My euphoria over finding the plates, Magdallena Mason, and Oscar Appell, died like a snowflake in the noonday sun the minute the jury filed out to deliberate for the second time.
For three days and three nights, Colleen and I stalked my house like zombies, unable to go anywhere for fear of her being recognized and mobbed. Even when we went up on the roof to escape the shrinking house, she wore a hat and a coat with a high collar.
We tried everything possible to keep ourselves occupied, to keep the spirit alive, except making love. There was too much fear this time for us to ignore. We spent hours just clinging to each other, talking about where we would go and what we would do with the rest of our lives.
We both agreed that it was Oscar's testimony, not Magdallena's, that had turned things around. I still hadn't told her about Calvin's treachery. I could get a conviction overturned on a mistrial, but I was too afraid to think about it. If a jury could convict her after Magdallena's confession and Oscar Appell's statements, after seeing Ghiberti's plates, a second jury might convict her all over again.
We slept fitfully. Colleen woke up with nightmares half a dozen times, crying and shaking in terror.
I had three armed guards working around the clock, two in the house, one watching the neighborhood. I was still afraid for Colleen, for myself. What was Calvin thinking, what were Bearden and Helen Smidge planning, what was John Naftulin up to? Would they try to kill her if she was acquitted, to keep her from getting the diaries?
We talked about how we'd get her out of the courtroom after the verdict—never mentioning the possibility that she'd be convicted. She would say nothing, would not acknowledge me in the courtroom at all. The minute it was over, she'd be hustled out the side door, where she would leave in the Firenze Plumbing van with Arnie, Martha, Henry, and Arnie's cousin Philip. Once they were sure they weren't being followed, they'd take her to my house and stand guard until I arrived.On Friday at 4:04 p.m. the phone rang. Zane told me the jury had come back. At five, with the ranks of the media swollen to mob-like proportions and over forty harried officers and security guards struggling to maintain order, Zane Neidlinger, Vince Halloran, and I squeezed through a human tunnel formed by the deputies and found our seats in the front row.
The jury filed in. The judge and the bailiff did the formalities. The foreman handed over a slip of paper that was passed and read and then passed again to be read aloud.
The bailiff cleared his throat. Colleen stood between Bearden and Sherenian. I could see that she was trembling.
"In the matter of the People versus Colleen Farragut, case number 687731-50, on the charge of murder in the first degree with special circumstances, we find the defendant not guilty."
Pandemonium. Shouts and screams of "Not guilty" echoing through the hallway. Colleen leaned forward, putting both hands on the table as her knees gave way and tears streamed down her face.
Calvin looked lost, Bruce Bearden positively terrified.
Walters banged the gavel. She thanked and dismissed the jury, who were only too happy to flee the scene, and told Colleen she was free to go.
Bailiffs hustled her out a side entrance, where Martha and Arnie were waiting to take her to the van.
"Your Honor," Vincent Halloran said as we both stood. "May we have permission to approach the bench?"
"Is it pertinent to this case?"
"Yes, it is."
Daggers from Sherenian, looks of horror from Bearden.
A few dozen people in the courtroom sensed something happening and stopped, waiting for the next move. I made a point of passing the defense table on my way to the bench. Stopping barely two feet away, I looked up at the clock, then looked first Bearden and then Sherenian straight in the eye.
"Remember the time and the date, gentlemen," I said, nodding toward the clock. "It's the exact moment when your bullshit came to an end."
Vince and I approached Judge Walters.
"Your Honor," Vince said to Walters, "I have a written motion requesting you to have two deputies accompany Mr. Fagen here to the following banks—there are eleven in all—for the purpose of removing the contents of certain safe-deposit boxes and returning them to Mrs. Farragut. I have Mrs. Farragut's signature on an affidavit and power of attorney to Mr. Fagen and myself."
"That's an unusual request, Mr. Halloran. Personal property is not usually the jurisdiction of the marshal's office, nor of the court, unless there's a legal matter involved. You better have some good grounds, Counselor."
"I do, Your Honor," Vincent continued. "We believe that Mr. Sherenian and Mr. Bearden conspired to convict their own client, that they met with and bribed Tommy Rivera to offer perjured testimony, in hopes that Mrs. Farragut would be sent to prison. Had that happened, Mr. Sherenian would have been executor of William Farragut's estate and would have destroyed the personal diaries that Mr. Farragut kept in those safety deposit boxes listed in our request. There are a number of crimes, we believe, detailed in those diaries, and Mr. Sherenian wanted desperately to keep them from being made public."
Walters looked at Halloran with astonishment, then over at Bearden and Sherenian, who were already packing up and getting ready to run.
"Mr. Sherenian, Mr. Bearden. Please wait a moment," said Walters. I looked at them and winked.
"I've heard some outrageous charges in my brief time, Mr. Halloran, but you're bucking for the blue ribbon. Let's stick with the issue here: what proof do you have that Sherenian and Bearden bribed Mr. Rivera?"
I pulled out the photos of the meeting at the Woodside house and the hotel tape recording from Sherenian's safe, as Vincent explained that Sherenian knew all along that Colleen never offered Tommy money to kill her husband.
Walters really liked the photo of Bearden holding out the briefcase to Tommy while Sherenian shook Tommy's hand. I even gave her records of all the stuff Tommy bought with the money, the new suits and the silk boxer shorts and all.
"Bailiff, please take Mr. Sherenian and Mr. Bearden into custody."
That really started the place rocking again. Walters gave up trying to contain it.
"How long have you known about this, Mr. Fagen?" she asked.
"Mr. Fagen is not an officer of the court, Your Honor," Halloran answered for me. "He came to me this morning with this evidence, and I drafted these documents today." I just smiled sheepishly. Walters knew I'd gotten away with one.
"Any more surprises, gentlemen?"
I was on a roll. "Nothing big, Judge Walters, but we're looking into the possibility that Bearden and perhaps even Mr. Sherenian murdered a few people. At the request of Supervisor Helen Smidge."
"That's not funny, Mr. Fagen."
"I know, Your Honor. Especially when you see the evidence we're accumulating and you find out who else is involved."
"Humor me."
"Inspector John Naftulin, Assistant Coroner Michael Wentworth—"
"If you have any evidence to support these wild accusations I want it turned over to the district attorney's office immediately, or I'll hold you both in contempt."
"It'll be our pleasure, Judge Walters," Halloran told her, "but we need those diaries from the safe-deposit boxes to do it."
She speed-read the order and signed it.