Move to Strike (5 page)

“But I’m just a kid! Can they do this to a kid? I heard that when a kid gets caught, they don’t get in as much trouble. Like with those kids that run drugs for older guys in the city.”

“Who told you that?”

“I don’t remember.”

Lie number two, Nina noted. “The definition of ‘kid’ is changing fast.”

“If I went into the adult system and got convicted— then what?”

“The death penalty is out. A juvenile can’t be sentenced to death in California.”

“Then—how long in prison? What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Two years in a youth authority facility. Then, when you reach eighteen, state prison. Thirty years, maybe. Life, if you were convicted of first-degree murder.”

Nikki’s face went paper-colored.

“That’s the absolute worst possibility. We’ll know more about possible outcomes when they formally charge you. The system is very complex.”

“The System,” Nikki said, and her lips pursed as if against a bitter taste.

“Let’s go to the hearing. Then I can advise you better.”

“I thought they would let me get out on bail or something. I’m no risk. I’m not going to go around offing people, for Chrissake! This is so unreal.”

“Nikki, you’re going to have to tell me what you took from your uncle’s. Was it money?”

“I’ve told you everything important.”

She was so painfully young, too young to understand just how frightened she should be, that was the problem. Or maybe she understood and was being brave. Even the prospect of thirty years hadn’t scared her enough to open up to Nina. What had she taken? Was she protecting someone? Her mother?

“Your mother is very worried about you,” Nina said. “You’ll see her in a few minutes.” She had meant to be comforting and was a little startled at the bleak look that passed over Nikki’s face.

“Oh, sure, and she’s working hard on this. Praying, hoping. Lighting candles. Making up dances . . .” Rancor mixed with resignation. “She expects me to waltz home and join her any second.”

“I have the feeling that she loves you a lot.”

“Too bad love can’t buy you money.”

“You sound pretty tough, Nikki.”

“She drives me crazy,” Nikki said. “And I’m worried about her. She needs me. She can’t take care of herself. I always thought that’s why my dad left. If only somebody had taught her to type or repair plumbing fixtures. Something practical, to bring in money. When she does get a job, she goofs up and gets fired right away. She never lets it get her down, though,” she said, reluctant admiration creeping into her voice. “Goes right back to her dancing and her fantasies of fame and fortune.”

“I take it that your father wasn’t much good at being reliable either,” Nina said.

Nikki’s face darkened. “Don’t bad-mouth my father.”

“Sorry. I’m just trying to point out . . .”

“Look, just make sure she pays the electric bill. It’s a mess if she doesn’t. If I don’t get out.”

“Okay.” Nina checked her watch. Ten minutes to go. “They’ll bring you in shortly,” she said. “I have to go look for your mother.”

She wanted to put her hand on the prickly girl’s shoulder, but knew better.

Nikki was already waiting in the Juvenile Court when Nina came in with Daria. The Probation Department had acted with due diligence in filing the paperwork and contacting Daria, and the clerk had set this rapid hearing on the detention calendar for two P.M.

The only other attendees were official: the court clerk, the bailiff, and the court reporter; the Juvenile Referee, Harold Vasquez; the Probation Department caseworker who had just been assigned to the case, Pearl Smith; and Barbara Banning, a deputy district attorney from the South Lake Tahoe office.

Barbara gave Nina a formal nod as she came in, and Nina took that nod as the first blow in the legal war that started as of today. Barbara was a smart lawyer, still somewhat inexperienced, who had been taken under the wing and, it was rumored, into the bed of the county district attorney, Henry McFarland. Her status as Henry’s protégée was an early warning that Henry would try to have Nikki transferred into the adult criminal court system at the earliest opportunity.

On top of that bad news, there was Barbara herself. Barbara disliked Nina for a number of reasons. Their adversarial positions, her natural competitiveness, and her fledgling-prosecutor disgust for lawyers base enough to choose to work as criminal defense attorneys, were only part of the problem. Barbara had made a determined play for Nina’s husband before he married Nina. His rejection must have hurt. Sitting down beside Nikki at the counsel table, Nina nodded back to Barbara. Daria sat down right behind them.

“In re Nicole Zack,” Judge Vasquez said. Vasquez had been a juvenile probation officer before law school and had earned the trust of attorneys on both sides. First glancing at the petition in front of him, he then shot a quick, inquisitive look at Nikki over his glasses. A sixteen-year-old girl accused of a slashing murder did not come before him every day. Nina saw in that look the interest the media would also have in Nikki.

“This is a hearing to determine whether the minor present today will remain in custody or whether some other disposition should be made. I see that this young lady has spent one night at the Juvenile Hall facilities. Ms. Zack, this is an informal hearing not subject to the rules of evidence, but you have a number of rights you should know.”

He made sure that Daria had received notice of the hearing and was present, and took note of Nina’s appearance on Nikki’s behalf.

“I see that we have been unable to locate the father,” he told Nina. “I take it the parents are divorced?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Does the minor or her mother have any information as to his whereabouts? As a parent, he should know about this.”

“He—he left the area more than five years ago,” Nina said. “Other than a few notes home, he hasn’t been heard from and we have no idea how to locate him. Daria Zack, the mother, has sole legal custody.”

“Okay then,” Vasquez said, but he shook his head. He was already forming an idea of the case, something to do with a fatherless delinquent kid. Like everybody else in the juvenile justice system, he couldn’t help searching for logical reasons behind the mystifying and horrific acts of violence which brought children into his court every day.

“Ms. Banning?” he said. “Your presence here today indicates an interest on the part of the district attorney’s office.”

“It’s a murder, Your Honor,” Barbara said. Her voice was round and full and musical, fittingly, because with her, everything was as painstakingly orchestrated as a Brandenburg Concerto. Pulling a sheaf of papers from her briefcase, she said, “We are filing a petition herewith. The petition requests a hearing on May twenty-fifth to have the minor declared not amenable to assistance within the Juvenile Court system pursuant to section six zero two of the Welfare and Institutions Code. Our office intends to file a criminal complaint against the minor on a charge of murder in the first degree. We will request that this matter be transferred into the adult court, to proceed as though the minor was an adult.”

“You are filing the petition today?” Vasquez said.

“As soon as this hearing is over,” Barbara said. “May I provide the Court and counsel with a copy?” Vasquez nodded, and she handed one set of papers to his clerk and then walked the few steps over to Nina and laid the papers on the table before her without so much as a glance of recognition.

Nina skimmed the paperwork. With a complaint about to be filed, Vasquez would never release Nikki.

And so it went. Barbara argued the seriousness of the offense, Nikki’s previous brushes with the law, and the fact that Nina had requested that the hearing regarding a transfer to the adult court commence in less than two weeks. Nina protested hotly when Barbara said that Nikki was a flight risk, arguing that Nikki had never been convicted of any crime, but Vasquez was too conservative to take a chance when a murder was involved.

“The Court remands the minor to the Juvenile Hall for a period not to exceed fifteen days,” he announced. “Counsel, the law is very plain. If that hearing doesn’t occur as scheduled, she will probably be put on home supervision.”

“Oh, we’ll be ready, Your Honor,” Barbara said.

And so will we, Nina thought.

Neutralizing her expression, Nikki went along with the bailiff. Watching her go, Daria cried without restraint.

“You can visit,” Nina said as she packed her attaché at the table. “I promise you, she’ll be safe.” From the corner of her eye she saw Barbara sail out, trailed by the bailiff’s admiring eyes.

“She may be safe but she’ll be hurting every minute in there, I promise you.”

“She’s strong,” Nina said.

“She sure puts on a good show of it, doesn’t she?” Daria said. “Anyway, I’ll follow you back up the hill. Beth just couldn’t manage Placerville today. It was too much. But she’s going to meet us at your office at four.”

“What for?”

“She called me and she really wants to come along. She wants to help us. She loves Nikki. I told you she’d never believe Nikki killed Bill.”

The air inside the courtroom had been icy. When Nina went outside, warmth settled over her like a sweater. Traffic had quieted. The good folk of Placerville all appeared to have gone home for siestas this afternoon.

She pulled onto the highway, Daria following in her old VW, already a few cars back.

Nikki would be a difficult client. But she admitted it to herself—she wanted the case. She’d take it no matter what Beth Sykes offered.

She knew all about girls like Nikki.

She had been one herself.

Under Sandy’s watchful eye, Beth Sykes and Daria Zack waited in the outer reception area. The two women walked into Nina’s office, Daria in the lead.

Beth introduced herself in a voice as soft as her cashmere sweater. “I understand you’ve seen Nikki,” she said, seating herself closest to Nina. Even skin as fresh and dewy as hers had suffered under the strain of the past few days. She wore shadows under her eyes instead of makeup and when she said hello, her voice was flat and heavy, medicated sounding. Daria took her time getting comfortable in the other chair.

From far away, no one would mistake these two women for anything but sisters. Like images in a broken mirror they bore a disjunctive similarity. Daria was wider across the jaw and Beth’s chin was less developed, but their clothing was a study in personal expressive-ness. Daria’s seriously distressed leather jacket over a wrinkled black turtleneck and black jeans fit her personality, and Beth’s fitted purple bolero-style sweater and linen skirt, set off by a pair of fine leather boots, fit hers. Slightly crooked canines lent Daria’s smile a guileless friendliness, while Beth’s mouth opened into a smile that exposed rectangular nuggets of white, movie-star perfection, but left a personality void.

Though they both were blond, Beth’s hair had the subtle streaking of natural-looking color Nina suspected was the expensive kind. She also couldn’t help wondering how much magic Beth’s husband, the plastic surgeon, had wrought, to keep Beth looking so young and vibrant, when she knew already Daria was four years younger. But these were trivial thoughts. This woman emanated a fresh, shocked grief.

“I’m sorry about your loss,” Nina said.

“Thank you,” Beth said. The sympathy shook her composure, and Nina could see her struggling for calm. Beth looked barely functional, slumping there in her chair. “I lost my own husband a few months ago,” Nina heard herself say, and then stopped, surprised. She avoided personal contact with clients, but Beth Sykes’s vulnerability and pain were too brutally present in the room to ignore.

Beth nodded.

Daria squeezed her sister’s arm, and for a moment, except for the tapping of Sandy’s fingers in the outer office, there was silence.

“Nikki’s holding up pretty well,” Nina said.

“Daria told me everything. We’re very close.”

Which wasn’t exactly what Daria had said.

“What kind of papers do we sign?” asked Daria finally. “Beth’s offered to loan me your retainer.”

At that, Beth lifted her head. “It’s not a loan, Daria.”

“I’m paying every penny back.”

“I want to do this for Nikki. Let me help her.” Her voice trembled.

Preoccupied with her own concerns and oblivious to her sister’s shaky emotional state, Daria shook her head. “No. I don’t like to owe people. And ten percent interest. I insist.”

“I’m not people!” Beth cried.

They argued until Beth’s growing frustration exploded into tears. Through her sobs she said, “Just forget your goddamn pride for once, Daria. Take the money for her sake. For my sake. Call it whatever you want!”

Instantly contrite, Daria put an arm around her sister’s shoulder. “Jeez, Beth,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I made you cry. After all you’re going through! I’m a rat and an egomaniac! I hate me!”

Through her tears, Beth’s shoulders shook slightly at the joke. She took the tissue Nina offered and dried her eyes.

“Don’t cry, honey pie,” Daria murmured. “Of course we’d be completely grateful for anything you want to do.”

And so it was settled. Nina had been sitting behind her desk, hands folded, while the sisters worked out their differences. Her thoughts had been on Bill Sykes and the slashes on his face. The attack, according to the newspaper account she had read that morning, had been ferocious.

Hard as the wind ripping over the mountains on these spring mornings, the meaning of a new murder case swept over Nina. Her new obsession had arrived, bringing with it months of profound challenges, fear, stress, and humble hopes . . .

“You can save her. I know you can,” Daria was saying to Nina now.

“I’m not a savior.” Nina had learned that the hard way. “If I represent Nicole, I’ll do everything I can to help her but you need to know there are no guarantees. The outcome may not be what we want. Nobody wins every case, and this one’s especially tough.”

“Why do you say that?”

“She may have done it. If she did, I can help her but I can’t save her.”

“You really don’t like that word. Okay. Don’t worry about saving her. Just get her off,” Daria said.