Fatal February

by Barbara Levenson

  “Come on back and see my new space,” I said as I hugged her.

  She didn’t return the hug and followed me into the office. I closed the door. Mother never raises her voice. She knows how to snarl without screaming.

  “When were you going to tell me that you left Frank’s firm? I had to find out from the receptionist when I called there and they said they didn’t know how to reach you. I called Jonathan. It seems both your brothers knew all about your complete change of work and boyfriends, but you couldn’t bother telling me.”

  The phone rang and Catherine suppressed a laugh. “Now your father is on the phone. He doesn’t sound too happy.”

  My father does know how to yell, and he was proving that point as Catherine put him through.

  “Mary, this is your father. Is your mother there? How could you upset her like that? She drove out of here like a maniac. Did she get there?”

  “Yes, Dad, she’s here. Why didn’t you drive her, if you were so worried?”

  “You know I can’t miss the men’s morning golf at the club.”

  My parents sold the family house on Miami Beach when Dad sold the Katz Kosher Foods business. They shocked the whole family by moving to a gated development in Boynton Beach, two counties away. Dad’s new occupation since retirement is golf. My brothers and I know if there is a family emergency, it must take place in the evenings when the golf course is closed.

  “Mary, what are you trying to do? Break your mother’s heart? You couldn’t tell her that you broke up with Frank?”

  I was holding the phone away from my ear to protect my eardrum. Mother grabbed the receiver.

  “Abe, stop screaming. I’m okay. I’ll handle this.” She hung up the phone.

  “Listen, Mother, I’m very sorry,” I said. “Everything happened so fast. Frank just wasn’t the person for me. I met Carlos and I realized Frank was a mistake. Carlos helped me get this great office, and then I had to get all my clients moved to my new practice, and I’ve got that big murder case that you saw in the paper, and then Frank sued me, but that case has been dismissed — well, you can see I haven’t had a minute.”

  “Carlos? Carlos who?”

  “He’s my new boyfriend. I’m sorry you’re disappointed about Franklin.”

  “You’re wrong. I’m not disappointed about Franklin. I never liked him. He’s so stuffy. When can we meet Carlos?”

  “Soon, I guess.” I was stupefied. “You didn’t like Frank, and you never said anything?”

  “All I want for you is to see you settled down with a nice home and children. Your clock is ticking. Before you know it, your reproductive years will just be a memory.

  “Now let me buy you a nice lunch and you can tell me all about Carlos. And why don’t you do something about your hair?”

  The morning was gone. I hadn’t caught up on any work. I grabbed my purse and followed Mother out the door like a good little girl.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The next day was Lillian’s official arraignment. I had prepared several motions, as well. I called the condo, and was pleasantly surprised to hear Lillian answer. I reminded her that we needed to be in court promptly at nine o’clock. Her community control officer had also phoned to remind her.

  “I’m doing better, Mary. The doctor has me on some tranquilizers. It’ll be good to get out of these four walls even though it’s a trip to court. The officer said she’d meet us there.”

  “Shall I pick you up?”

  “No, Sherry and Brett will be coming with me.”

  “I have to prepare you. The media will be covering this. There will be reporters and TV cameras outside. The judge may keep them out of the courtroom, but you’ll still have to pass through them at the entrance. It will be easier if I pick you up. I can drive you into the underground garage and you can take an elevator up from there and avoid the reporters.”

  “Okay, Mary, we’ll be waiting in front of our building whenever you say.”

  The morning was one of the reasons snowbirds flock to Miami in winter. The sun rose early and by the time I picked up the Yarmouth clan, there was a rosy glow over Miami Beach. The sky and the water meshed into a turquoise blanket. Even the causeway traffic seemed subdued.

  The contrast between Miami Beach and the Civic Center was never more evident. Cars crawled past the criminal courthouse searching out parking. Two large vans from the outlying jails were trying to plow through the traffic, their windows blacked out and barred as if they contained zoo animals. Nervous families dashed across the street in front of the courthouse, ignoring the cars and vans, concentrating on arriving in the correct courtroom to support their defendant relatives.

  “I’m glad you picked us up,” Sherry said. “I didn’t know this would be such a scene.”

  Lillian and Brett had remained quiet for the entire ride. Lillian was dressed in a dark suit that made her look paler than ususal. Dark circles rimmed her eyes. No amount of makeup could hide them. I kept my fingers crossed that she could get through the hearing without falling apart like a rootless tree in a windstorm.

  We pulled into the garage under the courthouse. It was really the first floor of the building. Those entering through the front doors had to march up thirty steps. The guard in the booth approached my window.

  “José, it’s me, Mary. How’ve you been? Listen, I’ve got Lillian Yarmouth here, you know the big case in courtroom 6-1 today. I need to keep the media circus from trapping her.”

  “Oye, Mary. You know I’d like to help you, but I’m not supposed to let anyone in here who doesn’t have a parking sticker. I could get in trouble, maybe lose my job.”

  “José, you could never lose your job. You’ve been here through three different state attorneys. The place can’t run without you. I’ll square everything with the court. You know I’d never hang you out to dry.”

  I extended my hand through the window and did the ten-dollar handshake. José pocketed the bill, raised the gate and pointed to a parking place near the freight elevator.

  We boarded the creaky freight elevator. I pushed six and kept my finger on the number, hoping to bypass the other floors. We stopped anyway on the first floor, the doors opened, and the noise level exploded over us. I pushed “door close.” We made it to the sixth floor. Most of the crowd of curiosity seekers and media vultures were already in the courtroom holding down prime-time seating.

  Lillian’s case had been moved to the ceremonial courtroom to accommodate the crowd. Metal detectors blocked the entrance.

  “I thought all the security was at the front doors.” Brett finally had something to say. “That’s where they were when we came for the bond hearing.”

  “They’re still there. These are a second set that they use whenever there’s a high-profile case,” I said. I was surprised that this case warranted the extra security, usually reserved for high-level drug dealers or racially inflaming cases.

  Lillian and I took our seats at the defense table. Sherry and Brett were seated in the front row right behind us, after I asked “Moe and Curly” to move. Moe and Curly are two of the courthouse regulars. No one is sure of their real names. They attend trials almost every day, using the courts as their regular entertainment. Both appear to be in their eighties. Moe walks with a cane, and Curly is totally bald. They have their favorite lawyers to cheer on. I have been on their list ever since I won a case in which my clients, a retired couple, were accused of running a boiler-room operation selling water purifiers. Moe and Curly admire entrepreneurial skills in fellow retirees.

  Karl Morris was seated at the prosecutors’ table flanked by two young lawyers. All three got up and started toward our table. I stood up and extended my hand as they approached.

  “Good, morning, Mary. This is Charlene Montavo and Charlie Goldberg. They’ll be assisting me in this case. Lois McIver will be here from the appellate staff at a later time,” Karl said.

  I shook hands with each of them. It reminded me of the coin toss before a football game. Th
e big difference was that their team was a lot larger than ours. The bailiff interrupted our ritual.

  “All rise. Court is now in session in and for Miami-Dade County. Judge Harvey Arnold presiding. Turn off all pagers and cell phones or they will be confiscated. Be seated.”

  I drew in my breath. “Is everything okay, Mary?” Lillian tugged on my sleeve.

  “Just fine. Sit down. Here’s a pad and pen. If you need to tell me anything, just write it on the pad, so no one else can hear you,” I said.

  Things weren’t just fine. Harvey Arnold was a recent addition to the bench. He was an unknown quantity. In his past life he had been a commercial litigator. He had little or no knowledge of criminal law. Why had he been assigned to this case? I never bought that blind filing system by the clerk’s office. It was as blind as a sharpshooter.

  Rumor had it that this circuit court judgeship was just a stepping-stone for Harvey. He hankered after a seat on the appellate court, but without criminal experience he wouldn’t be considered, so Lillian’s case was going to be his training ground.

  “The first case this morning on the arraignment calendar is State vs. Lillian Yarmouth, ” Judge Arnold announced.

  Lillian and I approached one lectern, while Karl stood behind the other. The arraignment is the first time formal charges are filed in court. The state had been holding the indictment in secret. All of my phone calls to Karl had been stonewalled. The clerk’s office claimed that they had not received a copy of the charges. The entire courtroom appeared to be holding its collective breath awaiting the degree of the charges. I was hoping for a manslaughter charge, assuming the State would look at the crime as one of passion, a spur-of-the-moment decision by whoever was the killer.

  “Good morning, Your Honor,” Karl said. The state is filing a one-count indictment against Mrs. Yarmouth for the second degree murder of her spouse, Gary Yarmouth.”

  A gasp resounded from the audience. Lillian swayed slightly and grabbed my arm. I heard a sob behind me and knew it was Sherry.

  “However, Your Honor, I think it advisable to warn the defendant and her counsel that this charge may be superseded by an indictment for first degree murder. We have reason to believe that there was premeditation. The state attorney’s death penalty committee is scheduled to meet in March to evaluate whether we will be seeking the death penalty.” Karl finished with a flourish.

  “How say you, Ms. Katz, on behalf of your client?” the judge inquired.

  I was as dizzy as if I had just gotten off a roller coaster ride. “We enter a plea of not guilty, waive reading of the indictment, request immediate discovery, fifteen days for further motions, and request a very early trial date.” My lawyer mind had returned. I would ram this case to a swift conclusion before these gestapo prosecutors dreamed up any other tortures for Lillian. “Also, Judge, you will notice that I have filed other motions to be heard this morning.”

  “Judge, I was unaware of any motions calendared for today,” Karl whined.

  “These motions were delivered one week ago to the state. The court file will reflect the date they were served.” I smiled at the clerk who was already going through the court file.

  “She’s right, Your Honor,” the clerk said, as she passed the papers to the judge. “Date of service was actually nine days ago.”

  One of the young assistants was rushing forward with the motions from Karl’s file. Karl gave her a dirty look and began to study the documents.

  “My first motion is to remove Mrs. Yarmouth from the electronic monitor. She has posted a one-million-dollar bond with her family home as collateral. She has lived her whole life in Miami. Her children have left college to live with her while this case is pending. Her brother and sister-in-law live nearby and the family business is located here as well. All of these safeguards insure that my client will never leave the county.”

  “What are you asking me to do?” Harvey asked.

  “Judge, you can’t be considering this.” Karl’s voice rose in a grating squeak. “I was going to ask you to revoke her bond and put her in jail.”

  Lillian began to cry. I patted her shoulder.

  “I believe the bond itself is sufficient without any further impediments. I need my client to assist in her defense. That means she needs to be free to come to my office and to attend the depositions of State witnesses. If you feel that you need some other protective measures, how about having her report to a community control officer twice a week?” I asked.

  The judge scratched his head, looking around the courtroom for help. He looked at Lillian for a long minute. Then he spoke in a soft voice. “Mrs. Yarmouth, I think I can trust that you will show up in court for all hearings. You’ve posted a large bond. If you fail to appear, the courts and/or the bondsman would own your home. That is safeguard enough. I will remove the electronic monitor. You will report to an officer every Monday morning at nine a.m.”

  “Oh, thank you, Your Honor. You won’t be sorry,” Lillian said, and for the first time since I met her, she smiled.

  “I can’t believe it,” Karl muttered as he left the lectern.

  “I beg your pardon. Would you like to repeat that, so everyone can hear, including the court reporter in case she missed that,” the judge said.

  “I have a few more matters to address, Your Honor,” I said, “if the state would return to the lectern.”

  “Maybe you should quit while you’re ahead,” the judge said. He was beginning to enjoy himself. He relaxed and leaned back in his chair.

  “I don’t have the luxury of quitting, Judge. My client is charged with a heinous crime of which she is not guilty. There is not one iota — not one scintilla — of evidence that she is the perpetrator.”

  “Your Honor,” Karl interrupted, “she’s making a speech for the press.”

  “I resent that, Judge. I am sworn to be an advocate for my client. That’s what I am doing.”

  Of course I was hoping the press had picked up on my remarks, but if not, there was always the press conference after court.

  “I have asked for immediate discovery, and I note that none has been given. I plan to take depositions as soon as I can serve the state’s witnesses. I am especially eager to get the tape of the nine-one-one call to the Miami Police, where we will hear Mrs. Yarmouth’s voice. She reported finding her husband’s body. I am asking the court to instruct the police department not to destroy that tape.”

  “So ordered,” said Judge Arnold. “State, why didn’t you turn over your witness list and other discovery this morning when you filed the indictment? Isn’t that how it’s usually done?”

  “Well, Judge, we’re working on it. It should be ready in about ten days,” Karl said. He was looking down at his shoes.

  “Then, if I can’t have discovery right away, I am asking the court for a preliminary hearing. I know this is rarely done under our state system. That’s because we have full discovery in criminal cases including depositions, but the prosecution is trying to stonewall my ability to view their evidence. A preliminary hearing will show the court that there is no evidence against Lillian, I mean Mrs. Yarmouth.” I paused for breath. “And I am asking for a trial date in ninety days.”

  “Ninety days?” Karl yelled. “This is a murder case. Ms. Katz knows it takes at least a year to bring a murder case to trial, sometimes two, and I have other older serious cases.”

  “That’s your problem, Mr. Morris. It’s very refreshing to hear a lawyer ask for a quick trial date. All I’ve heard since I began my judgeship is ‘continuance, continuance.’”

  “Ms. Katz, I think a preliminary hearing just might be a good idea. Two weeks from today, one p.m. Next case, please.”

  I led Lillian out of the courtroom. I really felt like skipping out of the courtroom, but I contained myself. It wasn’t so bad having a judge who didn’t know shit about criminal court. He was making it up as he went, and I was helping. Now we were ready to talk to the press. The cameras were clicking as we left the court
room.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The weekend loomed ahead. I was behind in all my work, and had planned to spend most of it in the office until Carlos reminded me that I had agreed to spend it with his parents on Marco Island at their beach condo.

  “Can we compromise? Please?” I asked.

  “Don’t tell me you’re backing out of meeting my family,” Carlos said.

  “Of course not. I’m looking forward to it,” I said. I just need to work. Can’t we go for the day on Saturday and come back Saturday night? Then I can work all day Sunday.” I tried not to blink as Carlos stared at me.

  It was only a partial lie. I did have to work. I wasn’t looking forward to being examined by Carlos’s parents.

  “Okay, but bring your bathing suit. I hope it’s a bikini. And bring a change for dinner. My mother has asked a few other guests.”

  So it wasn’t just a once-over by the parents. A whole firing squad of Latino critics was going to pass judgment as well. I called my hairdresser for an emergency hair cut and pedicure.

  Saturday dawned darkly. The sun was covered by banks of clouds. It rarely rains in February or early March. In fact, this is the season when wildfires begin due to the months of dry weather. The weatherman on Channel 7 was ecstatic. “It looks like rain is coming in from the west and we need it badly,” he crooned.

  I needed rain like I needed an extra hole in my head. What would we do all day if we couldn’t hang out at the beach?

  The ride across Alligator Alley, the old name for I-75, used to be one of my favorites, right through the Everglades. When we were kids and the road had been a two-laner, my brothers and I spent the ride with noses pressed to the windows looking for who could spot an alligator or an eagle. Now it was a freeway. But birds still filled the area. I concentrated on counting the species. The sky grew darker and soon rain splashed against the windshield in big ugly drops.