A Killing in the Valley (14 page)

“How much longer am I going to be in here?” he asked. His voice was thin and sounded like rust.

“I’ll run you through the entire drill,” Luke told him. “But first, how are you doing?”

“How do you think?” Steven answered in irritation. “I hate it in here. This is like…how did this happen?”

You were arrested for murder, Luke thought. With more than enough evidence to support the charges. “Have there been any intimidation or threats?” he asked. “Are the jailers treating you okay?”

Steven shook his head no to the first question. “I’m okay. They’ve got me in isolation. They watch me every second, even when I take a dump. It’s better being by myself,” he admitted. “I don’t want to be around the guys I see in here, they’re crazy, most of them. And most of them seem used to it, I guess they’ve been in here before.”

Luke explained to Steven that he would be held in custody, at least until the bail hearing.

“So then I’ll be able to get out?” Steven asked hopefully.

“If the judge grants it.” He couldn’t let Steven’s expectations exceed reality; as his lawyer, he had to deal with the situation responsibly, which meant being straight with him.

Steven looked at him quizzically. “Why wouldn’t he?”

“Because you’re charged with murder. The District Attorney is going to make the argument that you’re a candidate to jump bail, flee the country, go into hiding. It’ll depend on whether the judge agrees with him, and how persuasive I can be to convince him you’re not a threat if you’re not in jail, and that you’ll show up for your hearings and especially the trial.”

Steven went white. “Jesus Christ. I might be in jail for months?”

Luke didn’t pull his punch. “It could be a year. You don’t rush murder trials. If it means you’re in custody for a few extra months, as opposed to going to trial before we’re absolutely, completely prepared, you’re going to do the time.”

“Like Robert Blake,” Steven said in a flat monotone. “Or O.J.”

“Don’t put yourself in that category, emotionally,” Luke cautioned him. “This is a murder trial, but it’s not the same. You won’t be under the intense media microscope like they were. It’s critical that you stay positive, for your mental wellness, and for us to put on the best defense. You can’t be hangdog, Steven. I know that’s hard to hear, but you have to suck it up.”

Steven stared at him. “I’ll try,” he said flatly.

“That’s all I can ask for. I’ll see you every day, and you can have other visitors. I assume those were your parents, sitting with your grandmother?”

Steven nodded. “They’re totally freaked out.”

With good cause, Luke thought. “I’ll arrange for them to meet with you, after I talk to them.”

He stood up. A sheriff’s deputy opened the door. “You’re going back to jail now,” he told Steven. “Your parents will see you there.”

They shook hands.

“Stay strong,” Luke admonished Steven. The deputy cuffed Steven and fitted a set of irons to his legs. Steven, shuffling awkwardly in his restraints, was led to an outside door, where he was placed in a sheriff’s vehicle for the trip back to the jail, four miles down Highway 101, at the sheriff’s complex.

Luke and Kate met Steven’s parents back at Luke’s office. Juanita made the introductions. They shook hands solemnly all around. Steven’s father, Garrett, was a rangy man, about his son’s height but forty pounds heavier, with a soft gut. Laurie, his wife, was of average size, wiry-thin. Her black, curly hair was feathered-cut tight against her skull.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am about this,” Luke told them.

“As am I,” Kate seconded.

“Thank you,” Garrett muttered. Laurie didn’t speak; she shook her head and stared at the tile floor.

They sat down at Luke’s conference table. Kate noticed that Laurie McCoy made sure she didn’t sit next to her mother-in-law. The woman is an outsider in this family, she immediately intuited. Intimidated by Juanita, and resentful of it.

“Let me lay out the timetable for you, the first part,” Luke began. He took a folder out of his hand-tooled leather briefcase, a gift from Riva. “As you heard in court, there will be a bail hearing in a few days. The preliminary hearing will be a week after that,” he told them. “Formal charges will be presented, and we’ll request bail.”

“So then he’ll get out, at least?” Laurie asked hopefully.

“Not necessarily,” Luke cautioned. “This is a capital case. There’s a possibility bail won’t be granted at all. I’m sure the District Attorney will fight it,” he said, repeating what he had told Steven. It didn’t sound any better the second time around.

“Why?” Laurie cried.

“Because the state takes the position that an accused murderer shouldn’t be out on the street. And there have been recent situations where the defendant jumped bail and fled the country. It left egg on everyone’s face, particularly the judge’s. So bail has become an iffy situation in a crime of this seriousness, you need to know that going in.”

As Kate listened to Luke explain the problem she could see both parents deflate, as if they were tires that had sprung slow leaks. She leaned forward, her hand touching Laurie’s across the table. “Even so, there’s still a good possibility Steven will get bail at some point,” she said, trying to sound optimistic. She turned to Luke, who nodded in muted agreement. “It will be high, but because Mrs. McCoy is one of our leading citizens, I think the judge will go for it. With stringent restrictions,” she added.

“Like what?” Laurie asked fearfully.

“I’m almost positive Steven won’t be able to leave Santa Barbara County,” Luke said. “At least that.”

“But what about college?” Laurie asked in alarm. “He’s a senior. He’s graduating this spring. He’s applying to medical school.” Her voice was rising in near-hysteria. “He’s on the volleyball team. He’s their best striker, he was all PAC-Ten last year.”

“Not now, he isn’t,” Luke told her frankly. Sometimes you had to deliver the news in a manner that left no room for argument.

“Jesus,” Garrett muttered. “It seems pretty damn arbitrary.”

“This is a murder case, Mr. McCoy,” Luke reminded him. “It doesn’t get any more serious than this.”

““What else?” Laurie asked impatiently. “What other restrictions?”

“Steven will be confined to a specific area and he’ll have to report in every day. It’s basically house arrest, but it’s better than sitting in jail for a year, which is what usually happens, since most defendants can’t make bail at the level that’s going to be set.”

The parents looked at each other with concern. “How much bail are we talking about?” Garrett asked nervously.

“It could be a million dollars,” Luke answered. “Robert Blake was set at two million down in Los Angeles, Michael Jackson at three, right here, for a lesser charge.” He looked at the parents sympathetically. “District Attorneys across the country are fighting bail for serious crimes, no matter how high it’s set. And in the current political climate they’re getting their way,” he added in personal distaste.

Garrett groaned out loud. “A million dollars? That’s a hundred thousand dollars to a bondsman?”

“Cash,” Luke confirmed. “Plus collateral. To cover the rest of the bond, in case the defendant jumps.”

“Like what?” Laurie fretted.

“Money from savings accounts, stocks, disposable property. Whatever you have of value.”

“Like our house?” she asked, even more worried.

“Yes,” Luke said, “if it’s worth that much.”

The two parents exchanged a worried look. “How much is this going to cost, in total?” Garrett asked. “Assuming that you’re Steven’s lawyer ail the way through,” he added.

Luke was prepared for this. Discussing price was the most unpleasant part of the job, so it had to be gotten out of the way as soon as possible, without ambiguity.

“At least two hundred thousand dollars,” he answered. “It could be significantly more, depending on several factors—investigation time, bringing in expert witnesses, a host of possibilities. There are dozens of elements that come into play when you’re building a defense, particularly in a crime of this seriousness.” He splayed his hands on top of the table. “I’ll require a seventy-five-thousand-dollar retainer as soon as possible.”

Garrett visually recoiled. His mouth made some mewing sounds before any actual words came out. “That’s a lot of cash to raise on short notice, on top of the bail,” he bleated. “We’ll have to…”

“I’ll post Steven’s bail, and put up the collateral. And I’ll pay the legal fees as well. All of them.”

They all turned to Juanita, who had been sitting on the sidelines, taking everything in.

“Mother…” Garrett started to protest, once he found his voice.

She put up a restraining hand. “I have the money, and I own the property to cover it,” she said in a tone of voice that foreclosed argument. “The murder happened on this ranch. I’m responsible, even though Steven didn’t do it.”

“I…” Garrett started to protest, but then looked at his wife, and dropped any opposition he might have mustered. “All right, Mother,” he said, his voice registering both resignation and relief. “If that’s what you want.”

“It’s settled, then,” Juanita declared briskly.

The McCoys didn’t stick around after the decision as to who would pay their bills was made. Juanita went home, and Steven’s parents went to the jail to see their son. Luke would present a detailed plan for Steven’s defense when he knew more about everything, particularly after he’d had time to talk to Steven, in depth. Until then, they would all have to cope as best they could.

“What do you want me to do first?” Kate asked Luke when they were alone.

“We should try to find a credible alibi witness for Steven. Someone who saw Steven and interacted with him long enough to remember him, and will swear to it.”

Kate gave him a dubious stare. “Don’t you think he would have told us, if there was one?” she asked reasonably.

“You’d think so,” Luke agreed, “but one thing I’ve learned over the years, memory is unpredictable. You’d be amazed at what you don’t remember, even important stuff, and the reverse, the stupid crap that stays in your memory bank forever, and what doesn’t. Song lyrics, shopping lists, the street you crossed on your way to grade school can be embedded in your brain forever, but for a million dollars you can’t remember what you had for dinner last Wednesday night. Look,” he continued, “I know it’s a long shot, but it can’t hurt to try. We don’t have a hell of a lot else to work with yet. I’ll have Steven fill out a detailed questionnaire, but there will be empty spaces, there always are.” He rapped her lightly on the shoulder. “As usual, you’re going to have to fill them in.”

They took a few minutes to coordinate their calendars for the rest of the week. “This is going to mess my schedule up but good,” Kate told Luke candidly. “I wasn’t expecting something this heavy to come up right now.”

“So you’ll juggle it, same as you always do,” he responded, as he leafed through his phone messages. “I didn’t go looking for this, either, but shit happens.”

“I know, but it’s worse than usual this time.”

The distressful tone of her voice captured his attention. “Because of your daughter?” he intuited.

Kate nodded. “My workload is already more than I want, plus I’ve got law school two nights a week and Saturday mornings, but yes, it’s really about Sophia. I basically forced her to give up her senior year in high school up north, with all her friends and activities, so we could have one good year together before she left for college. And I’m not putting in the time with her.”

“Do you want me to get someone else? I’ll understand if you do.”

She paced the floor. “This feels like a loser, Luke. I want everyone to have the best defense team possible, but I also want to see justice done. I can’t help but think that if the circumstances had been only a little different, Maria Estrada could have been my daughter. Which Sophia has strongly pointed out to me,” she added. “She has enough problems in her life right now without being the daughter of the woman who’s trying to get a murderer off, which is what the kids in her school will be thinking. And saying.”

“You think Steven’s guilty,” Luke said flatly. “You’re pretty convinced.”

“Aren’t you?” Kate responded. She never liked prejudging a case, but she also believed it was important to be honest about the cards you’ve been dealt, regardless of the sermon she had preached to her daughter. You did better work if your vision was uncluttered with sympathy or self-deception. “Look at what we know so far. It’s brutal.”

Luke leaned back, his head cupped in his hands. “All the more reason why he needs a kick-ass defense.”

“I know,” she answered irritably. He wasn’t letting her off the hook. “But you can’t feel good about this. His fingerprints are on the murder weapon, for God’s sake!”

“This is true. And he has a reason why.”

“And a jury’s going to believe that?” she bit off in irritation. “If that’s the best we can do, Luke, you’d better start thinking about pleading him out.”

Luke shook his head. “There won’t be any pleas on this one. Alex won’t go for anything less than murder one. I’m in this from now till the Second Coming, Kate. But you don’t have to be, you really don’t. You have legitimate reasons to bail.” He paused. “I’m not even sure I want you on it, if this is how you feel.”

That stung. “My feelings don’t affect how I do my job. You know me better than that. I’m always professional, to the core.”

“Yes, you are,” he responded, “but everyone has their breaking point, and you sound like you’re close to yours.”

“It’s not that. It’s…” She picked up her purse. “I need to talk to my daughter about this. I’ll let you know in a couple of days.”

Luke walked her to the door. “Fair enough. But if you’re in, Kate, you’re in all the way. Agreed?”

She nodded solemnly. “Agreed. All, or nothing at all.”

K
ATE AND SOPHIA STARTED
their hike up Cold Springs Canyon Trail at daybreak, to avoid the heat that by midmorning would grab the hills in a tight fist. Sophia, wearing a new pair of Lowa hiking boots that Kate had recently bought for her as an enticement to get outside more, bounded up the trail like a young mountain goat. Kate tried to keep up with her daughter’s energetic pace, but soon fell back to a more comfortable tempo. The race goes not to the swift but to the determined, she doggedly repeated, almost as a mantra, while simultaneously admonishing herself to start working out again regularly.