best served cold

by Sinclair, Rachel

  * * *

  In the meantime, Carl absconded to his home in Sweden, to get away from the absolute storm of publicity that happened after Ari filed his story in the New York Times. It was the top story for weeks on end. Every tabloid and every 24 hour news channel was filled with story after story about what the girls went through in that home. Nobody could believe that something like that could happen in America - and the Times boldly published his client list. Everybody on the list threatened lawsuits, but these threats were empty. These men knew what they did. They were shunned by society from that point on. Many jurisdictions were filing criminal charges against them. They were all ruined.

  I wasn’t satisfied with any of it. I still didn’t know who killed Becky, for one thing. For another, it didn’t seem fair that Carl could get away on his private jet and go and live someplace else because everybody in America absolutely despised him. The judges, cops and prosecutors all had to answer for why it was they didn’t prosecute him, even though all of this was happening under their noses. All the men who were Carl’s clients were suffering. Why shouldn’t Carl also feel pain?

  I knew that I had to go ahead with my plan to get a lawsuit going against him. I was going to win in court, if he decided to fight me, which he probably would. I didn’t want to settle the case, either. I wanted him subpoenaed, and I wanted him to tell the world about what he did. I wanted him to squirm on the witness stand. Bringing him back to answer for this lawsuit wasn’t going to be easy, but I was going to do it.

  I was going to do it because the girls needed that closure. They also could use the money that would come from this suit. I also wanted justice.

  Justice for the girls.

  And justice for Becky.

  Chapter 21

  I was overwhelmed with everything that I was going to have to do to get this lawsuit off the ground. There were witnesses to contact, mainly people who worked for Carl - the staff, the cooks, and Jacqueline Price, the house mother. I was going to get all of them in for depositions, but first, I needed to talk to the prosecutor’s office about whether or not these people were going to be charged with anything. I thought that it would be appropriate if they would be charged - they let it all happen, after all - but, at the same time, I thought that it would be an abomination that they would go to prison and Carl the snake would not.

  However, I contacted the prosecutor and they indicated to me that they had no plans on filing charges against anybody who was working for Carl in an adjunct way. The prosecutor told me that they could consider filing charges regarding aiding and abetting, but that was a long shot, so they were just gonna leave it alone.

  I knew that Carl was going to hire a hardball attorney, and, when I filed the case, I knew that I was right when I got a phone call from one Jonathan Augusto. Jonathan was known not just as an attorney, but also as a fixer. He was the guy that you called when you needed somebody shady and unethical to defend you in a lawsuit. He was also the guy that you called when you needed people threatened. I knew him as the fixer to the stars, for his practice was based in Los Angeles, and he was known as the guy who covered up many Hollywood stars’ various misdeeds. It was rumored that one particular A-Lister accidentally hit and killed a young boy while this A-Lister was three sheets to the wind. Jonathan quietly paid the family of the boy millions of dollars of hush money. Another movie producer was well-known around town to like young boys. Once a tabloid reporter followed this guy and threatened to file a story about it, Jonathan knocked the tabloid reporter in the head and threw a dead prostitute in his bed with him and then took pictures. The prostitute wasn’t actually murdered by Jonathan, at least not that I knew of. She was found in the dumpster, just another statistic, and Jonathan was “lucky” enough to have found her in time to place that dead prostitute in the reporter’s bed and threaten him with going to the police about it if the reporter didn’t kill the story.

  The reporter killed the story.

  That was the kind of attorney he was. I knew that he was going to do everything underhanded possible to make sure his client did not have to answer for his crimes. I knew that going in, and I was prepared for it.

  “Ms. Collins,” he said when he called me. “I’ve entered my appearance on behalf of Carl Williams. I can assure you that you will regret the day that you decided to file a case against him. That much I know. I don’t think you know who you’re dealing with here. I really don’t. But you’re about to find out. That’s all I can say to you.”

  “Mr. Augusto, you don’t scare me. Here’s what I say to you. Carl might have escaped prosecution because he threatened to break more than a few kneecaps around town, metaphorically speaking, but he won’t escape being brought to justice in a court of law. Not if I can help it.”

  “Okay. It’s your funeral. You have a nice life, and I’ll see you in court.”

  I nodded my head. “Well, since we’ve established that I’m not going to back down from this, what you and I need to talk about is exchanging discovery. I already have his client list. I know exactly who was going in and out of that place. However, I’m going to be sending you some interrogatories and request for production of documents, so be looking out for them. And just like you said that I should have a nice life, I think that you should also have a nice life. I refuse to be intimidated by you or anybody else.”

  “Okay. I gave you a fair warning. Expect my opening shot sometime this week. I am not going to even tell you to expect it soon, because I want to give you a time frame. My exact time frame is, oh, say, tomorrow by noon. You’ll soon find out what I mean.”

  I hung up the phone without even saying goodbye. And then I got to work on my document requests and interrogatory requests, and I also got to work with preparing some subpoenas for depositions. One of the people I wanted to depose, of course, was Ari himself. He was invaluable to me. Like Regina, he had been to party after party, and he understood what was going on. The girls were to be my best witnesses, of course. While Ari would be able to testify about what happened outside the bedroom, the girls would be would be able to testify about what happened inside the bedroom. I had already talked to them, and it wasn’t pretty.

  A part of me did not want to put them through it. I knew that the media glare was going to be intense on this case, to say the very least. While they were minors, therefore the media was not allowed to disclose any information about them to the public, and there would be no way that the judge would consent to having cameras in the courtroom, I knew that the names of the girls was out there in the media. Their names were on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, every manner of social media there was. A part of me felt absolutely sick that the girls were going to be put through a court case. They were all on board for it, of course. They were learning from their therapist exactly how exploited they were, and they were eager to bring Carl to justice, just as I was.

  But I still had a nagging feeling that everything was going to go completely wrong.

  * * *

  The next day, just before noon, I found out exactly what the pig-of-a-man Jonathan Augusto was talking about. I was in my law office, minding my own business, when the cops showed up at my door.

  “Is your name Avery Collins?” one of the cops asked me. His badge indicated his name was Officer Silva, and the other officer’s name was McDonald.

  “Yes. That’s my name. What’s this about?”

  “Ma’am, you can have to come with me. We got an anonymous tip from an established and well-regarded informant that you are in possession of cocaine. We got a warrant to search your vehicle down in the covered parking of this building, and we found this.” At that, Officer Silva produced a large bag of cocaine. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to come with us.”

  I looked at the bag of cocaine in the guy’s hand, and I just shook my head. It was obvious that Jonathan was up to his dirty tricks. However, he didn’t know who he was messing with.

  He didn’t know at all.

  Chapter 22

 
Anonymous man - Fall of 1998

  The man knew that he had his pick of young girls. Every night, he was able to see a veritable smorgasbord of young nubile women. Not that they were interested in him. He knew that they weren’t. After all, in their eyes, he was nobody. Nobody at all.

  Yet, he knew in his mind that he was somebody. He was somebody very important, and they just didn’t realize it. But, he knew that there would come a time when they would realize it.

  In the meantime, he knew that there was a way that he could have all of them. But he really didn’t want all of them. He only wanted the one.

  Becky Whitfield.

  He had seen her laying around the pool at a party one night. She wasn’t necessarily the most beautiful woman in the place. Or even the most beautiful girl in the place. Because, after all, at her age, she was considered to be a girl, not a woman. He always had to remind himself of that.

  A girl, not a woman.

  Yet there was something about her that drew him right into her orbit. He wasn’t even sure what it was. Maybe it was the way that she smiled at him. When she looked at him, it really seemed that she was smiling genuinely. Not because she wanted something from him, but because she wanted to be friendly with him.

  He was always concerned that the girls were wanting to get to know him because they were trying to get at somebody else. They all wanted something from him, something that he was not willing to give them. But not Becky. She was genuinely friendly with him, and showed an interest.

  Because she was so nice, he decided that, one night, when she was over at his house, he would share something with her. He had a stash of cocaine in his bedroom. She was shy at first, telling him that she had never seen a drug like that.

  “I smoke pot, all the time. With my friends. I mean, they all do it. But I don’t really want to do another drug. Not something that is serious, not something like cocaine.”

  He wasn’t listening to her. He knew that when she got going with it, she would be like all the others. He heard the protestations of other girls in her same situation. Girls that he had asked to do some lines with them. Half of the girls were eager to try it, but the other half were very reluctant. They heard all about how their brain would be on drugs, and all about how addiction is, and some of them had even seen their parents get addicted. But, to a girl, he was able to talk all of them into doing coke with him. And they all really started to like it. And once they started to like it, and they knew that he would be able to give it to them, he was able to get other favors from them. Especially the ones who became addicted after one snort. Those were the girls that he liked the best. He could get them to do anything for him. He only had to give them the drug.

  That was how he managed to get along, sexually, in the world. He had something to provide. Something that people really wanted. And he knew that all that he needed to do with Becky was show her the way.

  So, instead of listening to what she had to say, he simply snorted a line right in front of her. And then he gave the mirror, with the four lines of coke on it, to her. “Trust me on this. Once you snort that, you’ll feel like superwoman. It’s a high like you have never experienced. I’m telling you, man, if you don’t do this with me, you are missing out.”

  He saw her resolve crumble right before his very eyes. “Okay. I have to admit that I’m curious about it. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt, just to do it this just this once.”

  There you go. I knew that you would come around.

  She leaned down with the straw in her nose, and snorted one line. And then, for good measure, she snorted another. Then she sat back on the couch, and shook her head.

  Her eyes got very wide. “Whoa. Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa.”

  The other thing that he liked about the girls getting high with him, was that they were much more willing to give him what he wanted while they were in the euphoric state. He knew that it was time to make his move.

  However, Becky was not up for it. “What are you doing?” she asked when he immediately tried to feel up her breast. He then tried to unbuckle her pants, clumsily putting one hand on the buckle, and one hand down her pants.

  She shook her head, and kicked him in his stomach. “Stop that. I’m serious. Stop it.”

  He had had several lines before she ever got into the room, and when she told him to stop, and then kicked him, it enraged him beyond measure. He slapped her, which only made her kick him again.

  “Listen, you bitch,” he said to her. “I know that you can only get this stuff from me. I got the good stuff. You try to get that shit off the street, they’re going to be cutting it with rat poison. That won’t just make your nose bleed, it’ll make your intestines bleed. You’ll be shitting out blood for a week. So, you’ll be back. I know you’ll be back, and sooner or later, you’re going to give me what I want from you. I can guarantee that.”

  She just shook her head and walked out the door, slamming it in his face.

  But he knew that she would be back. She would always come back, anyhow, of that he knew. But he also knew for sure that she would come back to his bedroom. She was going to understand that the drugs he was supplying her were top-of-the-line, better than anything that she could get anyplace else. And she was going to come back begging him.

  It was just a matter of time.

  And she did come back, a few months later.

  He once again tried to force himself on her. But she wasn’t there for the drugs. She was there to tell him to leave her the hell alone. She had already told him that over the phone, and now she had to tell him in person.

  He couldn’t stand to hear those words from her. He was high on coke, and agitated as it was. She was the girl of his fantasies, and here she was, telling him that she didn’t want to see him anymore.

  Before he knew it, he was on top of her, stripping her jeans off and forcing himself inside of her. When she screamed, he wanted her to stop, so he he punched her in the face and kicked her in the stomach. She still wouldn’t be quiet, so he put his hands around her neck and squeezed hard. He was confused. He thought that his hands were on her mouth. He only wanted her to be quiet.

  He only wanted her to be quiet.

  And she was. He ejaculated inside of her, and then he noticed that she wasn’t moving. Or breathing.

  She was dead.

  He didn’t know how she died. He didn’t do that, did he?

  But he knew that he did.

  Just then, somebody came into his apartment.

  He went out onto the balcony and started down the fire escape, but not before he saw who it was that was in his place.

  It was her friend. That Avery Collins. She must have been waiting for her outside in her car.

  She saw what had happened, and she screamed.

  And that’s all he knew. Before he knew it, he was down the fire escape and calling his dad. His dad could fix it. He fixed everything.

  He hoped.

  Chapter 23

  Avery

  In the back of the squad car, I was seething inside. What was it about me that made people want to frame me for stuff I didn’t do? Here I was, apparently the victim of Jonathan planting drugs in my car, and then he probably got some kind of source who the police knew well to call in a tip about it. I knew something about anonymous tips, and I knew that cops don’t usually use them as a basis for a search warrant unless the tipster is someone that they knew. They would try to get corroborating evidence if it was somebody that they did not know.

  Well, Jonathan warned me. He warned me to be looking out for an opening salvo, and sure enough, just like he said, it came. It came in the form of my going to the station to answer some questions about some cocaine I knew nothing about. It was so ironic, once I thought about it. I had been antidrug my entire life. I only partook in marijuana once in awhile, and that was only because it was legal. I never tried anything other than marijuana in my entire life. I had always been a straight arrow, even in prison, where drugs were abundant. And yet, here I was, goi
ng downtown in the back of a cop car, because of what?

  Possession of cocaine.

  I was taken down to the jail, processed in, all the while thinking that it was home sweet home. I had gone through all of this rigmarole before. I knew the ropes. They were going to fingerprint me, take my mug shot, swab my mouth for DNA, take my information, and throw me into a freezing cell. I would be in that cell for hours, before being allowed to call my attorney. In this case, I knew that my attorney was going to be Christian. I would’ve called my brother, Aidan, but I knew that he would just laugh his ass off about my being in this predicament. Because that was the kind of person he was. He would find this incredibly funny.

  About an hour after I arrived there, after I was put through all manner of indignity, I was thrown into a cold cell. I was there with five other women. Most of them looked like they really were in there for drug possession, but a couple of them looked like they were in there for prostitution. Most of them looked at me with wary eyes, but one girl came up to me and was very friendly.

  “You don’t look like you should be in here,” she said. She was dressed in a tight dress, low-cut on top, high cut on the bottom. She had reddish blonde hair, straight with a streak of blue running towards the middle of it. She had bare feet, but I could see in the corner of the cell that there were a pair of high heels thrown on the floor.

  I sighed. I really wasn’t in the mood to talk to anybody. “I don’t belong here. I really don’t. I got on the wrong side of somebody who is ruthless. I’m an attorney.”

  She smiled, and nodded her head. “I thought I recognized you. You were on TV. You’re the girl who was defending that poor Hispanic maid who was framed for killing that rich girl. I mean, all my friends were telling me that they thought that she did it. But I knew that she didn’t. Turned out it was that rich bastard, wasn’t it?”