‘This way, please,’ said the secretary to Faith and Jarrod as the two of them walked hand-in-hand into the conference room at the State Attorney’s Office. Jarrod rubbed her sweaty palm with his thumb as he led her in.
There were already seven bodies seated around the conference table. Faith recognized the prosecutor, Elisabetta Romolo, and Detectives Nill and Maldonado. She didn’t recognize the other four men, one of whom – presumably a lawyer – was dressed in a suit. The three were obviously detectives, in khakis and dress shirts with gold badges and gun belts attached to their hips.
‘Jarrod, Faith,’ said Elisabetta as she began the introductions and the room rose to greet them. ‘This is Gareth Williams, he’s an assistant state attorney with our Homicide Unit; Gareth will be second-seating Poole’s trial with me. I don’t know if you’ve met all of the Cane Killers task force members. This is Detective Austin Velasquez with the Hendry County Sheriff’s Office, and Detective Dave Minkhaus with Glades County. And you, of course, already know Detectives Nill and Maldonado, and Lieutenant Amandola.’
As she and Jarrod exchanged handshakes with everyone, a substantially lighter Detective Nill came around the table. His warm paw swallowed Faith’s tiny hand. ‘How’re you doing, Faith? You doing OK?’ he asked quietly, his voice rife with genuine concern.
That was the million-dollar question – the question everyone wanted an answer to: Jarrod, Charity, her mom, Vivian, Jarrod’s family. Those were the people who’d actually asked it. Then there were the people who looked at her and pity-smiled, like they understood what she was going through and wished her the best of luck with it. She felt like everyone knew her problem, from the mailman to the teller at the bank, to complete strangers who looked over at her in traffic. Returning home was like going to a high school reunion wearing a nametag that read Faith Saunders, Alcoholic – everyone could read it and right away thought they knew who she was. The label defined her.
It had been a week since she’d gotten out of rehab, and Faith wasn’t quite sure herself what the answer to the million-dollar question was. It should be: ‘Great! I’m all better now, thanks to a restful three months at The Meadows in picturesque, serene Arizona. I have a tan and my spirit has been cleansed; I’ve learned coping mechanisms and I’ve picked up Tai Chi.’ But if she was all better, she didn’t feel like it. It wasn’t like recovering from the flu or appendicitis, where the infection is gone or the diseased organ has been removed and you’re back to feeling your old self again. The truth was, sometimes she felt worse, like a part of her was missing. Physically she felt … frail. And a lot older than her thirty-two years. Emotionally, an old, familiar friend had died and she wasn’t allowed to even mourn her passing. Rather, she was supposed to be rejoicing with the others that that Faith was finally gone. She missed not being able to drink any more – she missed the taste and the smell and the soothing effect that simply raising a glass to her lips had had over her, even before the alcohol hit her bloodstream. Because, like popping a pain reliever when you have an excruciating headache, she knew that everything would feel better in twenty minutes. It was the euphoric state of calm she missed that Tai Chi could not replace – although she didn’t dare share that thought with anyone. Faith couldn’t say she felt better, even though she wanted to say it and she knew that’s what people wanted to hear. So she nodded and said, ‘I’m OK.’ That about covered the feeling.
She smiled at Detective Nill. ‘I’m OK. Wow. I almost didn’t recognize you. Has it been that long?’ she asked. Embarrassed by her own question, she felt her face go red. Then she looked over at Detective Maldonado’s pregnant belly. ‘Yes, I guess it has.’
The room laughed lightly.
‘Bryan’s a magic act – he’s disappearing right before everybody’s eyes,’ said the lieutenant.
‘And with Totts, the state gets two brains for the price of one,’ added Detective Minkhaus.
‘As you may or may not know, Faith,’ Elisabetta began, her serious tone cutting off the light banter. ‘Derrick Poole has filed a speedy demand, so I have a limited window with which to try him. Mr Williams and I will be picking a jury starting Monday. I suspect it will take us three to four days, although that depends on the pool of jurors we get. The case has received substantial publicity, as you well know.’
Faith’s cheeks went hot again and she looked down at her lap.
Elisabetta thoughtfully tapped her pen on her notepad before continuing. ‘It will be difficult to find fourteen people – twelve jurors and two alternates – who have not heard of this case, much less who haven’t formed an opinion. The defense’s motion for a change of venue was denied, so we’re staying in Palm Beach. You’re here today, Faith, so we can go over what you’ll be testifying to. As you know, your testimony is critical. You place Angelina Santri in the company of Poole after we assert she’d already been abducted. And you are the only one who can identify the second suspect, Eduardo Carbone, and place him at the scene.’
‘I’m very concerned about that, Elisabetta,’ said Jarrod. ‘Faith is back in town now and Carbone is still out there. He knows who she is; he knows where we live. He followed her – they both have, him and Poole. Carbone already tried to get at her once—’
‘We don’t know that, Jarrod,’ replied Elisabetta. ‘The identity of that man who Faith left the Cubby Hole bar with that night has not been established.’
‘I know it was him,’ Jarrod replied testily. ‘I know it.’
‘I didn’t leave with him,’ Faith started to quietly say. Everyone looked at her. ‘It wasn’t like that. I didn’t go with him. He put something in my drink.’
‘Was it Ed Carbone?’ asked Elisabetta, wryly. ‘Was it the man you saw in the woods with Poole?’
‘I didn’t look at his face. And then … well, I don’t remember anything that happened in the parking lot.’ Faith wished she hadn’t said anything at all. Elisabetta Romolo looked at her, read the invisible nametag on her shirt, and drew her own conclusion about what had happened that December night.
‘Let’s keep the people who know you’re back in town to a minimum,’ Detective Nill offered. ‘And I’ll talk to Parkland police about keeping an eye on your place. You’re in a gated community, though, right?’
Jarrod raised an eyebrow at him.
‘It’s another level someone has to get past, is all I’m saying, Jarrod. It’s a deterrent. I’ll talk to the association to make sure they keep vigilant. But we believe Carbone has left South Florida. There has been no trace of him since he left the scrap yard. Interpol is looking for him in Mexico; he has family there.’
‘That’s why Hartwick wants a speedy trial,’ added Elisabetta. ‘Before we find Carbone. You were a PD, Jarrod, so you’re very familiar, I’m sure, with “The Other Guy” defense. Poole is going to claim that the other guy did it – the “one-armed man”, or in this instance, the unshaven, pot-bellied, Yankee fan waiting in the woods. Without Carbone in custody we can’t test his DNA so we can’t say for sure that that’s who the Yankee fan was, and so we can’t prove the connection at Orange Youth between Ed Carbone and Derrick Poole. The only way we can get that in is through you, Faith. You can visually ID him, and you can identify his photograph on the stand. That, in turn, will allow us to show that Ed Carbone knew and stalked the first murder victim, Emily Foss.’
‘But Poole’s not charged with Foss’s murder – only Santri’s,’ said Nill. ‘Won’t Hartwick argue bringing in her murder is inflammatory and prejudicial?’ He looked at the other detectives apologetically. ‘I try not to think like a lawyer too often, but it does happen. I’d rather be prepared for bad news than surprised by it.’
‘Yes,’ replied Gareth Williams. ‘But if we prove that it was Carbone in the woods by Mrs Saunders’ visual identification, and then that Poole and Carbone knew each other from the time that Poole spent in juvi, then we can establish that they were working in concert and refute “The Other Guy” defense. Both Poole and the unidentified DNA have been indicted for Santri’s murder as co-defendants, although only Poole is being tried right now. Poole can’t get away from what we found in that shack. Besides Santri’s, blood from Foss, Kruger, and Langtry was also found there. That’s prejudicial, but if we establish the connection between Emily Foss and Carbone, that will support Mrs Saunders’ visual ID of Carbone and thus the argument Poole and Carbone were working in concert. It’s legal bootstrapping.’
‘You make the dots connect, Faith,’ said Elisabetta. ‘As such, your credibility is crucial. I hate to be the one to say this, but here it is: you’re not the best witness. You failed to come forward after the incident. Then you failed to divulge that there was a second suspect out there with Mr Poole. You’ve been arrested yourself and you’ve recently gone through rehab for a substance abuse problem.’
‘Can you cut her a break, Elisabetta?’ asked Jarrod. ‘She’s been home a week and she got help. That says a lot. The press has been brutal to her. You don’t need to be.’
‘If you think I’m tough, Hartwick is going to be ruthless, Jarrod,’ said Elisabetta. ‘He’s got a lot to work with. I’m sorry if that hurts feelings, but it’s true. He’s going to pounce on every lie, fabrication, or misstatement. He’s going to claim Faith was drunk as a skunk out there and no one should believe anything she has to say.’
‘She never wanted to be a witness.’
‘Well she is,’ Elisabetta said icily.
‘What about Maggie?’ Faith started, looking at Jarrod. He’d told her about Maggie’s meltdown in court the day before, but he also said the judge hadn’t ruled yet. She suspected he’d held back on the details of how bad it really was: Maggie had a huge cut on her forehead that had required fifteen stitches.
‘Judge Guckert issued his ruling this morning,’ Elisabetta replied. ‘Maggie has been found incompetent to testify. Don’t take that personally, Faith. As your husband can explain to you, it’s a legal term. She broke down on the stand and it’s clear she can’t testify. I hate to play the bitch here, and I wish I could tell you, Faith, that if you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen, but I can’t. This man is a serial killer. He will kill again if he gets out, whether or not he hooks back up with his partner, because it’s in his nature. It’s who he is. And I won’t have that on my conscience. You are my case, Faith. It’s that simple and it’s that complicated. It’s all on you. So let’s all get to work, let’s all get along, and let’s put this guy on death row where he belongs.’