The Victim (20 page)

“
Assuming he’s prescribed those drugs. Come on, Anton. This
mami’s
out for blood. He’s got roofies in his system! You don’t think that all seems a little odd? I mean, this guy’s loaded, right? And she wants nothing to do with him ’cause he’s always working. You don’t think she might’ve drugged him and is using this as leverage to get some money out of him?”

Anton thought about it. She was obviously a woman who was accustomed to a certain standard of living—expensive SUV, designer clothes. Bryan had said that she no longer worked, which would mean that she was dependent on him to maintain her lifestyle. He controlled the purse strings in the relationship. So if she wanted him out, but wished to continue driving the same car and carrying the same pricy handbags, she would have to get him to pay up. In a divorce proceeding she would seek half of his money, but Bryan would pay lawyers big bucks to make sure that the judge considered his money to be a premarital asset. She could have feasibly married a wealthy man only to walk away with very little.

The fact that Bryan had drugs in his system and a divorce was on the horizon, his entire defense—should Daniella choose to testify—would be crafted around the idea that she set this whole thing up just to leverage it for a cash settlement later. If, of course, Mandy’s theory were true. It wasn’t at all far-fetched. Domestic violence cases were full of lies. Anton had seen men have their foreign-born wives arrested just to get them deported as a cheap alternative to divorce.

What seemed more realistic, though, was that she was the victim of a horrific act of violence committed by a jealous controlling husband who couldn’t stand the thought of losing her. Anton shook the doubt from his mind. Those despondent eyes. Those marks around her neck. Some things you couldn’t fake.

“
Got something else,” he said, reaching behind to grab something from his back pocket. He pulled out a CD in a paper envelope. “911 recording. Picked it up at the police station this afternoon.”

He handed the CD to Anton, who slipped it out of its envelope and loaded it into his computer. He pulled up iTunes on his toolbar and turned up the volume.

There was a lead-in of white noise before a tense female voice said, “911, police, fire, or medical?”

He could hear Daniella breathing heavily into the phone.

“
Oh God, please hurry.”
Goosebumps rose on his arms as if the temperature had dropped twenty degrees. The fear thickened her words. “He’s still here. He’s gonna kill me. Please.”

“
Is someone in your home?”

“
Yes. My husband Bryan.”

“
Has he hurt you? Do you need Fire Rescue?”

“
Yes, yes. He tried to kill me. Oh God, Oh God…Please help…”

“
Ma’am, I need you to stay calm. Are you somewhere safe?”

“
I’m locked in my bedroom.”
He heard faint rustling, the crash of a body stumbling into furniture. “Oh my God!”
she shrieked. “He’s right outside. Please please please hurry. Oh God.”

“
Ma’am, I need you to take a deep breath and just stay on the phone with me. Police have been dispatched and are en route. I’ve also alerted your building’s security staff.”

Through the speakers they could hear galloping footfalls. A meaty fist knocked on her door followed by a hard thud and the crack of wood splintering off the jamb.

Daniella screamed. The dispatcher assured her that security had arrived, that police would follow shortly. The clamor through the speakers was indecipherable, just muffled shouts and the sound of a dozen jackbooted feet slapping a marble floor. A dull smack implied that the unruly subject had been taken to the ground.

The line went dead.

Mandy let out a slow breath. “
Oye.
When Judge Morales hears that tape she ain’t giving your boy a bond.”

Anton ejected the CD and tucked it back inside its envelope. He set it on top of the Bryan Avery file. His stomach turned, realizing just what he was up against.

“
Look. It’s compelling, okay? With the photographs of her injuries and the 911 tape, there’s enough evidence to go forward without her testimony. She’s obviously under the stress of the situation and is making the call while the incident is still going on.”

There was no doubt that the statement recorded by the emergency response system constituted an excited utterance—a legal exception that got around the issue of hearsay. The tape could be played in open court with or without Daniella’s testimony.

“
Yeah,” Mandy said, scratching his goatee. “But the state’s still gotta prove beyond a reasonable doubt that Bryan didn’t have permission to go inside of her apartment. They can’t do that without her.”

Mandy was correct. While Sylvia would most definitely push forward with whatever charges she could, Daniella’s testimony was essential for the State to sustain the most serious charge—burglary with an assault or battery. Even with the photo and the 911 recording, the most they could likely prove would be the resisting an officer with violence count and perhaps a misdemeanor battery. The photo, by itself, wasn’t enough to satisfy the quantum of proof for great bodily injury required for the charge of aggravated battery.

If Anton could get Daniella to agree not to cooperate, the State would have to drop the burg-batt and Bryan would be entitled to a bond on the remaining charges.

Anton’s cell phone rang. Mandy glanced down at the display.

“
You saved her number?”

Anton blew him off with a wave and answered, “Hello? I’m good, thanks. Everything all right with you? Good, I’m glad. Really?” Anton pumped a victory fist. Mandy cocked his brow. Anton kept his tone level, not letting her know how relieved he was. “Alright. Yeah, that’s fine; I’m heading in that direction anyway. Alright. I’ll have it ready. Thanks. You too. Bye.”

“
What the hell?”

Anton pounded his fist on his desk, rattling the glass top. “She’s gonna sign the affidavit!”

“
What?”

Anton fiddled with his mouse, clicking on the boilerplate
affidavit of non-prosecution
Word document on his desktop screen.

“
She’s gonna sign it.” He typed in the necessary fields and clicked
print
. “You been doing this as long as I have you know upfront how a case is gonna turn out. You know the cases that are gonna be dismissed, you know the cases that are gonna plea, and you know the few that are gonna go to trial.”

“
What time is she coming by?”

Anton reached across his desk, grabbing the single sheet from the printer tray. “She’s not. I’m going there. Her car’s in the shop.”

“
You want me to go with?”

Anton dug through his file cabinet for his notary stamp and tossed it in his briefcase along with the freshly printed affidavit.

“
Nah, I got this.”

Mandy grabbed him by the shoulder as he was heading out the door, pulling him face-to-face. “
Mira
.” He tapped Anton on the head with his two fingers. “Think with
this
.”

Anton rolled his eyes, tugging away from Mandy’s grip. “She’s my client’s wife and the victim in this case. Give me a break. I’ll see you later.”

CHAPTER 21

The valets lingering around the podium in front of the Templeton seemed less than impressed with Anton’s Lexus. A sea green Aston Martin Vanquish was parked out front with the other six-figure rides—a red Ferrari F355 Cabriolet, a platinum CLS63 AMG, a white Bentley Continental. Anton got out, took the valet ticket, and walked through the sliding glass doors.

The Templeton was a luxury apartment building that doubled as a hotel and spa. Stone columns made to look like the Easter Island heads adorned the front entrance. He signed in while the guard at the front desk called up to Daniella’s apartment. He hung up the phone and gave Anton the nod to proceed to the elevators.

He rode up in silence, half-seated on the railing, mentally putting himself in Bryan’s shoes. What was going through his mind as he waited calmly for the thirty-sixth floor? Was it all a plan? Or did he just snap?

The elevator chimed and the doors slid apart. He stepped out and walked down the long hallway to her unit at the very end. He knocked and she answered.

“
Hi,” she said warmly. She was wearing a low-cut blouse and he could see that the marks on her neck had faded to light pink, dappled with some bruising. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Her jeans clung to her hips. “Come on in.”

She stepped aside as he walked into the narrow entryway. The apartment was open with high ceilings and sliding glass doors that led out onto a long balcony. Scented candles filled the space with the clean aroma of lilac. Alannah Myles’s “Black Velvet” played from an iPod dock on the kitchen table.

He followed her past the kitchen and into the living room. She sat on a white sofa and offered him a seat beside her. She set a large book of black-and-white photographs aside and cleared space on the glass coffee table.

“
Can I get you a drink?” she asked. He noticed a lowball filled with ice and a clear fizzy liquid on a coaster on the table. “Vodka tonic,” she explained, following his line of sight.

“
Thought you said you didn’t drink?”

She smiled coyly and sipped, her lipstick leaving a mark on the rim of the glass. “Only on rare occasions.”

Anton returned her smile, sensing the flirtatious vibes. “So my being here is a rare occasion?”

She stood up and walked over to the kitchen. A frosted bottle of Grey Goose sat on the granite countertop.

“
You wanna have a drink with me?”

He loosened his half-windsor with his thumb and unfastened his top button. “Is it happy hour yet?”

She turned her wrist, checking her Cartier watch. “Eh…close enough.”

“
Sounds good to me.”

She dropped a few cubes into a glass and filled it halfway with vodka, topping it off with a quick splash of tonic. She returned to the sofa and handed him his drink.

“
Whoa.”
He smacked his lips. “Stiff.” She sank back into the thick cushions watching the daylight ripple on the ceiling. He couldn’t recall ever seeing her so relaxed. “How many of these have you had?”

“
Just one.”

“
Just want to make sure you’ve got your wits about you.” He tapped his briefcase, resting at his feet. “Can’t sign this affidavit if you’re drunk.”

She mockingly contorted her face. “So serious
.
”

He laughed, keenly aware of his own intensity. “I’m trying to be professional.” He sipped his vodka, the liquor warming his chest. “Forgive me.”

“
You don’t have to be professional all the time. Let’s just talk.”

“
What do you want to talk about?”

She sat cross-legged, beaming with excitement. “Tell me about the guy who dropped a brick on that cop’s head.”

“
I can’t. It’s confidential.”

“
Don’t gimme that. What’s gonna happen to that guy? Is he guilty?”

Anton took another sip. The strong drink loosened his tongue. “Of course he is.”

She laughed, rocking back and forth. “So nonchalant about it. I take it most of your clients are guilty.”

“
Oh yeah.”

“
So, what’s gonna happen to that guy? The one who dropped the brick.”