Karl carried the Rose report with him to the lectern. He looked at it as if it were a snake preparing to bite him.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Rose. My name is Karl Morris. I have some questions on behalf of the State.”
Mr. Rose nodded, and settled deeper into the witness chair.
“You testify in court a lot don’t you, sir?”
“Yes, it goes with my profession.”
“So it would be fair to say you are a professional witness. Correct?”
“I’m a professional investigator, licensed by this state. Along with that goes the responsibility to make my findings known in court.”
“Isn’t it a fact that your reports are slanted toward the findings your clients want?”
“I don’t understand your question, Mr. Morris.”
“Well, you charge a hefty fee for your services, don’t you?”
“Not as hefty as lawyers charge.” Once again, the audience laughed.
“How much do you charge?”
“Generally, fifty dollars an hour, and a retainer fee of five hundred dollars. If I have to travel out of town, I charge for air fare and other travel expenses.”
“How much did you charge Mr. Yarmouth?”
“Just a minute. I will look at his bill.” Bob Rose opened his briefcase and pulled out a folder. He glanced through it, pulled out a paper, readjusted his glasses, and began to read. “Hourly fees, thirty-five hundred dollars, retainer fee five hundred, expenses and copying one hundred ten, total forty-one ten.”
“You want to be sure your customers are satisfied after spending so much money?”
“I want to be sure that I do a complete job.”
“So it’s true, isn’t it, that you slant your report in favor of what your client wants to hear?”
“Mr. Morris, my clients are usually unhappy when they hire me and more unhappy after I finish my report. I am hired in many divorce cases where I have to tell my client that their spouse has exactly the amount of money he says he has and has not been unfaithful. On the other hand, I often have to tell the wife who hires me that her husband is cheating on her. The truth very often hurts my clients. Mr. Yarmouth was certainly not a happy camper when he found out that Maddie Rodriguez was hanging around his home.”
“Now, Mr. Rose, did you contact the defendant or the defense attorney after Mr. Yarmouth’s death?”
“No, I did not.”
“Then how did defense counsel have access to your report?”
“I guess she just did a better investigation into this case than you did.”
“You’ve never investigated Mr. Yarmouth’s murder have you?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“And you don’t know who murdered Gary Yarmouth, do you?”
“I’m pretty sure it was Maddie Rodriguez. Two of her past lovers disappeared with no trace.”
“Your Honor,” Karl shouted, “I object to this witness speculating, and I ask for his last answer to be stricken.”
“I can strike it from the record, I guess, but you can’t unring a bell. I heard his answer,” Judge Arnold said. “Maybe you shouldn’t have asked him that question. Do you have any more questions, Mr. Morris?
“No, I’m done,” Karl said.
“No redirect, and the defense has no further witnesses,” I said.
“Then I will hear brief argument from each side, and I do mean brief,” Judge Arnold said. “Defense, let’s start with you. You asked for this hearing in order to show that there was no proof evident or presumption great that your client perpetrated this crime. Give me a short summary.
I got to my feet. It appeared that Judge Arnold didn’t even want to hear from the State. Maybe he wanted me to pull together the facts for him in case he was ready to write an order.
“Judge, the State’s own witnesses proved my point without my calling any witnesses, but I wanted to show the court the evidence that lay at their fingertips that showed my client’s innocence if only they had investigated.
“The lead detective never talked to Cassie Kahn who saw Maddie Rodriguez running from the Yarmouth residence at the time of the murder. He never investigated whether Ms. Yarmouth had just come into the house. He could have followed up by checking with the car wash and the stores she had just visited. Instead, he relied on his ‘gut instinct’ to charge a grieving spouse with the murder of her husband.
“The medical examiner pointed out the fact that Ms. Yarmouth was an unlikely suspect because of the trajectory of the stab wound and her petite size. That’s all the State provided to this court.
“As I said to this court previously, there is not one scintilla of evidence that points to Lillian Yarmouth as the killer. My witnesses point to another person, to Maddie Rodriguez, placed at the scene by Cassie Kahn. Maddie Rodriguez identified in pictures as running to the red BMW, which we know for sure was hers. Maddie Rodriguez, who believed that she would come into an inheritance from Gary Yarmouth. Maddie Rodriguez, who disrupted Jonathan Katz’s law office, displaying her volatile temper. Bob Rose identified Maddie Rodriguez as a stalker, following Gary Yarmouth and lurking outside his residence on a dozen occasions leading up to his murder. And now, the worst two results of the State’s failure to carefully develop this case are that my client has been wronged and shamed, and the real killer has now disappeared. I ask this court to dismiss this case against Lillian Yarmouth.” I sat down, my hands sweaty and shaking. I looked expectantly at Harvey Arnold.
Judge Arnold looked at his note pad for a few minutes. Then he looked around the courtroom. Catherine passed me a note. “There’s a lot of press here. Look around,” the note said. I glanced behind me and saw that there were cameras and reporters all around the periphery of the courtroom.
Judge Arnold cleared his throat. “There will be a ten minute recess,” he said. He bolted for the door leading to his chambers with his bailiff hurrying to keep up.
“The wimp,” I said under my breath.
“What does this mean?” Lillian was squeezing my hand.
“It’s hard to tell, Lillian. He’s an inexperienced judge. He’s probably calling another judge to ask what to do. I know it’s hard to be calm, but let’s be optimistic. I’m going to go thank our witnesses,” I said. I went out into the hallway and shook hands with Bob Rose.
Jonathan and Carlos were standing beside me when I turned around. They took turns hugging me. Before we could say a word, Catherine came rushing out. “The judge wants to see all counsel in chambers right away,” she said.
I hurried down the corridor leading to the judge’s chambers. Several reporters were lined up along the corridor. They hurled questions at me as I ran by. All I could say is “I don’t know.” I couldn’t believe that any judge would keep such a nonexistent case alive.
The four prosecutors were already seated around Judge Arnold’s conference table. I sat down across from them, feeling like an orphan. They had each other. I was alone.
Judge Arnold was seated at the head of the table. He had removed his robe and hadn’t bothered to put on his suit jacket. I noticed that the sleeve of his shirt was slightly frayed. Just the kind of thing my mother would notice.
Judge Arnold poured a glass of water from a silver carafe and slowly drained his glass. He looked around at all of us. He took off his glasses and took a cloth from a drawer in the table. He rubbed the lenses several times, put the glasses on the table, rubbed his hands together, and finally began to speak.
“The thing of it is, I’ve been told that it’s up to the State to drop this case. They filed it and it’s their responsibility,” he said.
I was right. He had called a recess in order to talk to another judge, who must have been as big a wimp as he was.
“Judge Arnold, in a case like this where the State intends to proceed with no evidence against my client, you would be totally justified in dismissing the case. If you give me a few minutes, I will show you other cases in which the court has been upheld in similar dismissals,”
I said.
“Ms. Katz, I agree that there is no showing of evidence by the State today, but it’s their burden to correct their mistakes, so I want the State to take the appropriate action.” Judge Arnold picked up his glasses and began cleaning them again.
“Judge, I am just an assistant state attorney. I can’t take that action on my own. It will take me some time to consult with the head of major crimes in our office and with the state attorney,” Karl said.
“Karl, your boss, the state attorney, Jason, has been in the audience listening to this hearing all afternoon. Surely, you saw him there. Why can’t you consult with him right now?” I said.
I couldn’t read from Karl’s expression whether he knew Jason was there. He was trying to bide his time and stall as long as possible.
“Go out and see if he’s there, Mr. Morris, and ask him to come in here,” the judge said.
Karl left. Charlene Montavo tried to go with him, but Karl told her to stay put. We chatted about the weather: another beautiful Miami winter; the Florida Panthers Hockey Team: another disastrous season; the amount of traffic around the courthouse: an incurable problem. Then we all fell silent. My nerves were stretched as taut as a trampoline. I could only imagine how scared Lillian must be.
After an interminable silence, Karl reentered the room. Slightly behind him was Jason Jones. Slightly behind him was the court clerk. Jason was carrying several sheets of paper.
“Good afternoon, Judge Arnold,” Jason said. At this time, I have prepared a nolle prosse of this case. We cannot in good conscience proceed against Lillian Yarmouth, and it’s not my intention to do an injustice. We relied on the homicide detectives to do a thorough investigation. It’s clear that has not been done. I brought the clerk in with me so she can certify this dismissal of prosecution and conform the copies which I will give to Ms. Katz.”
“Thank you, Jason, for doing what’s right,” I said as I extended my hand.
Jason shook my hand. He looked at me and continued, “But I want to warn your client that I can refile charges against her at any time if evidence is developed that would allow me to do so. There is no statute of limitations for murder. Of course, my office will take over an investigation into Ms. Rodriguez. If we find her, I will hold her as a material witness who has violated her subpoena and fled the jurisdiction of the court.”
“Thank you, Mr. Jones, for acting in a responsible manner,” Judge Arnold said. “You are all excused.” Relief flooded his face and he smiled broadly.
What he really means is thanks for getting me off the hook, I thought.
As I started toward the door, Jason laid his hand on my arm. “Mary, I want to speak to you for a few minutes.” He looked like a thundercloud before a hurricane.
“Sure, Jason. Just let me go tell my client about this dismissal. I’ll meet you right outside the courtroom.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
I waved the dismissal paper in the air as I returned to Lillian and Catherine, who had been joined by Jonathan and Carlos. Lillian, Brett, and Sherry hugged each other. Sherry was laughing and crying.
“I would like to take you and Jonathan and whoever else is here with you to dinner,” Lillian was smiling. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough,” she said.
I explained that I had some last things to clean up with Jason and would meet them a little later. I told Carlos and Catherine to follow Lillian. “I’ll be there in a little while.” I waved cheerily and went to find Jason. I wasn’t looking forward to having him spoil my glorious victory.
Jason was waiting for me. He steered me into the attorney’s room down the hall, avoiding the media frenzy gathered near the elevators.
“Well, Jason, what is it? I asked as we sat down at the conference table. I don’t suppose you’re going to apologize to me and Lillian.”
“Listen, Mary, I just want to set the record straight before you go out there and ream out the whole police department to the press. If that is your intention, I think you need to see the whole picture. Do you know how many murders happened in the city on the same Friday night of Gary’s murder?”
No, I don’t know that.”
“I didn’t think so. There were four other murders that night. One of them was a twelve-year-old boy who was killed by drug dealers. There was a drive-by shooting in Little Haiti, where a father and his daughter were gunned down for no apparent reason. And that was the same night a five-year-old little girl was found dead in a Dumpster five miles from her home. She had been raped, as well. Now put yourself in the shoes of the homicide unit. They had what they believed was a domestic argument gone bad. If you were in charge of the homicide unit, what would you investigate first?” Jason stopped and took a deep breath. He was as emotional as I had ever seen him.
“I understand what you’re saying, but the Yarmouths lives were impacted, too, and—”
Jason held up his hand. “Just hear me out, please. Are you aware that the police department has had to cut back the number of detective positions due to a shortfall in the city budget? For the whole city, they now have only ten full-time homicide detectives and two borrowed from the gang unit. When the media interviews you, I don’t suppose you could tell them that if the city doesn’t get more money, the police have no chance of operating effectively.”
“I understand what you’re saying Jason, but that doesn’t excuse the failure of your office to do its own investigation. You know I wanted you to be elected to your position. I believed you were fair minded.”
“I’m not excusing my office either and I intend to do a lot of retraining after this case. Our prosecutors are overrelying on the police investigations, but you know how many lawyers we lose every year because of the low salaries here. That means that inexperienced prosecutors are promoted to higher positions before they’re ready. It all comes down to money.”
“Look, Jason, I’m not without sympathy for your problems, but the fact remains I had an innocent client whose family has been torn apart. The bottom line is every victim and every defendant deserve just treatment. You need to make your speech to community groups and to the legislature. My client will always be looked at as the woman accused of murdering her husband, and for that, someone should apologize to her. She’s not going to try to sue you or the police in civil court for money damages. She doesn’t need money. She just needs to rebuild her life. The next person who is wrongly arrested may not be so charitable.”
“I promise you, Mary, I will bring my office up to speed. I hope we can still be friends. Thanks for letting me vent some steam.”
“I’m glad you did. I feel better too.” I gave Jason a peck on the cheek. He smiled. The cloud lifted from his face.
I left the courthouse by the side entrance and got to my car without talking to the reporters. I could forego my mother’s phone call telling me how nice I looked on the TV news, but why didn’t I do something about my hair.
I sped over to the steak house on Brickell Avenue where we indulged in a celebration. Sherry and Brett, Catherine, Carlos, and Jonathan were already into their second round of toasts when I arrived. Carlos ordered champagne and copious bottles of Argentine wine along with thick steaks. We ate and drank and laughed until my sides ached. And Lillian insisted on footing the entire bill.
After dinner, Carlos followed me home. I hugged Sam who celebrated that someone had finally come home to feed him. Then Carlos and I fell into bed and indulged in the best sex I can ever remember, in spite of the cast on his arm, and probably because of the champagne bubbles in my brain.
The next morning I actually slept until eight o’clock. Carlos was not in bed. I smelled coffee and found him struggling in the kitchen with his one good arm. The world looked magnificent. The sun glistened on the rosy ixora blossoms. Wild green parrots chattered at my bird feeder, undisturbed by Sam who was galloping around the backyard. The dog and the birds had learned to live in harmony, a sort of animal pact to keep to their own territories. I guess if people did that there woul
d be no need for lawyers.
Carlos kissed the back of my neck, as I took over the breakfast preparations.
“We can take our beach weekend anytime you say,” he said.
“When does your cast come off?”
“Next week sometime. And my parents’ beach house will be empty for a few weeks. They are in Argentina visiting my brother. We can take Sam with us.”
“So next weekend sounds perfect. I can’t wait, but right now I have to get to work.”
“Work? Today? I thought you’d take a day off.”
“I need to catch up on all my other clients’ cases, and I need to do some follow-up with Bob Rose.”
“What do you mean follow-up? Lillian’s case is over.”
“There are some things that don’t add up. I need to answer some questions, just for myself.”
“Don’t poke around too much. My grandmother always said ‘What you don’t see with your eyes, don’t invent with your mouth.’ I think it’s a Spanish proverb, but it doesn’t translate too well. You know what I mean. Don’t second-guess yourself,” Carlos said.
Catherine and I arrived at the office at the same time. She looked more disheveled than usual as she squinted in the broad sunlight. “I don’t know about you, but I have a humongous headache. But I have brought my remedy with me, if you need it,” she said.
“What kind of remedy?” I asked.
“Two parts tomato juice, one part club soda, one part bacon drippings, and a dash of Tabasco.”
“I felt okay until I heard that recipe,” I said. Some day soon, I just had to hear Catherine’s story.
“Catherine, call Bob Rose right away and see if I can go see him some time today.”
“What’s up? Are you hiring him in another case?”
“No, I want him to set my mind at ease about this case. I want to know where Maddie Rodriguez is and how she managed to get away from here, among other things.”
“Gee, Mary, I thought we were done with all this. I can’t wait to hear what else is on your mind. This job is better than three soap operas.”
Fatal February Page 16
