‘You’re sure that’s him? The man holding the number five?’ Bryan asked gently. Inside he was jumping with excitement. The little girl hadn’t even hesitated. The whole thing had taken two minutes.
Maggie nodded and rubbed her nose. ‘Yes. He made the lady cry,’ she relied softly, staring into the glass at the five dark-haired, clean-shaven men dressed in black, who he’d feared would look too much like identical brothers to a nervous kid.
‘OK,’ Bryan said into the phone. ‘Five can step back.’
‘He can’t see me? Because he’ll be mad,’ Maggie said quietly.
‘No, honey,’ replied Tatiana. ‘None of them can see you.’ She patted Maggie’s back. ‘Good job, honey.’
‘Good job coming in here today and being so brave,’ Bryan quickly added. Derrick Poole’s attorney lurked in the back of the room somewhere, quiet enough to be momentarily forgotten, which was what he wanted. ‘Why don’t you and your dad head over to the vending machines by my office and I’ll catch up with you all in a few minutes?’ he said, ushering Maggie and Jarrod to the door. Jarrod, being a former PD, knew enough about the rules to say nothing. He took Maggie’s hand and they walked off together down the hall.
‘You told her she was picking the right guy,’ Richard Hartwick, Poole’s attorney, began to complain when they had left. He had the eyes of a basset hound – they sort of sagged into his long face and long mouth. Even after an acquittal, the man looked overwhelmed with sadness.
‘Please, Richard,’ Elisabetta curtly answered. ‘She’d already picked the right guy. And you’re pissed because that makes not one, but two witnesses who have positively identified your client.’
‘Please, Elisabetta,’ Hartwick snapped back, picking up his briefcase. ‘One of them is four. And identified him doing what? Hanging with a girl who later ended up dead? Your victim was known for engaging in consensual extracurricular activities both at work and outside of it. Let’s just say maybe she decided to do that with my client. They had their fun and he sent her on her merry way and never saw her again. That’s unfortunate for her. My client was shocked to learn of her demise.’
‘Really? Then why, Richard, has he suddenly decided to grocery shop at my witness’s local Publix, where he coincidentally ran into her the other day with his cart? Do I look stupid?’
‘I know you would love to pop him on something, Elisabetta. So I know it’s killing you that he didn’t threaten your witness, so you could at least have the pleasure of arresting him today. But he didn’t and you can’t and so we are both going to walk out of here now. Call me when you have a case.’
‘What the hell were they doing in Pahokee, Richard?’ she called out as he walked toward the door. ‘Please. Joyriding in a tropical storm? That’s a little far from Boca and Riviera Beach, don’t ya think? And how long was their little consensual tryst? Two days?’
Richard turned back around. He was slightly taller than Maleficent but despite that and the angry words that he was saying, he looked rather small beside her. ‘Your problem, Elisabetta, is that your witnesses aren’t witnesses to a crime,’ he snapped. ‘They didn’t see your victim being forced anywhere. They didn’t see a weapon. They didn’t see him brutalize her. If they did, it’s not in those reports. And if they did, it would be in those reports.’ He turned to look at Bryan Nill. ‘I know that you might be trying to make a case against him for some other random homicides you got out there, Detective Nill, hoping to package him up like some wireless bundle, thinking your case will sound better that way, but that ain’t happening either. You have nothing but random homicides, so don’t go trying to alarm the Palm Beach natives by yelling serial killer at the TV stations because, be forewarned, I will be ready to respond with a defamation suit.’
‘Don’t tell me how and what cases my detectives should investigate,’ warned Elisabetta sharply before Bryan could start yelling himself. ‘That threat only rouses my ire more.’
Hartwick scoffed and headed back for the door.
‘And you still have those unanswered questions that a jury is going to want an answer to, Richard. What the hell was he doing in Pahokee?’ she yelled.
‘I’m not going to help you make your case, Elisabetta,’ he fired back, his hand on the door. ‘You get to figure out the whys, the whos, the wheres, and the hows. All I can offer are words of advice before you let that famous temper of yours get the better of your prosecutorial judgment: remember that your standard of proof is beyond and to the exclusion of every reasonable doubt. Good luck meeting that.’