Diana pressed on. “Of course, because the maximum penalty for these charges is the death penalty, bail is out of the question.”
A murmur rose from the gallery. Sasha shot to her feet. Nick tugged on her sleeve, but she kept her eyes on the judge.
“Your honor? Is the District Attorney saying she’s going to seek the death penalty in this case?” Sasha heard her voice say the words, but it sounded far away.
“Good question. Ms. Jeffries?” the judge asked, turning to the district attorney.
The district attorney hesitated, then said, “It would be premature to make that decision at this time. It’s not off the table, however.”
“Understood,” the judge said. She stared down at her hands for a moment and then raised her head and looked straight at Nick, although she addressed Sasha. “Ms. McCandless, regardless of the death penalty issue, murder in the first degree and murder in the first degree of an unborn child both carry a mandatory life sentence if the defendant is convicted. So, bail is not an option. That’s mandated by statute. The defendant is remanded to custody until his preliminary hearing.”
Sasha heard Nick swallow a moan.
Larry stood, leaning awkwardly on the table, and said, “Your honor, the defendant requests the earliest possible preliminary hearing date, given the circumstances.”
“I think that’s fair,” the judge said. She looked at the bailiff. “Can we give them a time on Monday?”
The bailiff flipped through some papers, and said, “Nine-thirty works.”
“With all due respect,” Diana began.
The judge cut her off. “Mr. Costopolous is entitled to a speedy determination. If the Commonwealth wants to play this game, it should be prepared to play. Nine-thirty on Monday it is.”
“Yes, your honor,” Diana said.
Nick was pale and shaking.
“I can’t do this,” he whispered to Sasha.
“You have to,” she said. She squeezed his hand, in equal parts to comfort him and to steady herself.
“Sasha. I didn’t kill her. You have to get me out of jail, please,” he begged her.
“Okay,” the judge said, “next up, The People v. Hector Allonde.”
In a daze, Sasha gathered her papers while the deputies came to take Nick back to prison. As they marched him down the hall, he twisted his neck and stared back at Sasha, his dark eyes pained and frightened.
She waited for Larry, and they walked together down the aisle under the curious, sympathetic gaze of the assembled attorneys. Sasha pushed open the heavy doors that led into the hallway and held them for Larry. She felt hot and suddenly tired. Nick was already gone, whisked away to be caged—for the weekend, if he was lucky; for the rest of his life, if he wasn’t.
As soon as the doors had closed behind her, one of the assistant district attorneys who’d been at the table with Diana trotted over to Sasha and shoved some papers at her wordlessly.
“What’s this?”
He fixed his eyes on the floor and said, “Complaint in The Commonwealth versus Greg Lang. The preliminary hearing is set for Monday afternoon.”
Sasha blinked at the papers in her hand and then looked at Diana Jeffries, who stood with her other assistant, smiling and laughing, by the elevator bank.
“Are you kidding?” Larry asked.
The assistant didn’t bother to answer; he just scurried over to wait for elevator with his boss. Diana glanced over and smiled a cold smile at Sasha and Larry.
“Ms. McCandless, call my office if you’d like to discuss a deal. I’ll be in until five today,” she called across the hall.
“Don’t respond to that,” Larry said, banging his cane on the floor for emphasis. “Come on, we’re taking the stairs.”
“Larry, you can’t manage the stairs,” Sasha said. She’d love to take the stairs, but the man relied on a cane to get around.
“I’d sooner crawl down the stairwell than share an elevator with that dirty bird,” Larry said.
Sasha had no intention of standing in the hallway and arguing with an irate, cane-wielding man. “Okay, let’s go,” she agreed.
They took the stairs slowly and silently, both still reeling from the district attorney’s surprise attack.
When they stepped out into the parking lot, they walked headlong into a crowd of jostling, shouting camera people and reporters. In the center, sporting freshly reapplied lipstick, stood Diana Jeffries. She’d assumed a solemn face and was gesturing with her hands. Based on the downward chopping motion she was making, she was either explaining how to split a log or describing how Clarissa Costopolous had been pummeled until the life drained out of her ... and the baby she was carrying.
“Don’t run,” Larry said without moving his lips, “but don’t engage them either.”
They walked toward their cars, both careful not to make eye contact with any of the press, but several of the teams peeled off from Diana’s press conference and headed toward Sasha and Larry.
“No comment?” Sasha asked as they stopped beside Larry’s car. Her Passat was parked six rows away.
“If they catch you, you have to say something,” Larry responded, as he shoved his key into the lock on his boxy, ancient Volvo wagon. He eased himself behind the wheel and locked the door, waving goodbye as he started the engine.
Sasha waved back and headed for her car. A reporter for WTAE trotted up alongside her, shadowed by a cameraman. She quickened her pace, but the reporter ran around in front of her and blocked her path.
“Are we rolling?” the reporter asked his cameraman over his shoulder.
“Yeah, you’re good,” the cameraman replied, aiming the bulky equipment at Sasha.
“Ms. McCandless, Seth Champerton, WTAE news. Can you confirm that you represent both of the Lady Lawyer Killers?” He shoved the microphone at her.
She suppressed a groan at the name. Of course, the journalists had come up with a name, they couldn’t resist. She still remembered the rapist who had terrorized Shadyside in the mid-1980s. Back then, the reporters had named him Sneaky. Sasha had been in elementary school and hadn’t understood the concept of rape, but she’d imagined Sneaky dressed like the Hamburglar from the McDonald’s ads, tiptoeing around with a mask and a bag. The Lady Lawyer Killers was easily as bad.
“I represent Greg Lang and Nick Costopolous, both of whom have been wrongfully accused in their wives’ deaths, if that’s what you mean,” Sasha said in a neutral voice.
“What do you think about the District Attorney’s decision to charge Mr. Costopolous under the Unborn Child Statute?” he asked, making his eyes wide.
“Mr. Costopolous didn’t kill his wife. And, he didn’t kill his unborn child. In fact, he had no idea that his wife was pregnant until the police told him last night. So, his grief at the loss of his wife is now compounded by a sorrow you and I can only imagine,” Sasha said, staring straight at Champerton instead of the camera. “In any event, I’m confident that once the district attorney has had an opportunity to gather and analyze the evidence in this case, she’ll conclude that the facts don’t support a first-degree murder count under any statute.”
“So, Mr. Costopolous claims it was a crime of passion?”
“No, Mr. Costopolous maintains his innocence.” She looked directly at the camera.
Champerton switched gears. “Do you have any comment about District Attorney Jeffries’s motion to revoke Mr. Lang’s bond and remand him to custody until trial?”
Sasha ignored the question. Instead, she said, “Both Mr. Lang and Mr. Costopolous are victims here, Seth. These men lost their wives. They didn’t just lose them; they had them torn violently from their lives. What they want and deserve is the opportunity to grieve in private. As you likely know, Ellen Mortenson and Clarissa Costopolous were my former colleagues. I mourn their passing, too. But I think they’d both appreciate knowing their husbands’ rights are being protected.”
Champerton hesitated, chastened and unsure what to say. Sasha saw he
r opening. She nodded at the camera and hustled into her car. She had the keys in the ignition and was driving off before the reporter had formulated a response.
CHAPTER 42
Sasha headed straight for Naya’s office. She pushed through the door without bothering to knock first.
“Why didn’t you answer your phone? I’ve been trying to call you since ...” Sasha trailed off when she realized Naya wasn’t alone.
Caroline Masters, impeccably dressed in an ivory silk blouse and a black skirt, sat in Naya’s guest chair, dabbing at her red-rimmed eyes with a tissue.
Naya inclined her head toward Caroline to let Sasha know she’d been busy.
“Caroline, could you excuse us for a moment? I need to speak to Naya in private,” Sasha said.
“Of course,” Caroline answered in a ragged voice that left no question she’d been crying.
Naya followed Sasha across the hall into her office. Sasha stopped just inside the door and turned to Naya.
“What’s she doing here?”
“She needs a lawyer, Mac. Thank God you’re back; I’ve been holding her hand all morning,” Naya said.
“Whatever her issue is, make her an appointment for next week and then get rid of her. Please,” Sasha added.
“I think you should listen to what she has to say. What’s got your panties in a knot, anyway? Did Prescott & Talbott back out on the bail?”
“I wish. No. The District Attorney showed up personally and read the charges: murder in the first degree and murder of an unborn child in the first degree.”
“Ouch. No bail, then,” Naya said.
“Yeah, no bail. He’s spending the weekend in custody. We got the judge to set the preliminary hearing for Monday morning, though. So maybe we can get him out then.”
“That’s good,” Naya said.
“You’d think so. But after the arraignment, the DA served us with a motion to revoke Greg’s bail. That hearing is set for Monday afternoon,” Sasha said.
“I guess I know how we’re spending our weekend.”
Sasha nodded. “Right. So, can you get rid of Caroline?”
“Trust me. You want to hear her out,” Naya answered in a firm voice.
Sasha lacked the energy to argue with her.
“Fine,” Sasha said, “let’s talk to her. But when Larry gets here, you’re going to have to peel off and help him. He can only stay for a few hours. He’s got to get out of here before sundown.”
Larry and Bertie observed Shabbat, the Jewish sabbath. He would be unavailable beginning at sunset and lasting until three stars were visible in the night sky on Saturday. Given Larry and Bertie’s regular bedtime, she didn’t expect him to be back at work again until Sunday morning, at the earliest. Naya, similarly, would be unavailable most of Sunday, because her weekly Baptist church service stretched on for hours and was followed by a potluck meal with the congregation.
Unlike Prescott & Talbott, Sasha didn’t pay Naya enough to justify a seven-day grind. And Larry had refused to accept any payment for his assistance. So, she’d be glad for whatever help they were willing to give her over the weekend.
Naya headed for her office.
Over her shoulder, she said, “Let me grab a notepad and a pen. I’ll bring Caroline right over.”
Before Sasha, Caroline, and Naya had arranged themselves around the conference table where just one day earlier Nick had evaded Sasha’s questions, Larry arrived.
Sasha made the introductions.
“Caroline, this is Larry Steinfeld, a lion of the criminal defense bar. Caroline Masters is the secretary to the chair of Prescott & Talbott, Larry. As I understand it, she has a somewhat urgent legal matter to discuss.”
“It’s very nice to meet you,” Larry said as he shook Caroline’s hand and gave her a grandfatherly smile. Over her head, he frowned at Sasha and shook his head.
“Naya will help you with the research for our other matters while Caroline and I chat,” Sasha said, in an effort to forestall his objection.
Caroline cleared her throat and spoke in a soft voice, “If the other matters are your criminal cases for Ellen and Clarissa’s husbands, you may want to stay, too. Mr. Prescott instructed me to destroy some documents that I think may be related to the murders.” She kept her eyes glued on her hands, which were busy shredding a tissue into tiny scraps of lint.
Larry wasted no time dragging the last chair over to the table. Naya got him his own pad and pen, then shut the door. They arranged themselves and sat silently, with pens poised over paper.
“Just start at the beginning,” Naya encouraged her.
“Wait,” Sasha said, “did Naya explain that this conversation is privileged?”
“She did,” Caroline confirmed.
Sasha would have to stop her if it sounded as though she’d destroyed any documents that might have exculpated either Nick or Greg. In that situation, she’d be conflicted out of representing Caroline with regard to any charges that might stem from the destruction of evidence. She would deal with that eventuality if and when it arose. For now, she wanted to hear Caroline’s story.
Caroline swallowed visibly. Then she wet her lips and began.
“On Monday, Mr. Prescott was very busy dealing with the news of Ellen’s murder. He had several long meetings; first, with the management committee, then with the partners, and finally with the administrative department heads, who met with staff. As you can imagine, the entire office was abuzz. It was a trying situation.”
Sasha could imagine. She also noted that, in typical Prescott & Talbott fashion, no one had bothered to meet with the associates. Gossip and misinformation had no doubt flown through the associate ranks as they gathered what news they could from their secretaries and any income partners who were willing to share a stray nugget or two of information. The firm’s management seemed to believe its associate ranks functioned best when treated like mushrooms: kept in the dark and fed a lot of manure.
“Of course. Please go on,” Sasha prompted.
“In addition to all the internal meetings, he had all the outsiders to deal with. Ellen’s clients, Prescott & Talbott alumni, other lawyers, and, of course, the press and the police. His phones rang non-stop. It was very stressful for him.”
Naya rolled her eyes at the concern for poor Cinco. Sasha was inclined to agree, but she reminded herself that Caroline’s sole professional purpose seemed to be to insulate Cinco from unpleasantness. Of course, she would worry about the effect of Ellen’s murder on her boss.
Caroline paused to gather her thoughts and then continued her linear, straightforward recitation of the facts.
“So, Mr. Prescott was swamped. Then, late in the afternoon, a messenger arrived with a hand delivery.”
“Wait,” Naya said, holding up a hand to interrupt the narrative. “The messenger brought it up to your office? He or she didn’t leave it with the mailroom?”
“Right,” Caroline confirmed.
A look passed between Sasha and Naya.
Larry caught it. “What?” he asked.
“That’s unusual. Typically, all deliveries, including hand deliveries, go to the central mailroom for distribution,” Sasha explained.
Larry scribbled a note on his legal pad.
“It is unusual,” Caroline said, “but it’s not unheard of. In any event, I signed for the envelope and sent the courier on his way.”
“Then what did you do?” Sasha said.
“I wasn’t sure what to do,” Caroline explained. “The envelope was marked ‘Personal and Confidential’ and there was no return address. Ordinarily, I give Mr. Prescott his personal correspondence unopened. But he was so busy, and the phone messages were piling up. So, I decided to just open it and sort it along with all the other mail.”
She shook her head with a slow, sad motion and added, “I certainly wish I hadn’t.”
“What was it?” Sasha said.
Caroline reached into her bag and removed a large white envelope. She hande
d it across the table to Sasha.
“See for yourself,” Caroline said.
Sasha tore open the flap, which had managed to retain some stickiness, and shook out a photograph. She recognized it instantly. It was The Terrific Trio, resplendent in their formal gowns—the same picture that Ellen had displayed in her home office. In this copy, however, Ellen’s face had been obliterated with a heavy red X. Along the bottom of the photograph, someone had written “ONE DOWN” in thick block letters.
Sasha’s pulse sped up. She passed the picture to Naya, who stared down at it.
“That’s sick,” Naya said and handed it to Larry.
“That’s Ellen Mortenson,” Sasha explained to Larry, “the woman whose face has been crossed out.”
“And next to her?” Larry asked without looking up from the photograph.
“Clarissa Costopolous,” Sasha said.
Larry dropped the picture on the table as if it were hot. He peered down at it again, then he said, “Who’s the third woman?”
“That’s Martine Landry,” Naya said. “She used to be a lawyer at Prescott & Talbott, too.”
“Is she still alive?” Larry asked.
“Yes,” Sasha and Naya answered in unison.
Sasha turned to Caroline for confirmation. “She is, right?”
“Yes. I mean, as far as I know.”
Sasha pulled her eyes away from the picture.
“You gave this to Cinco?” she asked.
“Yes. I ... well, I was shocked and sickened when I saw it. So, I stuffed it back into the envelope and took it in to Mr. Prescott.”
“Did you talk about it with him?” Naya asked.
Caroline shook her head. “No. He must have known I’d seen it; the envelope had been opened. But he didn’t mention it to me, and I was feeling queasy about it. I didn’t want to bring it up. I guess I assumed he wouldn’t want to discuss it.”
She finished in a soft voice and stared down at her hands.
“What did he do after you gave it to him?” Sasha asked.
“He met with the management committee again. After that, he told me to get Will Volmer for him.”
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