"His face turned red, then white," Neil continued the story he had begun while they waited for their table. "His eyes bulged open, fixed on Naomi. He swallowed, hard, lips tightening into a hard line. The entire courtroom filled with silence," Neil paused for dramatic effect.
"Nobody dared move. The only movement in the courtroom was the loose flesh of the judge's neck as it jiggled, as he turned his head from Naomi back to the prosecutor and then to me," Neil boasted. "I had spoken to Naomi before court, and - get this - she said, 'But I didn't murder him!' "That's what she said! Can you believe that?" Neil's voice was loud, even in the crowded restaurant.
"What did you say?" Holly asked, trying to keep her voice neutral.
Neil snorted, and took a gulp of his martini before answering, palms up, in an exaggerated manner. "Honey, you killed him! No one else was in the room. You were still holding the knife! You just reminded all the men in America to keep their eyes open next time they get a blow job in K-Town," he snorted, throwing back his shoulders.
"Oh, that's righteous!" Kate cried, laughing, clapping her hands.
"You don't want to hear what the judge said next, do you?" Neil paused, sipping his drink and sawing at his rib-eye steak with a knife.
"Oh, we do! We do!" Kate exclaimed, her bright, animated voice echoing off the walls. Holly was as pale as the moon, she felt sick to her stomach. But she pushed around bits of an excellent Caesar salad, half listening while studying the decor of the restaurant. Waiters walked around wearing long white aprons in the French tradition carrying savory dishes and brightly colored pastries.
"The judge wiped a tear from his eye before taking the plea. Kind of gave me a lump in my throat," Neil said, pulling his tie, and paused, dramatically, sipping his drink, watching for a reaction.
"You're such a natural orator!" Kate squealed in delight, her eyes were on Neil now, with a kind of restless glitter. Kate had engineered it all, of course, deliberately while Holly was away. Neil was a publicity hound. He had allowed Kate to prop him up in front of media, making statements, doing interviews. Then, behind closed doors, badgering Nara, hands outstretched, reading from the police reports that the Councilman was stabbed through the heart, how Naomi's screams were heard, how the Councilman couldn't talk, and had tried to get up but then slumped over, covered in blood. How he had tried to reach over to hold Naomi's hand and in his moment of death, that Naomi had pulled her hand away, according to one witness.
"Neil is practically a statesman," Kate was saying, wagging her fork, in between bites of butternut squash ravioli. "Isn't he, Holly? He is skilled and experienced. And respected. Respected by all the judges."
Eyeing Holly she laughed, her quick, high fevered laugh, and she looked away, but not before catching Holly's eye in a swift, mocking glance.
"The plea was life in prison without the possibility of parole but thanks to moi," he said, pointing his thick fingers at himself, she avoided the death penalty."
"Neil, the last woman executed in California was in 1962," Holly said, as calmly as she could manage.
"She avoided the death penalty. You never know when the government might change, like in Texas," Neil boomed.
"That's the best you could do?" Holly asked, putting down her fork. "You pled her to life?" The table was suddenly quiet.
"Yes, Holly. Yes. Under the circumstances, yes."
Neil was defensive. He took some bread and spread butter on it.
"How about defending Naomi?" Holly cried.
"How? It's the most open and shut case in history! I avoided the death penalty. She didn't kill just anyone! She killed a popular politician, Holly! She didn't kill some John Doe Kim Schmuck who owns an acupuncture clinic out in Arcadia."
Holly folded her napkin on the table and stood up.
"Holly," Kate leaned forward, her voice ugly. "Naomi couldn't afford to go to trial. Her mother gave me a ring. It was a fake. Worth only a couple of thousand dollars. I should have taken her handbag. That was worth a good five grand. Psshh." Kate exclaimed, disgusted. "Don't you know anything, Holly? There's no such thing as a free lunch."
Neil swallowed his bread and washed it down with the rest of his martini and plopped more ketchup on his plate.
"What Holly? What would you have done? What would your defense have been?"
Holly sat, wordlessly facing them.
"You see, you have no defense. None. You would have strung it out and in the end done the exact same thing. Well, here's what they didn't teach you in law school. It ain't moot court out here with the grown-ups. The client pretty much gets what they pay for," Neil reached over for another piece of bread.
Holly stared at Kate and Neil as if seeing them for the very first time and spun on her heels and left.
Kate wriggled her nose, "I knew she didn't get it when she showed up with that cheap Louis Vuitton handbag," Kate said, mimicking Holly storming out of the restaurant, her high pitch laughter resonating loudly off the walls.
Holly sat in her car in the parking lot. She would never go back to American Legal Services again. She felt sick. Life without parole. The Dumok's daughter. The next day Holly mustered the courage to tell the Dumok.
"Sufficient funds have been wired to your trust account. Withdraw the guilty plea and prepare for trial," the Dumok texted back.
Chapter 54
Naomi Linser shivered in her cell and somehow made herself even smaller, a tiny quivering ball, wrapping her thin arms around her legs and hugged herself, tightly, trying to stop shaking from the cold.
She listened to the strange sounds of a jail at night. Strange, intermittent and indecipherable. She had grown up on a ranch, where the wind in the trees and the rain on the roof were comforting, this was very different and terrifying.
And now there were footsteps, the heavy plodding of cheap work boots worn by men who are paid by the hour, who have no incentive to hurry for anything. There were two deputies on the night shift. The taller one had spiky brown hair and a short, pug nose and his eyes were a pale, cold blue. The other one was younger, shorter, hard and dark. The tall one walked over and eye-balled the little inmate. Not so feisty now, are you bitch?
Naomi stared out into the dark, her eyes were the deepest wells and the stone was about to splash.
Gone was the beautiful, petulant party girl who had caught the attention of the American public when she made the front page, handcuffed, with a half smile, being pushed into the back seat of the police car wearing a sequined dress and clutching a Chanel handbag. In her place was a shell, as fragile and tentative as a drawing made with a broken pencil on onionskin.
"There's a rumor," the tall guard wheezed in a nasty tone, "that you aren't comfortable here. And a complaint, that you talk too much to your imaginary friend."
"My chest hurts so much, it hurts every time I breathe. And I'm so cold, can I get a blanket please?"
"Call room service," the short one snorted, "like at a Holiday Inn."
"Where does it hurt?" The tall guard asked in a mock sympathetic voice. "Show me."
Naomi pointed at her chest. "Right here," she whimpered. "I have a huge bruise, I can hardly breathe."
Naomi looked away as she spoke. She rarely made eye contact and when she spoke it was to the wall or to the floor. The shorter guard followed behind, rubbing his chest as if on the brink of orgasm, "Right between her titties! That's the spot!"
"Ohhhh, you're making fun of me!" Naomi wailed. "I need to see a doctor."
"It's count-time, you little killer," the short deputy sneered. Naomi's head snapped up.
"What did you say?" Naomi's voice had a raw texture. "What did you call me?" Naomi stood up, too calm. She walked over to the deputy, and faced him, her body rigid.
"Did you call me a killer?" She repeated, her voice trembled and her eyes caught fire. The words hung in the air. "I loved her," Naomi sobbed. "She suffered so...," Naomi's voice broke. A hiccup turned into another sob. Her face contorted, "It was an accident. An accident!" Nao
mi shrieked.
The guards watched like they were staring into a tsunami from the beach. The short jail deputy felt a slow sick knot at his stomach, moving up to this chest, his throat.
"Snap out of it," he sneered and grabbed Naomi by the upper arm. Immediately Naomi twisted and squirmed.
"Let go of me. You're hurting me!" she sobbed. It was an accident. An accident! Get your hands off of me!" Naomi cried, sobbing as she twisted out of his grip and fell to the floor. "I'm not a killer... I loved her. I loved her...," she sobbed, curling up on the floor in the fetal position, rocking.
The guards looked at each other and shrugged.
"Psycho," they both said under their breath as they walked away, leaving Naomi in a heap on the cell floor.
Chapter 55
For the next two weeks Holly interviewed lawyers. By process of elimination, the Dumok had narrowed it down to, well, no one.
The Dumok liked Holly, only. She knew her way around the system, and nothing intimidated her, not even him, he thought with a smile. She found pressure energizing, but the Dumok knew she was inexperienced and needed a strong lead.
The big firms would take your money then stick some junior associate on the case and double the billing, the Dumok said, decisively. Ivy League lawyers were brainy but arrogant which could put off a jury. The lawyers on the west side were condescending, patronizing, and too old-boy. Beverly Hills was the same.
Koreatown had the best of the worst. The white lawyers who occupied this part of town had weak stomachs and chins. In contrast, the first generation Korean lawyers had strong stomachs and chins but their English was not good enough leaving them unable to read the sub-text of the court proceedings. Plus, nobody paid a lawyer to speak Korean in American court.
Finally, the Dumok settled on a lawyer on Sunset Blvd. who had experience with high-profile Hollywood clients. Eli Behr had just made headlines after winning an acquittal for Doghouse Riley, a black rap star whom the pundits had all described as "utterly unsympathetic" to potential jurors, black or white.
Eli Behr walked and talked with a swagger. He strutted into the diner and slid into the opposite side of the booth where Holly was seated. He wore an Italian suit and cowboy boots and a big gold pinky ring. Holly had got there early and watched him get out of his car - a conservative enough black 7-Series but with slightly blingy after-market wheels.
She was keen to meet the first of seventeen lawyers who had caught the Dumok's interest. Eli Behr was stoically built, with a physique that had come from hours in a gym versus from a sport, which meant discipline rather than passion - that had been the Dumok's analysis.
Holly tilted her head and studied him wondering if it were true. Eli Behr was on the light side of 40 and wore his blonde hair slicked back. His blue eyes were intense but with a friendly twinkle. He was handsome enough and manly, but he had the appeal of looking like anybody's brother or son.
The only question was would a jury like and trust him? Yes, Holly thought. He was also ambitious, ready to cut the strings from his mentor, an old-Hollywood lawyer who had treated him like a son and taken him along to absorb - incrementally - the fantastic chaos of Hollywood, partying in penthouses and back alleys with drug dealers, prostitutes, celebrities, and petty criminals and charming his way into celebrities' inner circles.
Holly asked Eli about the Doghouse Riley case, which she had not followed. Eli described Doghouse as a fatherless boy who had crawled out of the gutter through hard work and musical talent, but that the scum bags from his past just wouldn't let go. He had convinced the jury that the prosecutor had overcharged the case to make himself a name on the back of a celebrity. Thanks to Eli Behr, the jury found Doghouse not guilty. And Eli showed some modesty, explaining how Riley had been cooperative about toning down his rap persona for the middle class jury and had been appropriately frank and honest about his troubled past. Working together, they had made Doghouse Riley sympathetic and credible.
He impressed Holly with his analysis, and his understanding of how juries thought. Now, the young lawyer on the Sunset Strip was ready to put down his shot glass and grab the spotlight on his own. Yes, Eli Behr was perfect.
He leaned forward, his eyes twinkling. "Where I'd like to start on your case, is by finding out if I order pie, will you order some too - so we can relax and get to know each other - or are you going to order some scary green thing and push it around on your plate while the whole time staring at my pie and wishing you'd ordered it?"
When he spoke it was slow, methodical and borderline monotone. Holly held his gaze and answered, "Apple, but no ice cream."
"Fine."
"And coffee. Straight up."
Eli leaned back in the booth and smiled. "So what do I need to know about the virgin whore that I didn't read in the tabloids and see on the entertainment channels - aside from the fact that she's innocent."
"That you are going to work harder than you've ever worked in your life until you curse me and the day you were born. That your job is to blur the racial lines completely until nobody remembers the color of skin. At the end of the day, I want the jury to forget who was black, white, yellow, rich or poor. It is not race or class warfare on trial, but the guilt or innocence of Naomi Linser."
Eli nodded, he was intrigued. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "What is our defense, counsel?"
"I don't know! That's why I need you," Holly slunk down into the booth, drained. "And if that doesn't scare you the client will, but with any luck you will never meet him," Holly paused and looked up. "Shall we order?" she asked brightly.
"I should have held out for ice cream," Eli said, his gaze penetrating hers, as he chewed slowly, savoring his pie.
Two hours later, outside while waiting for their cars, Holly had one final thing to say - and this was verbatim from the Dumok. "For the record, Eli. No plea bargains. No scandals. We can't afford to see headlines that you are sleeping with the D.A. or caught photographed leaving a bar with her one night. Naomi Lee Linser walks - or we both go down in flames and there will be a short, cheap funeral." Holly paused. "Did you win that buckle or buy it?" she asked, pointing to Eli's big gold belt buckle.
"Calgary Stampede. Summer of 2001. Cracked a rib," Eli grimaced at the memory. "Still hurts when it rains. The longest eight seconds of my life - so far."
Chapter 56
"Holly, is that you?" Naomi mouthed her name as she approached the plexi-glass window, her large eyes staring with some curiosity. Holly slowly rose to her feet and stood to face Naomi in the attorney visitation room. Holly felt the shivers. Naomi hesitated, then took a seat on the other side of the glass.
She sat and tucked her feet under herself and wrapping an arm around her knees she reached up for the phone. Holly stared back, feeling as though she were looking into a void, but she could feeling the suffering that came with every breath Naomi took.
"I remember you from church," Naomi said, and Holly just stared at her.
"Maybe that's why my mom hired you," her shoulders relaxed as her mind wandered off to some scrap of happy memory. "Do you remember me? You were always so nice, and gave us snacks in Sunday School."
“Church?” Holly waited, stunned, the way you almost stop breathing when you are sitting outside and a humming bird dances on the flowers close by. The voice was strangely familiar, it was not an ordinary voice. Holly did not remember and she shook her head slowly. Naomi's eyes were focused now, but lifeless a moment later.
"My Korean name is Sari. My sister is Sara. We used to wear ugly green plaid coats and carry pink Hello Kitty backpacks. We came to your church when I was little," Naomi was insistent. "You were our Sunday school teacher."
Then, suddenly, Holly remembered. The strange looking sisters. Holly’s memories came to life. Her lips moved but she barely breathed the words. "Father, forgive me for I have sinned."
There is a place in hell for every sinner. In the Los Angeles First Korean Church it is the third row in the middle pew where eleven y
ear old Holly Park sat. His eyes were on her. She could feel it. Holly shifted her weight and pressed her small hands over her heart as she kept one eye glued to the pulpit. The earmarked paperback book hidden between the pages of the Bible lay unread and forgotten. Holly shifted her eyes without moving her head. The flock had nothing to fear. It was only her. She was the only one who would burn in the fires of hell. She was the only sinner. Now, he was looking directly at her.
"Repent!"
Holly jumped as the voice thundered from above. She froze. "Yes, I will, oh, I will!" she cried and jumped up she ran down the aisle as fast as her legs could go and out the back doors of the church.
After the flock had gone, Pastor Park went searching for Holly. He found her hiding in the closet of the Sunday school room. She was curled up like a puppy, sleeping. Her long hair was tangled around her tear streaked face. He reached down and gently stroked her cheek. Holly's eyes flew open and when she saw her father the tears welled up instantly as she climbed out of the closet and into her father's arms.
"I was being dra-- dragged to huh-huh hell by the devil!" she cried with a fresh burst of sobs. "It was me, it was me and not little brother who broke the teacup last night! I dropped it on the floor when I was drying the dishes," she confessed hiccupping between sobs feeling that whatever punishment lay in wait at the hands of her father would be gentler than what punishment awaited in Hell.
Pastor Park was a strict man. He was a dogmatic preacher and conservative in his teachings. He followed the black letter of God's law and expected no less from his flock. But looking at his daughter's tear stained face he felt she had suffered enough at the hands of her own conscience.
His eyes were gentle and kind as he lifted his daughter up and carried her. Holly threw her arms tightly around her father's neck and scrambled into his arms, nestling her head in her father's shoulders. She was tiny for her age, and Pastor Park easily carried her down the stairs. Finally, in her papa's strong arms she was safe from the devil at last.
The Virgin Whore Trial: A Holly Park Legal Thriller Page 19
