The Victim (31 page)

CHAPTER 33

He had never noticed the tattoo before. It wasn’t large, maybe an inch across her wrist. The print was small, similar to that of a stamp. At even a few feet it might look like a smudge. But he had seen five distinct letters.

B.A.E.B.A.

Someone’s initials? Unusual, no less.

He realized why he had never seen it before. It was small enough that it was hidden beneath the wristband of her Cartier watch. Only when it slipped out of place did he see it.

Anton didn’t understand tattoos. Maybe that was because he couldn’t imagine any design that he would want permanently inked into his skin. But for those who did, he figured the point was to show it off. Mandy’s arms were living canvases. He had spent thousands of dollars and tens of hours enduring immense pain, the needle boring its way into the thinnest, most sensitive areas of skin. All with the intention of showing off his artwork.

If Daniella wanted the world to see her tattoo she had a funny way of doing it. First off, she kept it covered by a watch. Secondly, it was so small you wouldn’t notice it if you were standing more than a few feet away.

The little Anton did understand about tattoos he knew that some were deeply personal, deliberately inconspicuous.

He cleared his courtrooms on Monday morning and headed out to Metro West. He hadn’t spoken to Bryan since the Arthur Hearing because Bryan hadn’t tried to call him, much to his surprise. Anton secretly wished that he would call, even if it meant he was going to be yelled at by his disgruntled client. The lack of a phone call told Anton that his client had given up on his lawyer.

The CO brought him in and removed the handcuffs before directing him to take a seat at the table. Anton wondered whether he should have asked the CO to keep them on.

A month in custody and the sissy rich boy had changed. He could see it in his stare. He was hardened by time in custody. The skin around his eyes was tight and narrow, no longer wide and strained with fear. He had the look of
fuck it
, as if a month in jail had been enough to mentally prepare him for a life to come. Anton had seen that look too many times, namely in his days as a prosecutor, vigorously going after violent career criminals.

His beard was a tangled nest hanging off his chin. He had opted for a jailhouse haircut. A pair of shears had reduced his long hair to stubble on his white scalp. His gaunt cheekbones stood out as he clenched his jaw.

The Arthur Hearing must have done him in. He had given up.

Anton flipped open the file on the table. “Didn’t know Metro West had an Aryan Brotherhood chapter.”

He clawed his fingers through his beard, evening out the tangles. “Nah, just got tired of the hair. Figured since my lawyer can’t do shit for me and I’m in it for the long haul, might as well look the part.”

Anton nodded off the insult. “Look. We only lost because you failed to tell me about Vicki Brandt. Do you understand what a game changer this is?”

Bryan squeezed his fists into balls, a webwork of veins popping up on his forearms. He was still thin but he appeared more solid, his shoulders rounding out, his square chest displacing the orange jumper. He was getting a jailhouse build—a firm physique achieved through bodyweight exercises.

“
How does a bullshit allegation from nine years ago change the fact that Daniella’s making this shit up?”

Anton reeled back. “Now you’re confident that she’s making this up? Last time I checked, you couldn’t remember.”

“
Shit comes back to you over time, you know? Like when you go out and get blackout drunk and you can’t remember a thing. But over the course of a few days, maybe even weeks, it’s like your brain reveals tidbits to you here and there. And finally, you remember.”

“
Are you telling me you remember?”

Anton feigned interest, but he knew it would make no difference. With the Vicki Brandt accusation and the plain fact that Bryan was so unlikable, he could never put him in front a jury.

“
I’m telling you that I didn’t do what she says I did. I can’t imagine why she wants to hurt me like this. We were separated, right? But not enemies.” He shook his head, staring at the length of chain between his ankles. “Fuck me, man. Can’t figure out to save my life why she would want to hurt me like that.”

Anton felt his stomach turn.

“
What you remember and what you don’t remember are irrelevant. This Vicki Brandt situation isn’t good. I guarantee Sylvia Kaplan’s gonna locate her. I’ll file a motion
in
limine
precluding any mention of it on account that its prejudicial effect outweighs any probative value it may have, but Morales is gonna deny it. Legally because the scenarios are so goddamn similar, and just on principal alone because she’s still a prosecutor at heart.”

“
You can’t shut this girl down on cross?”

“
Normally I’d say yes. But once Sylvia talks to her—and believe me, Sylvia’s as sharp as she is ruthless—she’ll find out that your dad paid her tuition. She’ll subpoena the records from FIU and will be able to show a jury the depositing of funds and more importantly, where those funds came from.”

“
Okay,” Bryan said, his voice calm with reason. “She’s making this up because she knows my dad has money and he didn’t want the bad press. Like I said, he was in the—”

“
Middle of a bidding war,” Anton muttered sarcastically. “Okay. What—you want to call your dad as a defense witness? Parents make great witnesses, Bryan. Because no parent would ever lie on the stand to help out their child who’s facing life in prison.”

The logic shut him down. His posture recoiled.

“
I want a demand for speedy trial.”

Anton laughed. “And I wanna be six-four and ripped. Ever heard the expression ‘shit in one hand, wish in the other’? Try it, see which one fills up first.”

“
I’m not joking around. You’re my lawyer; you’ll do what I say. It’s my life here. I’m the one in custody, not you. I want a speedy trial. I don’t want to sit here while you pussyfoot around. I know how you defense attorneys are. Delay, delay, delay.”

“
You’ve been talking to too many of your fellow inmates.”

He pounded his fists on the table, rattling the top. “You’re. My. Lawyer!”

“
I ain’t the goddamn nanny trying to wipe your ass. I’m the one thing standing between you and life in prison and I say no speedy demand. Do you know what a demand for speedy trial is?”

“
Yeah. It means that we tell the court we want a trial in sixty days. No delays.”

Anton sighed. It was like an infectious disease in the Miami-Dade County jails. A demand for speedy trial. Longtime losers with career criminal enhancements, multiple felons who had done so much time it was like they were serving a life sentence on an installment plan, planted these seeds of legal bullshit in the heads of naive first-timers.

“
It’s more complicated than that. Florida is a very defense friendly jurisdiction, believe it or not. We get tons of discovery, basically access to anything and everything that could possibly help your case. We get to take depositions. Sworn, transcribed statements of state witnesses! You do realize that we’re one of four states where you can take depos in criminal cases? You can’t do this shit anywhere, not even federal court. I’m telling you, if you’ve gotta defend yourself against serious accusations, this is the place to do it.

“
But this whole discovery process takes time. You realize that when you tell the judge and prosecutor you’re demanding a speedy trial, you waive your right to any further discovery? No depositions. The state no longer has a duty to turn over anything. You are telling the court that you are ready for trial. And guess what, if the state calls your bluff and the jury’s lining up outside the door, you can’t just strike the demand because your game of chicken has backfired on you. You’re bound to this demand. Did the legal expert in the orange jumper tell you that, too?”

“
Fuck this shit, Anton! I got a life out there. I got a business to run. I’m thirty fucking years old! I’m not like one of these black guys in here who’s used to this shit. These fucking guys grow up expecting to end up here. I didn’t grow up like that! Do your damn job, file the demand for speedy trial, and win this thing. Make it go away. That’s what you were paid to do.”

Anton bit his lip, thinking about what he was really paid to do.

Anton threw up his hands. “Okay, cowboy. You’re the one with the history of choking women. Allegedly, of course. You’re the one who was still on scene fighting with the cops after your wife made a call to the cops that will send shivers down the jurors’ spines. Whether she’s lying or not, you’ve seen with your own eyes how convincing she can be. You want a speedy? You got it. Over my objection that’s gonna be hammered into the record. When your ass is convicted on account of my being unprepared, it ain’t me who’s gonna deal with an ineffective assistance claim or a bar complaint.”

Anton leaned toward the wall and smacked the button with his palm. He heard the footfalls of a CO walking down the hallway on the other side of the steel door. He closed the file and tossed it in his briefcase. “You’re making a bad decision, Bryan. I’m sorry you’re here, but you need to bite the bullet and deal with this. You make me go to trial without adequately preparing, it’s you who pays the price. Not me.”

The deadbolt clanged and the door swung open on its hinges.

“
All done with him, counsel?” The CO asked.

“
Yeah, I’m done with him.”

***

The client was calling the shots. Anton knew it and was powerless to do anything about it.

If Anton refused to file the speedy demand then Bryan would fire him and retain a new lawyer. Would that new lawyer discover the truth about Daniella? More importantly, would that new lawyer find out about Anton? Would he or she find out that Anton was keeping potentially exculpatory information a secret? That the victim had confessed that she made up the allegations against her husband? That revelation—if revealed, of course—would have resulted in the dismissal of the charges.

On the other hand—the one weighing heavily on Anton’s mind—with one revelation would invariably come another. Anton’s past.

Under normal circumstances, Anton would withdraw from representation if his client insisted on actions that were fundamentally adverse to the client’s interests. Under optimal conditions, namely those involving a squeaky clean conscience, Anton would wash his hands of the difficult client free and clear.

However, the consequences for doing that in Bryan’s case were too grave. There were serious bar ramifications for knowing potentially exculpatory information about his client. While he knew he wasn’t in charge, he felt a small measure of control if he remained on the case.

He would file the damned demand.

They would be going to trial in sixty days.

Anton told Yessenia to hold his calls and he shut the door to his office. Anton brought up the PDF file on his computer screen. He hadn’t opened it in well over a year. In a sense, he was unsure of why he still had it.

The crash report from the Arizona Department of Public Safety dated March 27, 2003, had been purchased from a private website that sold crash reports for a small fee. He had purchased it online back in 2003 at the ASU computer lab using his roommate’s login and password. He had told him that he needed to print a syllabus he had lost.

The course, sterile language of the report only heightened his sense of guilt. Causes of death for both Kelsie McEvoy and Evan Rangel were
thermal injuries
. In layman’s terms, they had burned to death.

The eleven-page report read succinctly and with no emotion. The report included the makes and models of both cars involved, simply delineated as Vehicle 1 and Vehicle 2. Vehicle 1 had two occupants: the driver, Kelsie Rae McEvoy, age 17; the passenger, Evan Michael Rangel, age 18.

Driver of Vehicle 2 was listed as
unknown
.