The Cutline (An Alex Vane Media Thriller, Book 0)

by Fuller, A. C.

  * * *

  The courtroom was buzzing by the time Judge Butcher opened the session with a bang of the gavel at 8:30 sharp. Everyone was talking about Brittney Deerborn. Everyone had a theory but, as far as Alex could tell, no one had any facts. He’d chatted with a friend from The Post who had watched the complete CNN segment and they hadn’t reported anything that Alex hadn’t gotten from Bearon. All they knew—all anyone knew—was that she was back.

  Judge Butcher eyed the courtroom with his usual stone-faced boredom. Alex thought he was playing it cool. He had to know that everyone in the room was waiting to hear whether Deerborn would be allowed to testify, but he wasn’t letting on that anything was out of the ordinary, and the jury wasn’t present, which could mean only one thing. He was about to address the issue.

  Alex had tried to catch Joey’s eye a number of times, but she’d been huddled with her team until the moment Butcher took his seat. Now she sat staring straight ahead as Butcher explained the motion to add Deerborn to the witness list, which had been filed by the defense after court ended the previous day. Apparently, members of the defense’s legal team had located Ms. Deerborn over the weekend and had spent the whole day Monday interviewing her.

  When Butcher finished his summary, he asked Joey if she had any objections to the new witness.

  "I certainly do, your honor." Joey was in a bad spot. She had to argue that Deerborn should not be allowed to testify because she hadn’t been deposed. The problem was, Deerborn wasn’t a "surprise witness." She had been on the original list of witnesses the defense planned to call. It wasn’t their fault she couldn’t be located until now. "We object to the inclusion of this witness on several grounds."

  Butcher held up his hand. "Please, Ms. Bonner, don’t turn this into a con-law seminar. Just get to your best argument."

  Joey adjusted her skirt and cleared her throat. "Very well. In the case of Taylor v. Illinois, The Supreme Court clearly established that the rights of a defendant to offer witnesses in his own defense are not absolute."

  Dos Santos stood up, smirking. "Your honor, please. In Taylor v. Illinois, the defense willfully obstructed the deposition of witnesses by leaving them off the initial witness list. Is Ms. Bonner implying that some deception went on here?"

  Joey swallowed hard. Alex could read her reactions and he could tell she was fuming. But she put on a brave face. "Not at all, but we feel strongly that introducing a new, un-deposed witness at this late time violates the state’s right to full and complete discovery."

  Butcher ran a hand through his thick black hair. "Ms. Bonner, you know better than that. Taylor v. Illinois suggests that a trial court has to balance the defendant's interest in a robust defense with four interests of the state."

  Joey rarely let her emotions show in court, but she was clearly flummoxed. Alex watched the creamy skin on her neck grow blotchy, then bright red. She had opened herself up to this lecture and now she was going to have to listen to it.

  "First," Judge Butcher continued, "there’s the state's interest in efficient justice. Second, the state's interest in excluding evidence that lacks integrity. Third, the state's interest in a strong judicial authority with rules that are followed. And fourth, the prosecution’s interest in avoiding prejudice due to a defendant's discovery violation." He paused, thinking. "I see nothing in the defense’s request to add Ms. Deerborn as a witness that violates any of these interests. I’ll allow it."

  Joey said, "Your honor, then the prosecution requests a continuance. We request time to depose and prepare a rebuttal to Ms. Deerborn’s testimony." Joey was speaking with confidence now. She’d lost round one but she had a decent argument to win round two. "We request a one-week continuance."

  Dos Santos was up out of his seat before she’d gotten halfway through her sentence. "The Sixth Amendment, Your Honor."

  "Yes," Butcher said, "I’ve heard of it."

  Dos Santos continued, "Your honor, my client has the right to a speedy trial. The prosecution clearly wants to stall this as long as possible now that Ms. Deerborn has turned up and—"

  "Sir," Joey interjected, "we have no idea what she will say, where she was, whether she was tampered with. As far as I know, the NYPD is still looking for her and—"

  "Tampered with? Your honor, what is Ms. Bonner implying? I’m offended on behalf of my client, and myself."

  "We’ve had no time with this and—"

  "Sit down!” Butcher shouted. “Both of you."

  As they took their seats, Butcher stared down at the papers in front of him, twirling a loose curl behind his ear. "I’m going to bring out the jury in a moment, assuming Mr. Dos Santos is ready to call his next planned witness. I’m going to allow Ms. Deerborn to testify, but after today, I’m going to grant a forty-eight hour continuance, during which the prosecution will have the opportunity to depose Ms. Deerborn."

  He glared down at Diego Dos Santos. "If I hear that Ms. Bonner has not had the opportunity to depose Ms. Deerborn by Friday morning, I’m going to blame someone, Mr. Dos Santos. I think you know who. We’ll take a ten-minute recess before reconvening with the jury."

  He pounded the gavel and the crowd streamed out into the hallway. The reporters around Alex hurried to the exit to call editors or file stories. Alex strolled the hallways, hoping to run into Bearon, but couldn’t find him. He pulled out his phone to text him but, before he could, a new message popped up from a 917 number he didn’t recognize.

  Well, that didn’t go well. Any chance we can grab an early dinner after court? It’s Joey.

  Chapter 4

  Alex was on his second beer by the time she arrived, still dressed in her red skirt suit but now wearing a shimmering black overcoat. She pulled off her sunglasses and scanned the restaurant. She spotted him and Alex almost spilled his beer when she smiled.

  They’d settled on a small sushi place about six blocks from the courthouse and Alex had arrived early to get them a booth in the back where they wouldn’t be seen. The day in court had been long and droning, but nothing exceptional happened after the fireworks of the morning. Dos Santos had called two witnesses, both residents of the small apartment building above the street-level restaurant. Each witness had claimed to see Mendoza enter the restaurant, and each had testified that Mendoza hadn’t appeared upset or intoxicated. Each witness also claimed to have been awake at the time of Alvarado's death, yet neither had heard a sound, though of course this didn’t prove anything. Upon cross-examination, Joey had gotten the witnesses to admit that they hadn’t been in the restaurant, hadn’t seen Alvarado enter it, and hadn’t seen Mendoza leave.

  Joey handed her coat to the hostess like she’d just entered a grand ballroom, then eased into the booth across from Alex.

  "You’re late," he said.

  She flashed him a gleaming, sardonic smile. "You should feel lucky I’m here at all."

  Alex had been surprised but not shocked when she texted him. A one-on-one dinner with her was more than he could have dreamed possible a couple months ago, either from a personal or a professional perspective. And he still wasn’t sure which this was. But he was going to have to get used to the fact that this new job would change everything. On a boring day in court, he’d made it through the day on anticipation alone. "I was a little surprised when you texted me. Is this meeting business or personal?"

  The waiter was back and Joey took the opportunity to ignore his question. "Chirashi for two, please. Large hot sake, and a round of Asahi’s." She turned to Alex. "Do you like chirashi?"

  He had no idea what it was. He usually ordered rolls full of fried shrimp and other things he’d heard of. He said, "It’s the only thing I ever order."

  Joey smiled but said nothing as she pulled her Blackberry out of her purse. Alex watched her scroll. Her attitude toward him wavered from genuinely seductive to outright disinterested.

  He couldn’t get a read on her.

  She looked up when the waiter set down the drinks. "Sorry," she said, putting away
her phone. "This is the case that never ends."

  Alex poured two small cups of sake and they shot them back. They repeated this, then each took a long swig of beer.

  "Hot sake and cold beer," Alex said. "Not what I would’ve expected from a Bulldog." She seemed distracted and Alex decided to try a different angle. "So what are we doing here? I mean, I know I’m really cute but that can’t be why you wanted to have dinner with me."

  "You are cute. But you’re right. That’s not why we’re here."

  "Are you seeing anyone?" It was a dumb thing to ask, but Joey was throwing him off his game. Plus, he had found that he could get away with that particular dumb question nine times out of ten.

  "None of your business," she said, pouring another round of sake.

  Alex shot back the drink and felt his head get warm and light. "Then why are we here?"

  Joey leaned across the table, glanced behind her, then met Alex’s eyes. "We need to be way off the record here, okay?"

  "I assumed so. But please don’t try to tell me anything about how I need to cover Dos Santos more. We went through his past as best we could and—"

  "No, it’s not that. It’s Brittney Deerborn. We know what she’s going to say."

  She had Alex’s attention now. He sipped his beer without breaking eye contact and managed a noncommittal, "Okay."

  "And we’re off the record?"

  "Your name gets nowhere near anything." He said with conviction. There were many things Alex took lightly, but protecting his sources wasn’t one of them.

  She glanced around again and spoke in a half-whisper. "I can’t tell you how we know, but we know she was there at the time of the killing. We know she’s going to testify that Manny Mendoza wasn’t drunk or belligerent and that it was, in fact, Alvarado who instigated the fight. She’s also going to say that Alvarado grabbed her breasts before attacking Mendoza. The whole thing wasn’t just self defense. Woodrow was defending her against a sexual predator. At least that’s what she’s going to say." She closed her eyes and sighed. "Pour me another sake."

  Alex filled their cups and they drank.

  Joey’s sake cup made a loud thwack as she slapped it down on the table. "We also know that she’s lying her ass off."

  "I want to know how you know. But first I want to know why you are telling me this."

  "You could probably tell in court today, but this is bad for us. Bad for everyone. It’s going to get Mendoza off and he’s the scum of the earth."

  Alex refilled their cups. "You seemed pretty pissed."

  "Deerborn is going to lie and there’s nothing I can do about it. Detectives questioned the hell out of her today and she didn’t give an inch." She picked up her cup like she was going to throw back another shot of sake, but instead she sipped it slowly. "I can’t trust any other reporters right now, and I need to float a trial balloon."

  "Sure, but what’s the angle?"

  "We want to offer Mendoza a deal to end the trial. Involuntary manslaughter. One to two years. Maybe we can lock him up for six months. Then maybe we can get him on something else while he’s in. We’ve gotta get this asshole off the streets."

  The sushi arrived on a massive wooden platter shaped like a boat. Mounds of rice topped with black and white sesame seeds and thin slices of raw fish. Not the type of sushi he usually ordered, but he was going to have to learn to eat like someone who knew what he was doing. He reached for his chopsticks.

  "No," Joey said. "Let’s finish business first before we eat. Then we can…well…"

  Alex swallowed hard. This was turning into the best meeting of his life. "If you want me to run a story, I’m going to need more details. And something I can confirm with the other side."

  "Do you have sources there?"

  He didn’t, but if he got a good enough story from Joey to get their attention, he’d have sources within the defense by the end of the night. "Sure I do," he said.

  "Before the trial, we offered Mendoza second-degree murder, six to ten years. They wanted involuntary manslaughter, suspended sentence. Two years of probation. Of course, we pulled the offer off the table when the trial started. But tomorrow we’re gonna offer them the deal they wanted, except without the suspended sentence. It’s gonna hurt like hell but we have no other choice."

  "And my sources on the defense will confirm this?"

  "Well, they don’t know about the new offer, but they’ll confirm what I told you about the pre-trial negotiations."

  "Why do you want to float this?"

  "Honestly, we just need to gauge how badly the public will take it. It’s the best we can do but, if the outcry from the public is loud enough, I may have to go down with the ship on this one."

  Alex couldn’t think of anything wrong with the deal. If he could get someone on the defense team to confirm the pre-trial deal, he’d know she was telling the truth, and the defense would owe him a favor for feeding them some hints about the offer the day before it happened. Was he being used? Sure. But that’s what half of journalism was. He was using her in equal measure because, assuming no one else had this story, it would be his first major scoop since he got bumped up to lead court reporter.

  Alex smiled. "Okay."

  "Okay what?"

  "I’ll write it, but I need a quote or it’ll never get by my editor."

  "Baxton is a hard ass, from what I hear." She sipped her beer and said, "Call me ‘certain sources within the office of the prosecution’ and I’ll give you a quote."

  "How about I say I got it from the courthouse janitor? That sounds equally believable."

  "Fine. How about ‘a prosecution staffer who declined to be named’?"

  "Fine. But can we eat now? All this reporting has made me hungry."

  * * *

  An hour later they spilled out of the restaurant into the cool spring evening. Both were tipsy but not drunk because they’d slowed their drinking while eating, then finished off the meal with a green tea ice cream and two spoons.

  Joey slid on her coat and stepped to the curb, waving for a taxi. Alex watched her, not knowing whether he was supposed to follow.

  "I’ve gotta write this story," he called.

  "I thought you were the Golden Boy who files from anywhere. Can’t you write it in the taxi?"

  "Taxi, you mean…with you?"

  "Don’t get any ideas. I was just going to show you my high school basketball photos." Over dinner, they’d bonded over their fun but unimpressive high school basketball careers, which Alex had used as an opening to compliment how in-shape she was and fish for a similar compliment in return. He hadn’t gotten it, but he was becoming more and more sure that she wasn’t just using him to dangle her story in the public sphere.

  A taxi stopped in front of them, blocking traffic. Within seconds, cars were honking behind it. "Get in," Joey said. "Before there’s a riot."

  Alex slid in and Joey followed. "Corner of Madison and 41st," she said to the driver, who slammed on the gas like he’d just been released from the starting gate.

  "Midtown, huh? Makes sense. You seem like a midtown sort of woman."

  "What’s that supposed to mean?"

  "I’m not really sure. My friend Bearon told me once that prosecutors live on the East Side, defense attorneys on the West Side."

  She crossed her right leg over her left and pressed into him. "You’re not going to believe how cute I was in high school. Early-80s hair. Everything."

  "You really want me to believe that we’re going to your place so you can show me your high school basketball photos?" Alex asked, one eyebrow raised, his voice dripping with skepticism.

  "I do, but first don’t you need to call in the story?"

  Alex called Baxton and, after taking a couple minutes to convince him that he had a real story, he wrote it out loud, over the phone, inserting the quote he’d taken down from Joey and the confirmation he’d received on the record from Diego Dos Santos in between dinner and dessert.

  "Good work," Baxton said
. "You’re sure on these sources, right? There are no take backs at this level, son."

  Alex eyed Joey. "Oh I’m sure, Colonel.”

  Baxton started talking about how bright Alex’s future was, how if he’d just buckle down and take things a little more seriously, he could be a star within a couple years. But Alex had stopped listening.

  The taxi was gliding to a stop in front of Joey’s building and her hand was on his knee.

  Chapter 5

  They made love twice before speaking another word.

  It wasn’t that Alex hadn’t tried to talk. He had. But each time he tried she shook her head "no" and smiled. To Alex’s embarrassment, that had been enough to shut him up. And there wasn’t much to say. They both knew they shouldn’t be doing what they were doing.

  Neither wanted to say it out loud.

  Only after their second round had she sprung out of bed, still completely naked, and said, "Want some fruit?"

  "What I want is to see those high school photos. I was promised something cute and I damn well expect to get it."

  "You mean what we just did wasn’t cute enough for you?"

  "What we just did was athletic, bordering on acrobatic. I was promised ‘cute.’"

  She returned to the bedroom with a bowl of berries and her high school yearbook. Together, they thumbed through pages, laughed and ate until Alex hopped up, pulled on his t-shirt and boxers, and asked for directions to the bathroom.

  "Use the one off the living room," Joey said. "The one in here is acting funny. Through the door and to the left, where we came in."

  When they’d burst through the door two hours earlier, already entangled and kissing desperately, Alex had barely noticed the apartment. It was on the twentieth floor of a doorman building and the bedroom opened into a living room that was larger than Alex’s entire apartment. In fact, it was more of a living area than a living room because it had three distinct sections. The lights were off but the curtains were open, allowing white and blue light from the surrounding buildings to stream into the room. To the right, two cream-colored leather couches faced each other and were sectioned off by a Japanese rice paper screen. To the left, a pink, marble-topped desk was surrounded by cabinets and bookshelves. Behind him, a small dining room table sat near an arched opening that led into a small, modern kitchen.