Speak of the Devil (34 page)

His lawyers were never told in advance who the witnesses would be, but they’d been told yesterday to expect only a handful more witnesses. Diablo didn’t know how many more chances he would have with the lady prosecutor. He was done waiting. The next time she walked to the easel, he would kill her.

• • •

Anna sat at the prosecution table feeling exhausted and wrung out. She hadn’t slept well the night before, turning Gato’s confession over in her mind. She had known, before, that he’d killed people. In the last few months, he’d told her about the
chavalas
he’d murdered. His various crimes were sorted into a binder, ready to be turned over to defense counsel; she had organized her direct examination of him to front these crimes to the jury. But murdering the woman he loved was a different order of evil, and one that shook Anna. She considered not calling him as a witness. But no one else could provide the insider’s view of the gang or describe step-by-step the crimes that Diablo and Psycho had committed. The jury was entitled to his testimony. They would learn everything about him, probably hate him, and decide whether to believe him. She thought they still would.

“The government may call its next witness,” the judge said.

She stood, took a deep breath, and said, “The government calls Diego Carlos, aka ‘Gato,’ to the stand.”

A door at the side of the courtroom opened, and Gato was led to the witness stand. He was dressed in his orange prison jumpsuit. Anna had opted not to ask his lawyer to dress him up for the jury. Let them see that he was in prison, where he belonged. Gato placed his right hand on a Bible held by the courtroom clerk.

• • •

Diablo’s fury rose up within him. Gato had been the most loyal soldier Diablo had. Gato had killed his own girl for MS-13. And now he was betraying them. He was disrespecting Diablo. In front of Psycho and the world. Diablo should have killed Gato himself, with his bare hands, that day at the
misa
. His body shook with rage.

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

Keeping his hand on the Bible, Gato looked over his shoulder and stared at Diablo. “So help me God.”

Diablo’s fury hit the boiling point. He reached down to the footrest, pulled out the knife, and jumped over the table.

• • •

Anna was watching the jurors’ faces, seeing how they reacted to the cooperator taking the stand. She saw the horror reflected there first. Juror number seven, an older lady in a cardigan, suddenly opened her eyes wide and shrieked. Anna turned in the direction the juror was looking.

Diablo leapt out of his wheelchair and over the defense table. He charged toward the witness stand, holding an improvised knife. The courtroom clerk dropped the Bible, screamed, and ran. Diablo barreled into Gato, knocked him to the ground, and plunged the blade into his chest.

The four Courtroom Security Officers reacted instantly. One rushed to the judge and hustled him out of the courtroom; the other three ran to Gato’s aid. As they struggled to pull Diablo off, he kept stabbing Gato. A CSO drew his sidearm, but there was no good shot in the jumble of innocent and guilty bodies.

Jurors and spectators fled screaming from the courtroom, streaming out the side and back doors. Finally, the three CSOs managed to pull Diablo off Gato. They cuffed Diablo and hauled him back to the holding cell. Gato lay on the thin beige carpeting, still. The knife and the Bible lay next to him.

Another flash of movement made Anna look toward the defense table. In the distraction of the melee, Psycho was running out of the courtroom.

“He’s getting away!” Anna shouted.

Sam and the last CSO ran after him. Anna could hear the screams from the hallway as the chase went through it.

Anna ran over to Gato and knelt next to him. Someone said, “An ambulance is on its way.” Gato’s chest was covered in blood, and there were multiple punctures in his orange prison jumpsuit. He was struggling to breathe, making a gurgling sound as he did. He met her eyes.

“Tell—” He choked on his own blood, then tried again. “Tell Maria-Rosa’s parents I’m sorry.”

Anna took his hand and squeezed it. “You’re gonna tell them.”

He closed his eyes. He didn’t open them again. Anna held his hand until the EMTs burst in. They bundled him onto a stretcher and rushed him out of the courtroom.

She stood up. Her hands were covered in Gato’s blood. She thought back to the night, on Grace’s back porch, when Gato turned himself in. How he said he wanted a “good death.” How she promised he would be safe.

Someone asked if she was okay. She nodded yes, but started shaking uncontrollably.

Anna turned to the audience section, and looked for the one person who could comfort her. There was Jack, in the back row. He stood holding Nina, rubbing her back, as Nina cried into his shirt. He murmured soothing words into her ear.

Anna stood frozen in place, unable to look away from the sight of Jack comforting his wife.

52

The next day, the two defendants stood in handcuffs and leg irons, shackled to each other and attached by chains to their tables. Both wore stun belts under their clothes. Diablo had a black eye from his struggles with the CSOs. Psycho’s nose was cantilevered to the left; he had been tackled to the ground in the courthouse lobby by a pack of CSOs and police officers. The defense attorneys looked as demoralized as their clients—but they still had one last fight left in them.

The jury box was empty for this argument, but the courtroom was packed. The security detail had doubled.

“We move for a mistrial, Your Honor,” Diablo’s attorney argued, “because these jurors will be unduly prejudiced by the sight of my client allegedly stabbing the witness.”

“And seeing my client leaving the courtroom,” Psycho’s attorney said.

“A new trial must be held with a jury that won’t be tainted by what took place in the courtroom yesterday.”

“Government?” asked the judge. Two deputy U.S. Marshals now sat in chairs in front of the bench.

“The court cannot reward these defendants for what happened yesterday. There’s ample case law holding that a defendant cannot manufacture a mistrial by committing crimes in front of the jury. Otherwise, every defendant would have incentive to do so. Moreover, the jury may consider what they saw in court yesterday as evidence of the defendants’ consciousness of guilt.”

Anna started citing case law on the point. But the judge held up his hands. He’d heard enough.

“The motions for mistrial and severance are denied. The assault on a witness and flight from the courtroom is certainly prejudicial, but they are even more probative of the defendants’ consciousness of guilt. I’ll give the jury reasonable limiting instruction. Ms. Curtis, I understand you had a few more witnesses. Are they still absolutely necessary?”

Anna could tell that the judge believed her evidence was overwhelming, and he just wanted to get the trial over with. By killing Gato, Diablo had made her closing arguments for her. But assuming the defendants were convicted, there would be an appeal, so she had to make sure she had sufficient evidence of all the elements of the charged crimes. She and George would condense and spin through their final day of testimony.

“We’ll be brief, Your Honor.”

“Then bring in your next witness. Let’s call in the jury.”

Anna elicited the rest of the testimony before lunch. The defense had no witnesses.

The lawyers gave their closing arguments in the late afternoon. Anna saw the jurors giving Diablo and Psycho looks of hatred and fear as Anna recounted the evidence against them. She called up pictures of the dead bodies on the flat screens in front of the jurors. With gloved hands, she held up Diablo’s bloody machete. When the trial started, she thought this would be the most dramatic piece of evidence in the trial. Now that the jurors had seen Diablo kill someone with their own eyes, it seemed like a quaint relic.

Defense counsel gave their closing arguments, valiantly doing the best with what little they had. At four o’clock, the judge sent everyone home for the night, declaring they could all use a rest. The jury would get its instructions and begin deliberating tomorrow.

Anna and George packed up somberly and headed back to the office. Sam asked if Anna wanted to go get a drink, but she declined. Now that her work in the trial was over, she needed to focus on a deliberation of her own.

• • •

Deputy Fitzgerald dropped Anna off at Jack’s house. The yellow Victorian was dark and empty; she was the first person home. As she walked in, Raffles ran into the foyer and rubbed his head against her leg. She patted the cat, feeling strange to be alone in the house—usually, she was the last one to arrive. She felt like an intruder. She picked up the mail from the floor in front of the mail slot. There were three new wedding RSVPs. She brought them to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of merlot, and took everything to the study.

This room had become wedding-planning headquarters. Boxes from Crate & Barrel were stacked in a corner, awaiting the moment when Anna would have time to unpack them. On the desk was a folder holding the finalized dinner menu and contracts for the band, CakeLove, Blown Away Farm & Inn, and the florist. A stack of RSVP cards sat next to the folder, along with a handwritten tab—so far, there were 108 yeses and 39 no’s. Anna sat at the desk and opened the new RSVPs. All were yeses: from Jack’s secretary, Vanetta; acting U.S. Attorney Marty Zinn; and one of Anna’s Michigan cousins. The cousin had written a note on the back:
So excited for you! Just bought airline tickets to DC!
Anna added three marks to the “yes” column of the tab.

She took a sip of wine, leaned back in her chair, and looked at the array of wedding gear. Her life was intertwined with Jack’s now. And the wedding was no longer just about them. It had a momentum of its own. Their friends and family had set aside the weekend, spent money on presents and travel. She picked up an RSVP card and ran her fingers lightly over the embossed text.

Anna’s wedding dress was hanging in the closet upstairs. After two sessions with the seamstress at Hitched, it fit her like a tight hug.

She turned to the bookshelf and took out the white photo album that held the pictures from Jack’s first wedding. She flipped through the book, taking in the images of Jack and Nina: smiling, ecstatic, surrounded by friends. Looking at it was like pressing on a bruise.

Anna heard the front door open, and Luisa and Olivia’s voices filled the house. Soon came the clattering of pots and dishes as the nanny made dinner. Olivia chatted from the counter as she did her homework. A little while later, Jack’s footsteps strode through the foyer. He greeted his daughter with a kiss, then went upstairs to change. No one knew or expected that Anna was home; she’d been working late every night of the trial. The family continued their evening as usual, perfectly able to go on without her. The light outside the windows faded; the room grew dark. She was so caught up in her thoughts, she didn’t notice.

Anna is listening to “The Scientist” by Coldplay.

Anna is listening to “The Scientist” by Coldplay.

Anna is listening to “The Scientist” by Coldplay.

Anna is listening to “The Scientist” by Coldplay.

Anna is listening to “The Scientist” by Coldplay.

Anna is listening to “The Scientist” by Coldplay.

When she came out of the study, Luisa had gone home and Jack and Olivia had gone to bed. Anna went upstairs and peered into Olivia’s room. The little girl looked like an angel in her sleep. She’d had a tumultuous year. But she was a strong kid, loved by many people, and she was going to be fine. Anna kissed her forehead softly.

Then she went to Jack’s room, took off her clothes, and climbed into bed. Jack was asleep on his back, one arm crooked above his head. She fitted herself into him, rested her cheek against his chest, and drew comfort from the warmth of his skin against hers. She couldn’t sleep. She listened to his heartbeat under her ear.

• • •

The next morning, the judge gave the jurors their instructions, then sent them back to deliberate. Anna sat in George’s office with Sam and McGee, trying to make chitchat, trying to pass the time. Waiting for a jury to come back was the closest thing to purgatory on earth. Lunch-time came and went.

George started to worry. “What could be taking them so long?” Anna told him not to fret, the jury had a lot of counts to get through. Inwardly, she knew any number of things could have gone wrong. A gang member might have gotten to one of them. There could be a crazy holdout juror, or one fearful for her life.

If the jury hung, would Nina still come out of witness protection? Or would she have to go back to Nebraska?

At four, the call came from the courtroom clerk. The jury had a verdict. Everyone walked back to the courthouse. The moment when a jury filed into the box after reaching a verdict was always a nerve-racking one for a prosecutor, no matter how strong her case. “Be seated,” the judge said. As they sat, several of the jurors nodded at the prosecutors but didn’t look toward the defendants, always a good sign.

The foreperson stood and read the verdict form. Diablo and Psycho were pronounced guilty on all counts.

The judge thanked the jurors for their service and set a sentencing date. Everyone knew the sentencing was a formality. The two defendants would go to prison for the rest of their lives.

As they were led back to the holding cell, Diablo turned to snarl at Anna one final time. She looked him in the eye. “Good luck, sir,” she said. She turned to pack up her boxes of evidence.

53

An hour later, Anna stood on the roof deck of the U.S. Attorney’s Office. The summer evening was warm and soft, and a light breeze ruffled her hair. She looked out in the distance, over D.C. Superior Court and private office buildings, at the shining white obelisk of the Washington Monument. She heard the door swing open behind her, and glanced back toward it.