Sleeping Beauty

by Phillip Margolin

  “Mr. Philips,” the deputy DA said, “Ashley will be my second witness so I’d like her at the courthouse, ready to go, at one-thirty.”

  “Not a problem. I’ll get her some lunch and have her there on time.”

  “Thank you.” Delilah turned to Ashley and put a hand on her shoulder. “You feed yourself, girlfriend. You ain’t got enough meat on your bones.”

  Ashley smiled. She felt safe around Delilah. The DA smiled back, turned and walked down the hallway to her office.

  “Are you hungry? Shall we get something to eat?” Philips asked.

  Ashley hadn’t eaten much for breakfast and she was famished, but she’d seen lawyer shows, so she felt she had to ask Philips something.

  “Are you going to be with me this afternoon?”

  “Would you like me to be?”

  “Yes, but I know that lawyers charge a lot and I can’t pay you. I don’t have any money.”

  “Actually, you do. Remember I told you about the insurance, and there’s been an offer on the house. We’ll discuss that at lunch. But you don’t have to worry about my fees for today. It’s on the house.”

  “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  “We’re both in the same boat, remember? I know how alone I felt when Dad died, so I have some idea how you’re feeling. I just don’t want you to go through this alone.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  A guard let Barry Weller into the visiting room in the courthouse jail, a cramped, broom closet-sized cubicle divided in two by a grille through which attorney and client talked. Weller wanted Maxfield to wear a business suit for the preliminary hearing. The jail commander had refused because no jury was present, so Joshua was wearing an orange jail jumpsuit. Weller expected his client to complain. Most clients wanted to be dressed nicely if their hearing was going to be in open court and TV cameras and photographers were going to be present. Maxfield didn’t seem to care how he was dressed. The only thing he’d insisted on was a haircut, which Weller had been able to arrange. Maxfield had cut his hair short. It dawned on Weller that he and his client looked vaguely similar.

  “Ready for the prelim, Joshua?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be. What do I do?”

  “Nothing. Most of the time only the state puts on witnesses at a prelim.”

  “Why is that?”

  “The arraignment is the court appearance where the judge tells you your charges. It’s held in district court, where misdemeanors-the less serious crimes-are prosecuted. Murder is a felony. Felonies can only be tried in circuit court. A preliminary hearing gives the DA an opportunity to convince a judge that there’s enough of a case to warrant a trial in Circuit Court.”

  “And when will the trial take place?”

  “In a couple of months.”

  “Why don’t you try to win the case today? Then we wouldn’t have to go to trial.”

  “It doesn’t work that way. At the preliminary hearing the prosecution doesn’t have to convince a judge that you’re guilty beyond a reasonable doubt, like she does at a trial. Delilah just has to show that a reasonable person would conclude from the evidence that the crime of murder had been committed and that there is a reasonable possibility that you committed the murder. That’s not much of a burden. It’s not even fifty percent.

  “What’s great about a prelim is that we get a chance to cross-exam the state’s witnesses under oath before trial. We could put on witnesses if we wanted to, but that wouldn’t make sense because it would give the DA a chance to do the same thing.”

  “So we’ll probably lose,” Maxfield said, “and I’ll have to sit in jail for months waiting for the trial?”

  “Yes.”

  Weller expected Maxfield to ask about bail, but he didn’t. Instead, his client asked about Weller’s progress with the book deal.

  “Howard Martin called me yesterday,” Weller answered excitedly, naming the man who had edited Maxfield’s two novels. “He’s not with your old publishing house anymore. He’s editor in chief at Scribe.”

  “I thought I read something about that in Publishers Weekly.”

  “He really wants the book. We’ve only had a preliminary discussion but he’s talking seven figures already.”

  Maxfield smiled. “I guess this is how the outlaws in the Old West felt when they read a Wanted poster and saw that there was a big reward for them.”

  Weller laughed. “Big isn’t the half of it. I’ve gotten calls from movie producers, and several television news shows are clamoring for interviews.”

  “Good job, Barry. I knew you’d come through for me.”

  Weller was about to go on when the guard told them that it was time for Maxfield to go to court. Weller waited in the jail near the elevator while the guards brought out his client. Weller, Maxfield, and two guards rode down to the third floor in silence. As soon as the elevator door opened, they were bathed in the glare of the TV lights. Weller shielded his eyes and rushed to keep up as the guards hustled Maxfield through a barrage of questions and flashbulb explosions. The noise didn’t stop until the courtroom doors closed behind them. Weller followed Maxfield and his guards through the packed courtroom to his counsel table. Henry and Miles Van Meter were sitting in the front row of the spectator section. Weller couldn’t tell what Henry was thinking, but Miles Van Meter’s hatred of his client was obvious.

  Delilah Wallace was already going over her notes at the prosecution’s table. Delilah took no notice of the commotion caused by the entrance of Weller or his infamous client.

  “Morning, Delilah,” Weller said.

  Delilah looked up with a welcoming smile. “Barry Weller! As I live and breathe. What are you doing here?”

  Barry laughed. He got a kick out of Delilah. “I was going to have my client cop a plea but you looked so busy I’ve decided to wait.”

  Delilah burst out with a belly laugh that made her huge body rock.

  “I always enjoy locking horns with you, Barry. You were one of the few public defenders with a sense of humor.”

  Weller took his seat next to Joshua. The bailiff rapped for order, and the Honorable Nancy Stillman limped into the courtroom with the aid of a cane. Stillman was a plump, gray-haired, motherly-looking woman who had been appointed to the bench two years before, after spending twenty years as a litigator with an insurance defense firm.

  “This is the time set for the preliminary hearing in State of Oregon versus Joshua Maxfield,” the bailiff intoned.

  “Is counsel ready?” Judge Stillman asked.

  Delilah struggled to her feet like a mountain forming. “As always, Your Honor, the people of Oregon are ready to proceed.”

  Stillman couldn’t help smiling. “Mr. Weller?” the judge asked.

  Weller stood. “Ready for Mr. Maxfield.”

  “Call your first witness, Ms. Wallace.”

  “Before I do that, Your Honor, I want to inform the court that for purposes of this hearing only, Mr. Weller and I have agreed to stipulate that the medical examiner’s report can be submitted in lieu of her testimony with regards to the cause of Terri Spencer’s death.”

  “Is Ms. Wallace correct, Mr. Weller?” Judge Stillman asked.

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “We’re also stipulating, again for purposes of this hearing only, that Mrs. Spencer was stabbed to death by a hunting knife with a blade similar to Exhibit 3, which was discovered on the grounds of the Oregon Academy and that, if called to testify, a forensic expert would tell the court that blood on the blade of Exhibit 3 is identical to Terri Spencer’s blood.”

  “You’re agreeable to that as well, Mr. Weller?” the judge asked.

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Finally, Judge,” Delilah continued, “and also for purposes of this hearing only, the parties have agreed to stipulate that, if called to testify, Dr. Ralph Karpinski would tell the court that Casey Van Meter is in a coma due to a brain injury that occurred when the back of her head struck a roof support in the boathou
se on the Oregon Academy grounds, and that bruises on the victim’s face are consistent with a blow to the face.”

  Weller agreed to the stipulation, and the judge made several notes on a yellow pad. When she was done, Judge Stillman nodded at Delilah and told her to call her first witness.

  “The State calls Lawrence Birch.”

  An hour later, Delilah’s secretary entered her boss’s office and told Ashley that it was time to testify. Ashley turned pale. Jerry Philips squeezed her hand.

  “Hey, you’ve had more pressure on you than this. You’re a big-time athlete,” he said, trying to loosen Ashley up with a smile, but she was paralyzed by the thought of being in the same room with Joshua Maxfield. She remembered the heat of his body and the way he smelled when he’d pressed down on her and rubbed his sex against her buttocks. She thought she might throw up.

  Jerry put a hand under her arm and helped her stand. Her legs trembled. Her breath caught in her chest. She felt dizzy.

  “I don’t know if I can do this,” Ashley whispered, on the edge of tears.

  Philips turned her toward him. He gripped her shoulders and made her stare into his eyes.

  “You must do this, Ashley. This is for your mom and dad. Maxfield is a terrible person.”

  Now Ashley was crying. Philips held her. The secretary looked on, almost in tears herself.

  “Can you get Miss Spencer a glass of water?” Jerry asked. The secretary walked away. When she returned, Ashley was still shaky but calmer. Jerry stood back and held out a handkerchief. He waited while Ashley wiped her eyes and drank some water. She knew Jerry Philips was right. She had to do this for Terri and Norman. She was the only one who could stop Joshua Maxfield, and she was going to stop him.

  “Let’s get this over with,” Ashley said.

  Philips squeezed her shoulder and they started down to Judge Stillman’s courtroom.

  The walk from the courtroom door to the witness box seemed to take a lifetime. Ashley looked straight ahead and did not see Jerry Philips slip into a seat in the last row. She kept herself rigid and turned her head away from the defense table so she could see Delilah Wallace but not Joshua Maxfield. There was a low wooden barrier that separated the spectator section from the front of the courtroom. Delilah smiled warmly and pointed toward the gate that opened into the bar of the court. Just before Ashley pushed through the gate she saw Henry Van Meter. He smiled at her and the smile helped to steel her for her ordeal.

  Ashley’s legs felt heavy as she walked past Barry Weller. She kept her back to the defense table when she took the oath, but there was no way that she could stop herself from casting a quick glance at Joshua Maxfield once she was in the witness box. The most difficult thing for Ashley to accept was that Maxfield had not changed into a monster. He still looked like the friendly instructor of creative writing who had chatted on the Academy quadrangle with the young girl he had tried to rape and murder and the woman he would soon stab to death. At the moment their eyes met, Maxfield smiled. His smile was as warm as Delilah’s. How could evil be so undetectable?

  “Miss Spencer,” Delilah said, “for purposes of this hearing I am going to confine most of my questions to the events that took place on the evening of June 24 of this year. But I will ask you a few other questions, so Judge Stillman can put those events in context.”

  Ashley was glad that the questioning had started so she had an excuse for staring at the DA and away from Joshua Maxfield.

  “You are between your junior and senior years in high school, are you not?”

  “Yes,” Ashley answered, remembering Delilah’s instructions to keep her answers short.

  “And you’ve spent your high school years at Eisenhower?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you played any sports at Eisenhower?”

  “Soccer.”

  “Do you also play on an elite club team when the high school season is over?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you done well in your sport?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell the judge a few of the honors you’ve won as a soccer player.”

  Ashley started with her honorable-mention all-state designation as a freshman and went on to list her other achievements.

  “Is the Oregon Academy a private school?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does it have a nationally ranked women’s soccer team?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were you offered a full scholarship to the Academy for your senior year in high school?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were you planning to accept that offer?”

  “Yes. I had told them that I would go in the fall.”

  “Now, Ashley, please tell the judge what you were doing on the Academy campus on June 24.”

  “The Academy runs a summer soccer clinic. Kids come from all over the country. Some of the instructors are members of the Olympic team and some are top collegians. I was hired as a counselor.”

  “Where did you live during those two weeks?”

  “In the dorm with the kids and the other counselors.”

  “So you were on campus on the evening of June 24?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell the judge what happened after dinner.”

  Ashley had trouble answering the question. She had blocked all thoughts of her mother until now, but she could put them away no longer. She took a sip of water to stall for time so she could gather herself. Judge Stillman knew what had happened to Ashley, her father, and Tanya Jones, because of Larry Birch’s testimony. She gave Ashley a smile of encouragement.

  “I like to run in the evening,” Ashley said. “My roommate, Sally Castle, usually ran with me but she wasn’t feeling well that night so I went alone.”

  “Where did you run that evening?” Delilah asked.

  “There’s a lot of woods on the Academy grounds with trails through them. I ran on the trails.”

  “Does a river run alongside the Academy land?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is there a boathouse on the river?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did your route take you near the boathouse?”

  “Yes it did.”

  “How was the light when you started out?”

  “Good.”

  “When your route took you near the river and the boathouse, did you see anyone you knew?”

  Ashley hesitated. She took a breath. “I saw Mr. Maxfield.”

  “Ashley, I know that this is hard for you…”

  “Objection,” Weller said. “That’s not a question.”

  “Sustained,” Judge Stillman said. “Just ask your question without preamble, Ms. Wallace.”

  “Yes, Judge. Ashley, please face the defendant.”

  Delilah had told Ashley that this moment would come, but she was still not prepared. As her head turned toward Maxfield, she clasped her hands in her lap, squeezing hard enough to cause pain.

  “Is that the man you saw in the woods near the river and the boathouse on the evening of June 24?”

  Ashley’s eyes locked on Maxfield’s. His smile was gentle and not threatening. He seemed to be making her task easier. Ashley nodded and looked away.

  “We need a verbal response, Miss Spencer,” the judge said.

  Ashley took a deep breath and let it out. Delilah had told her how important it was that she make a positive identification without hesitation. If Maxfield was going to be punished for what he’d done to her, her family, and her friend, she would have to tell the judge that he was the man she saw at the boathouse.

  “I saw Joshua Maxfield that night.” She pointed at Maxfield. “He is the man sitting in the courtroom with his lawyer.”

  “Let the record reflect that Miss Spencer has identified the defendant, Joshua Maxfield,” Judge Stillman ordered.

  “What was the defendant doing when you saw him that night for the first time?” Delilah asked.

  “He was walking along the river toward the boathouse.”

 
Delilah paused and consulted her notes. Ashley wished they could stop now but she knew that they couldn’t.

  “Ashley,” the prosecutor asked, “did anything unusual happen shortly after you saw the defendant walking toward the boathouse?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell the court what happened and what you did.”

  “I heard a scream. Actually, there was more than one.”

  “How many screams did you hear?”

  “Two.”

  “Was there time between the screams?”

  “Yes, but not much.”

  “Could you tell who was screaming?”

  “A woman. It was a woman’s scream.”

  “What did you do when you heard the scream?”

  Ashley looked down. Her voice dropped when she answered.

  “I got scared. I froze. I thought about hiding.”

  “Did you hide?”

  “No.”

  Ashley choked up. She reached again for her glass of water.

  “What did you do after the second scream?”

  “I went through the woods toward the boathouse.”

  “Why the boathouse?”

  “It sounded like they came from there.”

  “Did you hear or see anything else before you arrived at the boathouse?” Delilah asked.

  “No.”

  “How close did you get to the boathouse?”

  “I was right next to it. I went to one of the side windows and looked in.”

  “Did you hear anything from your position?”

  “Just before I looked in the window I heard a woman shout.”

  “What did she say?”

  “I couldn’t tell.”

  “Why do you think a woman, not a man, shouted?”

  “It was high-pitched.”

  “How soon before you looked in the window did you hear the woman shout?”

  “A few seconds.”

  “What did you see when you looked in the window?”

  Memories came flooding back: the body on the floor sprawled against the timber that supported the roof, the body curled into a fetal position on the floorboards. She wobbled in her seat and squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Do you want to take a break?” Delilah Wallace asked, alarmed by Ashley’s pallor.