown, it worried me that I’d been so preoccupied with Niko that I’d forgotten my entire calendar for the day. I needed to get a grip.

  I got stuck in traffic and wound up running all the way to the courthouse from the parking structure. I was still out of breath when I flew into court. And I was ten minutes late. Ordinarily, ten minutes is an acceptable grace period. But Judge Rafter doesn’t do late. Not even one minute. I slid into a seat in the back row and prayed he wouldn’t notice.

  He was busy imposing a truly impressive sentence on a forties-ish female defendant who was bursting out of her orange jumpsuit. The judge was on the twelfth count of identity theft and still going strong. But he paused and zeroed in on me. “Just so you know, Ms. Brinkman, I saw you sneak in. You were ten minutes late. So make yourself comfortable. You’re going to be here awhile.”

  Shit, shit, shit! I was doomed. Now I’d never make it to Twin Towers in time to see Angelo. I was due to meet with the D.A. and his investigating officer—the primary detective on the case—tomorrow, and I needed to be able to tell them what kind of information Angelo had for them. But I knew better than to let on that this was really screwing me. I gave the judge a weak smile. “No problem. Always a pleasure to spend time with you, Your Honor.”

  The judge dismissed me with a look and went back to the sentencing. When he got to count twenty, he asked his clerk, “How many years is that so far?”

  The clerk peered at his computer. “Seventeen years and four months.”

  Judge Rafter nodded and continued. By the time he got to the last count, the total tally was thirty-five years and eight months. The defendant swayed against her lawyer—a young guy I didn’t recognize. I saw him whisper something to her. Probably telling her to look on the bright side—she’d be eligible for Medicare by the time she got out.

  Judge Rafter apparently took these financial missteps seriously. This did not bode well for my client, Jamie Stuart—who happened to be charged with ten counts of credit card fraud. I’d been hoping to make a deal for straight probation. Now I figured I’d be lucky to keep him off death row.

  As they took her away, Judge Rafter called the next case. The clerk spoke in a nervous voice. “Counsel called to say she’s been held up in another court and can’t get here for another hour.”

  The judge huffed and called the next case. No one responded. He glared at his clerk. “I thought counsel had checked in.”

  The clerk’s voice actually shook this time. “He did. I d-don’t know what happened to him.”

  Judge Rafter, a look of utter disgust on his face, motioned for me to step up to counsel table. “I hate to reward you for tardy behavior, but it seems I have no choice.” He turned to the bailiff. “Bring out Mr. Stuart.”

  As the bailiff went into lockup, I moved toward the prosecutor. “You don’t want to take this thing to trial. Neither do I. How about time served, community service, and three years’ probation?”

  He gave a menacing chuckle. “Sounds okay to me. I hate paper cases. But I’m not your problem.” He glanced up at the judge. “He is. Good luck with Judge Raptor. You saw that sentencing?” I nodded. “I offered to let her plead to three counts and do a total of seven years. Still not exactly a walk in the park. Our buddy up there on the bench called me a dump truck and threatened to report me to my head deputy if I didn’t rescind the offer. I wound up having to take the case to trial just to save my neck.”

  That meant Jamie Stuart and I were in some very deep manure. The last time we’d talked, he’d said he wouldn’t take any deal that involved more jail time. That goal now seemed—to put it mildly—unrealistic. And it wasn’t as though I had some great defense. The case was pretty close to a slam dunk for the prosecution—as paper cases often are. The evidence is all there in black and white. But judges are usually willing to go a little easier on these cases simply because no one got maimed or killed. Clearly, this judge didn’t subscribe to that philosophy.

  I sighed. “Okay, give me a month to come up with something creative.” And give Alex a chance to find something in Jamie’s life story that’d soften up “Judge Raptor.”

  The prosecutor agreed to give me a month. “But if we don’t have a deal by then, we’ll have to go to trial.” He tilted his head toward the judge. “Our fearless leader doesn’t like continuances.”

  I nodded. “Sounds about right.” The bailiff brought Jamie out of lockup. I leaned toward him and hissed, “We’re going to continue your case—”

  Jamie was irritated. “What? Why? You said you’d have me out by today.”

  I never said any such thing. To any client. Ever. For exactly this reason. But this was neither the time nor the place to argue. I whispered, “I’ll explain later. For now, just waive time and act respectful.”

  Jamie wasn’t the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but he couldn’t miss the dire note of warning in my voice. He reluctantly nodded, and we set the next pretrial date a month out. I left court thinking Alex would have to dig deeper than usual for something that’d persuade Judge Raptor to let Jamie out before the Rapture.

  I hurried out of court and walked the two blocks to the Twin Towers jail, where Angelo Lopez was housed. But when I gave my name and said I was there to see him, the deputy shook his head. “Lopez doesn’t want to see you.”

  What the . . . ? “Did he say why?”

  The deputy shook his head. “Just said he wasn’t coming out.”

  I didn’t like what I was hearing—and not just because it meant I’d have nothing to barter with to get him a deal. When I got back to my car, I pulled out my phone and called Alex. I told him that Angelo wouldn’t talk to me. “Someone’s threatening him, I’m sure of it. But can you take a run at him and find out?” Angelo didn’t know Alex. Maybe when he saw the name Alex Medrano on his visitor list, he’d be curious enough to come out. Or be too afraid to refuse, because the name Medrano might sound like someone who was in league with the guys who’d been threatening him.

  Alex agreed. “Want me to come down now?”

  “No. I don’t want to tip off that you might be part of my operation. Wait until tomorrow.” My phone beeped, signaling that I was getting another call. I told Alex I was on my way back to the office, then looked
at my phone screen. It was Dale.

  His voice was low. “Michelle said you were in court downtown. Are you still there?” I told him I was in the parking lot on Temple. “Meet me at Ocho.”

  Ocho—the restaurant, not the number—was a casual little Mexican grill joint near the Disney Concert Hall on Grand Avenue, just a few blocks away. Something was up—and by the sound of his voice, it was big. “Am I going to love or hate what you’re going to tell me?”

  He dodged the question. “I’ll see you in ten.”

  I sighed and ended the call. As much as I respected his paranoia about phones, it really got on my nerves when he refused to even give me a hint about what was coming. But I knew it must have something to do with Niko, and my anxiety immediately kicked into overdrive.

  Ordinarily, I would’ve made the uphill hike on foot, but I was wearing heels, and I didn’t want to waste the time. I drove to the Disney Center and valeted my car—an expense I don’t usually allow myself. When I got to the restaurant, I found Dale seated at one of the two-top high tables near the wall. I climbed onto the chair across from him. “I don’t blame you for being, uh . . . overly careful about talking on the phone, but is this really necessary?”

  He glanced around the restaurant, then looked me in the eye. “I’m sorry. I feel like this is all my fault. I should’ve checked him out when you first started dating.”

  I stared at him as my heart started to pound. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “Kingsford dug up Niko’s history. Ten years ago, when he was staying in Chicago, he got into a bar fight. Almost killed the guy.”

  No. That couldn’t be. I dropped my hands into my lap and felt my fingernails dig into my palms. “Are they sure it was Niko?”

  Dale nodded, his expression grim. “He never told you.”

  I closed my eyes for a moment. “No.” Why hadn’t he? I stared out the window and tried to calm down enough to think. “Did he do any time?”

  “That’s the good news. The case never got filed. The cops and the D.A. said it was self-defense.”

  Actually, that was very good news. But I knew there was more. “What’s the bad news?”

  Dale took another glance around the restaurant, then met my gaze. “The blow that almost killed the guy? Was a chop to the neck.”

  I took a moment to absorb the shock. “Like the one that killed Bryan.”

  Dale gave a short nod. “Internal decapitation.”

  I felt like an anchor was attached to my heart. It wasn’t just that the MO was the same; it was that Niko had said he’d never used the move.

  He’d lied. Again.

  TWENTY

  I was upset on so many levels. As I snaked my way back to the office through rush-hour traffic, I couldn’t stop thinking about what this meant. The cops didn’t have enough to make an arrest . . . yet. But it was one thing for Niko to forget that he’d had a glass of wine with Tanner the night he disappeared. It was quite another to “forget” that he’d almost killed a man—by using the same move that’d killed Bryan. This time, Niko had really tightened the noose around his own neck.

  And what got to me even more was the fact that he’d lied to me. I thought about how I’d approach this with him. As I rejected one idea after another, I realized there was no elegant way to do this. And honestly, I wasn’t sure I cared. I was hurt and pissed off. If he didn’t tell me about that bar fight in Chicago, then he obviously didn’t trust me. So why should I trust him? Or worry about how he’d feel when I confronted him?

  So I decided to just hit him between the eyes with it. I had no idea what he’d say. Maybe more to the point, I wasn’t sure it’d matter what he said. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed like this might actually be the end of us. I was surprised at how painful that realization was.

  I was in one sad, dark mood when I got back to the office. Alex was sitting on the edge of Michy’s desk, showing her a YouTube clip on his iPad that had them both laughing. It’s a measure of just how messed up I was that Alex took one look at me and shut it down.

  Michy was immediately worried. “What’s wrong, Sam? What happened?”

  I filled them in on the latest news about Niko. “I can’t believe he didn’t tell me.” I felt tears sting my eyes and blinked them back. “I mean, who is this guy? Definitely not who I thought he was.”

  Michy looked pensive. “I agree, it’s not cool that he didn’t tell you about that bar fight given what’s going on right now. But I do get why he didn’t tell you before. Don’t you?”

  Not really. “He was completely absolved. They never even filed charges. So why not tell me?”

  Alex spoke gently. “Because it’s embarrassing. Just because he didn’t get tagged by ‘The Man’ doesn’t mean he’s cool with it. Niko’s not a brawler—”

  I interrupted. “How do you know?”

  Alex continued. “He’s an artist. It’s obvious.”

  Michy knew this was exactly the kind of thing that would make me cut and run. She gave me a pointed look. “No, do not do this. We all have secrets.” She knew more of mine than anyone else, but she was well aware she didn’t know them all. “You have to give him a chance to explain.”

  I sighed. “Of course.”

  Michy raised an eyebrow. “No. I mean a real chance. The kind where you listen with an open mind. Not your usual kind, where you let him talk so you can pick out the inconsistencies and throw them in his face.”

  I was annoyed. “Since when do I do that?”

  Michy and Alex replied in unison. “Always.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Whatever.” I headed for my office. “Guess I’ll go dig up someone to grill.” I glared at the two of them. “Since that’s what I always do.”

  I went into my office and closed the door. But I couldn’t bear to turn on my computer. Worn out by my sadness and anger, I sat at my desk and stared dully at the black screen. After a few minutes, I gave up. I went over to the couch and flopped down, one arm over my eyes.

  There was a soft knock on the door; then Michy said, “It’s me, put down the gun.”

  She came in and sat down next to me. “I know you think it’s over for you guys.”

  I dropped my arm and half sat up. “Well, don’t you? How do we get past this?”

  Michy looked at me with sympathy. “By talking and listening. That’s what people in healthy relationships do.”

  I gave her a deadpan look. “Since when have I been involved in anything healthy?”

  Michy didn’t take the bait. She answered sincerely. “Since you’ve been with Niko.”

  “I really set you up for that one, didn’t I?”

  A little smile played on her lips. “Kind of.” She continued on a more serious note. “You should go talk to Niko. Hear him out. A hundred bucks says you’ll see things differently once he’s had a chance to explain.”

  I sat all the way up. We made bets all the time. Usually for twenty dollars or less. “A hundred? For real?” Michy nodded. I held out my hand. “We’d better shake on this one. ’Cause I’m going to collect. No backsies.”

  Michy took my hand. “Fine. I’m happy to take your money. And I want a crisp hundie. No twenties.” We shook. She went over to my desk, fished my cell phone out of my purse, and dropped it in my lap. “Here. Call him.”

  I stared at the phone. I was feeling a little better after Michy’s pep talk, but I didn’t trust my voice. What if he answered?

  Michy folded her arms. “Now.”

  “Okay, fine. I’ll text him.” Michy waited while I typed. I said I had news and that we needed to talk. I held up the phone and showed it to her. “Done.”

  She nodded and headed to the door. “Good. I hope he gets back to you soon, because you’re obviously not going to get a thing done until he does.”

  And with that, she walked out. I wished she weren’t right. I wished I could just put all this out of my head and dive into work. I guess the truth is, I wished I didn’t care so much. Luckily�
�or not, depending on how you look at it—Niko texted me back five minutes later, saying he’d be home in half an hour. He asked what I wanted for dinner. The honest answer would’ve been Tums. Or Pepto-Bismol. I just told him I’d be good with whatever he was in the mood for.

  I lay on the couch for a while longer and tried to tell myself I’d be okay without him. I’d been single for thirty-five years, and it’d worked out fine. I didn’t need a “real” relationship. Short-term was more my style anyway.

  But I guess deep down, though I’d never admitted it to myself, I’d always hoped I’d find my forever guy. And I’d let myself believe that guy might turn out to be Niko. If I had to break up with him tonight, I’d be losing more than just this relationship. I’d be losing a dream. Because I knew I’d never let myself get in this deep again. It was too painful.

  I finally dragged myself off the couch and went over to my desk, where I kept a mirror and some makeup in the bottom drawer. I took my time getting freshened up, fully aware that I was procrastinating. I looked at my phone. It was six o’clock. Niko had said he’d be home by now. It’d take me at least twenty minutes to get there at this time of day. I reluctantly packed up and left my office.

  I saw that Alex’s door was closed. I asked Michy, “Did he leave for the day?”

  She snorted. “This early? Of course not. He’s working on something related to Tanner; he didn’t say exactly what.” She took me in. “Nice touch-up job. I approve.”

  I gave her a wan smile. “Thanks.” I headed for the door.

  She said, “I want a full report by tomorrow morning. And don’t forget my hundie.”

  I waved without turning back. “I’ll take mine in twenties.”

  My stomach was in knots as I drove to Niko’s place. What could he possibly say that would make me want to stay with him? What little faith Michy had kindled in me flickered and died as I pulled into his driveway. There was no way this was going to end well.

  Niko answered the door looking particularly sexy—barefoot, in faded jeans and a black T-shirt. The smile on his face faded when he saw my expression. As I walked in, he said, “What’s wrong, Sam?”