Retribution (34 page)

‘Robberies? What the hell? What robberies?’

‘De la Flors wants glory and fame. He wants his name in the papers is what he wants. And he wants Cupid. So if he can’t get him on murder, he’s gonna drag him over to federal court to get him for robbing women of their clothing and their hearts. Although I’m not sure in what order that will read in the indictment. He intends to tie him up with the Hobbs Act in federal court for a few years to make Tigler look like a buffoon, which is not that difficult a task. After Tigler loses his reelection bid and de la Flors gets nominated as a federal judge, maybe he’ll cut Bantling loose to pay his hometown a visit and we can finish what we started.’

‘The Hobbs Act? He really thinks he can make that stretch that Cupid is affecting interstate commerce?’

‘He’s certainly going to give it the old college try.’

‘And what’s Gracker’s role in all this? That tubby little shit.’

‘He’s de la Flors’s cheerleader, I suppose. He sat in the back of the room singing “I can investigate better than you can.” But when it comes down to it, he’s nothing without de la Flors.’

‘What did Tigler do?’

‘What do you think? After asking the vampires in for coffee and doughnuts and a pint of A negative, nothing.’

‘So we’re gonna give them what they want?’

‘Not all of it. Copies of documents, copies of lab
reports. I’m going to stuff them so full of paper, they’ll need magnifying lenses for glasses when they’re done, their eyes will be so bad. I told de la Flors to get ready for a fight if he even thinks I’m giving him actual evidence. That’s when he decided to go home.’

Dominick smiled and leaned in close to C.J.’s face, his arm above her, palm resting on the wall. ‘I like you. Not only are you pretty, but you’re pretty tough.’

She felt her face flush. ‘Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment.’

‘You should. That’s how I meant it.’

The door to Judge Hilfaro’s courtroom opened just then, and in walked Manny. Dominick dropped his arm and quickly looked over at the detective, who looked unhappy. C.J. felt her heart return to a normal beat.

‘Where have you been, Bear? Don’t tell me giving interviews to Channel Seven,’ said Dominick.

‘Are you shitting me? While both make me laugh, Cartoon Network has a better cast of characters. What are you two doing back here? Lying low?’

For some reason, C.J. felt her face flush again with embarrassment. Dominick answered quickly. ‘C.J. was telling me all about the visit the feds paid her Wednesday. It seems Gracker found himself a pigeon – Tom de la Flors. The U.S. Attorney’s Office wants to lay claim to Cupid. They served C.J. with a warrant.’

‘As if my day wasn’t going crappy enough. Fuck them. Pardon my French, Counselor.’

‘You don’t have to worry about C.J.’s virgin ears. She told de la Flors and his stoolie just that. Now let’s hope they go away.’

‘Something tells me that won’t happen, Dom. Especially now.’

‘Why? What happened?’

‘They just found Cupid’s latest work of art. Looks like Morgan Weber’s body, or what’s left of it anyway, was discovered about an hour or so ago. Duty calls, my friend.’

‘Where was she found?’ asked Dominick.

‘In a fishing shack in the middle of the Everglades. Some drunk fisherman went to crash there and burn off his hangover and found her strung up from the ceiling. It’s pretty bad, I’m told. ME’s heading out now. Miami-Dade and the Florida Marine Patrol have the scene secured. The buzzards have gotten wind, though, and the choppers are hovering overhead.’

‘Alright. We’re out of here,’ said Dominick. Damn; even the slightest hope he had held out for finding Morgan Weber alive had now been snuffed out.

‘Let me follow you out there. I’ll need to see the scene,’ said C.J.

‘Ride with me. I’ll take you back later, or I’ll get a uniform to take you back.’

‘Alright.’ She nodded.

‘Hey, Counselor, nice job in court today,’ said Manny as all three headed toward the security doors that led to the main hallway and the elevator bay.

‘Thanks, but I think Dominick was the star of the show. He didn’t even need me.’

‘Don’t be so modest. Trust me, Counselor, you have your share of fans, too.’

‘What are you talking about?’ she asked as the doors swung open. Clustered around the elevators and Courtroom 4-8 was a mass of reporters. They had obviously heard the news about Morgan Weber. When the security doors opened, the crowd ran toward all three of them,
their camera lights burning brightly before them. They smelled blood.

‘Well, Mr Psycho sure seems to like you,’ Manny said under his breath as he composed his face for the cameras. ‘In fact, he just couldn’t keep his eyes off you the whole hearing.’

47

It seemed like forever since C.J. had actually slept eight hours through the night. After spending Friday night at the grisly scene in the Everglades where Morgan Weber’s remains were found, she had then accompanied Dominick and Manny over to the medical examiner’s office to watch Dr Joe Neilson perform the early-morning Saturday autopsy. After that she had spent the afternoon at her office trying to figure out if the fishing shack stood on federal land in the Everglades, or county property in Miami-Dade. Finally satisfied that the answer was the latter, she spent Saturday night on the phone getting yelled at by that prick de la Flors and his entourage of prick attorneys in the Justice Department. It was only when she broke out the actual land survey and threatened him with both trespassing and obstruction-of-justice charges did he call the FBI hounds off of her murder scene, all the while vowing revenge against her and her office for all eternity. That left the boys in blue on the task force cheering her name, but by Sunday night, she was both so emotionally and physically exhausted that when she actually fell into her bed, even her nightmares could not wake her.

Morgan Weber. Nineteen. Blond. Vibrant. Beautiful. Dead. As C.J. headed to court for Bantling’s arraignment on the murder of Anna Prado, on Monday morning, visions of the smart wannabe model from Kentucky filled her head. Having seen the horror in the fishing
shack, she could not dismiss its image from her brain. Strung out on fishing line and hanging from the rickety wooden rafters of the small shack’s ceiling, Morgan Weber’s petite body dangled like a bat’s, her arms and legs spread far apart, like an acrobat or contortionist, her neck tied back so it curved upward toward the ceiling, like a swan, held in place with wire and tied back to a beam. She had been dead for so long, her body was all but a skeleton, with just a few black chunks of meat clinging to her tiny bones in a few spots. They had managed a quick, tentative ID because her driver’s license had been found underneath the body, splattered with her blood. The identification was later confirmed through dental records.

They knew it was Cupid. From the huge amount of bloodstains on the floor underneath the body and the blood spatter at the scene, it was clear that Morgan had been killed where she hung. The savagery and viciousness of the murder, the precise staging of the remote crime scene were in keeping with his style. But ironically, it was this preciseness, this attention to detail, this staging of his victims that might just prove to be Bantling’s downfall on this murder. Because from where Morgan Weber’s body hung in the dark shack from invisible fishing line, she looked like a bird in flight. A vision hauntingly similar to that of the stuffed birds caught on film by Crime Scene technicians in Bantling’s own shed.

An indictment for capital murder was never before so warranted. Even the staunchest death penalty opponents would be able to say little in defense of William Rupert Bantling when the time came for him to hold out his arm.

C.J. held her copy of the indictment in her hands and
walked into the crowded courtroom, full of Monday-morning motions, arraignments, and trial calendar calls, not to mention, of course, the antsy members of the press, who were all waiting with bated breath for the big official announcement from the state. The crowd let out a low whisper of excitement when she walked to the left-hand side of the gallery where the prosecutors waited for their cases to be called from the calendar.

The defendants in custody had been brought over from the jail already, and from the corner of her eye she could see the bright red jumpsuit and blond hair in the back of the box, again separated from the other inmates, and flanked by corrections officers. She made sure to avoid eye contact with him, and instead looked down at the paper in her sweaty hands.

Judge Leopold Chaskel III looked up from his Monday-morning calendar and spotted the cause of excited commotion. Ignoring the speech then currently being made by a whiny defense attorney begging for drug court for his client, the judge addressed her from the bench.

‘Miss Townsend. Good morning. I believe you have something on my calendar this morning.’

‘Yes, Judge, I do,’ said C.J., moving toward the state’s podium.

‘It seems that I have been the lucky judge selected to hear the case of
The State of Florida
v.
William Bantling,
have I not?’

‘Yes, Judge, you are the winner – he’s all yours from here on out.’

‘Good. Is the defense present for your case this morning?’

‘Yes, Judge. Lourdes Rubio for the defendant, and he
is also present, Your Honor,’ said Lourdes. She rose like a shadow next to her client in the box.

‘Good. Let’s get this taken care of, then.’ Judge Chaskel turned to the defense attorney who was still in midwhine and said in a stern voice, ‘I’ll deal with you and your client in a moment, Mr Madonna. Don’t mope, now, please. It is, after all, only Monday and you’re on my calendar three more times this week. Hank, bring me the Bantling case.’

Judge Leopold Chaskel III was a state’s dream-come-true for a trial judge. He was a former state prosecutor who didn’t put up with a lot of shit that other mousy judges might, particularly those worried about the defense bar. He gave a fair hearing to both sides, but with minimal whining and no stunts, and he had a very low reversal rate.

‘Okay now. Counsel, make your appearances for the record, please.’

‘C.J. Townsend for the State.’

‘Lourdes Rubio for the defense,’ said Lourdes, coming to the defense podium.

‘We are here on the matter of
The State of Florida
v.
William Rupert Bantling.
Today is the twenty-first day. State, do you have an announcement?’

‘Yes, Judge. The grand jury has handed down an indictment against William Rupert Bantling in case number F2000-17429 for first-degree capital murder in the death of Anna Prado.’ C.J. handed the clerk the indictment.

‘Very well,’ said Judge Chaskel, taking the indictment from the clerk. ‘Mr Bantling, the state has charged you with first-degree murder. How do you plead to these charges?’

‘Not guilty, Your Honor,’ said Lourdes. Bantling remained silent in his seat in the box. ‘We waive formal reading of the charges, enter a plea of not guilty, and demand trial by jury.’

‘Discovery within ten days, State.’

‘No, Judge. I have spoken with my client, and he has decided that he does not want discovery in this matter. Just a quick date,’ said Lourdes.

Judge Chaskel frowned. ‘Ms Rubio, in case you didn’t know, this is a first-degree-murder trial, and a lot is at stake. What do you mean your client doesn’t want discovery?’

‘Just that, Judge. I’ve explained to him that he has a right to discovery, but he has declined.’

Judge Chaskel looked past Lourdes now and stared quizzically at Bantling. ‘Mr Bantling, you have just been indicted on first-degree-murder charges. You have a right to know the evidence that the state has against you, the right to speak with the witnesses they intend to call to the stand to prove their case. That is called discovery, and in the State of Florida, you have a right to this, if you so choose.’

‘I understand,’ said Bantling, his eyes never leaving the judge’s.

‘And if you choose not to participate in discovery, you cannot come back later if you are convicted and complain. Do you understand that? You will be waiving your right to appeal on that issue?’

‘I do understand that, Judge.’

‘And with that in mind, do you still decline to participate in discovery and depose the state’s witnesses?’

‘That is correct, Judge. I have spoken with my
attorney and I am aware of my options and I do not wish to engage in discovery.’

The judge shook his head. ‘Very well. Let’s set a trial date. What do we have, Janine?’

Janine, the clerk, looked up. ‘February twelfth, two thousand one, for trial. Report date, Wednesday, February seventh.’

Lourdes cleared her throat. ‘Judge, Mr Bantling wishes to expedite this matter as quickly as possible and clear his name. Can we get a quicker date?’

‘You do understand that this is a first-degree-murder case, Ms Rubio?’

‘Yes, Judge. That is my client’s decision.’

The judge shook his head in amazement. ‘Okay. We aim to please. Janine, give me a closer date. One in December, please.’

‘December eighteenth, two thousand. Report date, Wednesday, December thirteenth.’

‘Okay, all. We are set for December. Merry Christmas. Happy Hanukkah. Joyful Kwanza. Now I hope you won’t come whining to me in two months that you’re not ready, Ms Rubio. You’re the one who wanted a quick date.’

‘No. I don’t expect I will, Judge.’

‘Very well. I’ll see you all then in December. Motions within thirty days, please. And no surprises. I hate surprises.’

‘Judge,’ said C.J. ‘I do have one further announcement for this court.’

‘I suspected you would, Ms Townsend.’

She cleared her throat and handed a piece of paper to the clerk.

‘Pursuant to the Florida Rules of Criminal Procedure,
the state is filing a written notice of its intent to seek the death penalty in this case. The death of William Rupert Bantling.’

48

He’d just had it. Had it with this show that everyone was putting on before him. The flavorless judge stopping his calendar in the middle of that poor schlep’s speech, to make an all-important speech of his own. To fix the cameras on to his own bland face. Now here was the bitch again, Miss Madame Tight Ass Prosecutor waltzing into court in her plain black pantsuit and glasses and making a big announcement. As if all eyes were on her.
Bullshit
It was him they wanted to see; she was just some decoration. Eye candy on the cake.
Ooh, do take my breath away with your announcement, Miss Tight Ass. I’d love to loosen up your tight ass. Just give me five minutes to get it nice and loose.