As soon as Rita Cohen opened the door wide enough, Kathy squeezed through and raced into the kitchen.
“You didn’t buy that bubble-gum-flavored cereal again, did you, Mom?” Betsy asked.
“She’s a little kid, Betsy. Who could stand that healthy stuff you feed her all the time? Let her live.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do. If it was up to you, she’d be on an all-cholesterol diet.”
“When I was growing up, we didn’t know from cholesterol. We ate what made us happy, not the same stuff you feed horses. And look at me. Seventy-four and still going strong.”
Betsy hugged her mother and gave her a kiss on the forehead. Rita was only five feet four, so Betsy had to bend down to do it. Betsy’s dad never topped five feet nine. No one could figure where Betsy got her height.
“How come there’s no school?” Rita asked.
“It’s another teacher planning day. I forgot to read the flyer they sent home, so I didn’t know until yesterday evening, when Kathy mentioned it.”
“You have time for a cup of coffee?” Rita asked.
Betsy looked at her watch. It was only seven-twenty. They would not let her into the jail to see Darius until eight.
“Sure,” she said, dropping the backpack with Kathy’s things on a chair and following her mother into the living room. The television was already on, tuned to a morning talk show.
“Don’t let her watch too much TV,” Betsy said, sitting down on the couch. “I packed some books and games for her.”
“A little television isn’t going to kill her any more than that cereal.”
Betsy laughed. “One day with you undoes all the good habits I’ve instilled in a year. You’re an absolute menace.”
“Nonsense,” Rita answered gruffly, pouring two cups of coffee from the pot she had prepared in expectation of Betsy’s visit. “So, what are you doing this morning that’s so important you had to abandon that lovely angel to such an ogre?”
“You’ve heard of Martin Darius?”
“Certainly.”
“I’m representing him.”
“What did he do?”
“The d.a. thinks Darius raped and killed the three women they found at his construction site. He also thinks Darius tortured and killed six women in Hunter’s Point, New York ten years ago.”
“Oh, my God! Is he guilty?”
“I don’t know. Darius swears he’s innocent.”
“And you believe him?”
Betsy shook her head. “It’s too early to say.”
“He’s a rich man, Betsy. The police wouldn’t arrest someone that important without proof.”
“If I took the State’s word for everything, Andrea Hammermill and Grace Peterson would be in prison today.”
Rita looked concerned. “Should you be representing a man who rapes and tortures women after all the work you’ve done for women’s rights?”
“We don’t know that he tortured anyone, Mom, and that feminist label is something the press stuck on me. I want to work for women’s rights, but I’m not just a woman’s lawyer. This case will help me be seen as more than one-dimensional. It could make my career. And, more important, Darius may be innocent. The d.a. won’t tell me why he thinks Darius is guilty. That makes me very suspicious. If he had the goods on Darius he’d be confident enough to tell me what he’s got.”
“I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“I won’t get hurt, Mom, because I’ll do a good job. I learned something when I won Grace’s case. I have a talent. I’m a very good trial attorney. I have a knack for talking to jurors. I’m damned good at cross-examination. If I win this case, people across the country are going to know how good I am, and that’s why I want this case so badly. But I’m going to need your help.”
“What do you mean?”
“The case is going to go on for at least a year. The trial could last for months. With the State asking for the death penalty, I’m going to have to fight every step of the way, and the case is extremely complicated. It’s going to take all my time. We’re talking about events that occurred ten years ago. I’ve got to find out everything there is to know about Hunter’s Point, Darius’s background. That means I’ll be working long hours and weekends and I’m going to need help with Kathy. Someone has to pick her up from day care, if I’m tied up in court, make her dinner …”
“What about Rick?”
“I can’t ask him. You know why.”
“No, I don’t know why. He’s Kathy’s father. He’s also your husband. He should be your biggest fan.”
“Well, he’s not. He’s never accepted the fact that I’m a real lawyer with a successful practice.”
“What did he think you’d be doing when you hung out your shingle?”
“I think he thought it was going to be a cute hobby like stamp collecting, something to keep me occupied when I wasn’t cooking dinner or cleaning.”
“Well, he is the man of the house. Men like to feel they’re in charge. And here you are, getting all the headlines and talking on the television.”
“Look, Mom, I don’t want to discuss Rick. Do you mind? I just get angry.”
“All right, I won’t discuss him and, of course, I’ll help.”
“I don’t know how I’d make it without you, Mom.”
Rita blushed and waved a hand at Betsy. “That’s what mothers are for.”
“Granny,” Kathy yelled from the kitchen, “I can’t find the chocolate syrup.”
“Why would she want chocolate syrup at seven-thirty in the morning?” Betsy asked menacingly.
“None of your business,” Rita answered imperiously. “I’m coming, sweetheart. It’s too high up. You can’t reach it.”
“I’ve got to go,” Betsy said, with a resigned shake of the head. “And please keep the TV to a minimum.”
“We’re only reading Shakespeare and studying algebra this morning,” Rita answered as she disappeared into the kitchen.
Reggie Stewart was waiting for Betsy on a bench near the visitor’s desk at the jail. Stewart had worked at several unsatisfying jobs before discovering a talent for investigation. He was a slender six-footer with shaggy brown hair and bright blue eyes who was most comfortable in plaid flannel shirts, cowboy boots and jeans. Stewart had an odd way of looking at events and a sarcastic air that put off some people. Betsy appreciated the way he used his imagination and his knack for making people trust him. These attributes proved invaluable in the Hammermill and Peterson cases, where the best evidence of abuse came from the victims’ relatives and would have remained buried under layers of hate and family pride if it was not for Reggie’s persuasiveness and persistence.
“Ready, Chief?” Stewart asked, smiling as he unwound from the bench.
“Always,” Betsy answered with a smile.
Stewart had filled out visitor’s forms for both of them. A guard sat behind a glass window in a control room. Betsy pushed the forms and their i.d. through a slot in the window and asked for a contact visit with Martin Darius. As soon as the guard told them it was set, she and Reggie emptied the metal objects from their pockets, took off their watches and jewelry and walked through the metal detector. The guard checked Betsy’s briefcase, then called for the elevator. When it came, Betsy inserted the key for the seventh floor in a lock and turned it. The elevator rode up to seven and the doors opened on the same narrow hall Betsy had stepped into the day before. This time, she walked to the far end and waited in front of a thick metal door with an equally thick piece of glass in the upper half. Through the glass, she could see the two seventh-floor contact rooms. They were both empty.
“Darius is going to be a demanding client,” Betsy told Stewart as they waited for the guard. “He’s used to being in charge, he’s very bright and he’s under tremendous pressure.”
“Gottcha.”
“Today, we listen. The arraignment isn’t until nine, so we have an hour. I want to get his version of what happened in Hunter’s Point. If we’re not done by nine, you can finish up later.”
“What’s he facing?”
Betsy pulled a copy of the indictment from her briefcase.
“This don’t look good, Chief,” Stewart said after reading the charges. “Who’s ‘John Doe’?”
“The man. The police have no idea who he is. His face and fingertips were disfigured with acid and the killer even smashed his teeth with a hammer to try and prevent an i.d. from his dental records.”
Stewart grimaced. “This is one set of crime scene photos I’m not lookin’ forward to seeing.”
“They’re the worst, Reg. Look at them before breakfast. I almost lost mine.”
“How do you dope it out?”
“You mean, do I think Darius did it?” Betsy shook her head. “I’m not sure. Page is convinced, but either Darius put on a great performance for me yesterday, or he’s not guilty.”
“So we have a real whodunit?”
“Maybe.”
Out of their sight, a heavy lock opened with a loud snap. Betsy craned her neck and saw Darius precede the guard into the narrow space in front of the two contact rooms. When her client was locked in one of them, the guard let Betsy and Stewart into the contact area, then secured the door to the hall where they had been waiting. After locking them in with Darius, the guard left the contact visiting area by the door through which he had entered.
The contact room was small. Most of the space in it was taken up by a large circular table and three plastic chairs. Darius was sitting in one of them. He did not stand up when Betsy entered.
“I see you brought a bodyguard,” Darius said, studying Stewart carefully.
“Martin Darius meet Reggie Stewart, my investigator.”
“You’re only using one?” Darius asked, ignoring Reggie’s outstretched hand. Stewart pulled his hand back slowly.
“Reggie is very good. I wouldn’t have won ‘Hammermill’ without him. If I think you need more investigators, you’ll get them. Here’s a copy of the indictment.”
Darius took the paper and read it.
“Page is charging you under several theories in the death of each person: personally killing a human being during the commission of the felony crime of kidnapping; torture killing; more than one victim. If he gets a conviction on any theory of Aggravated Murder, we go into a second, or penalty, phase of the trial. That’s a second trial on the issue of punishment.
“In the penalty phase, the State has to convince the jurors that you committed the murder deliberately, that the victim’s provocation, if any, did not mitigate the killing and that there’s a probability that you’ll be dangerous in the future. If the jurors answer ‘yes’ unanimously to these three questions, you’ll be sentenced to death, unless there is some mitigating circumstance that convinces any juror that you should not get a death sentence.
“If any juror votes ‘no’ on any question, the jurors then decide on whether you get life without parole or life with a thirty-year minimum sentence. Any questions, so far?”
“Yes, Tannenbaum,” Darius said, looking at her with an amused smile. “Why are you wasting your time on an explanation of the penalty phase? I did not kidnap, torture or kill these women. I expect you to explain that to our jury.”
“What about Hunter’s Point?” Betsy asked. “That’s going to play a huge part in your trial.”
“A man named Henry Waters was the killer. He was shot trying to escape arrest. They found the body of one of his victims disemboweled in his basement. Everyone knew Waters was guilty and the case was closed.”
“Then why is Page convinced you killed the Hunter’s Point women?”
“I have no idea. I was a victim, for God’s sake. I told you. Waters killed Sandy and Melody. I was part of the task force that investigated the killings.”
“How did that happen?” Betsy asked, surprised.
“I volunteered. I was an excellent lawyer and I did a lot of criminal defense when I started out. I felt I could provide a unique insight into the criminal mind. The mayor agreed.”
“Why didn’t you set up a law practice in Oregon?”
Darius stopped smiling. “Why is that important?”
“It looks like you’re trying to hide. So does dyeing your hair black.”
“My wife and child were murdered, Tannenbaum. I found their bodies. Those deaths were part of my old life. When I moved here, it was my chance to start over. I didn’t want to see my old face in the mirror, because I would remember how Sandy and Melody looked beside me in old photographs. I didn’t want to work at the same job, because there were too many associations between that job and my old life.”
Darius leaned forward. He rested his elbows on the table and supported his head on his lean fingers, massaging his forehead, as if he was trying to wipe away painful memories.
“I’m sorry if that sounds crazy, but I was a little crazy for a while. I’d been so happy. Then that maniac …”
Darius closed his eyes. Stewart studied him carefully. Betsy was right. Either the guy was a great actor or he was innocent.
“We’ll need the old files from Hunter’s Point,” Betsy told Stewart. “You’ll probably have to go back there to talk to the detectives who worked the case. Page’s theory falls apart if Martin didn’t kill the Hunter’s Point women.”
Stewart nodded, then he leaned toward Darius.
“Who are your enemies, Mr. Darius? Who hates you enough to frame you for these murders?”
Darius shrugged. “I’ve made lots of enemies. There are those fools who are tying up the project where the bodies were found.”
“Mr. Darius,” Stewart said patiently, “with all due respect, you’re not seriously suggesting a group dedicated to preserving historic buildings is responsible for framing you, are you?”
“They torched three of my condos.”
“You don’t see a difference between setting fire to an inanimate object and torturing three women to death? We’re looking for a monster here, Mr. Darius. Who do you know who has no conscience, no compassion, who thinks people are no more valuable than bugs and hates your guts?”
Betsy did not expect Darius to put up with Stewart’s insolence, but he surprised her. Instead of getting mad, he leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowing in frustration as he tried to think of an answer to Stewart’s question.
“What I say doesn’t leave here, right?”
“Reggie is our agent. The attorney-client privilege applies to anything you tell him.”
“Okay. One name comes to mind. There’s a project in Southern Oregon I couldn’t fund. The banks didn’t trust my judgment. So I went to Manuel Ochoa. He’s a man who doesn’t do much but has lots of money. I never asked where it came from, but I’ve heard rumors.”
“Are we talking Colombians, Mr. Darius? Cocaine, tar heroin?” Reggie asked.
“I don’t know and I didn’t want to. I asked for the money, he gave me the money. There were terms I agreed to that I’ll have trouble meeting if I stay in jail. If Darius Construction defaults, Ochoa will make a lot of money.”
“And druggies would snuff a woman or two without thinking twice,” Stewart added.
“Does Ochoa know about Hunter’s Point?” Betsy asked suddenly. “We’re not just looking for a psychopath. We’re looking for a psychopath with intimate knowledge of your secret past.”
“Good point,” Stewart said. “Who knew about Hunter’s Point besides you?”
Darius suddenly looked ill. He rested his elbows on the table again and let his head fall heavily into his open palms.
“That’s the question I’ve been asking myself, Tannenbaum, ever since I realized I was being framed. But it’s a question I can’t answer. I’ve never told anyone in Portland about Hunter’s Point. Never. But the person who’s framing me knows all about it, and I just don’t know how that’s possible.”
“Coffee, black,” Betsy told her secretary as she flew through the front door, “and get me a turkey, bacon and swiss from the Heathman Pub.”
Betsy tossed her attaché case on her desk and took a brief look at the mail and messages Ann had stacked in the center of the blotter. Betsy tossed the junk mail in the wastebasket, placed the important letters in her in-box and decided that none of the callers needed to be phoned immediately.
“The sandwich will be ready in fifteen minutes,” Ann said as she put a cup of coffee on Betsy’s desk.
“Great.”
“How did the arraignment go?”
“A zoo. The courthouse was swarming with reporters. It was worse than ‘Hammermill.’ ”
Ann left. Betsy sipped some coffee, then punched out the phone number of Dr. Raymond Keene, a former state medical examiner who was now in private practice. When a defense attorney needed someone to check the m.e.’s results, they went to Dr. Keene.
“What ya got for me, Betsy?”
“Hi, Ray. I’ve got the Darius case.”
“No kidding.”
“No kidding. Three women and one man. All brutally tortured. I want to know everything about how they died and what was done to them before they died.”
“Who did the autopsies?”
“Susan Gregg.”
“She’s competent. Is there some special reason you want her findings checked?”
“It’s not so much her findings. The d.a. thinks Darius did this before, ten years ago, in Hunter’s Point, New York. Six women were murdered there, as far as I can tell. There was a suspect in that case who was killed resisting arrest. Page doesn’t believe the suspect was the murderer. When we get the Hunter’s Point autopsy reports, I want you to compare the cases to see if there is a similar m.o.”
“Sounds interesting. Did Page clear it?”
“I asked him after the arraignment.”
“I’ll call Sue and see if I can get over to the morgue this afternoon.”
“The quicker the better.”
“You want me to perform another autopsy or just review her report?”
“Do everything you can think of. At this point, I have no idea what might be important.”
“What lab tests has Sue done?”
“I don’t know.”
“Probably not as many as she should. I’ll check it out. The budget pressures don’t encourage a lot of lab work.”
“We don’t have to worry about a budget. Darius will go top dollar.”
“That’s what I like to hear. I’ll call as soon as I have something to tell you. Give ’em hell.”
“I will, Ray.”
Betsy hung up the phone.
“Are you ready for lunch?” Nora Sloane asked hesitantly from the office doorway. Betsy looked up, startled.
“Your receptionist wasn’t in. I waited for a few minutes.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Nora. We did have a lunch date, didn’t we?”
“For noon.”
“I apologize. I forgot all about it. I just picked up a new case that’s taking all my time.”
“Martin Darius. I know. It’s the headline in the Oregonian.”
“I’m afraid today isn’t good for lunch. I’m really swamped. Can we do it another day?”
“No problem. In fact, I was sure you’d want to cancel. I was going to call, but … Betsy,” Sloane said excitedly, “could I tag along on this case, sit in on conferences, talk to your investigator? It’s a fantastic opportunity to see how you work on a high profile case.”
“I don’t know …”
“I wouldn’t say anything, of course. I’d keep your confidences. I only want to be a fly on the wall.”
Sloane seemed so excited, Betsy did not want to turn her down, but a leak about defense strategy could be devastating. The front door opened and Ann appeared in the doorway carrying a brown paper bag. Sloane looked over her shoulder.
“Sorry,” Ann said, backing away. Betsy motioned her to stop.
“I’ll talk to Darius,” Betsy said. “He’ll have to give his okay. Then I’ll think about it. I won’t do anything that could endanger a client’s case.”
“I understand perfectly,” Sloane said. “I’ll call in a few days to see what you decide.”
“Sorry about lunch.”
“Oh, no. That’s okay. And thank you.”
There was a van with a CBS logo and another from ABC in Betsy’s driveway when she pulled in.
“Who are they, Mom?” Kathy asked, as two beautifully dressed blondes with perfect features approached the car. The women held microphones and were followed by muscular men armed with portable television cameras.
“Monica Blake, CBS, Mrs. Tannenbaum,” the shorter woman said as Betsy pushed open the door. Blake stepped back awkwardly and the other woman took advantage of the break.
“How do you explain a woman who is known for her strong feminist views defending a man who is alleged to have kidnapped, raped, tortured and killed three women?”
Betsy flushed. She turned abruptly and glared at the reporter from ABC, ignoring the microphone thrust in her face.
“First, I don’t have to explain anything. The State does. Second, I’m an attorney. One of the things I do is defend people—male or female—who have been accused of a crime. Sometimes these people are unjustly accused, because the State makes a mistake. Martin Darius is innocent and I am proud to be representing him against these false accusations.”
“What if they’re not false?” asked the CBS reporter. “How can you sleep nights, knowing what he did to these women?”
“I suggest you read the Constitution, Ms. Blake. Mr. Darius is presumed innocent. Now, I have dinner to make and a little girl to take care of. I won’t answer any questions at my house. I consider this an invasion of my privacy. If you want to talk to me, call my office for an appointment. Please don’t come to my house again.”
Betsy walked around the car and opened Kathy’s door. She jumped out, looking over her shoulder at the cameras as Betsy dragged her toward the house. The two reporters continued to shout questions at her back.
“Are we gonna be on TV?” Kathy asked, as Betsy slammed the door.