Let Darkness Come (34 page)

Briley takes off her coat, folds it into a bundle, and uses it for a pillow as she curls up on the couch. She ought to go home. She has to be in court tomorrow; she'll have to face Bystrowski and whatever challenge he and his associates have dreamed up. He'll be freshly polished in his suit and tie, while she might not even have the time—or the inclination—to take a shower.

What matters most is staying here for her client.

The cop keeping watch outside Erin's cubicle doesn't know her; he's merely earning his hourly pay as he barrels out his chest for the passing nurses. His gun belt is still shiny, and so burdened with gun, nightstick, and radio it's a wonder he can rise out of his chair without giving himself a hernia.

Briley closes her eyes to the guard and the waiting patients. She has things to consider.

Believing is…seeing
.

She has a client who for months has proclaimed her innocence. Her client is a chimera. Her client may have had two souls.

If such a thing is possible, Briley doubts it exists in the annals of legal literature. The only situations that even come close are cases in which women have met with violence and lost their unborn babies. Illinois law considers the homicidal killing of an unborn child a criminal offense…at any stage of gestation.

Slowly her thoughts expand, joining a sliver of comprehension here, connecting with a realization there. An unborn
child, an unborn twin. In a very real sense, isn't that what Lisa Marie was?

A sister of the soul. An unexpected reminder of eternity.

When the truth shines fully upon her heart, Briley realizes Timothy was right. She is her father's daughter. Though she has tried to bury her heritage beneath a mantle of detachment, her dad consistently taught her that life is about much more than the things we can see and touch. He knew that faith brought understanding. He lived to give. Now so can she.

And she will give whatever she must in order to get Erin acquitted.

The partners of Franklin, Watson, Smyth & Morton don't care about Erin, and their confidence in Briley is perfunctory, at best. They are counting on her to stick to her usual approach and remain aloof from her client. They expect a guilty verdict, and they want to please their most powerful client.

But Briley knows who killed Jeffrey Tomassi. After Erin succumbed to a drug-induced sleep, Lisa Marie took control and killed Jeffrey to protect her sister. She had protected Erin before, and if her life hadn't been cut short, she might have done it again.

 

At 5:00 a.m., a nurse jostles Briley's shoulder and says Erin is about to be released. The attendant police officer will escort her back to the jail to prepare for trial.

Briley pushes her bangs out of her eyes as a surge of adrenaline scatters the heavy fog of sleep. What day is it? Thursday. A court day, and she still has to prepare her closing argument and make sure her client has decent clothes for the courtroom.

She steps into the curtained cubicle, where a nurse is disconnecting the IV and the monitors from her patient. Erin dangles her legs off the gurney, then puts her feet on the floor and gently pushes the nurse's guiding hand away. “I'm fine.” She glances at Briley. “I feel pretty good.”

“Then why are you moving like an old woman?” Be
tween the edges of the hospital gown, Briley glimpses a cloud of vicious bruising between her client's shoulder blades. She grimaces. “Are you sure you're up to this? I could ask the judge for a recess until you're better. I think he'd grant it, given the circumstances.”

“I want to finish this,” Erin says, her voice hoarse. She meets Briley's gaze. “I want to go home.”

Briley nods in understanding. A thought occurred to her last night as she lay on that creaky sofa: any delay in the trial would give Bystrowski time to talk to Louis Thomsen at the crime lab. He's smart enough to ask the right questions, so he could discover that the unknown hair sample belonged not to Jeffrey's sibling, but to Erin's. The knowledge would confuse him, but if he learns the full truth they'll be back where they started, with the syringe in Erin's hand….

Briley catches Erin's wrist. “Before we go back to court, I want to hear what happened last night. Have you talked to the police?”

Erin's gaze darts toward the cop outside. “That detective came by a while ago. I told him everything.”

“Malone? I missed him?”

“He said he saw you sleeping in the waiting room. I guess he wanted to let you rest.”

Briley shakes her head, then looks at the nurse. “Could my client and I have a minute alone? Thanks.”

When the nurse sidles out of the cubicle, Briley releases Erin's arm and sits on a stool. “You ready to tell me what happened?”

Erin shrugs. “One of the guards pulled me out of my cell, took me down to the laundry room, and left me with two guys who work for Antonio.”

“How do you know that? Did you recognize them?”

“The guard mentioned it—and we talked.” She turns her gaze on Briley, her blue eyes shining. “You'd have been proud of me. I tried everything I could. I didn't go down without a fight.”

“Obviously.” Briley looks at the bruises on Erin's arms. “Last night…do you remember me coming to see you?”

When Erin closes her eyes, Briley isn't sure if she's trying to remember or struggling to forget. “I think so.”

“Do you remember what you told me?”

Her eyes fly open. “I told you Lisa Marie was gone.”

“Were you…Did you realize what you were saying? What did you mean, exactly?”

Erin's gaze drifts toward the curtains. “I don't understand what happened, but you know that full feeling you get after a big meal? Suppose you've had it your entire life and then it disappears. You're glad because you don't feel stuffed anymore, but you're not so sure you want to feel empty.” Her eyes catch and hold Briley's. “Lisa Marie isn't with me anymore. I don't know where she went, but I don't hear her, I don't feel her. I just feel…hollow.”

Briley draws a deep breath. “I think I've found the explanation for Lisa Marie. I spoke to Dr. Phillips, the geneticist.”

Erin stares, her hands trembling. “And?”

“Apparently the DNA of your blood sample didn't match the DNA of your saliva swab. The doctor said this happens when two embryos fuse together in the uterus. It's called chimerism. So your body is, in effect, a combination of two bodies. Yours and your twin sister's.”

Erin remains silent, but her face seems to open as the words sink in. Briley sees bewilderment, a quick flicker of consternation, then the calm of resignation.

“I'm sorry if this is upsetting,” Briley says. “The doctor says there's nothing to worry about.”

“I'm glad you told me.” A slow, secret smile trembles over Erin's lips, then she laughs. “I should have known. Now everything makes sense.”

Briley stands to summon the nurse. “If you have any questions, I'm sure Dr. Phillips would be happy to talk to you.”

Erin nods, then breaks eye contact, her gaze drifting toward the doorway. “Are you going to tell the jury about Lisa Marie?”

“Not at this trial. No one would understand, and the press would have a field day with the story.” Briley turns. “For now, Lisa Marie is going to remain sheltered under attorney-client privilege.”

“You know—” Erin blinks as a tear rolls down her cheek “—for the first time in my life, I feel completely alone.”

“You're not alone. I'm here.”

The blue eyes fill with wistfulness. “You volunteering to be my sister?”

Briley smiles. “I'll be something better…your lawyer and your friend.”

B
y nine-thirty, Briley and Erin are again seated behind the defense table. Erin is wearing a loose-fitting blouse and skirt Briley brought from home, and her eyes are considerably brighter than they were when the trial began.

Detective Malone has filled William's spot in the gallery. Briley told him about her suspicions regarding the librarian, so the cop sits between Kate and Timothy and occasionally glances over his shoulder to see if the law librarian has decided to sacrifice another vacation day and come to court.

Briley notices that the Tomassi family has begun to file in, but the patriarch has not yet appeared. Jason sits beside his father's usual seat, one arm draped protectively over the vacant spot.

Timothy has left Dax Lightner in the custody of his physical trainer, an amazon who wouldn't think of touching a narcotic substance. Timothy told Briley that Dax offered to come and offer moral support, but Timothy discouraged the idea. Like wolves scenting a fresh kill, reporters have crowded the gallery, their laptops and BlackBerrys ready. Even more are jammed into lobbies outside the courtroom, waiting to launch their cameras and microphones, like matadors aiming at a bull.

Briley glances at Bystrowski, who appears more subdued than usual. How much does he know about last night's assault?

“All rise.” Briley straightens her spine as the deputy opens the court. “This honorable court is now in session, Judge Milton Trask presiding.”

The judge takes his seat, shooting a look of concern toward Erin as the bailiff calls, “Be seated and come to order.”

Before asking if the lawyers are ready to continue, the judge folds his hands and leans toward the microphone. “I understand,” he says, his gaze focusing on Erin, “that the defendant suffered an assault last night. If you are unwell, Mrs. Tomassi, we could offer a recess until you are stronger.”

“Your Honor.” Briley stands. “We appreciate your kind consideration, but my client would like to continue. She is anxious to spare the court any further delay.”

The judge nods. “Very well. Deputy, you may bring in the jury.”

Briley shuffles her notes as the jury enters and files into the box, their shoes thumping in an uneven rataplan on the wooden floor. Word of the attack has not been leaked to the press, so even though members of the jury can't help but notice the fresh contusion on Erin's forehead, they have seen similar bruises before. Briley chose a long-sleeved blouse for her client, not wanting to be accused of trying to elicit sympathy by displaying the woman's battered condition.

If Erin is acquitted, let it be on the strength of sworn testimony.

As the last jury member settles in his chair, the judge looks at Briley. “Counsel for the defense, have you any more witnesses?”

Briley stands. “Your Honor, the defense rests.”

The judge turns to the prosecutor. “Mr. Bystrowski, defense presented new evidence. Have you any rebuttal evidence?”

Bystrowski stands and looks at Briley, frustration flickering in his eyes. “No, Your Honor. But we'd like to call a rebuttal witness.”

“Call your witness, then.”

Bystrowski turns. “The state calls Jason Tomassi to the stand.”

Briley gives Erin a small smile as her brother-in-law takes the witness stand. The man shifts uneasily in his chair, and his expression is far less confident today.

“Mr. Tomassi,” Bystrowski says, “for the record, where were you on the evening of December 2?”

Jason clears his throat. “I attended my brother's fundraiser at the Conrad Chicago.”

“What family members were with you?”

“My brother, Jeffrey, his wife, my father, and my four sisters. Some cousins, too.”

“What time did the event end?”

“About ten-thirty.”

“What did you do after the event?”

Jason's gaze lowers. “I, um, went to my girlfriend's apartment.”

“Did you swing by your brother's home first?”

“Why would I? I'd been with him all night.”

“Did any of your sisters announce their plans for after the event?”

“They took the limo to my father's house. They'd been drinking, so they didn't want to drive.”

“Objection.” Briley stands. “This is hearsay, Your Honor. The witness cannot know if his sisters did, in fact, go to Mr. Tomassi's home.”

“Sustained.”

Bystrowski looks at Briley, frustration on his face. His eyes send an unspoken message:
You want me to put all four women on the stand? I could
.

She gives him a small smile and sits down.

Bystrowski turns back to his witness. “Do you know if your sisters made it to your father's home?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know?”

“I called Papa around midnight. I heard the girls laughing in the background.”

“All of them?”

Jason's mouth dips in a wry grin. “Trust me. I know their laughter. All four of them were there.”

“Did any of them tell you they had been to Jeffrey's house?”

“No.”

“Thank you, Mr. Tomassi. The state has no more questions for this witness.”

Judge Trask looks at Briley. “Any cross?”

She looks at Jason, considering the matter, then decides to remain silent. She has nothing to gain by quizzing him, and a great deal to lose by wearying the jurors. “No, Your Honor.”

“Then we'll move on to closing arguments.”

Briley flips to the final section of her trial notebook while the judge explains the next phase to the jury. As he stresses that they are to consider the attorneys' closing a summation, not evidence, she reviews her main points and hopes the jury is as intelligent and intuitive as she needs them to be.

Finally, the judge nods to the prosecutor. “Mr. Bystrowski.”

Bystrowski steps to the lectern and unbuttons his suit coat. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury.” His voice is firm and strong, his Boy Scout face set in lines of earnestness. “We have presented a case in which the facts are simple. Erin Tomassi married an important, wealthy, and influential man. Unfortunately, this marriage suffered from domestic discord. But instead of filing for divorce, seeking a restraining order, or suggesting that they seek out marital counseling, the defendant consciously chose a course of extreme action. One night, as her husband lay sleeping in his own bed, she unwrapped a syringe, filled it with insulin, and injected her husband with a deadly dose. The massive overdose killed him before he could awaken to plead for mercy. The next morning, the defendant waited until she knew he was dead. Then she called 911 and played the role of grieving widow while paramedics attempted to resuscitate her husband. The resuscitation efforts failed, of course, because she waited far too long to call for help. Rigor mortis had already set in—because Jeffrey Tomassi had been dead at least six hours.

“Let's examine the evidence that leads us to believe these things.” Bystrowski begins counting on his fingers. “You've seen and heard proof—the defendant's fingerprints on the murder weapon, videotaped evidence demonstrating no one else entered the house, sworn statements from the brother who did not visit that night, and the testimony of an experienced police detective. To paraphrase something my grandfather used to say, if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, you can bet that bird is a duck. The evidence proves Erin Tomassi killed her husband.”

He paces before the jury box, nodding at individuals as he moves. “The defense says the defendant could not have committed the crime because she took a double dose of Ambien before going to sleep. But did they prove that claim? No. They offered no blood tests, no toxicology report, nothing but the word of an accused killer. The defense has also suggested that the defendant might have killed the victim while she was sleepwalking, but has the woman ever been treated for sleep disorders? No. Have the neighbors ever reported her walking outside in her nightgown? No.

“Finally, the defense brought in new evidence to prove a third party was present at the crime scene, even going so far as to cast aspersions on the grief-stricken Tomassi siblings. This—” he drives his clenched fist into his palm “—is a sign of desperation, ladies and gentlemen. Do not let yourselves be influenced by the eleventh-hour ploy of a defense attorney who cannot explain how Erin Tomassi's fingerprints were found on the murder weapon without incriminating her client.”

Taking a deep, unsteady breath, Bystrowski steps away and locks his hands behind his back. “In a few moments the judge will instruct you about how you must deliberate and vote to conclude this trial. He will explain the law you must follow. What he will
not
tell you to do is leave your intelligence and common sense outside the deliberation room. Look at the evidence, and you'll see that the state has proven its case. Thank you.”

As the prosecutor returns to his desk, Briley waits until the members of the jury are looking at her, then she stands. A quick glance over her shoulder reveals that Antonio Tomassi has slipped into the courtroom. She marvels at his chutzpah. Apparently the man is willing to risk arrest in order to see his daughter-in-law destroyed.

“Ladies and gentlemen—” Briley steps out from behind the defense table “—a moment ago, I nearly stood up to object during the prosecutor's closing argument. Perhaps I should have. I kept silent, however, because I wanted to see what Mr. Bystrowski said you had to believe in order to vote for a guilty verdict.

“The prosecutor said we offered no explanation for Erin Tomassi's fingerprints being on the weapon, but we have offered a perfectly logical explanation—whoever murdered Jeffrey Tomassi, a well-known political figure, could have easily manipulated Erin's hand and placed her prints on that syringe. An intruder acting in a hurry would not have taken the time to ascertain whether she was right- or left-handed. He or she would have simply reached for the closest arm…which would have been Erin's left. Jeffrey and Erin were not alone in the house that night…an assertion proven by DNA evidence.

“When I first took the case, I thought my work would be neat and tidy. I'd examine the evidence, I'd plan a defense, I'd do my best to give my client a fair trial. And if I lost—” she lifts her shoulders in a faint shrug “—well, in this business, you win some, you lose some. Whatever happened, I wouldn't lose sleep over it. After all, I'm a professional lawyer. I'm a defense attorney, not a miracle worker.”

She strolls in front of the jury box, lightly trailing the fingers of one hand over the railing. “When I read the police reports, I began to understand why my firm assigned me to the case.” She laughs. “After all, I'm only an associate at Franklin, Watson, Smyth & Morton. The lawyers who are higher up the ladder like to protect their reputations, and this
case had ‘loser' written all over it. No evidence of an intruder, and videotape to prove it. No one in the house but the husband and his wife. This case didn't even have a dangerous weapon, just a plastic syringe with a couple of fingerprints on it.

“The case appeared so simple, so obvious, that the crime lab guys didn't bother to test every hair found at the murder scene. They checked the doors at the house, but not the windows. They looked around the premises, but not carefully. Why bother? After all, who but the wife could have committed the crime?” She pauses, allowing her gaze to brush each man and woman in the jury box. “In the beginning, I was as ready to pin this crime on Erin Tomassi as you are. But as I began to talk to people who know her, I learned that Erin was terrified of her husband. She was intimidated by her father-in-law. This quiet woman, raised by an alcoholic mother, would rather take a beating than be disloyal to Jeffrey Tomassi.”

Briley stops pacing to inhale a deep breath. “Why would she kill the man with whom she was planning to start a family? She didn't need money—Jeffrey bought her everything she needed to look like the perfect trophy wife. Frankly, she had no reason to kill her husband. She had plenty of reasons to get him to a marriage counselor, but she had no reason to murder the man she married.”

She shifts her attention to the men sitting at the prosecution table. “Once the evidence revealed that Erin did not—could not—have killed Jeffrey, I began to focus on the police report. I called the crime lab and learned that they had
not
done DNA analysis on every specimen taken from the crime scene. At my request, they tested other hairs found on the bed, and we discovered that four of those hairs came from a third party. All the hairs found on Jeffrey Tomassi's deathbed belonged to either Jeffrey, Erin, or our mysterious intruder.

“You heard the lab technician—an employee of Illinois police state—declare that DNA isn't used for identification,
but for differentiation. Someone else was in the room on that December night, and someone else injected Jeffrey Tomassi with insulin. Erin didn't wake, because she was deep in a drug-induced sleep. Once the fatal dose was administered, the third party retreated through an unlocked window, avoiding the security cameras and leaving Erin to take the blame. Who was the third party? I don't know, and it's not my job to lob accusations at law-abiding citizens. My job is to defend Erin Tomassi.”