Splitsville, page 16
“I didn’t.”
“Fact. We’ve also taken strong positions on school prayer, homosexuality, gender fluidity, euthanasia, contraception, sex education, and pornography.”
“And embryonic stem-cell research?”
“If it’s a sin to commit abortion, how could taking cells from aborted embryos be acceptable? Did those embryos agree to donate their cells? I don’t think so.”
“Do you oppose all stem-cell research?”
“We have no objection to research involving adult stem cells, amniotic stem cells, or induced pluripotent stem cells. But not embryos.” Okay, he knew more about it than she thought. “Or cloning. That’s a sin against our Creator. Only He has the right to create life. There are some things man was not meant to know.”
“I don’t want any more little girl embryos being aborted for their cells.”
“That’s because you have a divine spirit. I felt that the moment I walked into the room. Now how can I help you do what the Holy Spirit is calling you to do?”
“I’ve heard everything I need to hear. I’d like to get this taken care of today.”
“I can help you with that. God’s will be done. Did you want to write a check?”
“Actually, I’d like to have the money wired. It’s quicker and my accountants prefer it. Don’t ask me why. I don’t understand all that money mumbo-jumbo.”
“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. I’ll take care of everything. What do you need from me?”
“I need a bank account number, routing number, and a SWIFT code.”
“A…SWIFT code?”
“Right. So the funds can be wired.”
“Sure. I’ve got the rest but…huh. SWIFT code. That’s a new one.”
“Do you have an accountant?”
“Honey, we have a floor of accountants. Let me write a memo and I’ll get back to you when—”
“Could we take care of this now? I can have the money sent with a phone call once I have that information. It would be such a load off my mind.”
He relented. “Fine. I’ll call—no, I’ll just run upstairs. That’ll be quicker than playing telephone tag. Do you mind waiting here a moment or two?”
“Of course not.” She pulled out her phone. “That will give me a chance to read my daily Bible verse.”
“I’ll be right back.” He skittered out the door.
She knew Accounting was four floors above them. Given his size, she didn’t think he’d take the stairs. So she had maybe five or six minutes…
She pushed the door mostly closed so she wouldn’t be seen by any passing personnel. An instant later she was under the desk, laying the CPU on its side, preparing to open it.
Screws, not hinges. Damn. This would take longer. But she came prepared.
She pulled the battery-powered wrench out of her oversized purse and went to work. While she unfastened the screws, she shut down the computer so no record of her actions would be left anywhere. She didn’t expect Holt to have the savvy to track her, but there might be someone else here who could.
A minute later, she had the lid off. She was working in record time, but her palms were sweating. She couldn’t be sure Holt wouldn’t pop back unexpectedly. It would be hard to explain why she was under his desk. “I’m sorry, I’m so clumsy, I tripped over your computer…”
A minute later she had her hands on the hard drive. She gently eased it out of its socket, then plugged it into the external hard drive in her purse and started copying the contents. She didn’t have time to pick and choose, so she took everything, even though she knew that would take several minutes.
She could monitor the speed of the transfer through a screen on the external hard drive. All things considered, it was amazingly fast…but still too slow for her comfort.
Thirty percent. Thirty-five. Forty…
She heard a commotion just outside the door.
It was Holt’s voice. “Penny, do you know anything about a SWIFT code?”
“Oh yes,” a woman replied. “I have that right here.”
Los cojones! She didn’t have much time.
Sixty-five percent, seventy, seventy-five…
“I’ll never remember that, Penny. Write it down for me.”
“Way ahead of you, Mr. Holt. Here it is.”
“Is that all we need?”
“That’s it.”
Emma felt sweat dripping from her temples. Eighty-five, ninety…
“Thanks, Penny. This meeting will probably—”
“Oh wait. That should go to the charitable account. Silly me.” A brief pause. “Use this number.”
“I will. Thanks again.”
One hundred percent. Emma threw the external drive into her purse and shoved the original hard drive back into the motherboard. She didn’t have time to mess with the screws. She closed the hatch and stood the CPU upright as it had been before.
The door opened. “Ms. Kazantzakis, I have the SWIFT code.”
She didn’t have time to sit so she acted as if she had been praying. “That’s wonderful!”
He handed her a piece of paper. She promised to make the donation today. And hoped she would be out of the building before he realized her phone number was fake. And his computer had been shut off. And the CPU hatch was missing its screws…
As she slipped into the elevator, her heart pounded out of control. That had been a near thing. She could so easily have been caught, and she couldn’t possibly bluff her way out of it. She’d have spent the night in jail. And she couldn’t count on Rivera & Perez to bail her out, either.
Kenzi, what have you gotten me into?
But then again—it was kinda fun.
A small smile crept across her face as the elevator descended. Maybe she should get out of the office more often.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Kenzi had never been this frightened in her entire life. Not when she sat for the Bar Exam. Not when she went to the Amazon Haunted House. Not even when she had to tell her father she was getting divorced. Never.
And judging by what she saw sitting beside her at the defendant’s table, Maya was every bit as scared.
She had prepared for the trial exhaustively, or tried. Mostly she spun around in circles, telling herself this was no different from what she did all the time. She’d be persuading a jury rather than a judge, and the charges were graver, but bottom line, it was about evidence and witnesses and putting on a show and outthinking the other guy.
Except this time her opponent was the district attorney himself. He hadn’t farmed this out to an assistant, which was a sign of how important Harrington considered this case. She was good in court—but was she district-attorney good? He sat at his table flanked by three associate lawyers. She had one attorney from the basement who refused to speak aloud. What’s wrong with this picture?
Hell, she’d spent an hour this morning dithering about what to wear. The first time she saw the jurors she wanted to make a good impression, right? She knew Emma would wear black, so at first she thought she should wear brighter colors. Then she thought, no, she didn’t want the jury to think she was a lightweight. But what would she wear instead?
This was so unfair. Men didn’t have to think twice about what to wear to court. They alternated between their blue and gray suits. She’d spent fifteen minutes choosing her undies.
The sports bra was best, she decided. Probably. Surely. She favored a sports bra even when she wasn’t running and particularly for court dates. She didn’t want to look busty, even though she kinda was, and she certainly didn’t want to jiggle. She liked SheFit, a nylon-spandex blend. Inner mesh for extra support. Hook-and-eye closures with compression and encapsulation to better support and separate the beauties. High-end materials with antimicrobial and moisture-wicking properties—or so the package claimed. It set her back seventy bucks, but it was worth it.
She might lose the case. Maya might spend the rest of her life in jail. But at least Kenzi was wearing the right bra.
Maya leaned in. “How much longer?”
“Dunno. The judge is already ten minutes late.”
“Can’t someone…go get him?”
“No. Harassing the judge is not advisable. They’re basically feudal warlords and this is their little kingdom. They can do whatever they want.”
“Sitting here is making me crazy.”
Kenzi felt the same way but, for her client’s sake, she played the part of the old hand who’s troubled by nothing. “Take deep breaths. Slowly exhale. Think happy thoughts.” She paused. “Chatted with Brittany any?”
“Of course not. Did you think Michael would bring her to the jail?”
“Not even on the phone?”
“I called the number Michael gave me and got to talk to her for less than a minute before he took the phone away.”
“He really is a bastard.”
“Brittany was crying. Begging him to let her talk to me. But he refused.”
“I’ve handled a lot of divorces. And I’ve had to deal with some bad spouses. But this may be the all-time worst. Is there…some reason he’s being such an ass?”
Maya took another breath, counted to three, then exhaled. “I think it’s Candy. If Hexitel called her my buddy, he could probably live with it. But because they call her my wife, his masculinity is wounded.”
“I can see that.”
“It’s not like he isn’t religious himself.”
Kenzi nodded. “I met Adrien Messie—that guru he brought to the settlement hearing. I was not impressed.”
“If he lets Michael into his flock, he’s not much of a shepherd.” She stared at her hands. “What if I lose this murder trial? Will I ever see Brittany again?”
She didn’t have to respond. They both already knew the answer.
Emma must’ve been listening, even though she acted as if she were completely focused on her doodles. She cleared her throat. “Maya, have you noticed that some of your Hexitel buddies are in the gallery?”
Maya did not have to turn around. “Patricia Clare sent me a message. Said they wanted to show their support.”
“Please don’t be offended,” Emma replied. “But that’s the kind of support you do not need or want. Keep Hexitel on the down low.”
“Hexitel has nothing to do with the arson. Or the death.”
“Perhaps. But the cult association gives people one more reason to suspect you’re guilty. Confirmation bias loses more trials than evidence. Jurors see what they expect to see, or what they want to see. Please tell those people to stay home in the future.”
Kenzi didn’t mind Emma delivering this message. Maybe in time they could develop a good cop/bad cop routine.
Kenzi had brought Maya clothes and makeup and grooming products so she could look respectable in court—and also, without explanation, some skin-toned coverup. When Maya emerged—looking terrific for someone who had been behind bars—she’d covered up her Hexitel wrist tattoo.
Candy had initially seated herself directly behind the defendant’s table, but Kenzi politely asked her to move, saying she didn’t want Maya distracted. What she really didn’t want, of course, was the jury guessing what the relationship between them was. Or suspecting it of being something it wasn’t.
Zelda Blake was also in the courtroom. That was not surprising either, since she’d worked with Maya and Maggie Price and was currently out of work due to the fire. But Kenzi hadn’t forgotten that the woman seemed to have some kind of grudge against Maya. Or that she might blame Maya for what happened to LORE.
Kenzi waved. Zelda nodded slightly. She seemed edgy. Was she planning to testify? The prosecution had a better chance of selling the murder charge if they could explain why the murderer did it, and Zelda might be the only person who knew and disliked Maya enough to provide that.
Candy walked to the front, leaned over the dividing rail, and tapped Maya on the shoulder. When Maya turned, they clasped hands.
Kenzi sucked in her breath. She knew potential jurors were being held in a separate room, but there were reporters here and she doubted the jury would be sequestered. The Seattle Times and other papers had run stories about Hexitel for the past week featuring headlines about BRANDING or CULT SPOUSES or SATANIC SPANKINGS. These were supposedly more enlightened times, but sometimes she had a hard time believing it.
“Honey, how are you holding up?”
Maya seemed deeply touched by Candy’s concern. “Best I’m able. Thanks again for visiting me.”
“I wanted to come more often.” She glanced at Kenzi. “But your lawyer thought it was best that I didn’t.”
Kenzi explained. “All jailhouse conversations are monitored and probably recorded. Logs are kept of who came to see whom and those could be subpoenaed by the prosecution.”
“I’m not ashamed of our relationship,” Maya said.
“But you do hope to see your daughter again. So please follow my instructions.” She reached out and, without attracting attention, separated their hands. She felt like a prom monitor forcing the students to maintain an appropriate distance. Thank goodness Hailee wasn’t dating yet. She couldn’t handle it. “Candy, please say what you have to say and sit down.”
Candy gazed at Maya, eyes wide and earnest. “You know I’m here for you.”
“You can’t imagine how much that means to me.”
“All of Hexitel is behind you. We don’t believe the lies the district attorney is spreading. We don’t care what they say in the papers. We believe in you.”
Kenzi cut in. “Candy, I’m sorry, but—”
“I’ll return to my seat. Rooting for you, Maya.”
As soon as Candy was out of sight, DA Harrington approached.
Smiling. He’d watched the whole interaction.
If she’d had doubts before, she had none now. He was going to dive deep into the Hexitel connection, relevant or not. And now he had a little more mud to sling.
Harrington was still pissed because she turned down his settlement offer. He seemed to take it personally, as if—how could she, a mere female divorce attorney, deny such a generous offer from Mr. Wonderful? Seemed every which way she turned she had to deal with rampaging male ego. Was there some lost Amazonian race she could join? Please?
At long last, the judge entered the room. The bailiff called court into session and everyone rose.
“Please be seated.” Judge Foreman settled into the bench and thumbed through his papers. Given the gravity of the charges, she assumed the judge had familiarized himself with the matter before he emerged. But he seemed determined to act as if this case was just one of many, nothing out of the ordinary.
“Very well,” the judge said. “Let’s begin.”
Chapter Thirty
Kenzi had met Judge Foreman at bar functions but, since he worked the criminal side, she had never appeared before him in court. He was a thin white former professor at Gonzaga. He’d been appointed to the bench a few years before during the Trump administration. His hair was immaculately trimmed, as was his full beard and moustache. He was considered conservative and a bit of an odd duck. He wasn’t married, had few friends, and was believed to have his eye on a Fifth Circuit judicial seat. Emma called him a ‘bellwether,’ meaning he would see which way the wind was blowing and make sure he was blowing with it.
Bad news since, at the moment, the wind was definitely not blowing in Maya’s direction.
Foreman called the case and rattled perfunctorily through the preliminary rigmarole. Everyone expected the jury selection to be time-consuming, so he appeared determined to get to it. Foreman had made it clear at the pretrial that he did not want anyone wasting the court’s time.
“Are the parties ready to proceed?”
Harrington beat her to the punch, rising in his immaculately tailored three-piece pinstriped suit. Maybe men spent more time choosing their wardrobe than she realized. “The People are, your honor.”
Kenzi followed suit. “We are ready as well, your honor.”
The judge peered at her for a long moment. His forehead creased. “Have you submitted a trial brief?”
“Yes, sir. We had submitted that before the pretrial.”
He scowled. “You’re using pluperfect tense when I think you mean to be using perfect tense.”
Damn this ex-professor anyway. “Pardon me. We wrote a trial brief.”
“And submitted it?” He searched his desk. “Yes, here it is.” He picked it up and, rather than reading it, rifled the pages to see how thick it was. “This is it?”
“If…there’s another issue the court would like us to research…”
“Do you have co-counsel, Ms. Rivera?”
She tilted her head. “Yes, I’m here with my colleague, Emma Or—”
“No, I mean, someone…”
Male? What was he trying to say?
The judge glanced at his clerk, who subtly shook his head. “Forgive me, counsel, but it’s best we address this before the jury is called. You’re a divorce lawyer, correct?”
“I have mostly practiced in family courts, yes.”
“And you understand that this is a murder trial? Arson and murder, actually.”
What kind of idiot did he think she was? “Of course.”
“I would be more comfortable if your client was represented by someone with criminal law experience.”
What business was it of his? “Your honor, my colleague has handled many criminal matters.”
He squinted. “I don’t recall seeing her in court before.”
Yeah… “She has an admirable record of settling cases before trial.”
He still frowned. “I don’t want your client claiming ineffective assistance of counsel on appeal. Don’t you think she’d be better off with…well, to be blunt…someone else?”
She could feel her face reddening. “Your honor, I don’t want to say anything that might violate attorney-client privilege. But I have…suggested alternative approaches, and my client has insisted that she wants me to handle this.”
He spoke to Maya directly. “Is that true? Because the court would be happy to appoint an attorney with more criminal law experience.”
