Fatal February (16 page)

“Do you really believe that she killed Gary? You mean she was in my house?” For the first time that evening, Lillian looked angry. “How did she get in? Gary couldn’t have brought her into our house.”

“I know she was seen by a neighbor running away from your house right after you drove into the garage, so, yes, I guess she was in your house. Bob Rose’s
report said she was spotted spying on your house. She was definitely stalking Gary. Maybe she followed him home and he let her in, or, maybe she found the door unlocked and walked in. What I find most egregious is that the police didn’t do anything to investigate.”

“I always thought someone broke in. There have been so many burglaries in the Grove. I figured the police had let any clues go cold, but once you were representing me, I just had this feeling you would find out the truth. I was right.”

Brett and Sherry came in just then, and after a few minutes of small talk, I left. The ride home went quickly. I was engrossed in replaying the whole conversation with Lillian. Behind her delicate façade was a dragon. The golden tea rose dropped her petals and was all thorns.

I tiptoed into the house. Carlos was sitting up in bed. His cast was propped up on some kind of gizmo that Franco must have fashioned.

“You are wide awake,” I said. “I thought you’d be out on pain pills.”

“I waited to take them until you got here.”

“Can I get you anything?” I asked leaning over the bed.

Carlos pulled me into the bed with his one good arm. “Yes, you may remove your clothes,” he said.

It’s amazing what that guy can do with only one arm.

Sunday afternoon I moved Carlos back to his house. He was doing well enough to be on his own. His employees were lined up to drive him to his office on Monday, and he promised to stay off the construction sites for at least a week.

I had gotten some work done while Carlos vegged out on pain pills. The rest of Sunday was spent going over every part of the upcoming hearing. My push to have a preliminary hearing was to illustrate the fact that the State had no evidence against Lillian. The State always puts on its case first, because they have the burden of showing that a crime has been committed and the defendant is the person who committed the crime. In a trial, their burden is to prove their case beyond a reasonable doubt. At the hearing, their job is to show that there is enough evidence to support the charge they have filed against the defendant. Everyone knew a murder was committed. My job was to destroy the feeble case the State had against Lillian.

Our justice system is never supposed to place the
burden of proof on the accused, but in reality the defense is always on the spot to plant a doubt in the mind of the judge or the jury. In Lillian’s case, the State was going to be able to prove nothing except that the police failed to investigate Gary’s murder. I would be able to show the court who the real killer was. I was gambling that Lillian’s case would be dropped at the end of the hearing.

I decided that I had done all I could do to be ready for the hearing on Monday. I packed my briefcase and boxes, and fell into bed before eleven.

I don’t know how long I was asleep when I was awakened by the sound of voices shouting and the doorbell ringing. A doorbell is an unnecessary addition when you have a large dog. Sam’s baritone bark almost drowned out the doorbell. I leapt out of bed and peered out the window. I saw car lights everywhere.

Sam and I approached the front door gingerly. “Who is it? What do you want?” I shouted.

“Mary, it’s Marco. Open up.”

I threw open the door. Marco and one of his Pit Bulls were holding a bloody Franklin Fieldstone. Another of the beefy Pit Bulls was standing behind them.

“We caught him in the act, Mary. The dumb bastard was trying to fit a key into your front door. We had to rough him up a little. He resisted our assistance in removing him from your front step,” Marco said winking at me.

Frank was dressed in black slacks and a black tee
shirt. His nose was dropping bloody pools down the front of the shirt.

“Isn’t the hour a bit late for paying me a visit?” I said. “So it has been you that turned into a stalker.”

“You tell these bozos to get their hands off me or I’ll call the police,” Frank said.

“Oh, yeah, good idea. Then we can report Mary’s slashed tire, broken window, and vandalized house. They’ll enjoy charging a high-priced lawyer with burglary,” Marco said.

“Frank, why are you doing this? You know I could report you to the police and see that you’re charged with multiple felonies. Why would you risk your reputation?” I asked.

“Well, obviously, because I care about you,” Frank said.

“Some way to show you care,” Marco said as he gave Frank’s arm a good twist.

“I think what you really care about isn’t me. It’s that you couldn’t get your own way for once. A good lawyer left your firm and beat you in court and in the ethics proceeding. You just can’t stand to lose at anything, and to be beaten by a mere woman was just too much. Maybe calling the police is a good idea,” I said. “Marco, go ahead and call Coral Gables P.D.”

“Now wait a minute,” Frank said. For a minute, I thought he was going to cry.

“Look, buddy,” Marco said, “if you will cut out this crap and leave Mary alone, we’ll let these criminal acts
slide for now. But if you so much as come near her again, Mary will file charges. My employees and I will be watching. Before you go to jail, you’ll need a trip to the hospital. Got it?”

“I can’t believe you’d hire a bunch of guys like this,” Frank said.

“Well, I can’t believe you’d turn into a common stalker,” I said. “Are you going to agree to leave me alone?”

“If that’s what you want, okay then,” Frank said.

Marco escorted Frank to his car, which was parked across the street. Sam continued to growl until the car pulled away. Then I invited Marco and the Pit Bulls in for a celebratory beer.

Monday morning arrived with the clock radio announcing that it was six a.m., and that a heavy fog covered all of Miami-Dade County. My head was certainly in tune with the weather. Fog covered my eyes and brain. I took Sam for a run to the Miracle Mile, ordered the strongest cup of caffeine at Starbucks, and grabbed the morning
Herald
.

The headline shouted S
USPECTED
S
POUSE
K
ILLER
A
WAITS
H
EARING
. A picture of Lillian and me leaving the courthouse after the last hearing exploded under the headline. I looked like a self-satisfied cat with a mouse in tow, and Lillian looked like the mouse. I had her by the arm as she cowered from the photographers. No one viewing that photo would believe she was a killer. I hoped Judge Arnold read the paper before court. Most judges do, to see if their name is there or if their colleagues are getting more publicity than they are. This is a product of judges being elected every six years.

The article reviewed the murder and the background
of the players: prominent family, CEO of local company, well-known charitable givers. Nothing harmful to Lillian, and no mention of Maddie. The good part of practicing law in Miami is that there are so many murders and corruption trials that the paper doesn’t have time to dig into each one.

I returned home to shower and do my hair. I decided on a white suit. White always denotes the good guys and it’s also the color choice of the Santerias, the Cuban religious group based on voodoo and magic. Not that I’m superstitious, but it’s best to cover all the bases.

Catherine had more coffee ready at the office. “Brett called early to see if you were picking them up again,” she said. He sounded a little rattled. I didn’t know if you’d have time to go all the way over there, so I called Marco’s security office and asked them to provide a car and driver. The Yarmouths can certainly afford it. Lillian’s been paying your fees the instant she gets the bills. Was it okay that I arranged the car?”

“That was good thinking. It gives me more time to go over everything in my trial boxes. Let’s make sure that I have every folder for each witness. Do I have a time set to speak to each of them before the hearing?”

Catherine handed me the list. “I reserved the attorney interview room on the third floor like you asked, and all the witnesses know the room number.”

“Good. We’ll keep them away from the courtroom
until I call them to testify. You’ll be in charge of moving them up to the sixth floor. This’ll be a real help.”

Catherine was excited about being on the scene. I noticed that she had tied her hair back and was wearing a pantsuit for the occasion instead of her usual jeans and sneakers outfit. But she still had the humongous backpack that went everywhere with her.

We loaded the boxes of notes and witness folders into the SUV along with the box of yellow pads, pens, paper clips, and an envelope with the photos of Maddie.

“What do you have in that backpack?” My curiosity took precedence over good manners.

“Oh, just a few things. Power bars, a water bottle, some pictures, cookies that I baked last night, some good-luck charms. Just the usual kind of stuff,” she said.

I smiled at this wonder woman. There was nothing usual about Catherine.

We arrived at the courthouse two hours before the hearing, well ahead of the press. Catherine and I loaded our boxes onto a wheely cart and got them into the attorney interview room. Then we went back down to the front entrance to meet Lillian and her kids.

Marco’s black SUV pulled up to the curb. I was surprised to see that Marco himself was the driver. He hopped out and helped the Yarmouths out. While I was shaking hands and kissing cheeks with Lillian and
her kids, I realized that Marco was having a whispered chat with Catherine, who was blushing. Maybe the reason for Catherine’s attractive outfit wasn’t for her apearance in court, but for being courted by the head Pit Bull.

I led Lillian into the courthouse followed by Brett and Sherry. Catherine brought up the rear. We hurried them upstairs to a witness waiting room out of the reach of the press and public. It was almost time for the show to begin. I was running on nervous energy. I couldn’t imagine how Lillian could look so cool. She seemed totally calm. It could be a show for her children, or maybe she was used to stifling her emotions. Her appearance was completely different than it had been in the weeks right after Gary’s murder.

Promptly at one-thirty, Lillian and I took our seats at the defense table. All four prosecutors crowded around the State’s table. They huddled together whispering. They were shocked when Catherine and I wheeled our boxes and files into the courtroom and began assembling the witness folders on the table behind us. The State appeared to have only one small box of papers. I had to choke back the urge to laugh or high-five Catherine. They hadn’t done their homework.

Judge Arnold took his seat on the bench. “Good afternoon, State and Defense. Are all parties ready to proceed with the preliminary hearing?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” I said. “I would like to introduce
my paralegal, Catherine Aynsworth. May I have the court’s permission for her to assist me this afternoon? She will be helping me with my files, and bringing my witnesses into the courtroom.”

The judge nodded his assent.

“Witnesses, Your Honor?” Karl Morris was on his feet, his voice rising to a high squeak. “The State was never informed of any witnesses.”

“Well, Your Honor, I revoked my demand for reciprocal discovery. The State dragged their feet so long in turning over any witnesses or documents that I decided to forego discovery, so I don’t know who their witnesses are either,” I paused to take a breath.

“Judge, we sent her the initial police report.”

“I could have gotten that on my own, Judge. That brief report was all I ever got.”

“Okay, Counsel, looks like we’ll all see the witnesses together in a few minutes,” Judge Arnold said. “State are you ready to proceed with your first witness?”

“No, Your Honor. Ms. McIver, who is the case-law expert on our team, wishes to argue a motion, objecting to having a preliminary hearing in this case.” Lois McIver got to her feet and headed toward the lectern. She was carrying a stack of cases.

I was on my feet before she made it to the lectern. “Judge, this motion is too late. Today is the day of the hearing. The State has had over three weeks to file and argue such a motion. Additionally, I have several cases to pass up to the court showing that Mrs. Yarmouth has
every right to this hearing, especially in light of the fact that no discovery will be exchanged.”

“Ms. McIver, have a seat. I have researched the law in this area myself. I am satisfied that I have made the right decision. You have had ample time to appeal my decision. You haven’t done so, so let’s get on with the hearing. How many witnesses will you be calling, Mr. Morris?”

“Probably two or three,” Morris answered.

“And you, Ms. Katz?”

“About the same number, Judge.”

“Then let’s get going. I like to have dinner before breakfast. State, call your first witness.”

“The State calls Detective Harry Fonseca.”

The bailiff went through the double doors into the hallway and bellowed for the detective. He entered behind the bailiff, walking with a slight swagger. He was dressed in his best courtroom apparel, dark pin-striped suit, white shirt, red tie, all of which covered his tattoos.

While the clerk was swearing in the detective, a young woman entered and motioned for one of the prosecutors to approach. I recognized her as one of the secretaries in the state attorney’s office. Charlene Montavo came to the bar that separates the public area from the well of the court. The secretary handed her a note. Charlene read it and dashed over to Karl, who was at the lectern ready to begin his questioning. Karl looked at the note, frowned, wrote something on it,
and Charlene rushed back to the secretary who hurried out of the courtroom.

Catherine was seated beside me. “Go out and see if you can find out what’s up with the State,” I whispered. She moved out right behind the State’s secretary.