Guardian of Lies (21 page)

“Let us talk to her,” says Rhytag. “We’ll give her use immunity.”

“On what, on the murders?” I ask.

“Not a chance,” says Templeton.

Rhytag leans over toward Templeton, while Kim Howard occupies the Dwarf’s other ear. Howard’s assistant quickly gets up off the end of the couch and stands directly behind the wheelchair to block Harry’s and my view. They huddle in front of the judge’s desk.

“If you want to borrow my chambers to talk for a few minutes, you can have it,” says Quinn. “By the way, who’s Mr. Nitikin?”

Templeton raises a hand to hold off the judge. They confer for a few more seconds before Templeton says, “Okay, all right. Your Honor, I’m not entirely sure what’s happening here, but maybe there is a solution that meets all of our needs. This is what I’m prepared to offer, and I should preface it by saying that I’ll have to clear it with my boss, but I think he’ll go along. Two issues,” he says. Templeton turns in the chair to look at me as Howard’s assistant steps out of the way.

“If she cooperates”—Templeton is talking about Katia—“if she talks to the government and the information she provides is useful and, and this is a big point,” says Templeton, “if she gives up the co-conspirator, whoever helped her at Pike’s house, I’ll entertain an LWOP, reduction to a life term without the possibility of parole.”

“In your dreams,” I tell him.

“That assumes there is a co-conspirator,” says Harry. “How the hell can she give you something that doesn’t exist?”

“We won’t know that until she tells us, will we?” says Templeton. “But I’ve made the offer. Your Honor,” he says, turning back toward the judge, “since the state has now made the offer, and I’ll put it in writing, the offer must be conveyed to the defendant. It’s not within the province of her lawyers to reject it. That decision belongs exclusively to the defendant. They can advise her, but they can’t make the decision for her. And I would ask, so that there is no misunderstanding or confusion as to the terms, that both Mr. Madriani and Mr. Hinds be present when the offer is explained to her.” Templeton looks directly at Harry as he says this. “And I’ll have it translated into Spanish so that she can read it as well. To avoid the death penalty is no trivial matter.”

“No, it’s not,” says Quinn. “You’ll convey the offer, Mr. Madriani, Mr. Hinds.”

“We’ll be happy to convey it,” I tell him. “But I can assure you she’ll turn it down.”

“How can you be so sure?” Templeton turns around and looks at me.

“Because I know my client, and if you pulled your head out of your ass, you’d be able to see the light of day.”

“Mr. Madriani!” says Quinn.

“Sorry, Your Honor, but two people have been murdered. Someone broke into Emerson Pike’s house that night. We know that because the police found pick marks on the lock at the back door. The only reason the killer didn’t get the photographs in question is because they belonged to the defendant’s mother. Katia Solaz convinced Emerson Pike to give the photographs back to her the night she left, the night he was killed. Katia Solaz got out of the house a heartbeat ahead of whoever killed him. Otherwise she would be dead and the photographs would be gone.”

“Yeah, and we have your word for this, is that it?” says Templeton. “Your Honor, we think she killed Emerson Pike with the help of an accomplice.” He turns back toward Quinn. “And together they cleaned out the house, took the coins and the defendant’s computer.”

“If robbery was the motive, why did they take only the computer and some of the coins?” I ask.

“Because they couldn’t carry anything more,” says Templeton. “It’s called physics, the law of gravity.”

“Wrong,” I tell him. “The computer was taken because it contained the original downloads of the digital form of the photographs. You didn’t know that, did you?”

Harry gives me a shot in the ribs with his elbow, as if to say shut up.

“Your Honor, it wasn’t a burglary in the conventional sense. Whoever came to kill came because of those pictures. That’s what they wanted. That’s why those photographs are at the heart of our case.”

“What’s in the pictures?” says Quinn.

“Ask them.” I point to Rhytag.

“Can you give us even a clue?” says Quinn.

“No, sir,” says Rhytag.

“I have an obligation to assure that the defendant gets a fair trial,” says Quinn.

“And I have an obligation to protect national security,” says Rhytag.

“Find Pike’s computer and you’ll find the killer,” I tell them. “And it’s not my client.”

“Then tell me where to start looking,” says Rhytag.

“Seems we’re back where we started,” says Harry. “I have one suggestion.”

Rhytag looks at him. “What’s that?”

“The federal government has regulatory powers over most banks, correct?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” says Rhytag.

“We have a name—John Waters. According to information, Mr. Waters received a cash payment in the amount of a hundred thousand dollars for the sale of one of the gold coins belonging to the victim, Emerson Pike. It may be a long shot, but it’s possible this Mr. Waters may have deposited that sum in a bank account in this country. You could check your computers for the name John Waters and see what you find. I mean, he’d have to use a social security number or taxpayer ID number to open an account, right?”

Rhytag thinks about it for a moment, then makes a note. “I don’t suppose you have a date of birth?” he says.

“It’s an alias.” Templeton says it with scorn.

“So what?” says Harry. “If someone opened an account under that name, we should find out. In the interests of national security.” He looks at Rhytag.

“Mr. Madriani and I agree on one thing, Your Honor,” says Templeton. “Find Emerson Pike’s computer and you’ll find one of the killers. Because the other one’s already locked up in the county jail. Convey the offer to your client.” He turns to look at me. “Tell her she has a chance to live. It’s the last one she’s going to get. Let’s see what she says.”

He gives me a sinister smile.

Yesterday afternoon after she hung up the receiver in the telephone booth at the jail, Katia realized she had forgotten to thank Paul. It was clear that either he or Harry had talked to the authorities at the jail, because things had become much better.

Paul called to tell her about what had happened at the courthouse, the argument over the motion and the missing photographs. He told her they would meet at the courthouse in a few days. He had many important things to discuss with her, none of which could be talked about over the telephone. Katia was to be taken to the courthouse, where some of this was to be discussed in the presence of the judge, in the judge’s office, and with the prosecutor available outside in the courtroom. Katia asked him what was happening. Paul told her he could not talk about the details over the phone and the conversation ended. She would have to remember to thank him when they met at the courthouse.

It was amazing how quickly things had improved. For the last several days, ever since the fight in the shower, all of her problems at the jail had vanished. The Mexican Chicas who had been badgering Katia since the day she arrived, particularly the big one with the pockmarked face and the scar on her cheek, were now leaving her alone and licking their wounds.

Katia thought about this and smiled as she strode across the yard, back toward the unit where her cell was located.

The big Mexican still glanced at her occasionally with angry eyes. But the moment Katia looked back at her, the Mexican would look away. And her nose still did not look quite right. She and her friends now kept their distance. Even in the dayroom, which Katia had avoided for so long, she was now free to roam and watch television and no longer had to hide.

She knew that either Paul or Harry had made this possible. They had talked to someone at the jail, because one of Katia’s three cell mates, the Chica who ran with the big Mexican and was causing her problems, had suddenly been transferred to another cell. In her place a new Latina, Daniela Perez, was moved to the top bunk, above Katia.

Daniela was not Mexican. She was Colombiana, originally from Bogotá, and like Katia, she was alone, without friends in the jail. Ordinarily Ticas would be leery of Colombianas. People from Costa Rica have long feared the drug violence of Colombia. But somehow Daniela seemed different.

She was quiet. She kept to herself. But she would smile and say hello whenever they passed. This was not done in the jail. To smile or to say anything that might be seen as courteous was a sign of weakness. It would make you a victim, someone to push around.

She wondered how long Daniela would last if she was acting in this friendly way with others. Sooner or later she would smile and say hello to the big Mexican and the Chica gang would start in on her.

For two days Katia watched Daniela from a distance. The Colombiana was older and taller than Katia and seemed quite fit. She lifted weights every day in the exercise area. And while Daniela was pretty, Katia could tell she had lived a hard life. It was difficult to guess her age. Katia estimated maybe mid-thirties.

She had a large tattoo on her back that ran almost to the elbow on her left arm, a web like Spiderman’s that bulged and flexed whenever she lifted weights. Katia was amazed by how much Daniela could lift. She did not look that strong. It was in the technique, how she moved her body. Even some of the other women, the regulars who seemed to own the weights, were impressed. Katia saw two of them talking to Daniela, who said a few words, shook the hand of one of the other women, and then left to walk out to the yard.

It was that afternoon that everything changed. Katia had gone to take a shower. She often did this earlier in the day to avoid the other women. With the water running and facing the spray, she didn’t see or hear them. The big Mexican and two of her friends came into the large communal shower bay behind her. They were wearing sweats and running shoes. Even though the Mexican was large and outweighed Katia by at least fifty pounds, she always traveled with at least two others.

One of them groped Katia from behind. When she turned around, startled, and tried to cover herself with her hands, they all laughed.

“Relax, we’re not going to hurt you. We’re just going to have a little fun,” said the big one. When she reached out and tried to touch her, Katia pulled away. Then they started with the insults. They told her how worthless Ticas were, how the Costa Rican women preened like peacocks, showing their bodies in order to kowtow to the gringos. Katia turned and tried to finish her shower.

“Don’t you turn your back on me, bitch.” The big Mexican grabbed Katia, spun her around, pulled her out of the spray, and pushed her against the tiled wall where the Mexicans could get at her without getting wet. The big Mexican’s two friends grabbed Katia’s arms and held them to the wall. The big Mexican pumped some soap into her hand from the dispenser on the wall and rubbed it on Katia’s face and into her eyes.

“Leave her alone!”

Katia’s eyes burned. She couldn’t see a thing, but she heard the voice. It came from somewhere outside the shower bay.

Suddenly the two women released Katia’s arms. She slid along the wall, away from them, toward the running shower. While they had their backs turned, Katia was able to quickly rinse some of the stinging soap from her eyes. In the yellow haze she saw Daniela standing in the entrance to the shower bay. She was wearing shorts, a jail top, and running shoes. There was a sheen of sweat on her body, as if she might have been out in the yard running.

“Why don’t you just leave her alone?” said Daniela.

“Why don’t you mind your own business?” said the big Mexican. “Unless maybe you would like some of this too.”

“I don’t think there’s enough of you to go around,” said Daniela.

“Oh, you think so?”

“I know so.”

It happened so quickly that Katia wasn’t even sure what she saw. Through the lingering sting and blur of soap she remembered a flash of slick, muscled body as Daniela closed the distance. She came at them so fast and with so much aggression that the first instinct of the Mexican’s was to back up. This forced one of them, the one closest to Katia, into the spray of the shower.

They braced themselves with their hands out, ready to take her. But Daniela was no longer there. She had dipped down onto her hands on the tile floor and spun her body. With a single powerful sweep of her muscled leg, she reached out and swept the feet from under all three of them.

Katia remembered the sound. It reminded her of coconuts on concrete as their heads hit the hard tile floor. The next thing Katia knew, the three women were on their backs, sliding across the soap-covered tile as if in slow motion. They lay there for several seconds with their mouths open, dazed.

Only one of them tried to get up. It was the big Mexican, and it was a mistake. She held on to the wall to steady herself, got to her feet, and with a look of fury in her eyes, she got a bead on Daniela, lowered her shoulder, and charged.

The sleek Colombiana stepped to one side, like a toreador in a bullring. She grabbed the Mexican by the hair as she passed and redirected her head, faceup, right into the tile wall.

Katia remembered the dull thud, the vibration against the wall, and the red river of the Mexican’s blood that was flushed by the running water down the drain.

The woman lay there on the floor for more than a minute before her wide-eyed friends even stirred to help her, and when they did, they gave Daniela a wide berth in order to get there.

Katia thought the Mexican might be dead. But it didn’t even seem to faze Daniela. To her it was simply the natural order of things, the law of the jungle in jail.

Katia and Daniela had spent most of the time since the shower altercation hanging together and talking.

Daniela told Katia that she had been arrested three days earlier in San Diego on charges related to drugs. But, of course, like everyone else in the jail, she was not guilty.

Paul had told Katia not to talk about her case with anyone, and so she did not. Even when Daniela asked Katia what she was in for, Katia told her flatly that her lawyers had told her it was best not to discuss the matter. It was difficult. Katia knew that she owed her safety and her newfound sense of independence to her friend.