ANGELICA
glassed-in service window toward the collection of desks and office chairs beyond, two of which were currently staffed. She’d never requested trial transcripts at a courthouse before, so she wasn’t sure what to expect. Hopefully, this wouldn’t take long.
A woman glanced up, noticed Angelica, and rose from her desk. She approached the window.
“Can I help you?” Her voice emanated from a circular speaker mounted in the glass. Her short, wavy blond hair had gone gray at the roots, and she apparently hadn’t learned how to let her makeup enhance her features instead of painting them over. Still, her eyes were kindly, and Angelica wasn’t here to give style tutorials.
“Hello,” she said. “I’d like to request the records on a court proceeding?”
The woman nodded. “Let me get you a request form.”
A request form? Forms took time to process. Angelica had the sinking feeling she might not receive her documents this afternoon, as she’d hoped. Still, she would go through with it. It would be worth the wait. “Thank you.”
The clerk walked to a file cabinet.
Angelica toyed with her clutch. She knew from the newspapers that a jury had declared Wade not guilty of murder. The transcript would contain every iota of evidence that had been collected that night. She needed to review it. To search for a flaw. Roland had told her to ask at the county courthouse in Elkhorn, only a ten-minute drive from the lake. And so here she was.
The clerk pulled a slip of paper from the file cabinet, then returned to the window. Laying it on the desk on her side of the glass, she pointed out two separate sections.
“Just fill out this part here, and leave this one blank.”
Angelica nodded. The woman slid the paper through the tray under the glass, along with a pen. Angelica thanked her, then found a nearby chair to sit and write.
The form requested the date, time, and location of the incident in question, and the name of an involved person. For the name, she put in Wade Erickson, feeling a little nervous about leaving a paper trail indicating she was investigating the case. For the type of proceeding, she wrote “grand jury transcript, reports, etc.”
At the bottom, she noted a charge of fifty cents per page, which was no problem. But there was also a note explaining that a records request would require ten business days for a response. She sighed, but checked the box asking to have the documents mailed to her at her address in Malibu. She’d be home again by that time.
She stood and approached the window again. The clerk met her on the other side, and Angelica slid her paper through. The woman scanned it.
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. We can’t release these records.”
Angelica’s heart skipped a beat. “I’m sorry?”
The woman turned the page so Angelica could see it and pointed out the line where she had written, “grand jury.”
“Grand jury proceedings are secret.”
Angelica frowned. “Secret? I thought all court proceedings were public record.”
“Not grand juries, dear. A grand jury convenes to determine whether to indict a person of felony offenses—whether to bring them to trial. The proceedings are secret to protect the witnesses and the jury against retribution.”
Angelica felt as if something had been stolen away from her. Hope. Facts. Truth. “And if the grand jury did not indict someone, there would be no trial—and thus no trial records and transcripts?”
“That’s correct.”
Angelica’s heart sank. The grand jury had indeed failed to indict Wade Erickson. He had never been accused of murder, and never stood trial. Without the records from the grand jury, where else could she find details?
“Is there nothing that would be public record?” she asked, desperate. “Surely they at least published their findings? Their conclusions? A report of some sort?”
“I can look,” the woman offered, giving a kind smile.
“That would be very meaningful to me.”
The woman took a pen and added a note. “If nothing was released to the public, I’ll send you a note anyway.”
Angelica’s heart filled with gratitude. “Thank you so much. I appreciate the extra work you’ll go through.”
“It’s no problem, dear. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“No. Thank you.”
They said their good-byes and Angelica headed back to her car, her high hopes a wreck. But she squared her shoulders. There had to be other options. Other records and documentation detailing what happened that night.
She would go to the source, if she had to.