Chief slaps a Vanguard PD baseball cap over Tony’s hair, pulling it tightly down over his forehead. “You’re beginning to give me a complex here.” Chief puts his thumbs inside the waist of his pants, giving them a swift hoist. “Reminds me of my third grade English teacher.” He shudders with the thought. “Used to whack me on the knuckles with her ruler. English wasn’t my best subject. She was a big ol’ broad. Wore a girdle to iron out her figure. Made me sit in the front row right across from her desk. I just knew someday that girdle would give out and I would go home shy of an eye.”
Tony chuckles. “What’s with the cap?”
“Ah, got a feeling you might need it.”
Tony shrugs, joking vainly, “The M.O. of a local hero.”
Chief raises his eyebrows doubtfully, pushing the door open to the outside world.
“There he is!” a mob of journalists and television news reporters chime.
“Detective,” a reporter approaches, shoving a microphone in Tony’s face. “Is it true you brought down Vigilare?”
“Our sources say the Vigilare is female. Is this true, Detective?” a journalist inquires. “One of your own? A Vanguard PD Detective?”
Tony pulls his cap down further over his face, shoving the reporters’ hands away, declining to answer.
“Viva Vigilare! Viva Vigilare!” a crowd of protestors chant.
“You should be ashamed, turning in one of your own,” a woman shouts from the crowd. Splat! the sound resonates off Tony’s back. He turns to see her holding a carton of eggs. Instinctively he takes off in her direction.
Chief grabs him, pulling him toward the squad car. “Choose your battles, Gronkowski...Police 101.”
“Oh, you want to arrest me too, big bad detective?” She picks another egg from the carton. “Always gunning for the women, huh? She was your partner. You ingrate.” She wings the egg. It goes flying by his shoulder splatting onto the squad car.
“You gonna let her get away with that, Chief?” Tony quips.
“Sure am,” he says slipping into the driver’s seat.
“That’s it. You run away little boy,” the woman jeers, sticking her thumb in her mouth. “Mama’s titty baby!”
Tony’s eyes light up, his temper aching for release. Chief imagines the steam blowing out both sides of his ears, if only emotion were visible. “Gronkowski, get in the car. That’s an order.”
Tony slaps the top of the roof before ducking in and closing the passenger side door. “Freaking bra burners,” he scoffs.
Another egg catapults into the air, landing directly atop the windshield, Splat! Chief pushes the lock button, peeling out from the street, shaking his head as Tony furiously jerks on the door handle.
Chapter 10
VANGUARD COURTHOUSE. TONY sits in the back of the room, unsettled, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together tightly. His right knee bounces up and down, a combination of an inability to sit still for long periods of time and his nerves. He hears the chatter around him as the room continues to fill up. Opening statements have been delivered, followed by a short recess, and now witness testimony and cross-examination begin. Vanguard PD guards the door to his right, culling citizens and the media, turning folks away as the room has quickly grown to capacity. Everybody in town wants in on this trial.
Tony looks around the room identifying a few familiar faces. Bonnie, Chief’s secretary, sits on the bench directly behind the defendant’s chair. Tony smiles at her protective, nurturing stance. A few rows up from his vantage point, he spots William Truly and his daughter, Emily, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder among the packed house. On the other side of the room, Dr. Godfrey sits, fully contented, the fascination of the case completely vibrant in his facial expression. His bench filled with white coats, inflexible in their form and expression. Hard, swift footsteps, followed by the clicking of high-heels reverberate off the vaulted ceiling. Tony turns his attention toward the sound to find the prosecutor, accompanied by Dr. Patricia Ryan, exchanging pleasantries. Tony pulls his eyes from them, looking down at the floor, for fear he may end up in contempt of court if he acts on his initial instinct.
Dr. Ryan takes a seat at the front of the room, turning around, she addresses the white coats. The prosecutor confidently flops down into his chair, his Brooks Brothers suit perfectly tailored to his long, lean frame. He leans back, crossing one leg over the other, casually resting his elbow on the table. Fluffing his thick, wavy dirty blonde hair, he acutely assesses the jury as the bailiff escorts them in.
The chatter in the courtroom rises, Tony senses her presence. His gaze shifts from the floor to Gina. She is chaperoned through the side door by Aubrey Raines. Aubrey wears a smart, stylish navy blue pencil skirt, accompanied by a tailored white silk blouse and red Jimmy Choo’s. She holds a legal binder nervously to her chest.
“DeLuca,” Tony mutters under his breath, displeased at her choice of legal representation.
His jaw clenches, his expression less than enthused, seeing her in standard issue prison garb. He shakes his head, disturbed at the iron cuffs formed to her wrists and ankles, joined together by one long chain running from her waistline to her feet. A string of numbers imprinted on her jumpsuit over the left side of her chest, no longer representing an honorable identification to protect and serve as her Vanguard PD badge once exemplified. Now, just a number, in a long line of numbers, identifying her as dishonorable, a criminal, attached to her permanent record for life. All the work she had done to save lives, put criminals behind bars, to serve and protect. That slate wiped clean, its relevance vanished, as she had become one of those she swore to eliminate.
Reading the dissatisfaction on Tony’s face, she gives him a quick smile, returning her attention to Aubrey Raines, following her to their table in front of the judge’s bench. Tony watches her, his pity quickly turning to admiration. Her long, wavy auburn hair pulled back loosely into a ponytail, a few wisps lazily cascading around her face. Her green eyes, wide and attentive, free of fear. Her shoulders squared, even the right one cradled by a sling, held high and proud, her chin up. He grins, acknowledging her position. If anyone could make shackles and a dingy blue jumpsuit look regal and distinguished, DeLuca could. She takes a seat beside Aubrey, who instructs her to remain emotionless, look straight ahead, and avoid eye contact with the jurors.
Bonnie reaches forward in her seat, tapping Gina on the shoulder, causing her to smile with recognition. Aubrey attempts to quell Gina’s expression and shoo Bonnie away. The women do not oblige her intrusion. Bonnie holds up a makeup bag as an offering, to which Gina quickly nods. Bonnie makes her way through the knee-high swinging gate separating the observers from the observees. She plops her makeup bag down on the table, and kneels in front of Gina, giving her a quick embrace and a warm smile before she diligently applies a nice base powder to Gina’s face. She works quickly, as she knows her time is limited. The clock on the wall sounds, tick tock, as the seconds slip away, seemingly much faster in this moment. 12:58pm—the proceedings set to start at 1:00pm.
“Ah, that feels so good,” Gina encourages, the delicate brush gently stroking her face. Her skin devoid of and aching for anything soft and remotely feminine as of her incarceration weeks ago.
Bonnie smiles. “Are they treating you okay?” she asks intently, referencing Gina’s holding cell at County.
“As best they can,” she says, acknowledging their efforts to respect the fact she once was a cop, a detective, however having to reconcile that with the fact that she is now the primary suspect in a killing spree.
“Close your eyes,” Bonnie instructs, lightly dusting them with a modest shadow, making them pop by accentuating her eyelashes with mascara.
Dr. Ryan looks on at the two women, purely disapproving. She nudges the prosecutor. He waves her off, dismissing the importance of bringing attention to them or requesting a reprimand. She sits back, purposely refusing to give them any more of her attention.
“Chief
wanted to be here,” Bonnie sympathizes. “Okay, open your eyes.” Gina does as instructed, her eyes now luminous and calling for attention. Bonnie smiles at her work, pulling from her bag a smooth peach blush and applying it to the apples of Gina’s cheeks.
“I understand,” Gina says, referencing Chief’s position, knowing he cannot very well show up in court in support of her, constituting a definitive conflict of interest. The local news would eat him up.
“Detective Gronkowski’s here though.” Bonnie lights up with insinuation.
Gina glances in his direction. His line of sight unwavering as he watches her and Bonnie intently, his mind somewhere between the dire seriousness of Gina’s predicament and imagining himself inserted into the current scenario being played out by the two women. “You know you’re giving him quite the show,” Gina says, with a curt smile.
“That’s the plan,” Bonnie affirms. “A show for one, a show for all.” She motions nonchalantly toward the jury. “Show them you’re just like them.”
The bailiff takes his place in front of the judge’s entryway.
Bonnie grabs a tube of lipstick, quickly, skillfully applying its naturally appealing hue to Gina’s full lips as she continues, “A woman. Soft, competent, and warm. Show them you’re human.”
“Am I?” Gina asks.
“All rise,” the bailiff orders. “The Honorable Judge Maybelline Carter.”
Bonnie smiles at Gina, gently squeezing her hand before swiftly gathering her makeup bag and returning to her seat.
“Please be seated,” Judge Carter addresses the courtroom upon taking her place at the front of the room. Pulling from her pocket a pair of glasses, she situates them comfortably across the bridge of her nose to read from the docket placed on her desk, reviewing the case.
Gina situates herself into her chair, slightly off balance due to the heavy irons, causing the links in the chains surrounding her frame to clink and clank, pulling Judge Carter’s attention. Gina gives her a respectful, slightly embarrassed, apologetic nod. The judge shakes her head.
“Bailiff,” she requests. He comes to the front of her bench. “I know we can find a way to avoid such racket.” Reading between the lines, he immediately maneuvers to Gina, keys in hand, diligently removing cuffs and shackles. “Ms. Raines,” Judge Carter reads her name from her file, unfamiliar with her presence in the courthouse.
“Yes, Your Honor,” she answers, her voice breaking, giving in slightly to her nerves.
“Is this how you advocate for your client?” She motions her arm in Gina’s direction. “Allow her to walk into a courtroom with chains and shackles hanging off of her? You might as well stamp ‘guilty’ on her forehead. Either image is one in the same.”
Aubrey clears her throat, looking to Gina. Gina nods her head supportively. “If you hadn’t requested they be removed, I...I would have, Your Honor,” she replies, thinking quickly on her feet.
“Judge Carter,” the prosecutor, Mr. McVain addresses.
“Yes, Counselor,” she turns her attention to him.
“If you will read through the charges, you may reconsider uncuffing the defendant, Your Honor. She has murdered fifteen men…that we know of. In quite gruesome fashion.”
“Mr. McVain, you’ll have plenty of opportunities to make your case. And might I advise you busy yourself with your responsibility, I will tend to mine.” She smiles coyly. “I need not reconsider uncuffing the defendant. I have read through the charges.”
“I would not insinuate otherwise, Your Honor,” he says.
Judge Carter shakes her head, motioning to him, “Your first witness, Counselor.”
“Defense calls Gina DeLuca to the stand,” Aubrey says boldly, standing to attention.
A low rumble is heard among the room. Judge Carter is caught off guard. Gina looks to Aubrey as if to say, It’s not your turn. Mr. McVain chuckles, confidently.
Judge Carter softly bangs her gavel, causing the buzz in the courtroom to cease. Crossing her hands into one another, she leans forward across her desk, her expression a mixture of contempt and pity. “Ms. Raines, if you’ll follow up on your criminal court procedures, you’ll find the prosecution usually kicks off this process.” She points to Mr. McVain. “He prosecutes, you defend. Understood?”
Aubrey nods her head, dropping her chin, the blush of embarrassment fully visible on her face.
“Your first witness, Counselor,” Judge Carter repeats to Mr. McVain.
He smiles, remaining seated. “Ladies first,” he says in his most chivalrous tone. “That is, of course, if you don’t mind, Madam Judge.”
Tony rolls his eyes, fatigued by this guy already.
Judge Carter grants him a quick, less than enthused smile. She is well aware of the prowess of Counselor E. Blaine McVain, his last name superbly fitting. Handsome, keen and slick as a snake, he has all the makings for an extremely successful lawyer. His record flaunts a perfect win, to this point. “Go ahead, Ms. Raines.”
Aubrey clears her throat, standing cautiously. “Defense calls Gina DeLuca,” she says quietly, her confidence wounded.
Tony runs his hands through his hair, pressing his back against his seat, folding his arms rigidly across his chest. His leg resumes its incessant bouncing, his mouth dry as cotton as Gina approaches the bench. She takes her oath and settles into the elevated swivel chair beside Judge Maybelline Carter.
“Ms. DeLuca, please state your occupation,” Aubrey directs, standing before the witness rail. Gina eyes Aubrey, her shoulders slouched, she timidly hugs her legal file to her chest. Mindfully, Gina exaggerates her own posture, her back straight and solid as a board, her chin leveled, her ears resting anatomically correct over her shoulders. As she does so, Aubrey begins to mirror her physical presence with her own. Gina smiles at her reassuringly.
“I’m a detective with Vanguard Police Department.”
“Objection,” Mr. McVain interjects, pleased at getting one in this early in the process.
“Was,” Gina quickly corrects herself, her eyes darting in his direction, annoyed. “I was a detective with Vanguard Police Department.”
“Not just any detective,” Aubrey points out, turning to face the jury. “The most highly-decorated female detective at Vanguard PD. Ms. DeLuca was Valedictorian of her police academy. And she is the current Vanguard PD Detective of the Year, as voted by her cohorts.”
Mr. McVain smiles effectively, appropriately, a good showing as he takes notes at his desk.
Aubrey opens a file, laying it in front of Gina. “Do you recognize any of these men, Detective DeLuca?” The file contains photos of the fifteen slain men.
“Objection,” Mr. McVain bites. “Her detective status has been suspended.”
“Sustained,” Judge Carter says.
Aubrey nods.
“Yes, I recognize all of them.”
“How is that, Ms. DeLuca?”
“My partner and I were assigned to the case.”
“The Vigilare case,” she leads.
Gina shrugs. “If you want to call it that.”
“Let me clarify. You are being accused of killing these men. Men whom you were assigned to find justice for.” Aubrey moves away from the bench, placing herself between Gina and the jury. “Have you ever killed anyone, Detective DeLuca?”
“Objection.” Mr. McVain flippantly slaps his hand down on his desk.
“Sustained,” Judge Carter says, growing annoyed. “Ms. Raines, don’t let it happen again.”
Aubrey nods. “Let me rephrase. Have you ever killed anyone, Ms. DeLuca?”
“Yes,” she answers. The courtroom stirs to an audible buzz.
“In the line of duty?”
“Yes.”
“In defense of your life or the life of another?” Aubrey clarifies.
“Yes.”
She holds her index finger up in the air, accompanied by a dramatic pause. “Now, have you ever murdered anyone, Ms. DeLuca, in cold blood?”
“No,” she says
. “Not to my knowledge.”
“Ob-jection,” Mr. McVain accentuates, holding out the syllable. “You haven’t murdered anyone, to your knowledge. One would think simple yes or no answers would be a breeze for such a decorated detective.”
“A simple yes or no answer will suffice,” Judge Carter directs Gina. Her attention immediately returning to Mr. McVain, “And, I’ll thank you to keep the sarcasm limited to the water cooler.”
“No, I have not murdered anyone, in cold blood,” Gina clarifies. Unable to rein in her tongue, she continues, “And one would think the inclusion of simple commentary would be a breeze for a Harvard-educated lawyer.”
The courtroom is a mixture of disgruntled mumbles and pleased chuckles, as Mr. McVain and Gina now communicate with their eyes, assisted by the most powerful communicator, their body language. Her response stirs Tony up, causing him to smile. Judge Carter launches a reprimanding glance at Gina and Mr. McVain.
“Do you believe in superheroes, Ms. DeLuca?” Aubrey quickly quells the atmosphere before Judge Carter takes the liberty.
“I guess I do,” she ponders. “Yes, I believe in superheroes,” she states, cleaning up her answer before Mr. McVain objects again. “Everyday, ordinary people. They’re superheroes.”
“Police Officers, Teachers, Firefighters, Soldiers? Ordinary people, pulling off the extraordinary,” Aubrey leads.
“Yes.”
“What about superhuman superheroes? Vigilares? Do you believe in Vigilare?”
“I have a tendency to believe what I see. I’ve never seen Vigilare.” She looks to Mr. McVain purposely, simply waiting for him to object to her circular answer. He does not.
“I believe in Vigilare,” Aubrey says. “I’ve never seen Vigilare either, but I felt her presence.”
Mr. McVain tosses his pencil down on his desk. “And I’m Superman,” he scoffs.
“Is that an objection, Mr. McVain?” Judge Carter questions.
“No, Your Honor. I am, however, curious as to when we are going to get beyond speculation to the facts.” He flips his hands through his hair ruffling the blonde locks, simultaneously swiveling in his chair addressing the jury and the courtroom at large. “I understand Ms. Raines is fresh out of law school. That’s why I granted her the privilege of going first. But, come now, I’m ready for substantiation. Some concrete evidence.”
Vigilare Page 13
