****
Three more days of witnesses and questions, then both attorneys rested their cases. They would present final arguments to the jury today.
Petrocelli strutted into the room like a little banty rooster. Wearing an expensive, pin-striped black suit, he puffed his chest out and issued orders to his assistant who followed him in. He definitely thought he was the cock-of-the-walk although he only stood five foot three.
There has never been a more text book case of little man syndrome, Catrina mused.
Andrea Wilson, the defense attorney had an impressive reputation. The tall, thin woman exclusively handled high-profile cases and won most of them.
I wonder how much this is costing Barrett? Catrina thought. How many charitable donations it took to pay her fee?
A bailiff entered through the side door. “All rise.”
An anxious hush fell over the courtroom. Everyone in the room rose to their feet.
The judge climbed the stairs to the bench, seated himself and reached for the gavel. “Superior court in and for King County will now come to order,” He projected in a deep bass voice, “You may be seated.”
The clerk handed him a file folder. Judge Carson dropped it on his desk and spoke.
“Today we will proceed with closing arguments. Are the attorneys ready?”
“Yes, Your Honor.” Petrocelli jumped to his feet and preened his glossy black hair.
Ms. Wilson was much more sedate. “Ready, Your Honor.”
“All right. Mr. Petrocelli, you have the floor.”
Petrocelli strutted over to the jury box, referring to the legal pad in his hand.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, thank you for your service. I know it is hard to take two weeks out of your lives to serve your community. I salute you.”
Petrocelli pirouetted and pointed a finger at Barrett. “This man killed two women, his two wives. We have proven beyond the shadow of a doubt that he killed these women. What do we need to prove to get a guilty verdict?” He raised three fingers. “Means, motive and opportunity.”
The ADA stopped to let this sink in. He took a deep breath and proceeded. “Mr. Barrett is a very smart man. There is no doubt of that, but that only shows that these were premeditated murders. In both cases, he made sure that there were no witnesses to his crimes. He planned long and hard to make these murders look like accidents.”
Petrocelli paced back and forth in front of the jury box. “He selected an isolated spot on the road to have a flat tire. As you heard, he refused help when Mr. White stopped to offer assistance. Why? So that there would be no witnesses. We only have his word for what happened on that lonely road on a dark night.”
The prosecutor turned to face the accused again. “You have seen that he made two separate attempts on his second wife, Lauren Barrett’s, life. First he dropped a huge wooden beam on her head. When that didn’t work, he meticulously planned to push her off the cliff at Glacier National Park.”
“This man,” Petrocelli pointed again, “collected almost $5,000,000 in insurance money. Certainly that goes to motive. He carefully planned the venues for his crimes; that proves opportunity. As to means, how much does it take to shove a car off its jack or to push a woman off of a cliff? For a man the size and with the strength of the defendant, it was nothing.”
Petrocelli clung to the railing around the jury box as if he were exhausted and ready to collapse. “You have heard all of the evidence, all of the defense’s weak excuses. Now you will go into the jury room and exercise your consciences. When you debate the evidence in the hard light of day, you will have no other option except to convict this man. I ask you to give justice to Julie and Lauren Barrett.”
He slowly walked back to his seat and lowered himself down with all the dignity of the Pope.
“We’ll break for lunch,” the judge said.” The defense may present its summation after the break.”
****
Catrina found a seat next to Mr. and Mrs. Stevens, Lauren’s parents, in the front row behind the prosecution’s table.
“Regardless of what happens here today, we have our Debby,” Mrs. Stevens whispered to her husband.
Catrina smiled.
“Is the defense ready?” the judge asked after court was called back into session.
“Yes, Your Honor.” Andrea Wilson unfolded her long body and approached the jury box. She was dressed in a plain dark blue business suit with no jewelry except for small diamond studs in her ears.
“Members of the jury, you have spent the last two weeks listening to the prosecution produce ‘evidence’.” She made quotation marks in the air. “You have heard us refute each and every claim with indisputable facts.”
Ms. Wilson spread her arms wide. “This case should never have been brought to trial. The prosecution presented spurious charges and claimed they were facts. As you have seen, there is no substance to any of them. I can only speculate as to why the prosecution saw fit to bring this case to court. I have my opinions, but I’m sure you can come to your own conclusions.”
“Ms. Wilson,” the judge warned.
“I’m sorry, Your Honor.”
“Continue.”
Ms. Wilson turned back to the jury. “There is absolutely no evidence that my client killed anyone. There are no witnesses. The prosecution has assembled a hodge-podge of circumstantial ‘evidence.’” She made air quotes again, “that look like they were put together by a five-year old.
“As we have already shown, the police originally ruled that both of these unfortunate deaths were accidents. Why, after all this time, did the prosecution see fit to resurrect this case? Why did he go against the police’s judgment to stage this circus?”
Rico Petrocelli squirmed uncomfortably in his chair.
“We all know that Mr. Petrocelli is running for district attorney next year. Ask yourself, why would he even file charges with such weak evidence?”
Petrocelli leaped from his chair. “Your Honor?”
“He only wants publicity . . .” the defense attorney went on.
“Ms. Wilson, I will not warn you again.” The judge slammed his gavel down on the bench. “Cast one more aspersion on the opposing counsel and I’ll hold you in contempt of court.”
“My apologies, Your Honor. I got a little carried away, it won’t happen again.”
“The jury will disregard the previous statement,” Judge Carson said.
Disregard hell, she’s already planted the seed in their minds. Catrina thought.
“Let’s look at the prosecution’s claims,” Ms. Wilson said. “First of all, the libelous statement that my client raped the babysitter. As he testified, they had consensual sex. They were having a drink and Ms. Price got aroused. She had too much to drink and started removing her clothes.
“I’m not excusing my client’s actions, but I ask you, what would any red-blooded American male do when a beautiful young woman offers herself to him?” She shrugged her shoulders.
Catrina shifted in her seat. Not what that slime bag did.
Ms. Wilson picked up her legal pad and studied it a moment. “The map and notes the prosecution presented about my client’s research into Glacier National Park? Come on! When have you taken a vacation without researching the area first? Mr. Barrett was taking his lovely wife on a vacation.” Ms. Wilson turned towards her client. “He wanted to know the best places to take her. The X on the map was because there was a spectacular view there and he wanted to let his wife, a budding photographer, snap off some pictures.”
“That’s not true!” Mrs. Stevens jumped up from her seat. “My daughter was afraid of heights!”
“Sit down, Mrs. Stevens. I will not tolerate outbursts in my court.”
“But he killed my baby. . .” She sobbed.
“Bailiff.” Anger flashed across Judge Carson’s face. “Remove that woman.”
The bailiff stepped through the gate to the spectator section and took Mrs. Steven’s arm. “Come along, ma’am.”<
br />
“He killed my baby . . .” she sobbed, as the bailiff led her out of the courtroom.
“The jury will disregard that woman’s outburst,” the judge said.
The defense attorney turned back to the jury. “Let’s face it; we’re living in a new world, the Internet Age. Most people meet now-a-days over the Internet. What could be more innocent than meeting on ChristianSingles? Yes, he checked her out. Wouldn’t you? He was in love, but he is not a stupid man. He wanted to know about her before he proposed. It’s much better to see the flaws before the wedding than to wait until you have children to discover them. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, this is what we do in this new electronic age.”
Catrina didn’t like the way this was going. Andrea Wilson was just too slick.
“And yes, he collected on the life insurance.” Ms Wilson waved her legal pad in the direction of the defendant. “Once again, wouldn’t you? That’s what it’s for. Mr. and Mrs. Barrett planned ahead. If anything happened to either of them, they wanted to make sure they could provide for their daughter, to ensure that she went to the best school, to let her learn to ride or take dance classes, to pay a nanny to take care of her in the absence of her mother. He wanted to make sure that this little girl had the best possible life since she was so sadly deprived of her mother.”
Ms. Wilson looked at her notes. “The accident with the timber was just that, an accident. Lauren even told the police that it was an accident. The prosecution is asking you to tie a series of coincidences together to spell murder. Haven’t you ever dropped a hammer from a scaffolding or a paint brush from a ladder? Would you want to be charged with murder for those uncontrollable events?”
She’s wound up now. Here comes the knockout punch.
“This poor man has had enough tragedy in his life. His little girl has already lost her mother. Do you want her to grow up without a father? Do you want her to think that her father is a murderer? Let this family have some peace. Let them heal in tranquility.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, my client is a good father, a good family man, he loved his wife. I ask you, no, you MUST return the only verdict possible. You must return a verdict of not guilty.”
****
Catrina gave up waiting for the verdict and went back to work. She had a friend on the court staff who would call her when she needed to return.
“Mrs. Flaherty,” Abiba shouted over the intercom. “There’s someone here to see you.”
Catrina heard an uproar in the outer office. She jumped to her feet.
“Wait a minute . . .” Abiba said to the well-dressed woman storming across the room. “You can’t go back there!”
The large black woman was in hot pursuit of a dazzling-looking middle-aged beauty. The woman had magnificent brown hair bouncing down her back in luxurious curls. Her custom-tailored suit flowed with her movements.
“Ms. Flaherty,” the woman shouted, as she practically ran across the room. “A minute please?”
Abiba panted. She couldn’t keep up with the intruder.
“Who the hell are you?” Catrina asked, as she stood in her doorway, arms folded across her chest.
“I’m sorry for intruding this way. My name is Kathleen West. I’m an executive producer for Dateline.” She shoved a business card at Catrina. “May we talk?”
Catrina eyed her suspiciously. “Step into my office. I can give you five minutes.” Her natural dislike for the media rose to the surface.
“Thank you.” Kathleen looked around and wrinkled her nose slightly, like she was surveying a garbage dump.
“Go ahead, take a chair.” Catrina took the power seat behind her desk.
“As I said, I’m an executive producer for Dateline. We’ve been covering the Barrett case. I noticed you in the courtroom every day. I must say, you do stand out in a crowd.”
Catrina’s steel-gray eyes burned into Kathleen’s soul.
“I did a little research. I found out who you are. I got thousands of hits about you on the Internet.” Kathleen crossed her legs and leaned forward. “I learned that you put the case against Mr. Barrett together. I also know a lot about your past exploits.”
This bitch is invading my privacy.
“I read all about the Millennium Systems case; about your war with the Mexican drug dealers. You left a lot of bodies in your wake down there.”
“Thanks for the career summary.” Catrina held her poker face. “What do you want from me?”
“As I said, we’re doing a story on the Barrett case. We want you to appear on camera. You’ll add a lot of sex appeal to our story. We’ll interview you; you can take our on-camera reporter to the various locations and explain what happened. It will be Emmy-caliber reporting.”
“Sorry, not interested.”
“Just a minute. Think of what it could mean to your business. You’d get nationwide publicity. You’ll have clients crawling out of the woodwork.”
Catrina let out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t need clients climbing out of the woodwork.”
“Okay, I get it.” Kathleen flashed her best on-camera smile. “You don’t need the money. I know about your sexual harassment suit. You took home what? Three million dollars?”
“No comment.” Catrina raised her eyebrows and gave a slight shake of the head.
“How about this?” Kathleen leaned back in her chair like she was about to play the ace of spades. “How about Hollywood?” She paused for a moment. “I have contacts. I can get you a job as a consultant, a subject matter expert. It would get your foot in the door. I can’t believe they wouldn’t want to use all of your talents. I can see a TV series based on your exploits.”
Catrina stood and pointed to her door. “You’re five minutes are up.”
Kathleen smiled. “I never take no for an answer. Think about a series. I mean, your office is perfect, the battered furniture and all the sad-looking women working here. It’s a natural.”
“I said, get out.”
“What’s it going to take?”
“Get the hell out of my office!” Catrina walked to the door and held it open.
****
Catrina’s friend at the court called early in the afternoon of day three.
“Cat, the jury’s reached a verdict,” the excited voice said over the phone.
“How much time do I have to get there?” Catrina reached for her coat and purse.
“The judge said to have all the parties back in the courtroom by two o’clock.”
“Okay, it’s one thirty. I’m on my way.”
It was only a few miles from her office to the courthouse, but traffic was its usual snarled self. The judge had already called the trial to order by the time Catrina barged through the door.
“I understand the jury has reached a verdict?” the judge asked.
The jury foreman rose and replied. “We have, Your Honor.”
“Will the bailiff please bring me the verdict?”
The bailiff walked over to the foreman, took the slip of paper and returned it to the judge.
The judge read the document with no change of expression. He thought for a moment, then handed the paper back to the bailiff.
The bailiff returned the paper to the foreman.
“Will the defendant please rise?” It was a command, not a question.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, what say you?” the judge asked.
The foreman cleared his throat. “As to the charge of murder in the first degree of Lauren Barrett, we find the defendant guilty.”
A murmur broke out in the courtroom.
“On the count of first-degree rape, we find the defendant not guilty.”
Bedlam broke loose.
“Order!” the judge pounded his gavel. “Order in the court!”
The audience slowly quieted.
“Mr. Barrett, you have been found guilty of murder by a jury of your peers. This court orders that you be bound over for sentencing. The clerk will set the date.”
“Your Honor,” Defense attorney Wilson shouted, “the defense will file an appeal. We request that the defendant’s bail be held over pending the outcome of the appeal.”
“So ordered.”
“Your honor,” Petrocelli sprang to his feet. “This man has been convicted of murder in the first. He’s a danger to the public.”
“Mr. Petrocelli, sit down. The Constitution gives a convicted felon the right to remain out on bail pending his appeal. If it makes you feel better, the court will order that the defendant wear an ankle bracelet while he’s out on bail.”
Well how about that? Petrocelli finally won a major case.
****
“Baby, I’m at the courthouse,” Brody Barrett said into his cell phone. “The verdict came back.”
“Honey,” Hailey asked, “what is it?”
“Not good. They convicted me of crimes I didn’t commit.”
“You’re going to file an appeal, aren’t you?”
“Of course.” Barrett found an empty room. “I’ll let my lawyer handle that. In the meantime, I have a big question for you.”
“Anything,” Hailey said.
“Do you still want to go? I mean, if we’re going, we have to go now.”
“But Brody, what about the court? You can’t just leave, can you?”
Brody looked around to make sure no one was listening. “Listen, baby, we can’t do all the good we talked about from a jail cell. I’ve already transferred my money to an off-shore account. They’ll never be able to trace it. We can sail down the coast, through the Panama Canal and back to Africa. You can take up where you left off, only this time, you’ll have money and you won’t have the Peace Corps telling you what to do.”
There was a long silence.
“What do you need for me to do?” Hailey asked.
Brody breathed a deep sigh of relief.
“That’s more like it.” Brody’s heart raced. “Go to the store. Buy enough groceries to last for two months, then meet me at the marina at eight tomorrow morning.”
Murder Strikes Twice: A Catrina Flaherty Mystery, Book 2 (Catrina Flaherty Mysteries) Page 11
