Fatal February (8 page)

I drew in my breath. “Is everything okay, Mary?” Lillian tugged on my sleeve.

“Just fine. Sit down. Here’s a pad and pen. If you need to tell me anything, just write it on the pad, so no one else can hear you,” I said.

Things weren’t just fine. Harvey Arnold was a recent addition to the bench. He was an unknown quantity. In his past life he had been a commercial litigator. He had little or no knowledge of criminal law. Why had he been assigned to this case? I never bought that blind filing system by the clerk’s office. It was as blind as a sharpshooter.

Rumor had it that this circuit court judgeship was just a stepping-stone for Harvey. He hankered after a seat on the appellate court, but without criminal experience he wouldn’t be considered, so Lillian’s case was going to be his training ground.

“The first case this morning on the arraignment calendar is
State vs. Lillian Yarmouth
, ” Judge Arnold announced.

Lillian and I approached one lectern, while Karl
stood behind the other. The arraignment is the first time formal charges are filed in court. The state had been holding the indictment in secret. All of my phone calls to Karl had been stonewalled. The clerk’s office claimed that they had not received a copy of the charges. The entire courtroom appeared to be holding its collective breath awaiting the degree of the charges. I was hoping for a manslaughter charge, assuming the State would look at the crime as one of passion, a spur-of-the-moment decision by whoever was the killer.

“Good morning, Your Honor,” Karl said. The state is filing a one-count indictment against Mrs. Yarmouth for the second degree murder of her spouse, Gary Yarmouth.”

A gasp resounded from the audience. Lillian swayed slightly and grabbed my arm. I heard a sob behind me and knew it was Sherry.

“However, Your Honor, I think it advisable to warn the defendant and her counsel that this charge may be superseded by an indictment for first degree murder. We have reason to believe that there was premeditation. The state attorney’s death penalty committee is scheduled to meet in March to evaluate whether we will be seeking the death penalty.” Karl finished with a flourish.

“How say you, Ms. Katz, on behalf of your client?” the judge inquired.

I was as dizzy as if I had just gotten off a roller
coaster ride. “We enter a plea of not guilty, waive reading of the indictment, request immediate discovery, fifteen days for further motions, and request a very early trial date.” My lawyer mind had returned. I would ram this case to a swift conclusion before these gestapo prosecutors dreamed up any other tortures for Lillian. “Also, Judge, you will notice that I have filed other motions to be heard this morning.”

“Judge, I was unaware of any motions calendared for today,” Karl whined.

“These motions were delivered one week ago to the state. The court file will reflect the date they were served.” I smiled at the clerk who was already going through the court file.

“She’s right, Your Honor,” the clerk said, as she passed the papers to the judge. “Date of service was actually nine days ago.”

One of the young assistants was rushing forward with the motions from Karl’s file. Karl gave her a dirty look and began to study the documents.

“My first motion is to remove Mrs. Yarmouth from the electronic monitor. She has posted a one-million-dollar bond with her family home as collateral. She has lived her whole life in Miami. Her children have left college to live with her while this case is pending. Her brother and sister-in-law live nearby and the family business is located here as well. All of these safeguards insure that my client will never leave the county.”

“What are you asking me to do?” Harvey asked.

“Judge, you can’t be considering this.” Karl’s voice rose in a grating squeak. “I was going to ask you to revoke her bond and put her in jail.”

Lillian began to cry. I patted her shoulder.

“I believe the bond itself is sufficient without any further impediments. I need my client to assist in her defense. That means she needs to be free to come to my office and to attend the depositions of State witnesses. If you feel that you need some other protective measures, how about having her report to a community control officer twice a week?” I asked.

The judge scratched his head, looking around the courtroom for help. He looked at Lillian for a long minute. Then he spoke in a soft voice. “Mrs. Yarmouth, I think I can trust that you will show up in court for all hearings. You’ve posted a large bond. If you fail to appear, the courts and/or the bondsman would own your home. That is safeguard enough. I will remove the electronic monitor. You will report to an officer every Monday morning at nine a.m.”

“Oh, thank you, Your Honor. You won’t be sorry,” Lillian said, and for the first time since I met her, she smiled.

“I can’t believe it,” Karl muttered as he left the lectern.

“I beg your pardon. Would you like to repeat that, so everyone can hear, including the court reporter in case she missed that,” the judge said.

“I have a few more matters to address, Your
Honor,” I said, “if the state would return to the lectern.”

“Maybe you should quit while you’re ahead,” the judge said. He was beginning to enjoy himself. He relaxed and leaned back in his chair.

“I don’t have the luxury of quitting, Judge. My client is charged with a heinous crime of which she is not guilty. There is not one iota — not one scintilla — of evidence that she is the perpetrator.”

“Your Honor,” Karl interrupted, “she’s making a speech for the press.”

“I resent that, Judge. I am sworn to be an advocate for my client. That’s what I am doing.”

Of course I was hoping the press had picked up on my remarks, but if not, there was always the press conference after court.

“I have asked for immediate discovery, and I note that none has been given. I plan to take depositions as soon as I can serve the state’s witnesses. I am especially eager to get the tape of the nine-one-one call to the Miami Police, where we will hear Mrs. Yarmouth’s voice. She reported finding her husband’s body. I am asking the court to instruct the police department not to destroy that tape.”

“So ordered,” said Judge Arnold. “State, why didn’t you turn over your witness list and other discovery this morning when you filed the indictment? Isn’t that how it’s usually done?”

“Well, Judge, we’re working on it. It should be
ready in about ten days,” Karl said. He was looking down at his shoes.

“Then, if I can’t have discovery right away, I am asking the court for a preliminary hearing. I know this is rarely done under our state system. That’s because we have full discovery in criminal cases including depositions, but the prosecution is trying to stonewall my ability to view their evidence. A preliminary hearing will show the court that there is no evidence against Lillian, I mean Mrs. Yarmouth.” I paused for breath. “And I am asking for a trial date in ninety days.”

“Ninety days?” Karl yelled. “This is a murder case. Ms. Katz knows it takes at least a year to bring a murder case to trial, sometimes two, and I have other older serious cases.”

“That’s your problem, Mr. Morris. It’s very refreshing to hear a lawyer ask for a quick trial date. All I’ve heard since I began my judgeship is ‘continuance, continuance.’”

“Ms. Katz, I think a preliminary hearing just might be a good idea. Two weeks from today, one p.m. Next case, please.”

I led Lillian out of the courtroom. I really felt like skipping out of the courtroom, but I contained myself. It wasn’t so bad having a judge who didn’t know shit about criminal court. He was making it up as he went, and I was helping. Now we were ready to talk to the press. The cameras were clicking as we left the courtroom.

The weekend loomed ahead. I was behind in all my work, and had planned to spend most of it in the office until Carlos reminded me that I had agreed to spend it with his parents on Marco Island at their beach condo.

“Can we compromise? Please?” I asked.

“Don’t tell me you’re backing out of meeting my family,” Carlos said.

“Of course not. I’m looking forward to it,” I said. I just need to work. Can’t we go for the day on Saturday and come back Saturday night? Then I can work all day Sunday.” I tried not to blink as Carlos stared at me.

It was only a partial lie. I did have to work. I wasn’t looking forward to being examined by Carlos’s parents.

“Okay, but bring your bathing suit. I hope it’s a bikini. And bring a change for dinner. My mother has asked a few other guests.”

So it wasn’t just a once-over by the parents. A whole firing squad of Latino critics was going to pass
judgment as well. I called my hairdresser for an emergency hair cut and pedicure.

Saturday dawned darkly. The sun was covered by banks of clouds. It rarely rains in February or early March. In fact, this is the season when wildfires begin due to the months of dry weather. The weatherman on Channel 7 was ecstatic. “It looks like rain is coming in from the west and we need it badly,” he crooned.

I needed rain like I needed an extra hole in my head. What would we do all day if we couldn’t hang out at the beach?

The ride across Alligator Alley, the old name for I-75, used to be one of my favorites, right through the Everglades. When we were kids and the road had been a two-laner, my brothers and I spent the ride with noses pressed to the windows looking for who could spot an alligator or an eagle. Now it was a freeway. But birds still filled the area. I concentrated on counting the species. The sky grew darker and soon rain splashed against the windshield in big ugly drops.

We turned off the freeway and onto the island, passing hotels, motels, restaurants, and condos. Carlos turned down a small road almost hidden in the foliage. We traveled another mile and pulled in front of a group of townhouses. Behind the buildings we could hear the waves of the gulf against the seawall. Carlos grabbed my canvas bag and walked me around the houses to a stunning, peaceful beach. I took a big whiff of the sea air.

“I told you this was a great place,” Carlos said. “This is where I come to chill out.”

The door opened at the top of a winding stairway leading up from the beach. An attractive woman dressed in a designer-type warm-up suit called out.

“Carlos, don’t just stand there. I’ve been waiting.”

“We’re coming,
Mamacita
. Just showing Mary the beach.”

We moved out of the rain and the spray of the waves. As we approached, I saw that Angelina Martin was a tiny woman, but this hadn’t hindered her ability to be adorned in a diamond necklace and bracelet and large gold earrings. She threw her arms around me, stabbing me with the diamonds, and kissing me on each cheek. I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I gave a light hug in return.

“Come in, come in. I have breakfast all ready for you. It’s really brunch. J.C. come out here.”

A tall handsome man appeared. He looked a lot like Carlos, except for his mustache and salt-and-pepper hair. He had the same amazing smile.

As we walked into the dining room, I looked at the view of the beach through the sliding glass doors. Carlos and his dad hugged and smiled at each other, and the sun came out.

The day passed pleasantly. We had rum drinks on the beach and a ride in J.C.’s fishing boat, which was larger than some people’s apartments. I learned that J.C. stood for Juan Carlos. I learned that several cousins
would be joining us for dinner at the beach club.

After we dressed for dinner, I had my opportunity to ask Angelina about her position on the board of directors at Elite Wines.

“I don’t mean to sound nosy. You know that I represent Lillian Yarmouth. I’m trying to find out everything I can that will help me defend her,” I said.

“Carlos tells me that you’re a very smart lawyer. I’m sure you’ll represent her well. Of course, in my day women left such work to the men. We were busy raising children and making our homes run smoothly. Lots of Hispanic women still find that very fulfilling,” Angelina said.

“A number of Hispanic women who I went to law school with are practicing law or running businesses in Miami. That’s the nice part of being female. There’s something that suits everyone. Don’t you think?” I said. I smiled, trying to conceal my annoyance.

“I suppose. What is it that you want to know about Elite? I really don’t know all that much about those people. I know they asked me on to the board because J.C. has connections to retail wine merchants in the Hispanic community, and he has connections to some of the South American wineries. This is a Chilean wine that you are drinking now. Isn’t it delicious?”

“Yes, it’s very nice. What did you think of Gary Yarmouth? You must have observed him at board meetings.”

“Oh, sure. He was the kind of guy that you either
loved him or you hated him. Lillian adored him. She hung on every word out of his mouth.”

“Who hated him?”

“Marian Brandeis, Jack’s wife. She was on the board too. I think she resented him. She mostly voted ‘no’ for anything he suggested. She always lost.”

“What did you think of Gary?”

“He was a real charmer, a lady’s man. Always complimenting me on my clothes or jewelry. Always putting an arm around the women, even the secretaries. It was a bit much, but it didn’t bother me. It didn’t even seem to bother Lillian at all. I would have been livid if he were my
esposo.
Jack always looked a little annoyed. Jack’s a solid guy. He’ll be good for Elite. I assume he’ll be taking the presidency at the next board meeting. There isn’t anyone else.”

“There’s Lillian. She must own a large part of the company.”

“That’s ridiculous. She’s not a business person, and besides she’s accused of murder right now.”

Carlos and his father came in, and the conversation stopped. It was time to go to dinner, and time for me to face the Martin family review board. I gulped the rest of my wine hoping to withstand the inspection.

Dinner was a noisy and festive affair. The various cousins were actually a collection of distant relatives and closer friends. For instance, Marielena was the
cousin of Angelina’s sister-in-law, but everyone called her Auntie. Walter was an old friend of J.C.’s uncle in Argentina and spent part of his time helping Carlos’s younger brother who ran the cattle ranch in Argentina that had belonged to Carlos’s grandfather. I was going to need a chart to keep everyone straight. I concentrated on just remembering their names for the evening.