Sasha McCandless 03 - Irretrievably Broken (25 page)

Larry made a gesture as though he were tipping an invisible hat toward the bench.

The Judge smiled at him and then caught her female intern’s eyes.

“I have to confess I find it refreshing,” she continued, “as a woman and as a jurist, to be presiding over a matter where both sides are represented by women. It’s surprisingly rare, even in this day and age.”

Sasha was saved from responding by the arrival of two deputy sheriffs escorting Nick up the aisle. She noted with approval that he had cleaned up nicely. In fact, having run a comb through his thick hair and dressed in an expensive Italian suit, he looked more presentable than most of the attorneys in the room, even with two days’ growth on his face.

The handcuffs clamped around his wrists and the stubble were reminders that he’d spent the night in a cement block cell.

The officers deposited him in the empty seat between Sasha and Larry and retreated, leaning against the wall, bored but watchful.

Nick clenched his jaw and leaned in to whisper in Sasha’s ear. His breath was hot and minty.

“What’s going on? They called me out of order. This better not be about a deal. I told you, no deal,” he said in a low growl.

Sasha started to whisper back that she doubted they’d have to worry about rejecting a deal, given the circumstances, but the door swung open again, and Nick turned his head.

Allegheny County District Attorney Diana Jeffries raced in, trailed by two ADAs, whose arms were loaded with accordion files. She dropped her handbag on the table with a thud. Her minions placed the files alongside it silently.

“Good morning, Ms. Jeffries,” the judge said,

Sasha thought she detected a hint of steel behind the judge’s smile.

“Good morning, your honor. The People appreciate your willingness to accommodate our scheduling request,” the district attorney replied, smoothing her boucle skirt across her hips.

Sasha noted that the highest-ranking prosecutor in the county was wearing a sweater set and skirt to court. Sasha’s late mentor, Noah Peterson, used to shake his head when a female attorney showed up for a court appearance having interpreted “suit” to mean any two pieces from her wardrobe. He believed jurors and male attorneys took women less seriously and that dressing down only compounded the problem. Sasha tended to agree and always wore a suit to a court appearance, client meeting, or deposition.

Despite the district attorney’s appearance, Sasha had no intention of underestimating her. Diana Jeffries was a career prosecutor. She’d worked her way up through the U.S. Attorney’s Office for the Western District of Pennsylvania during the 1990s. When she’d resigned to run for District Attorney in 2002, she’d been the chief of the organized crime division. But, she’d seen her opening.

Much-revered District Attorney Jack Adamson had announced he wasn’t seeking reelection, and his top deputies had slung so much mud at one another in their efforts to get the spot, that the voters had elected an outsider instead. The straight shooter from the U.S. Attorney’s Office was popular with women, minorities, and Catholics.

After a decade in office, she’d shown herself to be tough as nails and committed to juvenile diversion programs. The scuttlebutt among the bar was that she was essentially unbeatable, and the liberal, avowed atheist law school professor who was challenging her in the upcoming election didn’t stand a chance. Sasha couldn’t think of a single good reason why she was handling Nick’s preliminary arraignment personally.

The district attorney shrugged out of her cardigan and hung it over the back of her chair. Her pale arms were covered with constellations of freckles.

“Are we all ready?” the judge asked.

“Yes, your honor,” Sasha and Diana said in unison. Larry and Nick nodded. They all stood.

The two ADAs sat motionless until their boss glared at them. Then they got to their feet with palpable reluctance. They were sulking, probably put out at having the district attorney swoop in and take over at the last minute. If they’d worked at private firms, Sasha thought, they’d be used to that sort of limelight hogging by this point in their careers.

“Then let’s get down to business. This is the preliminary arraignment in the matter of
The Commonwealth of Pennsylvania v. Nicholas Costopolous
,” Judge Foster said in a crisp voice.

Diana reached for a file, and the assistant district attorney to her left pushed it toward her. She opened the folder and ran her finger down the top sheet of paper, stopping about a third of the way down the page. She held her finger there and said, “Your honor, the Commonwealth is charging the defendant with first-degree murder in the heinous killing of Clarissa Costopolous and with first-degree murder of an unborn child in the death of her fetus.”

Sasha’s stomach sank and bile rose in her throat as a wave of understanding washed over her. The fetus. The District Attorney was going to cement her stranglehold over the election next month by making Nick’s case big news. The law professor challenger for her office had gone on record as calling the criminal statute governing crimes against unborn children a back-door attempt by fundamentalists to disenfranchise women and undermine
Roe v. Wade
. His argument, though legally sound, had not been well received. And now, Nick was going to be cannon fodder.

Sasha looked at Larry. His eyes were closed, and he slowly shook his head. He looked how she felt. They were screwed.

Judge Foster’s face clouded as she, too, realized what had just happened. The District Attorney had just hijacked the preliminary arraignment for her own purposes.

Diana pressed on. “Of course, because the maximum penalty for these charges is the death penalty, bail is out of the question.”

A murmur rose from the gallery. Sasha shot to her feet. Nick tugged on her sleeve, but she kept her eyes on the judge.

“Your honor?  Is the District Attorney saying she’s going to seek the death penalty in this case?”  Sasha heard her voice say the words, but it sounded far away.

“Good question. Ms. Jeffries?” the judge asked, turning to the district attorney.

The district attorney hesitated, then said, “It would be premature to make that decision at this time. It’s not off the table, however.”

“Understood,” the judge said. She stared down at her hands for a moment and then raised her head and looked straight at Nick, although she addressed Sasha. “Ms. McCandless, regardless of the death penalty issue, murder in the first degree and murder in the first degree of an unborn child both carry a mandatory life sentence if the defendant is convicted. So, bail is not an option. That’s mandated by statute. The defendant is remanded to custody until his preliminary hearing.”

Sasha heard Nick swallow a moan.

Larry stood, leaning awkwardly on the table, and said, “Your honor, the defendant requests the earliest possible preliminary hearing date, given the circumstances.”

“I think that’s fair,” the judge said. She looked at the bailiff. “Can we give them a time on Monday?”

The bailiff flipped through some papers, and said, “Nine-thirty works.”

“With all due respect,” Diana began.

The judge cut her off. “Mr. Costopolous is entitled to a speedy determination. If the Commonwealth wants to play this game, it should be prepared to play. Nine-thirty on Monday it is.”

“Yes, your honor,” Diana said.

Nick was pale and shaking.

“I can’t do this,” he whispered to Sasha.

“You have to,” she said. She squeezed his hand, in equal parts to comfort him and to steady herself.

“Sasha. I didn’t kill her. You have to get me out of jail, please,” he begged her.

“Okay,” the judge said, “next up,
The People v. Hector Allonde
.”

In a daze, Sasha gathered her papers while the deputies came to take Nick back to prison. As they marched him down the hall, he twisted his neck and stared back at Sasha, his dark eyes pained and frightened.

She waited for Larry, and they walked together down the aisle under the curious, sympathetic gaze of the assembled attorneys. Sasha pushed open the heavy doors that led into the hallway and held them for Larry. She felt hot and suddenly tired. Nick was already gone, whisked away to be caged—for the weekend, if he was lucky; for the rest of his life, if he wasn’t.

As soon as the doors had closed behind her, one of the assistant district attorneys who’d been at the table with Diana trotted over to Sasha and shoved some papers at her wordlessly.

“What’s this?”

He fixed his eyes on the floor and said, “Complaint in
The Commonwealth versus Greg Lang
. The preliminary hearing is set for Monday afternoon.”

Sasha blinked at the papers in her hand and then looked at Diana Jeffries, who stood with her other assistant, smiling and laughing, by the elevator bank.

“Are you kidding?” Larry asked.

The assistant didn’t bother to answer; he just scurried over to wait for elevator with his boss. Diana glanced over and smiled a cold smile at Sasha and Larry.

“Ms. McCandless, call my office if you’d like to discuss a deal. I’ll be in until five today,” she called across the hall.

“Don’t respond to that,” Larry said, banging his cane on the floor for emphasis. “Come on, we’re taking the stairs.”

“Larry, you can’t manage the stairs,” Sasha said. She’d love to take the stairs, but the man relied on a cane to get around.

“I’d sooner crawl down the stairwell than share an elevator with that dirty bird,” Larry said.

Sasha had no intention of standing in the hallway and arguing with an irate, cane-wielding man. “Okay, let’s go,” she agreed.

They took the stairs slowly and silently, both still reeling from the district attorney’s surprise attack.

When they stepped out into the parking lot, they walked headlong into a crowd of jostling, shouting camera people and reporters. In the center, sporting freshly reapplied lipstick, stood Diana Jeffries. She’d assumed a solemn face and was gesturing with her hands. Based on the downward chopping motion she was making, she was either explaining how to split a log or describing how Clarissa Costopolous had been pummeled until the life drained out of her ... and the baby she was carrying.

“Don’t run,” Larry said without moving his lips, “but don’t engage them either.”

They walked toward their cars, both careful not to make eye contact with any of the press, but several of the teams peeled off from Diana’s press conference and headed toward Sasha and Larry.

“No comment?” Sasha asked as they stopped beside Larry’s car. Her Passat was parked six rows away.

“If they catch you, you have to say something,” Larry responded, as he shoved his key into the lock on his boxy, ancient Volvo wagon. He eased himself behind the wheel and locked the door, waving goodbye as he started the engine.

Sasha waved back and headed for her car. A reporter for WTAE trotted up alongside her, shadowed by a cameraman. She quickened her pace, but the reporter ran around in front of her and blocked her path.

“Are we rolling?” the reporter asked his cameraman over his shoulder.

“Yeah, you’re good,” the cameraman replied, aiming the bulky equipment at Sasha.

“Ms. McCandless, Seth Champerton, WTAE news. Can you confirm that you represent both of the Lady Lawyer Killers?”  He shoved the microphone at her.

She suppressed a groan at the name. Of course, the journalists had come up with a name, they couldn’t resist. She still remembered the rapist who had terrorized Shadyside in the mid-1980s. Back then, the reporters had named him Sneaky. Sasha had been in elementary school and hadn’t understood the concept of rape, but she’d imagined Sneaky dressed like the Hamburglar from the McDonald’s ads, tiptoeing around with a mask and a bag. The Lady Lawyer Killers was easily as bad.

“I represent Greg Lang and Nick Costopolous, both of whom have been wrongfully accused in their wives’ deaths, if that’s what you mean,” Sasha said in a neutral voice.

“What do you think about the District Attorney’s decision to charge Mr. Costopolous under the Unborn Child Statute?” he asked, making his eyes wide.

“Mr. Costopolous didn’t kill his wife. And, he didn’t kill his unborn child. In fact, he had no idea that his wife was pregnant until the police told him last night. So, his grief at the loss of his wife is now compounded by a sorrow you and I can only imagine,” Sasha said, staring straight at Champerton instead of the camera. “In any event, I’m confident that once the district attorney has had an opportunity to gather and analyze the evidence in this case, she’ll conclude that the facts don’t support a first-degree murder count under any statute.”

“So, Mr. Costopolous claims it was a crime of passion?”

“No, Mr. Costopolous maintains his innocence.”  She looked directly at the camera.

Champerton switched gears. “Do you have any comment about District Attorney Jeffries’s motion to revoke Mr. Lang’s bond and remand him to custody until trial?”

Sasha ignored the question. Instead, she said, “Both Mr. Lang and Mr. Costopolous are victims here, Seth. These men lost their wives. They didn’t just lose them; they had them torn violently from their lives. What they want and deserve is the opportunity to grieve in private. As you likely know, Ellen Mortenson and Clarissa Costopolous were my former colleagues. I mourn their passing, too. But, I think they’d both appreciate knowing their husbands’ rights are being protected.”

Champerton hesitated, chastened and unsure what to say. Sasha saw her opening. She nodded at the camera and hustled into her car. She had the keys in the ignition and was driving off before the reporter had formulated a response.

CHAPTER 42

Sasha headed straight for Naya’s office. She pushed through the door without bothering to knock first.

“Why didn’t you answer your phone? I’ve been trying to call you since ...” Sasha trailed off when she realized Naya wasn’t alone.

Caroline Masters, impeccably dressed in an ivory silk blouse and a black skirt, sat in Naya’s guest chair, dabbing at her red-rimmed eyes with a tissue.