Seeing Ian Decker slouched in his seat, Joanne wondered if he was under the influence of narcotics, also a common denominator in most holdups. Decker turned around and stared at her. Joanne felt a chill, but it wasn’t menace she saw in his eyes. He seemed to be attempting to communicate with her.
During breaks, the Rubinskys acted as if Decker didn’t exist. He stood several feet away from the other men, his arms dangling at his sides. Crime partners were known to stick together for a number of reasons. Something about these men struck Joanne as strange.
Several more jurors were examined before Judge Spencer recessed for lunch. He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, a bedraggled look on his face. Voir dire was one of the more tiresome stages of the criminal process, and Arnold Dreiser seemed to have been moving at a snail’s pace. “I’d like to accomplish something by the end of the day. We’ll reconvene promptly at three,” Spencer said, giving Joanne a stem look.
TWO
Friday, December 15, 2000, 11:55 P.M.
THE MOST memorable event in all of Ian Decker’s twenty-one years had occurred the night before he’d driven Gary and Tom to the Quick-Mart. The most beautiful girl he’d ever seen had appeared on his doorstep.
It was late, almost midnight. Ian had already gone to bed. He was wearing a white cotton T-shirt and the bottoms to his green-and-blue flannel pajamas. His hair was rumpled and his eyes were puffy from sleep.
“My name is Trudy,” the girl said, her voice soft and lyrical. “Gary Rubinsky said you might not mind if I spent the night here.”
For a long time, Ian left her standing outside, gawking at her as if she were an apparition, certain if he blinked his eyes, she would disappear. She looked young, almost like a teenager. “Ah,” he said, letting the word hang in the air, “how do you know Gary?”
“He’s not my boyfriend or anything,” she said coyly “I met Tom and Gary years ago at a dance club.” She thrust a paper-wrapped bottle with a bow on the top toward him. “Here’s a little gift for you.”
Ian clutched the bottle to his chest, his eyes feasting on her gorgeous face, her flawless skin, her shoulder-length black hair. She was not only real, she’d brought him a present! Even if it turned out he was dreaming, for once he’d found a dream he never wanted to end.
“My girlfriend dropped me off at this house about five blocks from here,” Trudy told him. “The people were supposed to be having this big party. I must have got the date wrong. By the time I realized no one was home, my girlfriend was gone. I called Gary to see if he could give me a ride because I know he and his brother live around here. He said I should crash here tonight, then he’d borrow your car and take me home in the morning. I guess Tom and Gary sold their car.”
Ian had picked up only a few words out of the dozens the girl had spewed out. He tried to say something, anything. The words seemed to be stuck in his throat. He felt light-headed, confused, disoriented. “I could drive you now.”
“I live all the way down in Los Angeles,” Trudy said, lifting one shoulder and tilting her head. “Besides, I might not be able to get into my place. My roommate has the key, and I think she’s going straight to her boyfriend’s house. Can I come in?” She wrapped her arms around her chest, then moved her body from side to side as if she were shivering. “It’s chilly out tonight, isn’t it? This coat isn’t very warm.”
“Oh…sure…I…” Ian stammered, opening the door and stepping aside for her. What was he supposed to do? Why would a girl like this possibly ask to spend the night at his apartment? Wasn’t she afraid he might hurt her?
Trudy brushed past him, heading straight to his kitchen. Ian followed behind in a trail of perfume. She smelled like vanilla ice cream. Most girls wore such strong perfume that it made his eyes water.
No wonder she was cold, Ian thought. The fabric of her coat was transparent and he could see the outlines of her shapely body underneath. Ian was so bedazzled, he didn’t remember opening the bottle she had handed him. Other than an occasional beer, he didn’t drink or use drugs. It was hard enough for him to follow people’s conversations without polluting his mind. He realized with surprise that Trudy was flirting with him. The more nervous he got, the more parched his throat became. Each time he emptied his glass, Trudy reached over and refilled it. He asked her why she wasn’t drinking.
“I don’t like alcohol,” she said, running a finger down the side of her neck. “Smoking pot makes me feel sexy. I already smoked a little with my girlfriend in the car. I’m really disappointed about this party. They told me there would be a lot of important people there, like movie producers and agents.”
“Are you an actress?” Ian asked, flabbergasted.
“I’m supposed to be,” she said, sighing despondently. “Gary tried to convince me he could get me a part in a movie. He was only trying to impress me. Guys pull that stuff on me all the time.”
Ian remembered Gary using the same line on another girl. “Have you ever been in a movie?”
“I’ve gone out on a few auditions,” Trudy continued. “No one has ever called me back, though.”
“You’re gorgeous!”
“Thanks,” Trudy said, flashing a little-girl smile. “I have some pot if you’re interested.”
“Ah…no…” Ian stammered, holding his glass in the air. “This stuff is fine with me.” He purposely coughed so she wouldn’t think he was a prude. “I’d smoke some, see, but I just got over a cold.” He held up a hand. “I’m fine now. I won’t give you a germ or anything.”
They talked in the kitchen for awhile, then Trudy removed the long black coat she was wearing and flopped down on his sofa on her stomach. Her rose-colored silk dress looked more like a slip or a nightgown, and the way she was positioned, her breasts spilled over the top. Ian marveled at her body. Her waist was tiny, her hips perfectly rounded. When he realized he had an erection, he switched off the light in the kitchen and stood watching her from the shadows.
He didn’t have much furniture, yet he’d lucked out on the apartment. He was paying the same rent as he would for a studio except he had a separate bedroom. In the complex where he lived, the majority of the units were studios. Because he’d been on the waiting list for over a year, his mother had badgered the manager until she’d let him move into the first available apartment.
Trudy giggled as she kicked off her shoes. “Do you mind if I turn on the TV?”
“No…yes…go ahead.” The alcohol was kicking in, and Ian had to brace himself against the counter to maintain his balance. He was also drunk on the girl, swirling in a fog of feminine sexuality.
Trudy picked up the remote, then frowned. “I’ve never been able to figure these silly things out. Would you mind showing me how it works?”
Ian crossed the room in a trance. As soon as he was standing beside her, she scooted herself forward on the sofa and wrapped her arms around his legs. When he felt her mouth on his penis, he jumped in shock. “I…don’t…stop.” He reached down to pull his pajamas back up when she brushed his hand aside.
“Doesn’t it feel good?”
“Yes…but…”
Trudy locked her arms even tighter around his legs. “Then stop fighting me and enjoy it.”
Ian thought he was going to melt, as if all the bones had been extracted from his body He’d never experienced such incredible pleasure. He’d masturbated, but it wasn’t the same. The greatest part was that Trudy seemed to like doing these things to him. Most girls just teased him, then pushed him away. My God, he thought, what if she was only a teenager? His mother had warned him repeatedly, telling him that if he ever had sex with an underage girl, they would send him to jail. Elizabeth told him that it didn’t matter whether or not the girl was willing. Even if she encouraged him, it would still be a crime. “How old are you?”
“Old enough,” Trudy said, her brown eyes gazing up at him. Then she saw the apprehension on his face and snapped, “I’m twenty-three, okay. Do you want to see my driver’s license? I look you
ng, that’s all. Even my mother looks young for her age.”
“I don’t want to get in trouble.”
“I’d get arrested before you,” Trudy said. “You look about fifteen.”
Ian’s face fell. As usual, he’d ruined everything. He wasn’t going to cry, though. He’d made a big enough fool of himself already.
Trudy sat on the sofa, flicking the ends of her fingernails, plotting out what she was going to do next. Standing, she draped her arms around his neck. “It’s okay,” she said, her tone soft and consoling again. “I’m glad that you asked about my age. That shows you care. Gary was right. You really are a special guy”
Leading him into the bedroom, Trudy nudged Ian onto the bed. Wiggling out of her slip, she climbed under the covers with him. When he didn’t move, she took his hand and guided it behind her legs, showing him exactly where she wanted him to touch her. “Slow down,” she whispered. “We have all night. Girls take longer than guys.”
Ian had never touched the intimate part of a woman’s body. He knew what it looked like, though, because he’d rented porno movies. He was glad the lights were off in his room. In the movies, the girls weren’t young and innocent-looking like Trudy, and the men used disgusting language. In addition, everything was bright, noisy, and phony.
Ian was still stroking Trudy when she suddenly arched her body upward, causing his fingers to slide inside her. She tossed her head from side to side. “Go down on me.”
“Where?” He thought she meant he should touch her somewhere else.
“Use your tongue,” Trudy said, pushing herself up with her arms. “You know, do what I did to you in the living room.”
With his feet, Ian kicked the covers off the foot of the bed. Trudy spread her legs apart. He knelt in front of her, but he still wasn’t certain exactly what she wanted him to do. His pajama bottoms were in the living room, but he was wearing his T-shirt. Trudy yanked on the edge of his shirt, then placed her hands on his head, moving her hips until she connected with his mouth. “There,” she sighed, leaning back against the pillows. “There, right there.”
It wasn’t bad. Ian liked it. He liked it because she liked it, and the more she liked it, the more he explored and experimented. And she smelled fresh, clean, sweet. He soon experienced something he’d never felt before, a sense of power. She was his, he told himself. She would do anything for him now. When he stopped for even a minute, she laced her fingers through his hair and begged him to do it again. He rubbed his genitals against the mattress.
“Yes, yes, yes,” Trudy cried out, her body contracting in a series of spasms.
When they finally had intercourse, Ian soared to another level—beyond sex, pleasure, even above the electrifying sense of power. He no longer felt inferior or alone. For a few fleeting hours, Ian Decker knew what it was like to be normal.
THREE
Thursday, February 8, 2001, 1:05 P.M.
“WHY DON’T we have lunch together?” Arnold Dreiser asked, stepping up beside Joanne at the counsel table.
“Oh,” she exclaimed, surprised by the attorney’s invitation. “Thanks. Since my car wouldn’t start this morning, I should have it checked and pass on lunch today.”
Losing her train of thought, Joanne stared out over the room. How could she punish Leah after all she’d been through? A certain amount of rebellion was to be expected under the circumstances. The biggest problem was that Leah refused to believe her father had done anything wrong. After Doug had taken the children and disappeared, he’d been forced to concoct some kind of story. He’d told Mike and Leah that Telinx, the computer corporation where he was employed, had transferred him to another city and that their mother would join them as soon as she returned from St. Louis. Joanne’s father had been hospitalized at the time, and she had flown to his bedside. After weeks passed and their mother never showed up, Doug had told the kids that their mother had fallen in love with another man and abandoned them.
Night after night Joanne had sat wringing her hands by the phone, certain if Mike and Leah were alive, they would find a way to call her. At the same time, her children were repeatedly dialing their mother’s number and listening to a recorded voice tell them that her phone was no longer in service. Doug had simply redirected any calls made to her home or the county switchboard to a nonworking number.
Even if Leah was still in denial, Mike no longer believed the lies his father had told him. Joanne’s twelve-year-old son was exceptionally mature for his age, far more so than his older sister. Leah loved her mother, but she would never turn against her father.
Dreiser coughed to get Joanne’s attention.
She slipped her backpack over her shoulders. “What do you think about this new phone gun?” she asked. “Have you seen the pictures?”
“Outside of the victim’s statement,” Dreiser replied, “there’s no proof my client possessed any type of firearm. I did read an article on the decoy gun about a year ago, though, so I can’t contest its existence.”
Joanne was concerned about the overall ramifications of such a weapon. “I thought a gun was a complex mechanism,” she said. “Now the police are going to panic every time someone pulls out a cell phone. If we don’t find the individuals manufacturing the dreadful things and put them out of business, we’re going to have a nightmare on our hands.”
Although Dreiser was eager to talk to her, he had no desire to discuss the weapon used in the commission of the crime. “I’d help you with your car,” he told her, “but I’m not much of a mechanic. Don’t you have some kind of road service?”
A tall, middle-aged woman with thinning brown hair and dark circles etched under her eyes rushed over to speak to Ian Decker. Gary Rubinsky grabbed Decker’s arm and steered him down the aisle. His brother, Tom, exchanged words with the woman and then followed the other two men out of the courtroom. The woman placed her hands over her face and began sobbing.
“Excuse me,” Dreiser said, wanting to see what had transpired.
The public defenders had already bolted from the room, the clerks and bailiff not far behind. Not only did Joanne need to make certain her car would start that evening, she wanted to stop by Judge Spencer’s chambers and apologize for not appearing on time. Thinking her conversation with Dreiser was over, she picked up her backpack and turned to leave. Judge Spencer was a creature of habit. He went to lunch during the first hour of the recess, then spent the remainder of the break either in conferences, or attempting to plow through the mountain of paperwork that made its way to his desk. Rather than try to catch him now, she decided to stop by his chambers before the afternoon session began.
“Wait,” Dreiser shouted, scrambling to catch up to her. “It was rude of me not to introduce you. That was Ian’s mother, Elizabeth Decker.” He ran his hands through his hair, his face flushing in embarrassment, “Ian’s my second cousin, in case you haven’t heard.”
At least one piece of the puzzle had clicked into place, Joanne thought. They were in the corridor now, heading toward the elevator. She opened her mouth to say something, then found her thoughts drifting off again. She had a sentencing scheduled for five o’clock that afternoon, and she had as yet to review the probation report. She also needed to call Leah’s psychologist and inform her about the incident with the car.
“I asked you to lunch to discuss the situation with Ian Decker.”
Joanne shot him a look of annoyance.
“I know…I know,” Dreiser stammered. “I should have had my secretary call your office to schedule an appointment instead of tapping into your lunch hour. My firm just lost a class-action suit we’ve been working for the past six months. To top things off, one of my partners quit last week.” He brushed his hand over his chin, dotted with stubble. “I even forgot to shave this morning.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Joanne said, pointing to the grease stain on the front of her jacket. Stepping into the elevator and depressing the button for the third floor where the district attorney’s offi
ce was located, she felt better knowing she wasn’t the only person whose life seemed to be skidding off track. Dreiser may have forgotten to shave, but he smelled good. The scent was fresh, more like soap than cologne. She took in the angular slant of his nose, the shape of his chin, not too prominent yet strong. There was an attractive sprinkling of gray in his dark hair. When he accidentally brushed up against her, she felt a rush, an unexpected burst of energy. Her previous anxiety suddenly vanished, and she found herself staring at his hands. Her father had been a concert pianist and had amazing hands. Dreiser’s hands reminded her of her father’s—his wrists were slender, and his fingers were long and tapered. Unlike her father, though, this man had done some type of physical work.
The elevator stopped at the third floor. She stepped out, then impulsively turned around, wedging her body between the door to prevent it from closing. “We could have lunch sent up from the cafeteria,” Joanne told him. “My car will probably be fine. Emily Merritt and I jumped the car ourselves this morning because I didn’t want to wait for AAA.”
“Emily Merritt,” Dreiser repeated, recognizing the name. “You don’t mean Judge Merritt’s wife?”
“Yeah,” Joanne said. “They live next door to me.”
Dreiser laughed, placing a hand over his stomach. “Forgive me,” he said. “I can’t picture Emily working on a car. The last time I saw her, she was wearing an evening dress and dripping in diamonds.”
“Believe it or not,” Joanne said, smiling, “Emily knows more about cars than I do. When she was a teenager, she belonged to a car club called the Rocking Angels. The members were all girls. Guess the old adage holds true.”
Conflict of Interest Page 2
