by JF Freedman
Elsie shook her head in sad remorse. “Nope. Wouldn’t do it. Because that would be a sign of weakness. A sign of guilt. An admission that he did it. That he killed her. And left her poor broken body out in the sun to be savaged by wild animals.”
As he watched Elsie, Luke didn’t know whether he wanted to laugh, cry, or applaud. Not since Johnnie Cochran had immortally declared, “If the glove don’t fit, you must acquit,” had he seen such over-the-top histrionics.
She had it going, he had to give her credit. But she didn’t have momentum on her side. From long experience, Luke could tell that the jurors were enjoying her performance, but weren’t buying the supporting evidence. He hoped.
Elise wrapped it up. “Steven McCoy was there. The gun was in his hand. The body was dumped on his grandmother’s property. Ladies and gentlemen, if this isn’t conclusive enough evidence that Steven McCoy killed Maria Estrada, then no one is ever going to be convicted of murder in Santa Barbara County.”
She cocked her wrists and pointed her fingers at the jurors, like she was pointing two loaded guns at them. “Access, knowledge, fingerprints on the murder weapon, and no alibi.” She paused. “Those are the facts. That’s what’s logical. All the rest is baloney.”
Finally, she mustered a smile. It was a tight, uneasy gesture, more a grimace than an invitation. “All we’re asking you to do is use the common sense you were born with. This is not brain surgery. We can all figure this one out. And when we do, we’ll come to the same conclusion: Steven McCoy killed Maria Estrada, and must be found guilty of her murder.”
The case went to the jury at 5:15 on Thursday. By one the next afternoon, they had reached their verdict.
Judge Martindale entered the courtroom. Everyone else was already in place. Although the rainstorms had passed there was a feeling of clamminess in the air, a heaviness that was as much spiritual as it was physical.
“Has the jury reached a verdict?” Martindale asked.
The foreperson, a middle-aged white woman who looked like a cook in a school cafeteria, stood up. “We have, your honor,” she said in a firm, almost Biblical voice.
She handed the verdict slip to the clerk, who brought it to Martindale. He unfolded it and read it. Showing no emotion, he looked up, glancing first at Alex and Elise, then at Luke and Steven. “The defendant will rise,” he proclaimed.
Luke and Steven stood up. Luke put a supportive hand on Steven’s shoulder.
Time was at a standstill. Kate almost felt surprised when she glanced at the clock on the wall behind Martindale’s head and saw the second hand moving. She looked down the row to Juanita, who was sitting in the aisle seat, closest to the wall. The old woman was a picture of serenity, almost beatitude, Kate thought in admiration.
Martindale cleared his throat. “What is your verdict?” he asked.
The foreperson’s words came out plain. “We find the defendant not guilty.”
For a second nothing happened, as if they were all frozen in aspic. Then everyone converged on them—his parents, his grandmother, Tyler, Kate. “You did it, bro!” Tyler screamed. “You freaking pulled it off!”
Steven hugged Luke in a fierce embrace. Luke hugged him back. “Thank you, man,” Steven choked out in a voice laden with emotion and relief.
Martindale brought his gavel. “Order!” he called out. “Hold their celebration,” he admonished Luke.
Luke pried the family off Steven. “Cool it,” he warned them. They could celebrate later. He wanted Steven out of here as quickly as possible, without incident.
As if waking from a nightmare, Alex and Elise began stuffing eight months of now-useless work into their briefcases. Behind them, Watson, Rebeck, and the rest of the sheriffs’ detectives and staff that had been involved in the case milled about aimlessly, shaking their heads in angry denial. Further back, Maria’s family and friends were huddled together, as if at a funeral.
“The defendant is free to go,” Martindale pronounced. “You can go on with your life, son,” he told Steven with a personal grace note. He thumped his gavel again. “Court is adjourned.”
The news crews were stacked up three-deep outside the courthouse. Luke and Kate shepherded the McCoys and Tyler out the door. The mob was immediately upon them, scrambling for position.
“I’ll stay with Steven and give the vultures a statement,” Luke told Kate. “You get the family out of here.”
He guided Steven to the center of the throng. “Stand behind me, and keep your mouth shut,” he instructed Steven. He walked to the bank of microphones. “My client is not going to make a statement, so I will make a short one for him. This has been an exhausting ordeal for everyone. Mr. McCoy and his family are happy and relieved that it’s over, and they can move on with their lives. They extend their condolences to the Estrada family, and pray that the real killer will someday be brought to justice.”
As reporters began yelling out questions, he put up his hands to quiet them down. “We’re not going to make any more statements, and we’re not going to answer any questions,” he told them firmly. “Mr. McCoy is a private citizen who wants to return to his private life. Now please show some decency and let us through.”
He signaled to a pair of off-duty CHP officers he’d hired as security. The bodyguards flanked them, forming a human shield. They pushed their way through the knot of reporters to a Hummer with dark-tinted windows that was waiting for them at the corner. Juanita, Tyler, and Steven’s parents were already inside. The security men hustled Steven into the backseat and jumped in after him. The car pulled away into the street. A policeman held up traffic so they could make their escape down Anapamu Street.
Kate joined Luke as he walked back to the press conference. He led her to the edge of the media convergence, where the foreperson and two other jurors were being escorted out of the courthouse. They stood at the back of the crowd as the jurors were led to the beehive of pressed bodies.
The foreperson leaned in to the microphones. “When the trial started, we thought the prosecution had a strong case,” she said, her voice echoing from the amplification. “But they didn’t present it as well as we thought they could have. They didn’t manage their witnesses well,” she elaborated. “You should know exactly what your witnesses are going to say. When they change their minds on the stand, it weakens your case. The defense did a better job presenting their side.”
Another juror stepped up next to her. “Once we started hearing all these different stories, everything became too murky. It was like Rashomon. We decided that the prosecutors didn’t prove their case beyond a reasonable doubt, which is what the judge told us they had to do.”
God bless you, Luke thanked them silently. You did the job right.
“Did you consider that Peter Baumgartner could be the real killer?” a reporter called out.
“Not that it was him specifically,” the foreperson explained carefully, “but that there could be plausible alternatives.” She looked at the other two, who nodded in agreement. “If Baumgartner hadn’t existed, there’s a chance our verdict wouldn’t have been the same,” she declared.
Luke had heard enough. “I’m out of here,” he told Kate. “I’m going for a run. I need to clean this out of my system. We’ll check in later.”
He walked away. Kate took out her cell phone to call Sophia.
“Kate.”
She jumped. Warren Baumgartner was standing a few feet behind her. “You startled me,” she said, as she turned to him. “I didn’t know you were here. Were you inside?”
“In the back on the other side, where you couldn’t see me.” He smiled thinly. “Congratulations. Your lawyer did a great job.”
Kate smiled back. “That’s what he does.”
“A lot of people are going to say he got a guilty man off.”
Her smile froze. She felt acid beginning to drip into her stomach. “Steven isn’t guilty.” She paused. “Do you think he is?”
“It wasn’t up to me. Fortunately, for your
side.”
That ripped it. It had been a great one-night stand. She’d remember it, and move on.
Warren sighed heavily. “I like you, Kate. Who you are, what you believe in, even if it’s misguided.”
“I was doing my job. And I didn’t deceive you. Not deliberately.”
He kept looking at her. “I’m going back to L.A.,” he said. “Let’s see how we feel when this dies down, if it does.”
A faint hope was better than none. Although she wasn’t sure if that was what she wanted. “Are you worried about Peter?” she asked, knowing the answer, but unable to hold her tongue.
Warren looked like he’d been gut-punched. “Of course I am. But do I think he killed that girl? Absolutely not. He would have come up with a better story if he had.” He looked away. “He has problems. I’ve spoiled him, way too much. But he could never kill anyone, not like that. It isn’t in him.”
Then why did he drop out of school so suddenly, Kate thought. Why hadn’t he said anything for months? How can you explain away all the incredible coincidences?
She didn’t need to go there now. “I don’t think he did, either,” she told Warren, trying to sound convincing. She didn’t know whether or not he believed her, but there was no point in ripping the scab off. “For what it’s worth, I doubt that Alex Gordon will come after him. He blew his wad on Steven McCoy. He can’t come back and argue to another jury that he was convinced Steven was the killer, but now he’s sure it’s someone else. His credibility’s shot on this case. Maybe his whole career.”
“I hope you’re right,” Warren said. He stuck out his hand. “Good luck, Kate. Maybe somewhere down the line.”
He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. She almost twisted so that their mouths touched, but she restrained herself. He stared at her again for a moment, then walked away. Kate watched him leave. Then she took her cell phone out of her purse, and called Sophia.
35
ALL AROUND THE EXTERIOR of the old ranch house, luminaries had been lit, bathing the grounds in a soft, shimmering glow. Inside, dozens of candles burnished the main rooms with muted, diffused light. It was as if the ghosts from centuries past had come to life to join with the living in celebration of the family’s ongoing history and recent good fortune.
Juanita had spent the day preparing the festive dinner. Sophia had been her energetic helper. Early in the morning she had assembled all the lights, inside and out, then had joined Juanita in the kitchen. Over the past few months, with Juanita’s help and encouragement, she had been learning how to cook a real meal from scratch. Although the complexity of preparing tonight’s banquet without the modern benefits of electricity or gas was intimidating to her, what she lacked in experience she made up for with enthusiasm.
The day before, Juanita had thawed out a loin of wild boar that had been stored in the large freezer back at her house. It was a portion of the feral pig she had killed the previous September, the day the tragedy had unfolded. The meat had marinated overnight in her secret concoction. Her mother had passed the recipe on to her, and someday she would pass it on to Sophia, who she was more and more beginning to think of as her logical heir. Now it was slow-braising in a reduction of onions, mushrooms, leeks, tomatoes, and herbs from her garden.
The two women, one old, wise, and patient, the other young and eager to learn, had labored side by side from midmorning to early evening. Accompanying the pork roast would be a salad of greens from Juanita’s garden, broccoli-and-cheddar soufflé, beets and green beans she had put up over the winter, potatoes au gratin (Steven’s favorite), and to cap off the meal, a homemade chocolate cake (his other favorite). Everything would be cooked on the old wood-burning stove.
“Back in the old days it would take two cooks a couple of days to make a meal like this,” Juanita informed Sophia, as she stirred the cake mixture. She sipped from a glass of sherry. “But we can do it in one day. Because we are strong women,” she sang out merrily. “And have modern appliances, like freezers,” she added pragmatically.
“And because we’re tough women,” Sophia said in giddy refrain. “Bold women. Take-no-prisoners, ass-kicking women.” She giggled as she drank her Coke straight from the can. “I shouldn’t say stuff like that around you,” she apologized.
“You can say anything you want,” Juanita told her indulgently. “I’m not preserved under glass. Not yet.”
“Not ever!” Sophia looked about the kitchen, at all the food in various stages of preparation, everything arranged in orderly precision. She hugged Juanita. “I’ve learned so much from you.”
Juanita blinked her eyes, so the tears wouldn’t show. “And I from you.” She took another sip of sherry to settle her emotions. “We need to get a move-on,” she said briskly. “We have a ton of work ahead of us.”
The guests arrived as the sun was going down. They mingled outside in the dappled light, drinking a local sauvignon blanc and munching on raw vegetables and dip.
In a few days, Steven would finally be going home to Arizona. This was his last chance to say goodbye to those who had been his life during his ordeal, particularly Luke, Kate, and Sophia. And to thank them, for hanging in, and believing in him.
Before Steven’s parents and Tyler headed back to Tucson they had celebrated in a restaurant in Los Olivos, one of the small towns near the ranch. The meal had been a subdued affair, but toward the end it became contentious. Even though their son had been acquitted, it was as if a fog of stigma hovered over Steven’s parents, that the very act of being charged, regardless of the outcome, was a black mark on all of them.
Steven had picked up on their disapprobation and they had fought, first quietly, then openly. It was inevitable—he was a different man now. There was almost nothing left of his carefree boyishness, his openness. His ordeal had hardened him in some indefinable but conscious way. He still enjoyed life—it tasted better now, he felt and appreciated things more clearly, every day was a new possibility—but there was a guardedness about him that hung on him like an invisible mourner’s shroud.
He had been happy when he and Juanita saw his parents off the next day. Juanita had tried to cheer him up.
“They’ll come around,” she promised him. “It takes time.”
“I don’t care anymore, Grandma,” he’d told her. “I’m moving on. I’ve got your support. That’s enough for me.”
She hadn’t pressed the issue, because she knew he was right.
Tyler had gone back a day later. The two friends had parried hard before he left, hitting half the bars on lower State Street. Steven felt a strong debt of gratitude toward Tyler. He had been there for Steven, putting his ass on the line, fighting off the D.A.’s attempts to break him. He had spent the entire school year without his best friend, the year they were going to sow their last wild oats. Still, this ordeal had bonded them in a way they hadn’t expected or desired, but would glue them together for life.
Juanita, who was in the kitchen putting the final touches on her masterpiece, came outside. Her face was flushed from standing over the hot stove.
“Come in, please,” she invited everyone. “It’s time to eat.”
The old oak-plank table was almost bent over with the weight of all the food, dishes, glasses, serving plates, and candelabra. Shadows from the candles danced on the dark walls. They had eaten and drunk to excess, which was just enough.
As Sophia cut slices of the chocolate cake and passed the plates around, Juanita stood and raised her glass of pinot noir. Juanita had been drinking more than usual—she normally didn’t have more than a sherry and an occasional glass of wine with dinner—and the alcohol had loosened her inhibitions, so she could open her heart without embarrassment.
“When the prodigal son returned to his family, his father killed a fatted calf to celebrate his homecoming. Here, tonight, it was a mean old pig, shot dead by yours truly, but the sentiment’s the same.”
As everyone laughed, she continued, “Now that Steven has been delivered fr
om the hell of these past eight months, we celebrate his reentry into what we all know will be a productive and fruitful life.”
The guests raised their glasses in toast. “To Steven,” someone spoke out.
“To Steven,” came the full-throated refrain.
Steven grinned and raised his glass in thanks. He had been imbibing all afternoon. He stood up unsteadily, holding on to the edge of the table for support.
“Back at ya,” he said thickly. “Especially you, Grandma. Couldn’t have done it without you.” He looked across the table to Luke. “And to my ass-kickin’ lawyer.” He shifted his gaze over to Sophia, who was sitting alongside her mother. “And a special thanks to you, Sophia. For being there for Grandma. And for me, too.”
Sophia turned crimson. “Thank you,” she said in a quiet voice.
“And to all of you,” Steven said, saving Sophia from further embarrassment. “From the bottom of my heart, I thank you all.” He sat down heavily, forking a chunk of cake into his mouth.
Kate looked across the table. Riva was watching her and Sophia with a knowing smile on her face. She raised an eyebrow, as if to say, “Haven’t you figured it out yet?”
Kate swiveled to see her daughter, who was busy with her dessert, her head low to her plate. I can’t hide from this anymore, she realized. She had been in denial for too long. Steven was a vibrant young man. Sophia was a desirable young woman. The electricity between them was obvious.
She could do worse, Kate thought philosophically. Steven came from good stock. And he was leaving the day after tomorrow. Sophia would go on with her life, and Steven would fade in her memory. First crushes never lasted.
There was a low murmur of easy chatter as everyone had their dessert and coffee. Kate looked up as she heard Juanita telling her seatmate that Tyler was going to veterinary school in the fall.
“He was accepted at Davis, which is one of the top schools in the country,” Juanita was saying. “It’s a lucky thing I’m friendly with some of the regents, they pushed his application right to the top.” She smiled knowingly. “When he’s finished, we’ll set him up in practice right here in the valley. Lord knows we need good vets out here. He’s going to specialize in livestock,” she added, “so he can help Steven run the ranch, after I’m gone.”
