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Harmony leafed through her master calendar. ‘Oh yeah. A while ago. But I got a lot ahead of you now, State; I can’t let you be cutting the line. So you’re gonna be number thirteen, hon.’ She frowned and wagged a black talon to stop the words she knew were coming. ‘And yes, that is the best I can do, even though, I know, I know, it’s an unlucky number, but somebody’s gotta be it.’ Harmony finished with a dismissive sigh, before turning her head to address the lawyer behind Daria. ‘What page you on, hon?’
Next! It was like getting served slop on a school lunch line. Daria begrudgingly waded into the pack of prosecutors. Thirteen was better than forty-four, but it still meant a long afternoon, although, she thought, as she surveyed the courtroom, her detective didn’t appear to be on time anyway. This was her first case with City of Miami Detective Manny Alvarez. Last week he’d been forty-five minutes late for his pre-file without offering up so much as a lame excuse why. Although he had brought her a café con leche and some weird pastry that oozed pink goo, along with a stack of reports that he’d already actually written — something most cops didn’t get around to doing before the third discovery demand, and only after you screamed at them — she was still ticked off. And she was going to be really mad if he pulled the same stunt today, even if he did wind up beating the judge to the bench.
She peered at the degenerates that filled the jury box to see if her defendant had been brought out yet. He hadn’t. Based on the mug shot clipped to the top of her file, she could expect the ladies in the courtroom to collectively start panting when Corrections ushered him through the door. She wondered if he’d be as striking in person, having fermented in a jail cell for the past couple of weeks.
Standing up against the wall on the prosecutorial side of the courtroom was her friend Lizette, a Domestics prosecutor, who was waving her over as if she were hailing a cab in rush hour. ‘So what happened to you yesterday, mami?’ Lizette demanded when Daria squeezed in next to her.
‘Don’t start,’ Daria replied. Most of the young, single prosecutors in the office had spent Monday’s unofficial start to summer sipping mojitos and sangria by the pool at the Clevelander on South Beach. Judging by the comments she’d fielded all morning, she was the only one who’d missed it. ‘I was at my brother’s all weekend. Dang, you’re tan. Did you fall asleep on a tanning bed or something, Liz? You look like Snooki.’
Lizette waved a hand in front of her face. ‘I’m Columbian. I got this on the walk across the parking lot,’ she shot back with a Spanish accent that became more pronounced whenever she got flustered or was in front of a Hispanic judge. ‘You missed a good time, girl.’
‘Don’t envy me. I spent the past three days babysitting triplets.’
Lizette curled her lip like she’d smelled two-day-old fish. ‘Triplets?’
‘Three-year-old triplets. My brother and his wife went on a cruise to the Bahamas. So while you were working on that tan you deny intentionally working on, I was cutting up hot dogs and watching Disney flicks. Oh, and potty training.’
The curl grew into a grimace.
‘Of course they’re boys, so that means none of ’em can aim for shit. We’re talking the ceiling, the walls, the door — anywhere but the bowl. They’re cute and I love them to pieces, but, man, do I feel old. I was stressed the whole time. Couldn’t sleep. Always afraid one of ’em might slip out in the middle of the night, ride out of town like Paul Revere, naked on top of the Great Dane, waving a Pull-Up in his hand.’
‘Great Dane?’
‘Her name’s Petunia. She’s shy.’
‘I won’t even watch my sister’s fish.’
‘Oh, and an albino ferret that the kids like to lock in the dryer.’
‘I’ve heard enough.’
‘I think my whacked mother’s plan backfired. Instead of rushing out to find myself a husband and jump-start a family, I might go celibate.’ Daria sniffed at her arm. ‘Do I smell like grape jelly to you? I don’t know what they put in that shit, but it stays in your system. I’m sweating it out of my pores. That and peanut butter. And my shoes are sticking to everything.’
Lizette nodded. ‘You’re right. I would never advocate celibacy, but you’re not the mommy type. Good thing you don’t need a man to have fun.’
‘That’s not a real concern right now for me, anyway; it’s easy to give up what you’re not getting.’ Daria frowned before adding, ‘Thanks for the mommy comment. I can be warm and fuzzy, you know.’
Lizette shrugged. ‘Whatever. So who’re you here on?’
‘On today’s menu we have one Talbot Alastair Lunders.’
‘What kind of name is that?’
‘A family one, I suppose.’
‘Obviously not a Miami family. I’m guessing that someone with not one, but two, obnoxious Anglo names must come from money.’
‘You’re right. Young Talbot is of the Palm Beach Lunders.’
‘Who are the Palm Beach Lunders?’
‘Daddy apparently owns some luxury soap company. Or so I’ve been warned.’
‘What company is that?’
‘Dial.’
Lizette’s eyes went wide. ‘No shit. Really?’
Daria laughed. ‘No, not really. Some spa brand I never heard of.’
Lizette surveyed the jury box. ‘All of the boys today look like they come from the projects, not Palm Beach.’
‘Oh, Talbot’s not out yet,’ Daria replied, flashing Lizette the mug shot. The tan playboy with the highlighted, shaggy hairdo and mesmerizing hazel eyes looked more like a brooding Dolce & Gabbana model in his booking photo than a murderer. ‘You’ll probably start drooling when Corrections brings him in. Maybe even consider a career on the Dark Side.’
Lizette sucked in a breath. ‘If you could guarantee all of my client’s would look like that, I’d enter pleas on their behalf. What crime did poor-little-hot-rich boy commit?’
‘Murder.’
Lizette shook her head. ‘What a shame. My mother can overlook many things in the hunt to find me a husband, but murderer would be a tough sell. Who’d handsome get so mad at?’
‘A pretty college kid out clubbing at Menace. She was found in a dumpster near the Design District.’
‘Is that the girl who was missing on the news a few weeks ago?’
Daria nodded.
‘The UM kid. Hmmm. I didn’t realize they’d found her.’
‘It didn’t make much press,’ Daria answered. That was no coincidence. The University of Miami was a prestigious private university that came with a hefty price tag. Parents who shelled out fifty thousand a year on tuition didn’t like to hear on the nightly news that one of their own had been the random target of a brutal sex maniac while out clubbing underage. So the university brass had contacted all parties involved — including the City of Miami and the State Attorney — to make sure they didn’t. The order was no press conferences, no perp walks when the arrest came. Everything was kept on the down-low, which likely explained why there were no cameras in today’s hearing.
‘How’d she die?’ Lizette asked.
The back door that led to the judge’s chambers suddenly swung open. ‘All rise!’ Steyn’s bailiff shouted. ‘The Honorable Judge Werner Steyn presiding.’
‘Good afternoon, all,’ the judge said with the slight hint of a German accent as he took the bench, nodding in the direction of a few cronies from the good ol’ days. ‘Sorry to be running a bit late. Let’s get started; we have a real big calendar today.’
‘No cell phones, no cameras, no talking. Be seated and be quiet!’ bellowed the bailiff.
Everyone in the audience quickly found a seat, while the lawyers pushed up against the walls on their respective sides of the courtroom and Harmony called the first case.
Daria anxiously scanned the room for any sign of her detective. The one thing she did know about Manny Alvarez was that he was hard to miss. Anywhere. There was no sign of his shiny bald head towering above the packed courtroom crowd.
Although he hadn’t expressly said it, Daria knew that Vance Collier, the Chief Felony Assistant and right-hand to the State Attorney, had personally assigned her this case for a reason. The Chief of the Sexual Battery Unit was stepping down in September and Daria had let it be known to the powers that be that she was throwing her name in the ring for the job. Holly Skole had been brutally raped before she was murdered. The case was potentially high profile — with a good-looking defendant from a privileged family, a cute coed for a victim, and a heinous, gory murder that was sure to command headlines if not handled correctly. The evidence, while damning, was completely circumstantial, which definitely complicated things. And there were multiple parties within the community whose feathers needed to be stroked, not ruffled, including the powerful University of Miami, and the even more powerful South Florida press. The State of Florida v. Talbot Lunders would be the perfect test case to see if Daria DeBianchi could head up one of the busiest, most contentious, most emotionally draining units at the State Attorney’s Office.
But no more than five minutes out of the start gate and the horse she was riding was faltering. And at this point in the race, a stumble could be as tragic as a broken leg. Because if Talbot Lunders got a bond — for whatever reason — she was the one who’d be held responsible. It was always easier to negotiate a plea with a defendant who was behind bars. Statistically, it was also easier to secure a conviction. The biggest concern if Lunders got out was that an accused killer would be running around the streets of Miami for months before his case finally made it to trial. Joe General Public would not be at all happy to hear that. Neither would those powers that be on the third floor of the SAO who were studying her résumé and deciding if she was good enough to move up a rung or two on the company ladder. She was beginning to realize that the heat from the spotlight she’d been placed under could not only set her apart from the crowd, it could burn her just as well.
The parties on Steyn’s first case began opening arguments. She nibbled on a cuticle while frantically texting with her other hand under the cover of her file.
Depending on how fast Steyn worked, number thirteen might not be as far off as she once thought it was going to be …
6
And she was right.
Forty-five minutes later, Steyn was listening to arguments on twelve. A large clock hung above the courtroom doors, ticking off minutes and hours with jumbo-sized precision. Every time the doors opened with a whoosh, Daria would look to see if it was Manny. Not only was she consistently disappointed, she was also reminded to the second how late he actually was. He wasn’t answering his texts or picking up his phone, and neither she nor her witness coordinator could get through to anyone in command at Homicide to find out where the hell he was. While it was possible that he was on a case that had taken him beyond cell range, or was lying comatose somewhere in a hospital bed, Daria thought it much more likely her lead detective had either forgotten entirely about today’s hearing, or he’d enjoyed a late lunch and was taking his sweet Cuban time to get to the courthouse, figuring he could milk another hour or so out of a Tuesday afternoon Arthur with Slow Steyn before anyone would start to miss him.
He figured wrong.
‘Next up, State of Florida versus Talbot Alastair Lunders,’ announced Harmony.
Two stone-faced, black-suited lawyers — an older, heavyset man and an attractive woman in her thirties — emerged from the crowd of defense attorneys and approached the podium. The criminal bar in Miami was small; everyone knew each other. The fact that Daria had never seen either of the two people standing before the judge made her more than a little uneasy.
‘Joseph Varlack on behalf of the defendant, Talbot Lunders. Appearing with me today is Anne-Claire Simmons.’
Varlack. She knew the name from somewhere. ‘Daria DeBianchi on behalf of the state. I thought the defendant was being represented by Les Pfeiffer,’ she replied, leafing through her file for the Notice of Appearance from Pfeiffer that she’d tucked away somewhere.
Joe Varlack looked at her and smiled. ‘Not anymore he’s not. I filed a Substitution of Counsel this morning.’ He handed her a piece of paper. ‘My Notice of Appearance.’
That was when she spotted the shoes.
She couldn’t touch them on her state salary, but Daria had a weakness for designer kicks. Her eyes fell on the unmistakably red sole of a pair of Christian Louboutin black patent pumps that Varlack’s co-counsel was wearing. Then on his shiny, manicured fingernails, which perfectly complimented the snazzy Rolex he had strapped to his wrist. Her Bottega Venetta handbag. His Louis Vuitton briefcase. The impeccably tailored suits on both of them that Daria — the great-granddaughter of a legendary tailor from Spoleto, Italy — just knew had to be Italian. The Palm Beach Lunders must have up and hired Palm Beach attorneys. Expensive Palm Beach attorneys.
‘Are we ready?’ asked the judge.
‘The defendant’s on his way out, Judge,’ offered Corrections. ‘Two minutes.’
‘The defense is ready to proceed,’ Varlack responded.
Daria hesitated. ‘Your Honor, I’m waiting on my detective. Perhaps we could pass this case?’
Varlack looked at his pretty watch, then pointed it at Steyn, just in case the judge couldn’t make out the huge timepiece above the courtroom doors. ‘Your Honor, Ms Simmons and I were here at one o’clock. I expected the state and their witnesses to be here and be ready by one-thirty, which is the time this matter was set down for. I have a pressing engagement back in Palm Beach, which is why I specifically requested that the clerk put us on the calendar early today, and which is why I made sure I was here on time and ready to proceed.’
‘I understand, Mr Varlack,’ Judge Steyn responded with a conciliatory nod. ‘Your time is valuable. What do you want? A continuance, then?’
The light bulb went off. Joe Varlack. Varlack, Metzer, Shearson & A Thousand Other Peon Associates Whose Names No One Besides Their Own Mothers Ever Remembers. Attorneys to fallen movie stars, wayward athletes and corrupt Fortune 500 companies. Their retainers alone were more than what most people made in a year. Forget the name, Daria should’ve recognized Joe Varlack from his TV days, when he used to do a Channel Ten Nightly News ‘Justice with Joe’ segment. That was a decade or so ago — before he represented his first rock star and his legal career took off. Other rock stars began to fill his appointment book, along with football players and basketball greats — apparently leaving Justice Joe no time to dispense legal advice at six and eleven anymore to all the regular Joes sitting at home in front of their TVs. It must’ve been all those fancy client dinners over the past ten years that helped him pack an extra hundred or so pounds on to an already hefty six-foot frame, which probably explained why she didn’t recognize him right away from his glory days on Channel Ten. And it must’ve been one of those eccentric, fading rock stars from the seventies who’d convinced him that it would be a good idea to let his hair grow out, too. What was still left of it, anyway. Shiny bald on top with a set of jowls that were more befitting a Bull Mastiff, and a ponytail of yellowed white curls running down his back, the man definitely made an intimidating impression, no matter what he was saying, which, even in his TV heyday, always seemed to be at decibel level 10. She was gonna kill Manny Alvarez. Of all the cases to screw with her on …
‘Your Honor, I’d like to be heard on bond,’ Varlack bellowed. ‘The state’s not prepared, but I am. It would be unfair to reset this matter and let Talbot languish in jail all because the state doesn’t have its act together. He’s an upstanding young man with no criminal record. His family is very important and highly respected in the community, as you probably know. He’s the managing director for the Southeast Division of Flower & Honey Bath Products. He has well-established roots; he’s not some drifter that won’t show up for court. He’s not a danger by any stretch. Had the state been ready, you would’ve seen that the case against him is entirely circumstantial. In fact, as an attorney who’s been practicing for forty years representing other high-profile clients, I’m frankly shocked Talbot was even arrested. The fact that he was lured down to Miami and arrested like common street scum, without being given the courtesy to surrender himself, is outrageous. His arrest was done for show and to usher in a quick end to this case for the City of Miami Police Department — damn the consequences. It’s imperative Talbot be released so that he can aid in his defense of these very serious charges and attempt to regain his and his family’s good name.’
Daria bit her cheek so hard she drew blood, trying to contain the stream of expletives that wanted to fly out of her mouth. Most defense attorneys gave you a break and agreed to a continuance before they bitched about you not being ready or got on a soapbox about client persecution. And most did not grandstand about their big-name clients. Especially socialites nobody’d ever heard of anyway. What a prick.
Unfortunately, Steyn looked impressed. ‘What do you propose?’
‘The Lunders family is willing to post one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in cash today as bond. If the court deems it necessary, Talbot is also willing to submit to an ankle bracelet. I believe that’s more than adequate.’
An inmate in the box whooped. ‘Someone be bringing home the Benjamins!’
‘I have to agree that does sound reasonable,’ Steyn replied, ignoring the outburst. ‘State?’
‘Your Honor, the defendant’s been charged with murder, not jaywalking,’ Daria protested incredulously. ‘The case goes before the grand jury tomorrow, where Mr Varlack knows his client will be indicted, which is why he set down this matter for today and is pressing for a bond today, because once his client is indicted for capital murder, he’ll be hard-pressed to find any judge that will give him the time of day when it comes to seeking a bond and he knows it. That’s because the evidence will show in this case that Talbot Lunders tortured, raped, and brutally murdered Holly Skole.’
Steyn was shaking his head. ‘No it won’t, Counsel, because you’re not—’
A loud, boisterous hoot broke out from the hallway, causing heads to turn and Steyn to stop in mid-sentence. A split-second later the door opened and hearty laughter filled the room.
‘—ready,’ finished the judge.
It wasn’t hard to place the laugh. It belonged on a big body.
‘Actually, I believe I am ready,’ Daria announced before even turning around to confirm that it was, in fact, Manny — accompanied by two other city detectives, who were also in stitches but not half as loud — who’d walked through the door. All three were completely oblivious to the fact that they’d momentarily shut down court.
Judge Steyn scowled. The defense team simultaneously rolled their eyes.
‘Detective, nice of you to join us,’ Steyn sniped.
‘I was out in the hall, Judge. Dixon just came and told me you called my case?’ Dixon was the correction officer manning the courtroom door, who nodded at the judge.
Steyn glared at Daria.
The jangle of chains and leg irons sounded from the jury deliberation room as the door opened and a new crop of unruly defendants shuffled into the courtroom and the old ones shuffled out. ‘Take your seats and ya’all shut up, now!’ the CO barked as he moved them into their seats. ‘The defendant is present, Judge.’
‘Thank you,’ Steyn said, rubbing his temple. ‘You don’t need to tell them to shut up. Be quiet is fine.’
‘They won’t do that, neither, Judge,’ replied the CO. ‘They’re a rowdy bunch today.’
Daria looked over at the box. Her defendant definitely stood out, and not just because he was the only white guy in the row. Apparently unaffected by the commotion around him, he stared into the gallery, a curious smile on his face, like he knew a joke that no one else was getting. Even in that hideous orange jumpsuit, dressed to the nines in shackles and leg irons, with stubble on his cheeks and his highlighted hair a bit greasy, he was still — dare she say it? — handsome. Really handsome. Like suck-in-your-breath, Brad-Pitt-in-Thelma and Louise-handsome. The thought made her brain cringe and she shook it right out of her head.
‘Hello? State? Are you with us?’ the judge was asking.
Daria looked back at Manny. ‘Can I have a moment, Your Honor, to confer with my detective?’
‘No,’ Steyn replied, annoyed. ‘The defendant is here, counsel is here, your detective is finally here, you said you’re ready, so have at it.’ He leaned back in his chair with a loud squeak and folded his arms across his chest. ‘Don’t bother with an opening; I’ve read the arrest form. Give me the meat and potatoes and get on with it.’
In a perfect world, Daria would’ve had at least a few minutes to run through the questions she was about to ask. But the world was far from perfect.
So without further delay, she opened her file and called City of Miami Detective Manny Alvarez to the stand.
7
‘State your name and position for the record, please.’ Although she couldn’t scream at him, Daria shot Manny a look that would freeze water.
He grinned back at her. ‘Manuel Alvarez, City of Miami Homicide.’
‘How long have you been so employed?’
Manny pulled thoughtfully on his oversized mustache. ‘Let’s see, I’ve been a cop since eighty-nine, and in Homicide since ninety-two, so altogether I’ve been doing this for twenty-three years, State.’ He smiled again.
She glared at her notes.
