by Marcia Clark
After a few moments, she reached for more Kleenex, wiped her eyes, and took a deep, ragged breath. “No, that’s okay.”
“Is this the first time you’ve publicly admitted that you falsely accused Tommy of rape?”
“Yes.”
“Was Russell Antonovich in on this lie about Tommy?”
“Objection, calls for speculation!”
It might, and Russell wasn’t on trial, but I wanted the whole truth of this sordid story to finally be told. Brittany looked at me, a deer in the headlights. She opened her mouth to continue, but the judge spoke first.
“Unless she has personal knowledge, the objection is sustained,” the judge said. “But I do see the relevance, Ms. Knight. So ask your next question.”
The judge was signaling me to take another tack. I wasn’t sure there was one.
Brittany looked deflated. I flashed her a supportive smile as I mentally regrouped.
“Was it after Tommy committed suicide that you began to have…emotional trouble?”
“Yes. I got into drugs and drinking. Anything to make myself forget what a horrible person I am, and what I’d done.”
“Brittany, how old were you when all this happened?”
“Thirteen.”
“And you’re how old now?”
“Twenty-three.”
“So you started drinking and drugging when you were thirteen?”
“Y-yes. That’s when it started.”
“And did you begin to have problems at work as a result of your drug and alcohol problem?”
“Yes. I’d be too hungover to make it to the set. Or I’d get to the set and forget all my lines…” Brittany sighed and hung her head.
“What about after Circle of Friends? Did you continue to have drug and alcohol problems?”
“Yes, it only got worse.”
“But you continued to get work, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Russell put me in all of his films. Gave me starring roles. But I couldn’t get insured, so no one else would cast me.”
“And that has continued to the present time?”
“Basically, yes. Until I walked off the set of Russell’s new production, so I’m not working at all now. But…yes, he’s still the only one who hires me.”
“And it’s been that way since the day you lied about Tommy raping you, since the day Ian Powers promised you’d always have work, right?”
“Yes.”
That was probably as close as I could get. I consulted my notes to give the jury a chance to catch the underlying message: that Russell was the only one who’d hire her because he was in on the deal that promised Brittany job security for life in return for her lie about Tommy. That wrapped up the history of things.
“I’d like to move on to events just before Hayley’s…death. Do you remember when was the last time you saw Hayley?”
“I think…you showed me a phone bill, right? It would’ve been around that time because she called me to ask if we could get together and then we met up at a club.”
I brought out Hayley’s cell phone bill, and Brittany identified her number as one of the calls.
“So that would’ve been about three weeks before she was killed, then?”
“I guess so, yes.”
“Did you know that Tommy’s son, Brian, was involved with Hayley at that time?”
“No, she never told me about him.”
“And when you met her at the club, did you tell Hayley about accusing Tommy of rape?”
Brittany’s face crumpled and slow tears rolled down her cheeks. “See, that’s the thing. My memory’s…not so good. A lot of things are still hazy, because I was drunk and stoned almost all the time. I know she started asking me stuff about the past, about what happened with Tommy when I was in Circle of Friends. And so I think I must have. Because, if Hayley knew about it, I was the only one who could have—or would have—told her.”
“Objection, speculation,” Terry said in a flat voice.
“Well…sustained,” the judge said.
I tried again. “Brittany, to the best of your knowledge, who besides yourself knew that the story about Tommy Maher raping you was a lie?”
“For sure?” Brittany asked.
I nodded.
“For sure, only Ian. But possibly also my mom…and Russell.”
Terry could have objected to those possibles, but there was no point to it. Mother Caren and Russell were none of her concern.
I paused to let the jury reach the obvious conclusion: that no one but Brittany would have told Hayley, because they’d be implicating themselves in the plot to frame Tommy for rape. But just in case, I made a note to drive the point home in closing argument. “One last area, Brittany. You did not come forward to volunteer this information to the prosecution, did you?”
“No. The last time I spoke to you, I knew Hayley was…missing. But I didn’t know she was…” Brittany stopped, unable to say it.
“And a little while after we spoke, you left the country?”
“Yes. I’d been fighting with almost everybody on the set for weeks. I was just sick of…everything, mostly myself. I couldn’t stand my life anymore. Valerie, my dresser, my only friend on the set, told me about this rehab center, called—”
“You don’t have to tell us the name. It’s not in this country, correct?”
“Yes.”
“So you checked yourself in?”
“Yes.”
“And do they allow you to see newspapers, news programs, things of that nature at the center?”
“No. When you came this weekend and told me about Hayley…” Brittany began to cry softly.
“It was the first you’d heard that she was dead?”
Brittany wiped her eyes and nodded. “Yes.”
“When you finish your testimony, will you go back to the center?”
“My therapist is taking me back.” She nodded toward the doctor, who was sitting nearby. “I still have another two months to go and I’m not allowed to be out alone.”
“Thank you, Brittany.”
The cross was minimal. Terry tried to get Brittany to admit that Russell had continuously given her work because he felt sorry for her, not because of any deal Ian had brokered, but there wasn’t much else Terry could do. She couldn’t go on the attack with a witness this vulnerable, and there was no point to it in any event: Brittany’s honesty was obvious, and there was no witness who could contradict her testimony. Trying to discredit her was hopeless.
I finished the case with those who had witnessed Brittany’s downward spiral. Studio head Chuck Viener, who was devastated to find out he’d been lied to about Tommy, the other actors on Circle of Friends, and one of the few directors who’d worked on a film with her early in her career.
“She was unemployable,” the director said. “No insurance company could afford to take a risk on her. So no one wanted to touch her with a ten-foot pole.”
“Except Russell Antonovich.”
“Right. She was in all of his films.”
84
I rested my case, and Terry had no further evidence to offer.
“Ladies and gentlemen, that will conclude the evidence portion of this trial. I’m going to excuse you for the day while the lawyers and I work out jury instructions. We’ll begin closing arguments at nine o’clock sharp tomorrow morning. I again remind you of the admonition: do not discuss this case with anyone, do not listen to or read any reports or commentary about this case, and do not form any opinions until the case is finally submitted to you. Have a great night, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As the jury moved past us toward the door, I searched their faces for some sign, anything that would tell me what they’d made of all that testimony. But the jurors were more buttoned up than ever. I glanced at Terry, who, like me, was standing at attention, watching the jurors leave the courtroom. Now, even more since I knew Russell hadn’t been covering for Ian, I wondered why she hadn’t warned him of what was coming wh
en we got out of chambers this morning. That at least would have given him a chance to leave in time to avoid being hounded by the press. As the last juror walked out, Terry turned back to counsel table and caught me looking at her. I raised an eyebrow. She tossed her legal pad into her briefcase. “Guess Ms. Brittany’s about to clean up her act,” she said. “And she won’t be doing any more work for Russell Antonovich.”
“Seems so.”
“Good for her.” She gave me the tiniest of conspiratorial smiles, snapped her briefcase closed, and walked off.
When Bailey and Declan and I got upstairs, I told them about my last exchange with Terry.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” Bailey smiled. “She did it on purpose.”
I nodded. “Payback to Russell for screwing Brittany over all these years.” Who knew? Terry had a human side after all.
We turned on the television in Eric’s office. News programs on all channels were on fire with the story of how Ian and possibly Russell had muscled Brittany into making the false rape accusation.
“They’re toast,” Declan said. “No matter what happens with this trial, it’s over for both of them.”
“You think so?” I knew I sounded skeptical.
“I know what you think of Hollywood,” Declan said. “But trust me, there’re a whole lot of decent people in the industry who’ll never do business with those two—or even speak to them—again.”
It was good to hear, if true. But it wouldn’t be enough. Not for the slaughter of two innocent children.
When I went down to court early the next morning, I again found Janice on the bench in the hallway. I’d asked Bailey to bring her up to my office when she arrived, but Janice had declined. “Too many windows, too high up,” Bailey explained. Janice was in the same position as yesterday: sitting next to her agent, Elden, whom she held by the arm, and clutching in the other hand what appeared to be the same book. I told her I’d secured them a front-row seat for closing arguments.
“Ian Powers is guilty as sin,” she said. “Do you think the jury will do the right thing?”
I sighed and told her I hoped so.
“Can you get that hideous Russell Antonovich for…anything?” she asked.
Elden intervened. “Janice, she’s got a closing argument to give right now,” he said. “Let her be.”
“I’m so sorry.” Janice squeezed her agent’s arm. “You’re right, Elden.” She gave me a shaky smile. “Good luck, Rachel. Do they say break a leg in this context?”
“Not unless they really want you to,” I joked. “I’ll see you in there.”
When we finished in chambers, I saw that the courtroom was packed tighter than ever. There wasn’t even an inch between the bodies seated on the benches. The air was so thick with tension it was hard to breathe. The jurors had dressed up for the occasion; some of them were even wearing suits. It was impossible to tell if that was a good or bad sign. It might just be a sign of celebration, because one way or another, their travails would soon be over.
I gave my first argument—a meat-and-potatoes, no-fireworks description of the evidence.
Terry made a strong pitch for her conspiracy theory, pointing out that the threatening letters and calls Ian and Russell had gotten were “undeniably real” because “the prosecution would’ve been happy to show they were fake” if that had been the case. She was right about that. The only mention she made of the altered ransom e-mail was the brief statement that “Ian Powers is not on trial for tampering with e-mail—or for whatever Brittany Caren claims happened over ten years ago.” She theorized that the henchmen sent by Angela’s father somehow got hold of the original e-mail and showed up on Boney Mountain. How they might’ve done that, she didn’t say. But the way Terry laid it all out, it didn’t sound as preposterous as I would’ve liked. And the jury was soaking up every word. For conspiracy buffs, this argument was practically edible it was so delicious. Did I have any of those on the jury? No one had admitted to it during voir dire, but jurors seldom did. This case was far from won.
“Ms. Knight, your rebuttal argument?”
I thanked the judge, then I thanked the jury for their patience through what was a much more difficult case than we’d expected. I made sure to hit the points Terry had made, then I moved on to my conclusion.
“In the end, this is all about ambition. It started with a screenplay. A screenplay Ian Powers knew had ‘blockbuster’ written all over it. But then Tommy Maher surfaced, screaming to anyone who’d listen that Russell Antonovich had stolen the script from him. Suddenly, the dream was about to go up in smoke. Instead of going to the Oscars, they’d be going to court, maybe for years. And if Tommy could prove that Russell had stolen that screenplay, not only would they lose in court, they’d lose in Hollywood. They’d be branded as thieves and liars. Ian Powers had to make Tommy go away.
“His solution? Frame Tommy for the rape of their child star. Tommy would have to shut up or risk exposure for that heinous crime. And the studio head, Chuck Viener, would never talk. Everyone looks bad if it comes out that a pedophile has been allowed to work on a set with child actors.
“And then, Ian Powers got luckier still. Tommy committed suicide. For Ian, it was a dream come true. Because now, not only were they rid of his haranguing, but any suspicions Tommy might have raised would be dismissed as the ravings of an unbalanced, jealous mind.
“The defense wants you to remember that Ian Powers is not on trial for what he did to Brittany. That’s true. Sad, but true. But what he did to her tells you so much about who this man is. Think about it: Ian Powers was himself a child actor. And as the defense was so proud to bring out, he was the sole support for his family at the tender age of eight. Who could know better the kind of pressures Brittany endured as sole support for her family? And yet, knowing full well the enormous stress of being a child forced to shoulder that weight, he willfully, unconscionably destroyed a child actress for his own personal gain.”
I pointed to Ian Powers, who sat rigid in his chair, staring straight ahead. “That’s who this man really is. Now, did Russell Antonovich and Ian Powers steal Tommy’s screenplay? I think the answer must be yes. Just the fact that Ian Powers would go to such lengths to silence Tommy proves it.”
At that, several jurors turned to look at Ian for a long few seconds. I waited until I had their full attention, then continued.
“The fact that this perfect ‘solution’ begat not only Tommy’s suicide but also a lifetime of misery for young Brittany was of no concern to Ian Powers. Nor, I should mention, for Russell Antonovich, who got the ball rolling when he stole that screenplay. As far as they were concerned, it’d all worked out perfectly. Ian and Russell were making millions—the sequels, the merchandising, the video games. Everything was beautiful.
“Right up until Hayley and Brian threatened to expose both of them for the lie they’d perpetrated. And what did those kids ask for? Not money. Not a cut of Wonderland Warriors proceeds. All they asked was that Russell admit the truth. But Ian Powers couldn’t let Russell admit he’d stolen that screenplay. It would undermine their credibility all over town. And beyond that, how could Ian be sure it would stop there? Even if Russell admitted he’d stolen the screenplay, Hayley and Brian had shown they had possession of an even bigger threat. They knew that he’d set Tommy up with the false rape charge. And if that ever got out, everyone would know he had Tommy’s blood on his hands. Between lawsuits for the profits on Wonderland Warriors and the wrongful death suit for Tommy’s suicide, he’d be ruined. Good-bye beautiful life.
“So Hayley and Brian had to be silenced. There wasn’t much time to plan this out, but Ian wasn’t dealing with a Mafia don. He was dealing with two innocent young kids. It wasn’t hard to get the drop on them. Just leave a DVD in a bag by the side of the road, wait for Brian to come pick it up, and then put a gun to his head—a .44 Ruger gets anyone’s attention—and force him up the mountain, to a remote spot where no one would find his shallow grave.
“As for Hayley, Ian Powers likely believed he could control her. With Brian gone, she had no ally. Brittany was still on the bottle and unable to cope with even a shooting schedule, let alone a pitched battle against two of the most powerful figures in Hollywood. If Hayley was isolated, she could be persuaded not to expose him and her father.
“But once again, Ian got ‘lucky.’ Hayley sent Brian texts that night. Texts that showed Hayley was right there, under Ian’s nose. She made it so easy, that poor little girl. All he had to do was send her a text from Brian’s phone, telling her to come out and meet him. Think for just a moment how cold-blooded this man has to be. This young girl had been like a daughter to him for most of her life. But that didn’t matter. With cold, calculated deliberation, he lured this child out—deceived her so he could hunt her down like an animal, slit her throat, and dump her body into the trunk of a car.”
I paused and turned to look at Ian Powers. His face was pinched with fury, but also fear. He met my eyes for just a second, then looked away. I turned back to the jury. This time, I noticed only one or two of them had been watching Ian.
“And I must say, the plan, as hastily made as it was, nearly worked. If it hadn’t been for that freak storm, we might never have found Brian’s body. We would have believed what Ian Powers wanted us to believe: that Brian killed Hayley and flew to Paris to live large on the ransom money.”
I paused, taking a moment to let it all sink in, as much for myself as for the jury.
“Before I sit down, I want to leave you with one final thought.
“Pearl Bailey said that a man with ambition but no love is dead. In Ian Powers you have just such a man. A man whose overweening ambition left him with not a single shred of humanity. An ambition so all-consuming, he willfully, knowingly destroyed four lives. Not only the lives of Hayley and Brian, but also the life of a talented writer and a thirteen-year-old girl, whose remorse for what Ian Powers made her do sent her into a downward spiral that may yet prove to have ruined her for life. Ladies and gentlemen, it’s too late to ask for justice for Tommy Maher, or for Brittany Caren, but it’s not too late for Brian and Hayley. I ask you to do justice for them and convict their murderer, Ian Powers.”
