A deeper sleep (5 page)

By contrast, defense attorney Frank "Tex" Rickard and defendant Louis Deem were displaying an almost boisterous enjoyment in each other's company. The conversation—Kate strained to hear— appeared to concern recipes for the best Super Bowl snacks. Hot wings, she thought. Or maybe blackened wings. Blackened something.

Louis turned suddenly and looked straight at her. She forced herself not to jerk away, meeting his eyes steadily, hoping her color hadn't risen.

At first glance, Louis Deem was a very handsome man. Certainly enough women had thought so. He was almost six feet tall, with broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and long, strong bones clad in a smooth layer of muscle. His hair was thick and dark blond and always cut in the latest style. It was just beginning to recede, but only enough to create a broad brow that gave him an air of intelligence barely contained.

Well, that was true enough, Kate thought, still holding his gaze.

His cheekbones and jawline were bold slashes of bone clothed in healthy skin with a faint brown tint, the only indication of his Aleut grandmother, something he shared with his many Park cousins. He had dark brown bedroom eyes, thickly lashed, seductive, and completely without soul.

Louis smiled. It was a good smile with good teeth, except for the cap on the left front incisor from which Kate was pleased to see the gum had begun to recede, leaving a black line between tooth and gum. Perhaps no one but Kate might have noticed it. Perhaps no one but Kate would have reason to.

"All rise." Rickard's hand was on Louis's shoulder. He knew Kate and he winked at her. She remained impassive. She would have ripped off her own face before she let Tex Rickard see how angry she was.

Everyone stood and the judge came in. She was tall with enormous dark eyes, a high-bridged nose with a hint of a downward curl at the end, translucent olive skin, and salt-and-pepper hair whose natural wave had been severely restrained in a tight roll caught low on the back of her neck.

She was also so thin, her cheekbones looked as if they'd been sharpened on a whetstone. "Has she been ill?" Jim said in a low voice, too low for Kenny to catch.

Kate replied at the same volume. "Breast cancer."

Jim looked at Kenny. Kenny nodded once, his mouth a tight line.

The Honorable Roberta Singh dealt her bench a sharp rap with a gavel that belied any hint of weakness and got right to business. "Madam Foreperson, has the jury reached a verdict?"

A woman rose to her feet and replied, "We have, Your Honor." She handed the bailiff a piece of paper. The bailiff carried it to the judge, who read it and then set it to one side. "The defendant will please rise. Madam Foreperson, in the case of the state of Alaska versus Louis Deem on the count of murder in the first degree, how do you find?"

The foreperson swallowed hard and lowered her eyes. "We find the defendant not guilty."

There was an immediate and vocal stir in the courtroom, which Judge Singh quelled with the immediate rap of her gavel. "There will be order in my court," she said in an austere voice, and such was the force of her character that no one doubted her. It didn't stop Mary Waterbury's mother from weeping softly into Mary Waterbury's father's shoulder, nor did it stop the rumble of discontent from assorted Waterbury family and friends, which included, Kate saw when the crowd shifted, Auntie Vi, who was sitting with her arms around Mary Waterbury's two surviving sisters, Alice, eighteen, and Martha, sixteen. Children naturally gravitated to Auntie Vi; she was like the Pied Piper. Billy Mike sat on the other side of Mary's father. Billy and Auntie Vi wore similar expressions, in which could be read anger but no surprise.

The district attorney rose to his feet. "Your Honor, the state asks that the jury be polled," he said, which was the least that he could do.

One by one the jury said not guilty. None of them spoke much above a whisper. Few of them were capable of meeting the district attorney's eye, or anyone else's, for that matter. When the twelfth gave his verdict, Louis Deem turned to Howie Katelnikof, sitting directly behind him, and slapped him a high five. Howie, Louis's other roommate and sworn vassal, grinned widely and clasped his hands together over his head in a victory shake. Kate noticed several members of the jury, their attention drawn by the sound, avert their eyes from the spectacle. Mr. and Mrs. Waterbury wept on.

"Members of the jury, I thank you for your service," Judge Singh said. "You are dismissed."

There was a distinct sense that the words
Go and sin no more
were hovering on the tip of the judge's tongue, but she managed to restrain herself. She didn't bother to hide her contempt when she looked at Louis Deem. "Mr. Deem, you are free to go."

"Thank you, Your Honor," Rickard said, and was wise enough not to extend any of the usual fulsome pleasantries he was known for upon victory. Her Honor was definitely not in the mood.

And Louis Deem? Louis Deem turned, found Kate in the milling crowd, and smiled.

A
nd
what
the
fuck
was
all
that
business
with
the
fucking
truck tires? Jesus Christ, it was O.J. and the fucking glove all over again!"

Kenny Hazen had the district attorney backed into a corner of the courthouse's first-floor conference room.

"What the hell are they teaching you morons in law school these days, to on purpose ask the fucking questions you don't know the fucking answers to?"

The district attorney, who Kate saw now was very slight, very short, and very young, looked very frightened, too. A cowering sinner.

By comparison, the Ahtna police chief looked like the wrath of God made manifest. "I told you, you fucking moron, I told you and I told you that manslaughter was a lock, that murder two was a stretch, and to give the fucking jurors an easy out. Deem has fucking terrorized people in this fucking Park for years, I told you—"

The door opened. "We know you told him, Chief," Judge Singh's voice said. "Pretty much everyone in the building heard you tell him." She put a hand on Kenny's arm, thin, long-fingered, and elegant. Under the robe she'd been wearing an embroidered Russian jacket, black palazzo pants, and step-in black shoes with thick rubber soles. She looked like she'd just waltzed in from a hard day at Nordstrom.

The fury in Chief Hazen's tank-sized body diminished but did not entirely dissipate. The little ADA demonstrated his gratitude for the rescue by tugging at his wispy goatee, evidently a nervous habit. His wiser associate had previously demonstrated his instinct for survival by his rapid exit from the building and was probably already on a plane back to Anchorage, leaving his hapless superior to try to talk his way out of what Kate thought was most likely his own ineptitude. "I'm sorry, Chief," the little ADA said in a voice perilously close to a whine, "I tried—"

"Yeah, you tried all right," Kenny said in a growl that had the ADA trying to back through the wall again. "It's the best case we've ever had on Deem, and you blew it. Right now he's down at the Seven Come Eleven, knocking 'em back and bragging on how he got away with murder. Again. And probably picking his next victim out of the adoring crowd. You little shyster, I oughtta—"

The judge caught Kenny's elbow in a firm grip and said to the ADA, "Mr. Carter, you should leave. Now."

The ADA didn't need telling twice; he ducked between judge and police chief and scuttled out the door. Mutt sent him on his way with a passing nip to his calf, which startled a scream out of him and left a hole in his double-knit pants.

"Good girl," the judge said in a much warmer voice, snapping her fingers. Exhibiting a rarely seen streak of diplomacy, Mutt trotted over, sniffed the judge's extended hand, and endured having her ears scratched by an unknown female.

"What happened?" Jim said. "I would have bet—" He caught Kate's eye and changed that to "I thought you had it all sewn up. What went wrong?"

"It was the fucking tire tracks," Kenny said, still steaming. "I took impressions of tire tracks found at the scene. There were three clear sets, more than what you might expect at Heartbreak Point, given all the juvies rodding in and out of there with their girlfriends. I traced one to Deem's truck, which put him where we found Mary." He jerked his head at Kate. "She found the other two drivers for me. One was there before Deem and one was there after, and this firms up the time frame nicely, and I'm thinking this prick has finally done something that's going to stick to him."

"And?"

Hazen snorted. "First Rickard put the other two drivers up on the stand and cross-questioned them about how many times they'd driven out there to make out with which girlfriend and got them all confused about the timeline, which got the jury all confused about the timeline, which that little prick"—a hooked thumb indicated the direction of the fleeing ADA—"doesn't do anything to clear up. Then Rickard puts up a truck tire expert who contradicted all the crime lab's findings, and then to top it off, there was a long-haul trucker on the goddamn jury!" The judge winced, and Kenny moderated his tone. "What the hell do we have discovery for if not so we don't have jurors standing up in the fucking jury box their own fucking selves contradicting fucking sworn testimony!"

"I've got some Scotch in my chambers," the judge said.

It was probably the only thing that could have stemmed the flow, and it did the trick. They adjourned to the judge's chambers. Kenny knocked back a double in one long swallow and held out his glass for a refill.

"We'll get him next time, Kenny," the judge said.

"That'd be fine, Robbie, except by next time another girl will be dead."

The door to the judge's chambers opened without invitation, and Auntie Vi marched into the charged silence following this incontrovertible statement. She looked around and found Kate. "You come," she said flatly. She marched out again.

Kate hesitated, and then rose and followed, Mutt at her heels.

It was enough to startle everyone into silence. After a moment Kenny Hazen said respectfully, "A heretofore immovable object manipulated by an irresistible force."

"A violation of all the known laws of physics," the judge said, nodding.

Jim didn't say anything at all.

Auntie Vi led Kate into the now empty courtroom and closed the door behind them. She glared at Kate. "What you do about this?"

"There's nothing I can do, Auntie," Kate said. "You heard the jury."

Auntie Vi, not given to profanity, made a few choice observations on the intelligence of the jury, individually and collectively.

"It's not their fault, Auntie," Kate said. "You know Louis must have sicced Howie on them. They're afraid for their families. And they're right to be."

Auntie Vi, who did not enjoy being interrupted, turned a cold eye on Kate, who braced herself. "That girl dead."

Every Park rat below the age of fifty was a child to the aunties, but Auntie Vi was well known as the guardian angel of every Park female under the age of twenty-one. "Yes."

"That boy kill her."

"Yes."

"No one blame that boy."

"Everyone blames him, Auntie," Kate said. "Everyone knows he killed her. Even the people on the jury know it."

Auntie Vi brooded on this. "He scare them."

Kate nodded. "It's the only reason they wouldn't convict. They were afraid of what he'd do to them. And he would do something. Louis will never be convicted of anything by a jury made up of Park rats. The state should have petitioned for a change of venue."

Auntie Vi poked Kate in the chest with a force strong enough to push Kate back a step. "What you do?"

"There is nothing I can do."

"Bullshit!"

Kate didn't know what was more shocking, that Auntie Vi would speak such a word or that she'd say it in front of one of the children.