"You can be seated," Quinn said as soon as he had taken the bench. Cedric Riker remained standing, but the deputy district attorneys who accompanied him took seats on either side of the prosecutor. One deputy was a black woman and the other was an Asian male. They looked young and nervous.
Riker looked anything but nervous. He was dressed to kill and hungry for every second of publicity that this case would bring him. Quinn was willing to bet that Riker had held a news conference in the corridor. Speaking with the marble and polished wood of the courtroom as a backdrop lent authority to Riker's words and made him look good to all the voters who listened to his sound bites on the eleven o'clock news.
Seated at the other counsel table were Mary Garrett and her client. Garrett was wearing black with a pearl necklace. None of Garrett's associates were at the counsel table, though Quinn suspected that there were one or two in the audience in case of an emergency. There were no lawbooks in front of Garrett, either. Quinn had heard that Garrett had an encyclopedic knowledge of the law and was known to give accurate volume and page cites to cases in the law reports from memory. She had already delivered a concise and expertly written brief on the bail issue to Quinn's chambers. Quinn was impressed by Garrett's ability to pump out a brief of such high quality on such short notice.
Ellen Crease sat quietly beside Garrett. She was dressed in a gray business suit and a cream-colored silk blouse. Aside from a pair of small diamond earrings, she wore no jewelry. Quinn's eyes rested on the defendant for a moment. It was hard to avoid looking at her. Crease was not classically beautiful, but even dressed in a conservative business suit, she exuded an animal sexuality that attracted and held a man's attention.
"Mr. Riker and Ms. Garrett, Judge Sax has assigned State v. Crease to me. However, I want to make counsel aware that I will be speaking at a legal seminar in St. Jerome in two weeks. That means that I will not be in Portland for approximately one week. During that time, if there are any emergencies, Judge Sax will take care of them. Is that a problem for counsel?"
Both lawyers answered in the negative.
"Good. Now, Mr. Riker, as I understand it, we're to hold an arraignment and bail hearing this morning."
"Well, Your Honor, we do intend to arraign the defendant on two charges of aggravated murder, but the People object to holding a bail hearing on such short notice in a case this serious."
Garrett was on her feet before Riker had finished his sentence.
"Your Honor, Senator Crease is in the middle of a hotly contested campaign for the Republican nomination for the United States Senate. Her opponent is a political ally of Mr. Riker, who has done enough damage to her on behalf of his political cohort by bringing this spurious indictment during the campaign. Keeping the senator in jail for a week or more would cause her untold damage. She has had to cancel an entire day of campaigning already because of these absurd charges."
"I resent the implication that this indictment was politically motivated," Riker told Quinn self-righteously. "I did not charge the defendant with murder. This murder indictment was handed down by the people of this state through the agency of a duly impaneled grand jury."
"Nonsense, Judge," Garrett countered with a snort. "A grand jury is a tool of the prosecutor's office. Everyone knows that. Mr. Riker would fire any of his deputies who couldn't get an indictment charging the Pope with JFK's assassination."
The hearing was getting out of hand, so Quinn said sharply, "Ms. Garrett and Mr. Riker, I want this sniping to stop right now. This may be a long and contentious case, but it is going to be conducted with civility by all parties. Am I understood?"
"Of course, Your Honor," Riker assured the judge in a fawning manner intended to ingratiate him with Quinn. Garrett merely nodded.
"Good. Now, I assume you've been given a copy of Ms. Garrett's brief on the bail question, Mr. Riker."
"Well, I was, but so soon before court that I haven't had a chance to read it."
"Tell me why you believe holding Senator Crease in jail for a week or so during the height of this campaign would be in the interests of justice," Quinn commanded the prosecutor.
Garrett held back a smile. Having Quinn address her client as "Senator Crease" instead of "the defendant" was a small but important victory.
"The defendant is charged with two counts of aggravated murder," Riker blustered, and it was immediately obvious to Quinn that the prosecutor had not done any legal research on the issue of the proper timing for a bail hearing in a murder case. "These charges are serious. The defendant is a flight risk and a potential danger to others."
"The question of whether the senator is a flight risk or a danger to others is relevant to the amount of bail to be imposed, if I decide to grant bail. It is not relevant to the question of my authority to hold a bail hearing at the same time that I arraign Senator Crease. Do you have any other arguments you wish to make?"
"No, Your Honor."
"Then I must tell you that I find the arguments in Ms. Garrett's brief persuasive and I hold that the interests of justice require me to hold Senator Crease's bail hearing this morning.
"The question of whether bail will be granted is another matter. I have no opinion on it at this moment and I will hear counsel on the question as soon as Senator Crease is arraigned."
Quinn held the arraignment quickly. He read the charges to Crease and advised her of her rights. Then he asked her how she wanted to plead to the accusation that she had hired Martin Jablonski to murder her husband, then murdered Jablonski because he was a witness to her involvement.
Crease had been standing during the arraignment. When Quinn asked her how she wished to plead, she squared her shoulders and looked Quinn in the eye. Despite the tense atmosphere in the courtroom, Crease appeared to be confident and free of fear. When she spoke, her voice was firm and filled with resolve.
"I loved my husband very much, Your Honor. I would never hurt him. I don't know what is behind these allegations, but they are false and I am not guilty."
For a moment, the fire in Crease's eyes trapped Quinn. Then he pulled himself away and pretended to scan some papers that lay in front of him.
"Very well,'' Quinn said. "We'll record your plea of not guilty to both charges. Now to the issue of bail. Mr. Riker, I believe that you have the burden of convincing me that there is clear and convincing evidence of Senator Crease's guilt before I can hold her without any bail. How do you wish to do that?"
"This hearing has caught me by surprise, Your Honor. I'm not prepared to proceed with witnesses at this time."
"When could you have your witnesses here, Mr. Riker?"
Garrett was certain that Riker was not going to give her a chance to rip into his witnesses prior to trial, and she smiled when he said, "Well, I don't know. Perhaps I could give the Court the police reports in lieu of presenting live testimony?"
"That would deprive me of the opportunity to cross-examine, Your Honor," Garrett objected.
"I agree," Quinn said. "Mr. Riker, unless you want to call witnesses and subject them to examination by Ms. Garrett, I'm going to have to hold that bail is appropriate in this case and move on to the question of the proper amount of bail."
Riker looked very uncomfortable. He shifted from one foot to another. One of the deputies tried to whisper something to him, but Riker waved him off.
"You've put me in an impossible position, Your Honor," Riker complained.
"I'm sorry you feel that way, Mr. Riker, but you're going to have to tell me if you want to put on witnesses or argue the amount of bail."
"Let's proceed with arguments on the amount of bail," Riker said reluctantly. "The defendant is a wealthy woman who can fly to any country, including those without extradition treaties with the United States. She even owns her own airplane. This makes her a flight risk. Plus, she is a former policewoman. She knows how to use a weapon. She could be a danger to our witnesses."
Garrett stood up and addressed Quinn.
"Your Honor, until Mr.
Hoyt's will is probated Ms. Crease has limited access to his wealth. She earns a salary as a state senator, but that hardly makes her rich. Furthermore, Senator Crease is in the middle of a political campaign. That, in addition to her complete innocence, is why we are fighting so hard for bail."
"Would the senator surrender her passport as a condition of my setting bail?"
"Of course."
Quinn reviewed the personal history that was part of Garrett's brief. He came to a decision.
"Instead of setting bail, I am going to release Senator Crease on her own recognizance ..."
"But, Your Honor . . . ," Riker sputtered.
"Please do not interrupt me, Mr. Riker. I will give you an opportunity to make a record when I am finished."
Quinn dictated a series of conditions for Crease's release, then gave Riker an opportunity to vent his spleen. When the district attorney was finished ranting and raving, Quinn set a date for the state and defense to file motions and set a tentative date for hearing the pretrial motions and for the trial. When there was no further business to conduct, the bailiff rapped the gavel, everyone in the courtroom stood and Quinn returned to his chambers.
As soon as Quinn left the bench, Mary Garrett broke into a huge grin. "So far so good, Ellen."
"The judge seemed to be very fair."
"That he did."
"Will he be our trial judge?"
Garrett nodded. "This is my first time in front of Quinn. He's a surprise choice for the homicide rotation. Before he came on the bench he was a contract law specialist in the Price, Winward firm. But I like what I've seen so far. He seems bright and he's decisive."
"Do you think he'll work with us? He seemed to dislike Riker."
Garrett stopped smiling. "Don't get any ideas about Quinn being some sort of pro-defense, knee-jerk liberal because of what happened today. My book on him is that he is one hundred percent ethical and that he decides cases on the law. That means that he'll rule for Riker whether he likes him or not, if he thinks he is right. And he can be really tough. He just sent Judge Gideon to prison when everyone in the courthouse was putting money on probation.
"On the other hand, we won't have to worry about having a judge who is part of the prosecution. The bottom line is that we have the best kind of judge. He's smart, he's ethical and he'll give us a fair trial. Now it's up to me to make certain that the trial ends favorably for you."
[3]
Quinn found Laura hunched over the computer in their home office on the second floor. She was dressed in a flannel nightgown with the granny glasses she used for reading perched on her nose.
"Still working?'1 Quinn said.
"It's that condo deal in Maui," Laura answered without looking away from the monitor. "There are all sorts of problems and, of course, our client had to wait until the last possible minute to let us know."
"Ellen Crease was indicted for Lamar Hoyt's murder. Stan Sax assigned me the case."
Laura looked up and swiveled away from the screen.
"That'll keep you busy," Laura said.
"Didn't you handle some litigation involving Hoyt?"
"BestCo. We sued his ass. I deposed him."
"What was he like? I met him a few times but I never had a real conversation with him."
Laura thought about the question. She swiveled her chair and pushed her glasses back on her nose.
"Hoyt was a real cowboy. All ready to shoot it out at high noon with us, as if the lawsuit were some kind of nineteenth-century gunfight. He impressed me as the type of guy who thinks he can conquer every situation with the force of his personality." Laura thought for a moment, then added, "I guess he had a sort of primal charm, but he was also a real chauvinist. He couldn't keep his eyes off my breasts."
"Didn't he make his money in mortuaries?"
"Yeah, but that was only at the beginning. He diversified early on. Hoyt had his fingers in a lot of pies and," Laura added with a smirk, "up a few dresses."
"He was cheating on Senator Crease?"
"That's the rumor."
"I wonder if she knew."
"If / knew, she probably had a clue."
"I'm surprised she stood for it. From what I hear, that's not her style."
"Some women will put up with a lot for twenty million dollars. She was number three. Maybe she didn't want to become the ex-number three."
Laura paused. "Is this going to affect our trip to St. Jerome?"
"No way. Stan is going to cover for me when we're gone. I told him I wouldn't handle the case if I had to give up the trip. I'm really looking forward to spending some uninterrupted time with you."
"Me, too," Laura told Quinn. He bent down and kissed her and she returned the kiss.
"That's enough smooching," Laura said. "If I don't get back to work, I'll be up all night."
Quinn smiled and gave Laura a peck on the cheek. She seemed excited about the trip to St. Jerome. Maybe she realized how hard she had been working and how nice it would be to take some time off. Quinn hoped that spending time with him had something to do with Laura's good mood. When he walked downstairs to fix himself a snack, he was grinning.
Part Two
The Cove of Lost Souls
Chapter 12.
Can I get you something to drink before we take off?" the flight attendant asked.
Quinn was lost in thought, oblivious to the attendant and the passengers who were filing past his aisle seat in first class while the flight crew prepared for the plane's departure from New York for St. Jerome. When he realized that the flight attendant was speaking to him, Quinn looked up at her with a blank expression and she repeated the question with a pleasant smile.
"Scotch on the rocks, please," Quinn answered without returning her smile. The attendant turned to the first-class passenger across the aisle and Quinn looked forlornly at the empty window seat beside him. Yesterday Laura had told him that she would not be able to go to St. Jerome.
"Honey, I have really bad news," she had said in a midday call from her office to his chambers. "A group of businessmen in Florida are putting together a condominium deal like the one in Maui. They heard about the job I did for Eddie Meyers. They have some of the same problems. The deal is going to be finalized this weekend and I have to fly to Miami tomorrow afternoon so we can meet on Wednesday. Then they want me with them during the negotiations through Saturday."
There had been stunned silence on Quinn's end. The conference on St. Jerome was from Thursday to Sunday. Quinn was speaking on Thursday morning. He had planned it so that he and Laura would leave on Tuesday and have every day but Thursday to themselves. If Laura had to be in Miami from Tuesday to Saturday, there was no way she could come with him.
"Can't someone else go in your place?" he had asked, but Laura had told him that the clients insisted on her handling the matter personally and were willing to pay a large retainer to secure her services.
"Turn them down," Quinn had snapped, unable to hide his anger and disappointment. "There must be hundreds of lawyers in Miami who can review their damn contract."
"I know you were looking forward to this vacation," Laura had answered calmly. "So was I. But this will give me a foothold in Florida. Do you know how many condo deals are made there?"
"I don't care, Laura. This vacation ... I was hoping so much . . ."
Quinn could not finish the sentence.
"I'm sorry, Dick. I'm not in this just for myself. You were a partner at Price. How could I explain turning down a fee like this and losing the potential business?"
Quinn wanted to remind her that she was also a partner in their marriage. Instead, he hung up after assuring Laura that he understood in a tone that let her know that he did not.
The line of boarding passengers started to thin. To distract himself, Quinn took the airline magazine from the seat pocket in front of him and found the crossword. Completing the crossword before takeoff was a ritual that Quinn followed whenever he flew.
"Excuse me. I think the
window seat is mine."
When Quinn looked up he saw a woman standing in the aisle. She was about five feet four and wore a white T-shirt under a red sports jacket. Her jeans were secured at the waist by a brightly colored red and yellow fabric belt with an unusual silver buckle that resembled a seashell.
"I have 2A," she explained, showing Quinn her ticket.
"Sorry," Quinn said as he stumbled awkwardly to his feet. As the woman edged by him, she smiled apologetically. Quinn guessed, that she was in her mid-twenties. She was not wearing makeup and she looked tired. Her straight black hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Here and there, strands had escaped to add to the picture of an exhausted traveler. The woman had a small nose, full lips and almond-shaped brown eyes that were a little bloodshot. The overall effect was vaguely oriental. Just as the woman sat down, the flight attendant brought Quinn his drink.
"Can I get you anything?" the attendant asked the woman in the window seat. The woman looked at Quinn's drink.
"Is that a Scotch?" she asked him.
"Yes."
"Then make mine the same."
The attendant left to fill the order.
"I need a stiff drink," she told Quinn while flashing a tired smile. "I just got off a nonstop from Italy."
"Vacation?" he asked to be polite.
"I wish," she answered with a pleasant laugh. "I was in Bologna checking out leather suppliers for my business."
"What do you do?"
"I'm the president of Avalon Accessories, creators of the best custom-made belts in the known universe," the woman answered proudly. Then her shoulders sagged dramatically. "But sometimes I wish I had a partner. All the travel kills me. If I'm not in the shop, I'm on a plane."
The Undertaker's Widow Page 9
