03_Cornered Coyote (11 page)

"Jordan, I’m so sorry," Maria said, putting her hands on either side of his face, and gently kissing his cheek. "If you hadn’t met me none of this would have happened. We talked about how your decision not to tell the Chief about the other paintings and the elderly Younts was a no-win situation, but I know you wouldn't have made that decision if you hadn’t sensed I wanted you to. Maybe it would have been better for both of us if we’d never met in Provence."

"Stop talking like that. You know what I'm really dreading, Maria? Having to call my dad and tell him. This will kill him. Of all the policemen who have been in our family, I'll be the first one to be fired. This is just great," he said, again covering his face with his hands. He gulped and continued, “It’s not as if we don't have enough problems with your arrest. My dad and I have never been close. Well, now he’s got a damned good reason."

She reached out and covered his hand with hers, gently stroking it. "You don’t need to tell him right now. There's a good chance you'll be reinstated and he'll never need to know. At least wait a little while. I wonder if Darya could help by testifying at the hearing or giving a statement."

"I don't think so. She'd have to explain why the little girls were in the barn and if she did that, she'd be incriminating herself. I don’t think the Police Commission cares too much about moral dilemmas. I think they're more about ‘did you uphold the sworn oath you took when you became a policeman?' ”

He removed her hand, stood up, and walked over to the stairs leading down to his office. “I've got to write a memo on the status of the cases I've been working on. Captain Raymond wants to have it tomorrow morning so he can assign my cases to the other detectives. It'll take me a couple of hours. Maybe this is a sign I'm supposed to devote myself to my art consulting business."

"Jordan, I'm the one to blame, but I want you to know I still believe you made the right decision. You made the decision because you believed those little girls in Kabul deserved better. I’m behind you 100 percent! When will you find out about the hearing?"

"They didn't say. The Police Commission meets monthly, but I don’t know whether or not my case will be on their agenda in January or February. They'll have to get in touch with me at some point because I have the right to be there and defend myself. See you later."

“Jordan, here’s the recording from my meeting with the attorney. You don’t need to listen to it now. You’ve got enough on your mind
.” 

Maria looked at him helplessly as he walked down the stairs.
Madre de Dios. It would have been better for us if we’d both stayed in Provence. It couldn’t get much worse.

CHAPTER 17

“Hello, is this Luisa Ortega?”

“Yes.”

“Mrs. Ortega, my name is Daniel Lentz. I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m the reporter you called after your husband died. You may recall that Celebrity Spotlight, the paper I write for, did a big article on the mysterious death of Jeffrey Brooks who was shot and killed at a remote motel out in the California desert called the Blue Coyote Motel. After he was murdered his wife, Maria, disappeared and supposedly went to France and couldn’t be found. I wrote a story about your husband being murdered in the Amazon and the fact that you and he had stayed twice at the Blue Coyote Motel.

“You said you thought he died because of withdrawal symptoms from a drug he’d been taking, a drug that was given to him without his permission when he was at the Blue Coyote Motel. I also remember that you thought Maria Brooks should be found, arrested, and tried for murder. You asked me to give you a call if anything surfaced on Maria Brooks. Well, it has. I published an article a few days ago about her and her detective boyfriend, Jordan Mitchell. He convinced her to return to California and clear her name. I have a source and found out she was going to be arrested for her husband’s murder when she arrived at the airport in Los Angeles.”

“Of course I remember you,” the head of the Ortega Gold Mines said. Are you sure she’s returned and has she, in fact, been charged with murder?”

“Yes, I’m certain. She’s being arraigned tomorrow. I guess my article caused quite an uproar and the DA was forced to arrest her, so my source says. I strongly hinted in the article that she was going to be arrested. Anyway, the DA is up for re-election and needs to look like he’s following the law. I seem to remember you said you’d be happy to pay me if I found out anything. Well, it looks like my article was responsible for her being arrested. I have some expenses like rent, etc. If I find out enough, I think I can publish a few more articles and perhaps link her to your husband’s death in the Amazon.”

“How much money are we talking about?” Luisa asked.

“I think $10,000, along with expenses, should be enough.”

“That’s fair. Send me a bill. I’ll expect frequent updates from you, say twice a week. Call me at this number. Get whatever you can on her. I want her to suffer as much as I have. My son doesn’t have a father because of her and her husband. I hope she’s convicted and sent to prison for the rest of her life.”

“I’ll start working on it right away. Anything else?”

“No, that’s it. I just want her to go prison. How about her boyfriend? Do you know anything about him?”

“The only thing I know is that they fell in love in Provence and he convinced her to return to California. Evidently she’s hired a top-notch attorney who seems to think he can get her off with a defense of ‘justifiable homicide.’ It’s going to be a very high profile case and I hear she has a lot of money. I also have one more tidbit for you. According to another source of mine, her boyfriend has been put on ‘administrative leave’ and the Police Commission is investigating his indiscretions with respect to the Provence case.”

“Well, I’d like you to write more damning articles about her. Maybe if there’s enough bad publicity she’ll be convicted. Even if she’s not convicted, it might make her life as miserable as mine has been since it happened. Do whatever you have to do.  Thank you for calling and I’ll talk to you in a few days.”

Luisa hung up and smiled.
Finally, finally, justice may be done.
She heard her son Carlos wake up from his nap and told his nanny that she’d attend to him.

CHAPTER 18

Maria and Jordan met Brian outside the courtroom at nine the next morning. “How are you doing, Maria? I know how hard this must be for you.”

She took a deep breath and sighed. “To be honest, Brian, I’ve never been so frightened of anything in my life and to top it off, we have another problem. As if things couldn’t get any worse, Jordan was put on ‘administrative leave’ yesterday.”

“You’re kidding! Why?”

“Well, it’s a long story. If I told you all of it, we’d never finish in time for my arraignment. I’m sure it’s a huge misunderstanding and he’ll be reinstated at the next Police Commission hearing.”

Brian looked at Jordan. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I don’t think so, but thanks. Right now let’s just concentrate on getting Maria through this.”

“All right,” Brian said, turning to Maria. “As we discussed yesterday, you’re going to enter a ‘not guilty’ plea. The judge will ask how you plead and you’ll say ‘not guilty, your Honor.’ Then the judge will set a trial date. I’ll request that you be granted bail, however as I’ve already told you, this judge never grants bail in a murder case. After that the bailiffs will take you to the women’s jail. You’ll be given a pink jail uniform and taken to your cell. Do you have any questions?”

“No, but I want this trial over with. I don’t want delays by you or the prosecution. Please get it over with as soon as you can.”

“I will, Maria. Trust me.”

“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said. “I found the psychologist’s card, you know, the one I met at the Blue Coyote Motel. Here it is. Maybe he can help.”

“Good. I’ll call him later.”

They entered the courtroom. Brian escorted Maria to the defendant’s table, where they both sat down. Across the aisle sat the deputy district attorney who had been assigned to Maria’s case. She was overweight, in her late ‘40’s, had a pockmarked complexion, and was very unattractive. Her mousy brown outdated pageboy was streaked with gray and her nondescript brown polyester pantsuit and sturdy brown shoes did nothing to enhance her appearance. She wore no jewelry or make-up.

Maria was a startling contrast with luxurious dark brown hair surrounding her smooth complexion and big brown eyes. She wore a conservative cream-colored suit with a pale blue silk blouse. Small pearl earrings and a pearl choker completed her outfit. Even though she’d dressed conservatively, at Brian’s request, she was still dazzling. She looked about as out of place in the austere courtroom as a rare orchid in the desert.

Promptly at 9:00 a.m., the bailiff called out in a firm voice, “All rise.”  Everyone stood up as the diminutive black-robed judge made his way to the judge’s bench.  He looked at Maria and then turned to the prosecuting attorney. In a strong voice he said, “I’m ready for the arraignment in the case of the People of California vs. Maria Brooks. Counsel, please state your names for the record.”

“Marsha Sinclair for the People.”     

“Brian Meeks for the defendant, Maria Brooks.”

“Mrs. Brooks, you are charged with murder for the death of Jeffrey Brooks. How do you plead?”

“Not guilty, your Honor.”

“Are you sure that is your plea?”

“Yes, your Honor.”

“I’m setting your trial for February 17
^th
.” He looked at the prosecuting attorney and then turned to look at Brian. “Is there any reason why the trial cannot commence on that date?”

“No, your Honor,” they said in unison.

“Your Honor,” Brian said, “I would like to request the court to set a reasonable amount of bail for Mrs. Brooks. The defendant is not a flight risk, and is living locally with…”

“Forget it, Mr. Meeks,” the judge said, cutting Brian off in mid-sentence. “This is a murder case and bail is denied.”         

Two bailiffs walked over to Maria, handcuffed her, and escorted her out of the courtroom. Jordan struggled to catch his breath as she walked by him, stony-faced.

When she entered the jail, she was escorted to a large room and handed a pink jumpsuit to wear. A female guard came into the room while she changed and then escorted her to her cell, a 10’ x 10’ room with a metal cot bolted to the floor, a stainless steel toilet and sink, and a small window with bars.

The guard said, “You’re in an isolation cell. Me or one of the other guards will take you to the showers once a week. We’ll stay with you while you’re in there. Meals will be passed through this opening in the bars on the door. See you later.” She turned and walked down the hall between the rows of cells.

Well, this guy Slade Kelly was right. I don’t have a cellmate. I wonder if I can have Jordan bring me some books.

She looked around the cell as tears began rolling down her cheeks. Her bodily needs might be met in this sterile, stark environment, but she was certain her soul would die here. She thought of Jordan’s home and the ocean, the beauty of the Provence countryside, and the barren yet beautiful location in the desert where the Blue Coyote Motel had been. Then she looked at the bars and the seatless toilet, trying to figure out how this had happened to her.

Stop it, she told herself. You can do anything for two months. At least you’re not with other people. You’re safe here and you have a good attorney. This is only temporary.

It was close to noon.  She heard a guard walking down the hall. He stopped in front of her cell and unlocked the small pass-through opening in the bars. “Here’s your lunch. The guard will take your tray when he brings your dinner.”

“Thank you,” Maria said, realizing how hungry she was. She hadn’t felt like eating since she’d been arrested two days earlier. She looked at the food and her hunger left. It was no better than what she’d been given the night she’d been arrested. She felt like throwing up and could once again feel tears welling up inside her.

Dinner was horrible, but she forced herself to eat something, knowing she had to keep her strength up, no matter how bad the food was.  A little later she lay down on the cot, sure that sleep would elude her for as long as she was in this place. She wondered how anyone could sleep with the sounds of screaming and crying women reverberating throughout the jail. Exhaustion soon won out and she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

CHAPTER 19

“Slade, it’s Brian. Maria was just arraigned. I didn’t want to tell her, but I was afraid of this. The prosecutor is a real bitch who also happens to hate Mexicans because her husband left her for a beautiful young Mexican woman. Every time she looks at Maria, she’s going to see the woman responsible for her divorce. Her name is Marsha Sinclair and her father was the head of the local Tea Party movement in Riverside County. They don’t get any more conservative than him and she was raised at his knee. Not only is she going to want to win, she’s got to win since she’s lost her last three cases. Her future with the DA’s office is pretty shaky right now. This is going to be one hell of a case.”

“Brian, whaddya think the odds are? I mean, is Maria gonna go to the big house?”

“Not if I can help it. My reputation’s at stake here too. There have been a lot of rumors that Marsha has an affinity for coke. Never seen her in action, but that’s the talk on the street. She and her husband had a nasty divorce and although he didn’t accuse her of it in court, he told a lot of people her addiction was the reason they got divorced. Don’t know how I can use it, though.”

“Well, that’s interestin’. Hmmm. See what I can do with that, if anything. Thanks for the heads up, and Brian, gimme a call from time to time. Need to stay on top of this one.”

“Will do. Maria gave me a card with the name of some shrink in Denver who might vouch for her. You’re the one who contacted me. Do you know anyone else who could testify on her behalf?”