“Did your sister tell you that she’d broken a story on a ring of crooked police officers in Philadelphia?”
“Yes.”
“Did she tell you that, in doing so, she made public a grand jury whose very existence was being kept secret by Mr. Walker, the prosecutor here?”
“She told me about the grand jury.”
“Did she tell you that Mr. Walker subpoenaed her to a grand jury, then personally threatened her with contempt and imprisonment if she didn’t show up and disclose the source of her information?”
“That was him?” Brian Yamura looks at Devlin as he answers. He’s wondering why the same guy who was threatening his sister is the one now seeking to avenge her death.
“Yes, it was,” I say. “Did your sister share with you that she was afraid of the crooked cops whose names she revealed?”
Brian hesitates but answers honestly, to a point. “Maybe a little afraid.”
“Are you aware that one of the police officers who ratted on the others was gunned down on a city street?”
Devlin objects, but this time the judge overrules him.
“I think I heard something about that.” Brian Yamura answers my question, but he’s not looking at me or the jury. He’s looking at Devlin Walker.
“Thank you, Mr. Yamura. I know this is difficult for you.”
As I expected would be the case, my cross has done nothing to undermine Brian Yamura’s testimony, and Devlin knows it.
“No questions, Your Honor,” Devlin says. “The Commonwealth rests.”
The judge calls us to the bench. Once we’re in position, he says, “I’m going to tell the jury to disregard everything they’ve heard about the defendant’s trips to Mexico and Grand Cayman, and the four million dollars.” Devlin begins to protest, but the judge puts up his hand, telling Devlin, “If you want me to reconsider, file a motion. I’ll consider it carefully, but I have to tell you now that I’m not likely to change my mind. And there’s not going to be a mistrial,” he adds, looking at me.
Ten minutes later, I’m standing in the spectator benches with my team—Vaughn, Marcie, and Alexander Ginsberg. This is the first time Piper hasn’t left the courtroom as soon as the trial day is over. She stands one row behind us.
“Alexander, your thoughts?” I ask.
“You’ve been doing a great job,” he says. “But today . . .” Here he turns to Marcie. “I don’t mean to be insensitive, Mrs. Hanson, but I have to be candid—today has been a train wreck for the defense. The brutality of the crime, the picture of the victim crawling away, maybe begging for her life, crying, really got the jury. The methodical way the killer retrieved her, took her back to the steps to bleed out . . . That speaks to premeditation. And Brian Yamura gave the prosecution the only thing it lacked: motive.”
I look to Vaughn, who nods in agreement. I glance back at Piper. She’s frozen in place. I nod, then look back at Ginsberg, who continues. “You have one chance here, Mick. This jury is absolutely convinced that, at the time Jennifer Yamura was murdered, your client was right there with her. You have to present the jury with a compelling alibi. Your client has to take the stand, convince them he was somewhere else. Convince them beyond a reasonable doubt.”
“But it’s the prosecution’s burden to prove . . .” Piper’s voice startles us all.
Ginsberg, Vaughn, and Marcie pivot around to look at her.
“You’re quite right,” Ginsberg says. “In theory. But when the prosecution has put on a case as emotionally compelling as the one presented here, to the point that the jury wants to convict, it becomes the burden of the defense—in fact, if not in law—to come forward with irrefutable evidence showing the prosecution’s view to be frankly false. To put it simply, you have to put the lie to the prosecution’s entire case.”
I look at Marcie and, in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear and strong enough to bring home my point, I say, “David’s going to have to testify to where he was at the time of the murder. And he’ll need to give the jury something more than his word. He’ll need corroboration.”
I let my little speech hang in the air. Then I tell everyone to go home and get a good night’s sleep. I walk Piper into the hallway and tell her I’ll be home by eight or nine. “I’ve got to meet with David in his holding cell now, then get ready for tomorrow.”
Piper asks me who my first witness is going to be.
“David,” I answer. “I have to get his alibi before the jury. I hate to have to put him on the stand because Devlin will eat him alive. But I just don’t see any other way.”
Piper looks away, looks through the window to the sky outside. For a second, I wonder whether, mentally, she’s flying through that window, leaving this sad scene behind, like I did the morning my mother fell dead on the floor.
“I’ll see you when you get home,” she says.
My meeting with David is brief. He expresses his distress over the day’s events, reserving special scorn for Brian Yamura. “Everything he said was a goddamned lie. I never told Jennifer that I was going to break up with her. And Jennifer never said she was going to Marcie. We never fought. It was a relationship of convenience, and we were both happy with it.”
I sit with my arms crossed, watch David pace his cell, whining as though he were the victim in all this. I don’t think I have ever hated someone as much as I hate David Hanson. I curtly take my leave of him and walk into the hall, where I spot Piper exiting the ladies’ room. In a few seconds, Marcie exits behind her. Both women seem taken aback when they see me but do their best to recover quickly. We ride the elevator down to the first floor, no one saying anything. Marcie bolts out ahead of Piper and me. I walk Piper to an entrance to the underground garage. Then I head back to the firm.
When I get to my office, I close the door, sink into my chair, put my elbows on the desk, and bury my face in my hands. I think of Jennifer Yamura and am suddenly overwhelmed by the picture painted by the prosecution of the young woman, her head already bloodied, crawling on the basement floor in a vain attempt to save her life. My thoughts then skip to Gabby and Piper. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to protect my own little family. I shiver, and think again how weary I am. But, of course, I must press forward. The major battles lie ahead.
Everything will be won or lost in the next twenty-four hours.
I work late, ensuring that Gabby will be long in bed before I get home. Because if I’ve done my work as well as I think I have, I know what awaits me with Piper.
An hour later, I turn into my driveway, press the button that opens the garage door, and pull inside. The kitchen light is off. Piper’s car is here, so she must be, too, though I see no evidence of her presence. The house is soundless. The television is not on. There is no music coming from the Sonos sound system. “Hello?” I call out. “Piper? Gabby?” No one answers. Even Franklin seems to be gone. I make my way through the kitchen, down the hall, and into the living room, which is also dark. But once there, I see a dim light. I follow it from the living room and down the short hallway leading to my office.
And there sits Piper, in the shadows, on the leather couch. She’s wearing the same outfit she had on in court, except that her shoes are on the floor next to her. An open bottle of wine and an empty glass sit on the coffee table in front of the couch. The only light is provided by the green banker’s lamp sitting on my desk, across the room.
“Piper? Are you all right?”
For a long moment, Piper’s face remains hidden in shadow. Then she slowly looks up at me, her face contorted with pain. “It was me.”
33
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 15, CONTINUED
“I was with David. I’m his alibi.”
Piper returns her gaze to the floor as I lower myself into the chair facing her. I let Piper’s confession hang in the air between us.
This is it. Every step I’ve taken, every move I’ve made since Jennifer Yamura’s death, was designed to bring Piper and me to this moment. And I know as I cross the
threshold that everything hangs in the balance. I have to keep focus, keep my emotions locked down, as I have for so long.
The grandfather clock’s pendulum slowly strokes the seconds. Piper gently rocks her body, almost to the beat of the clock. She’s weeping softly now.
“We didn’t plan it. It just happened.”
I’ve done my best to ready myself for this. But I still feel my body stiffen in my chair as she speaks.
“I was at the mall one day. David happened to be there, too. He came up to me, and we started talking. He suggested we walk to the Starbucks, have some coffee. We talked for a long time. He was funny. And sweet. And sad over what was happening to Marcie. The cancer. We finished our coffee, left the mall, and said good-bye. A couple weeks later, David called me, said he was out at the mall again, asked me if I wanted to join him for another coffee. It was close to five o’clock when I got there, so we decided to get a drink. You were in Pittsburgh, speaking at some legal conference.”
My stomach is churning, but I control my breathing, remain expressionless.
“Gabby was with my parents.” Here, Piper pauses, fills her glass, takes a sip of wine. “That was the first time.” She takes a bigger sip, then starts to fill in the blanks. The initial guilt over what she’d done. Followed quickly by a second time, then a third, until she and David had a standing date every other week at one luxury hotel or another, until . . .
My face burns with shame and anger, but I don’t interrupt.
“That day, the day . . . she died. David and I were going to meet at the Rittenhouse. I checked in to the hotel, ordered up some lunch. Then I left the hotel to shop a little.”
“That’s when I saw you on the street. You were carrying a Lululemon bag. It was stuffed.”
Piper nods. “I went to the Holt’s Cigar store. David told me they were getting in some special type of cigar, so I bought him a box.”
So he could have a smoke after you were done screwing? I want to shout the words, but I hold back.
“I put it in the big Lululemon bag, under the clothes I’d bought. I went back to the hotel, and David called me later, just before two o’clock. He was upset, said something awful had happened but that he’d be there soon.”
I put up a hand to stop her. “The police subpoenaed his cell-phone records. There was no record of any calls after he left the office that day.”
“Oh, God . . . this is so hard. We both had disposable cell phones. David insisted.”
And the camel’s back is broken. I leap to my feet.
“You had burner phones? Just so you could screw around on me? Fuck David, buy him cigars, and use burner phones so I wouldn’t find out?” I pause to take a breath, and my chest hurts. “Lying to me through your teeth then, and since David’s arrest. Forcing me to look at your lying face, hold down my anger, and make sure we all aren’t brought down by this goddamned disaster.”
My pulse feels white-hot, deafening in my ears. The rage I’ve held back for so long finally overtakes me. I don’t know how long my rant lasts, but when I finally stop and gather myself, I see the wine bottle missing from the coffee table and the TV screen in shards. And a deep red stain dripping down the wall beneath it. Dripping like blood. Like the blood running out of the back of . . .
Oh, Jesus.
I drop to the couch, close my eyes. I am spent, and I am lost. It’s all lost.
The grandfather clock begins to chime.
When finally I open my eyes, I see Piper staring at me, studying me. “You knew.”
I stare back.
“How long?” she asks.
I desperately want to escape this moment. But there will be no flying away this time. I lock eyes with Piper, take a deep breath, and say the words that I know will seal my fate. Turn Piper against me forever.
“I’ve known since she threw it in my face. Jennifer Yamura. The day I pushed her down the stairs.”
Piper’s eyes widen. Her lips part. I see confusion, then terror. She blinks once, twice.
“It was the second call,” I begin. “The one Jennifer made to me when Angie was at lunch. She wanted to move up our meeting. But not for earlier the next day. She said she had to see me right away. She asked me to come to her house.”
I see the terrifying image of myself at Jennifer’s back door on Anna Groszek’s videotape, forty-three minutes before David Hanson’s own appearance on camera. The image that forced my decision to make David pay the blackmail, no matter what . . . to protect my own sorry ass.
Piper is gaping at me now, and I realize that I have stopped talking. I inhale and continue recounting, step by step, the horror of that day.
“She let me in the back door, led me to the living room, and told me that she didn’t trust the TV station’s lawyers to protect her. She said she wanted someone whose loyalty wasn’t divided. I told her that if she retained me, I would work only for her. We talked some more, and she said there was someone involved in the investigation we could blackmail. Someone important. But before she could tell me who it was, I stopped her. I said I wasn’t blackmailing anyone. We argued the point, and she became extremely angry. Started shouting at me. Berating me, calling me a coward. I shouted back, and that’s when she told me about you and David. She said you’d been having an affair for months, and the whole world would find out about it if I didn’t back her blackmail plan. She said I most certainly would blackmail whoever she told me to, that I’d get her out of testifying in front of the grand jury and beat back any contempt charges. These weren’t requests,” I emphasize. “These were orders.”
“I don’t—” Piper begins, but I raise a hand to stop her.
“I told her I was done listening to her. I said I couldn’t have a professional relationship with a client who said terrible things about my wife, who spoke to me like that. I headed for the back door, but she cornered me in the hallway, where the doorway to the basement is, and she threatened me again.”
Piper questions me with her eyes, pleading silently for a reason that will justify what she knows is coming. And she finds one. “Tommy.”
I nod. “Jennifer said if I didn’t get her out of her jam, she’d tell the grand jury all about Tommy. That he was part of the drug ring. That it was he who first tipped her to the grand-jury investigation.”
“But—” Piper begins.
“She and Tommy had been lovers.”
Piper puts a hand to her mouth.
“I told her to leave Tommy out of it. But she kept screaming that she’d have him sent back to prison. I lost it. I pushed her. She fell through the curtain of glass beads.”
This isn’t exactly how it happened. I’ve changed the order of things, for Piper’s sake. Yamura did corner me in the hallway, but it was after she’d made her threats against Tommy, not before. She sneered at me, bared her teeth, and told me about Piper and David. She told me how David loved to brag about his other conquests. She told me some of the things David had shared with her about his encounters with Piper. Personal and private things. My stomach turns even now at the memory.
“David and I laughed about her, actually,” Jennifer had said. “For all her good looks and that bitching little body, your wife’s a bit of a prude. Or she was at first. But she came around.” Then Jennifer stepped into me, said, “One of the things David taught her was to cradle his balls,” and with that she cupped her own hand around my testicles, “like this, when she sucked—”
That’s when I snapped. I shouted something and, as I told Piper, shoved Yamura backward, shoved her hard, and watched her disappear through the curtain of glass beads.
“I heard her hit the steps,” I tell Piper. “I pushed the beads aside and saw her lying there, on her back, halfway down the stairs.” This is why I was surprised when I first saw the crime-scene photos showing her all the way at the bottom, with her head on the concrete block.
“Her eyes were closed. She wasn’t moving. Blood was spilling out of her head onto the steps. I took a couple steps down, c
alled her name. She didn’t respond. I waited, but she didn’t move. I was certain she was dead.”
“So, when I saw you on the street . . . ,” says Piper.
“I was coming from her house.”
Piper winces. “You had your leather satchel. It looked full, but I didn’t think anything of it.”
“I had her computer and jewelry. The money from her wallet.”
“To make it look like a robbery.”
What I’m expecting from Piper is revulsion and a stream of questions. How could I push a young woman down the stairs? What kind of man am I that I could callously strategize even as I stood over what I believed was her dead body? How could I calmly traipse around her house, stealing things to cover my tracks by making it look like a robbery? And how could I contain the knowledge of Piper’s affair with David—and with it, the rage—all this time? These rhetorical questions will be the mallet Piper uses to shatter the already-cracked crystal that is our marriage. And then she’ll call Devlin Walker.
But the questions do not come.
“From the beginning, you invited me in,” she says, so quietly at first that I can barely hear her. “You had me come to your trials. You practiced your openings and closings on me, ran ideas past me. You brought me to the victory dinners with your colleagues, the political events. Even when we socialized with the other DAs and the cops, we went as a couple. From the start, it was always us. Mick and Piper. I jumped onto your bandwagon, and it became our bandwagon. And on top of that, what we were doing was important. We were fighting the good fight, sending the bad guys away, making the streets safer. And when Gabby came along and we had a child to protect, that made our crusade even more important to me.
“And then, out of the blue, you said you wanted to leave the prosecutor’s office and jump to the other side. I couldn’t believe it when you told me. But I thought, okay, I can do that with you. We’d fight for guys like Tommy. Good people who’d done some bad things. People who just needed a second chance. And then you joined up with Lou Mastardi,” she says of the partner who’d formed the firm Susan and I inherited. “And that was the end of it—of all of it—for us. It was the end of us. Our circle of friends excluded us. You worked even longer hours than before. When you got home, you were too tired to talk about your cases, let alone ask me what I thought. I went to your trials at first, but it was all I could do to get you to acknowledge me. All my ideas about fighting for worthy defendants . . .” She shakes her head. “I was naive, I know.” Piper pauses. “All that was left of our great mission was your job. Mick and Piper became Mick. Mick in the office, Mick in the courtroom, Mick across the state at some legal seminar. Piper at home, with Gabby.”
A Criminal Defense Page 31
