Revenge of Innocents (16 page)

Friday, October 15
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12:55
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arolyn rushed past Rachel’s desk into Brad’s office, harried and out of breath. She’d snagged her hose getting out of Mary’s car, and since she didn’t want to go to court in jeans, she was zipping up the black skirt she kept in her office. “I need to go to Drew’s arraignment. I promise I’ll work all night at home. His daughter is living in my house, for Christ’s sake. We came up with some new information. We talked to the guy Jude was—”

“Slow down,” Brad said, tossing his pen down on his desk. “I didn’t understand a word you just said.”

“Please, Brad, I have to go to Drew’s arraignment and I have to leave right now. Judge Thornton has a fit when someone comes in late.”

“If it’s that important,” he said, standing and grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair, “I guess I should go with you.”

Brad stopped and told Rachel where he was going, then jogged to catch up to Carolyn. “Thornton is in Division Thirty-two, right?”

“Thirty-six.” Not wanting to wait for the elevator, Carolyn raced down the stairs to the first floor, crossed the lobby, and darted outside to the courtyard. People were eating their lunches on the benches surrounding the fountain, while attorneys and other individuals were making their way to court for the afternoon sessions.

Brad stepped in front of her to open the door. “I think you said something about new information. Want to tell me about it?”

She quickly filled him in on what had occurred with Reggie Stockton.

“You really think Jude made up all that stuff about Drew?”

“It’s possible,” Carolyn said, smoothing down her hair before they entered the courtroom.

Only a handful of people were present, but Carolyn wanted to be close enough to see Drew’s facial expressions. They slid into the second row behind the prosecution table. Judge Christopher Thornton wasn’t on the bench yet, but Drew’s attorney was already seated at the adjacent table. She leaned over and whispered in Brad’s ear, “Is that Jacob Farrow?”

“You got it.”

“His fees are outrageous,” Carolyn told him. “He’s one of the best defense attorneys in the county.” She glanced over at District Attorney Kevin Thomas. At forty-five, he was a slender, wiry man with reddish blond hair and hazel eyes. “Thomas must be pissing his pants. If anyone can get Drew off, it would be Farrow.”

Two bailiffs escorted Drew Campbell to the defense table, dressed in the jail-issued orange jumpsuit, his hands cuffed and his feet shackled. Once he was seated next to his attorney, he turned around and stared straight at Carolyn. The look out of his eyes was scathing, and a corner of his lip curled in contempt.

After the bailiff called the court to order, Judge Thornton entered through the back door and climbed the stairs to the bench, his black robe swirling around him. He’d received his appointment at the age of thirty-three, and was the youngest judge in the Ventura system.

In the courtroom, Thornton looked imposing, and even top attorneys like Jacob Farrow became nervous when they had to argue a case in front of him. Carolyn had followed Thornton to his chambers one day to discuss one of her cases, having to stifle a laugh when she realized what a tiny man he was. With heels, she looked down on him, and she was only five-four. He reminded her of a twelve-year-old boy dressed in a magician’s costume. Regardless of his diminutive size, he was an attractive man. His skin was fair and unblemished, and his dark eyes flashed with intelligence. He spoke fast, and she’d heard he possessed a photographic memory. One of the DAs claimed Thornton had once recited every word spoken during a two-hour hearing. He also possessed razor-sharp hearing. Now that he was on the bench, Carolyn knew that even a whisper could draw a reprimand.

“Do you have a copy of the information, Mr. Farrow?” the judge asked, his speech crisp and articulate.

“Yes, Your Honor,” the gray-haired attorney said, standing. “I also have a discovery order I’d like to submit.” He walked over and handed it to the clerk for dispersal.

When the judge received the copy, he set it aside. To file discovery, requesting all information and evidence the other side had on the case, was routine procedure. As the case continued, more discovery orders would be filed by both parties, along with dozens of motions and petitions.

The courtroom fell silent, except for the rustling of papers by the clerk as she prepared the file. Thornton spoke, his gaze fixed on Drew. “Mr. Campbell, How do you plead to count one, a violation of section 288.5 of the California Penal Code, continuous sexual abuse of a child?”

Swallowing hard, Drew said, “Not guilty, Your Honor.”

Everything struck home for Carolyn. Now it was real. The charges were appropriate, the punishment severe—a mandatory term of up to sixteen years in prison. And this was only the beginning. Carolyn listened as the other charges were read.

“How do you plead to count two, a violation of section 261.6 of the California Penal Code, rape, where the act was accomplished by threatening to inflict extreme pain, serious bodily injury, or death?”

“Not guilty.”

Carolyn knew this count represented the most recent offense, when Jude was legally an adult. The penalty was a maximum of six years in prison, and could run consecutive to the first sixteen-year term. Drew was now looking at twenty-one years.

Judge Thornton continued, “How do you plead to a violation of section 269 of the California Penal Code, aggravated sexual assault on a child?”

“Not guilty, Your Honor.” Drew pulled his collar away from his neck.

These were serious, despicable offenses, Carolyn thought, and Drew’s attorney knew the road ahead of him would be long and arduous. He was probably questioning his judgment in taking on a case of this magnitude. If Drew ran out of money, Farrow couldn’t simply dump him and walk away. He must hold some conviction that Drew Campbell was innocent.

Even Carolyn began perspiring. Drew wasn’t a stranger off the street. How many times had she been in his home, shared meals with him, laughed with him, cried with him? The criminal justice system was like an enormous machine, with the ability to gobble up lives and spit them out in shattered pieces. The worst part was that Carolyn was responsible for setting this machine in motion.

The last count carried a sentence of sixteen years to life, making the grand total thirty-seven years to life. Certain limitations were attached to the first count, continuous sexual abuse of a child. No other count could be filed unless it represented a separate and distinct period of time, or an additional victim, many times a sibling. Hank must have gotten in touch with Kevin Thomas after she and Mary had left to speak to Reggie Stockton, advising him of Jude’s documented record of absenteeism. This was the kind of evidence a prosecutor dreamed about cases of this nature. Section 288.5 had become law to cover crimes where there was no way to establish a date and time. All the prosecutor had to prove was that three incidences of sexual abuse had occurred.

Drew’s face had turned a sickly shade of white. Carolyn saw his hands locked on the arms of his chair. He probably didn’t know that his entire life was on the line. Did he look guilty? Surely he would have known that his actions might one day come to light. Of course, his motive in murdering Veronica to ensure her silence was now firmly established.

Brad leaned over and whispered, “Thirty-seven to life, and Thomas didn’t even file murder charges yet. I’m glad I’m not in Drew’s shoes right now.”

A second later, the gavel came down and Carolyn jumped, staring straight ahead so the judge didn’t think she was the culprit.

Thornton knew exactly who was responsible. “Sir,” he said, glaring at Brad, “if you wish to talk, please exit this court.”

Brad patted Carolyn on the knee, then slipped out the side aisle.

Judge Thornton proceeded with the arraignment, selecting a date for the preliminary hearing. At this stage in the process, the prosecution only had to establish that a crime had in fact occurred and that there was probable cause to believe that the defendant had committed it. During the trial, the burden of proof would be more specific, and the prosecution would be charged with proving Drew’s guilt beyond a reasonable doubt.

Jacob Farrow had taken his seat and was conferring with Drew in hushed whispers. He rose to his feet again. “Could we address the issue of bail at this time, Your Honor?”

“I was just about to order the probation department to conduct a bail review, Mr. Farrow.”

“I know that’s routine procedure,” Farrow continued, “but we believe there’s a conflict of interest. The defendant’s wife was a probation officer. As you probably know, she was recently murdered. Due to the charges filed against Mr. Campbell today, it’s highly unlikely that he’ll receive an unbiased recommendation from the probation department.”

Judge Thornton braced his head with his hand. “How do you propose I remedy this problem? That is, if a problem exists.”

“The court should determine bail for my client, independent of any other considerations.”

“I object,” Kevin Thomas said. “Why should the defendant receive special consideration? The probation department is the agency charged with preparing these reports for a reason. As you know, Your Honor, they compile criminal histories, check employment records, ties to the community, weigh the risks the defendant poses to the community. Respectfully, the court isn’t prepared to make this type of recommendation. The people believe the defendant should be held without bail. The victim is terrified of him.”

Farrow shot out, “These charges are an outrage, Your Honor. Mr. Campbell is a decent, law-abiding citizen. The victim in this case is a rebellious teenager with a bone to pick with her father. She’s been incarcerated in juvenile hall on numerous occasions, once for selling narcotics. She also has a documented history of lying to correction officers.”

Thornton’s brows furrowed as his voice boomed out over the courtroom. “Need I remind you, Mr. Farrow, your client is the person who must defend himself against these charges? The victim is not on trial. And if you persist in making any more disparaging remarks, I’ll hold you in contempt of court.” He stopped and took a breath. “A bail review will be prepared by the probation department. The hearing will be held in this courtroom on Monday at three o’clock. Until then, the defendant will be remanded to the custody of the Ventura County Jail.”

Friday, October 15
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2:15
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arolyn stopped off in the cafeteria, wolfing down a rubbery cheeseburger and a Snickers bar, then went straight to Brad’s office and flopped down in a chair. “I should have warned you about Thornton. He might be heavy-handed on some issues, as you noticed, but he moves the calendar faster than any judge I’ve ever known and his decisions are always sound. After you left, Farrow argued that Thornton should decide Drew’s bail today because we would be biased. Thornton shot him down and assigned us the bail review, then blasted Farrow for assaulting Jude’s character.”

“What kind of evidence does the PD have in Veronica’s murder?”

“Not much,” Carolyn said, sighing. “Basically motive and opportunity. We found a hair on the letter I received at the morgue. The lab hasn’t had time to process it yet. Let’s keep our fingers crossed that it turns out to be the killer’s and not mine. Mary is convinced Jude is telling the truth. The things Stockton told us rattled me, though. I have to keep reminding myself that Jude is an incest victim, or I wouldn’t be able to tolerate her behavior.”

Brad leaned back in his chair. “Is she a credible witness?”

“It depends on which side of the bed she gets up on,” Carolyn told him. “She’s highly unpredictable, and when you push her, she pushes back hard. From the way things went today, it appears Farrow’s main line of defense will be to discredit her. Other than the bruises, it’s basically her word against her father’s. Her juvenile record certainly won’t help, if they’re able to get it on record. And if Farrow gets Stockton or some other kid who knows Jude to testify, which we have to assume he will, the case could go down in flames.”

Brad picked up a large stack of files. “Most of this stuff should already be on your computer.” He opened one and handed her the autopsy pictures. Until a person saw the aftermath of violence, homicide was only a word. “Victim is a forty-two-year-old nurse who was murdered by her twenty-year-old son, John Richard Butterfield, aka Ritchie Stick, Two Finger Banana, and Johnny B. Kool.”

“What in the hell is a two-finger banana? Is the guy a rapper or something?”

“A wannabe maybe,” Brad told her, taking a sip of his coffee out of a mug with a picture of a race care on it that Carolyn had given it to him for Christmas several years back. “Have you had your ration of caffeine for the day, or do you want me to have Rachel get you a cup? It’s your favorite. Chocolate macadamia nut.”

“No, but thanks,” Carolyn said, shuffling the first picutre to the bottom of the stack and examining the next one. “Give me a quick rundown.”

“The defendant comes from a white middle-class family,” he told her. “Oxnard PD claims he has ties to several violent street gangs, all of them black. Father works for a textile manufacturing company. The older brother is in his last year of college at UCLA. The defendant was the black sheep of the family, no pun intended. The DA who prosecuted him is Orin Aronson. The conviction was for second-degree murder. The lab counted twenty-one stab wounds. Murder weapon was a hunting knife.”

“Any signs of mental illness?” Carolyn asked, studying the bloody corpse. The worst thing about a violent death was the degradation. No matter how many times she saw it, it still made her stomach turn. The woman’s clothes were in shreds. One of her breasts was exposed, along with her buttocks. From the looks of it, she had multiple stab wounds in both areas, as well as her lower abdomen. “There’s something sexual about this, don’t you think? Look at the areas he targeted.”

“Probably,” Brad said, yawning. “I worked at home until three this morning, then got up at five. I really don’t care what motivated sonny boy to start carving up old Mom. All I want to do is get this thing assigned, finished, and submitted.”

“You’re getting old,” Carolyn said, studying the next picture. “You used to be able to party all night and put in a twelve-hour day. Who do you want to handle this?”

“Hey, I’ve been assigning cases all week. This baby is yours. All I know is it has to go to one of the new transfers. Our regular people are so buried, they’ll never see daylight. Linda Cartwright is a sport, but when I dumped ten new cases on her this morning, she threw a fit and threatened to throw in the towel.”

Carolyn scratched her left wrist. When she got nervous, she had a tendency to break out in hives. “Do I know any of the new people?”

“Doubtful,” Brad told her. “They’ve been hiding out in supervision picking their noses. James Rowley is pretty sharp. He used to race a few years back. Then he got married and his wife made him give it up.”

Carolyn smirked. “Racing cars doesn’t qualify a person to handle a murder investigation. Sometimes I wonder how you got promoted.”

“It’s not a sentencing nightmare like Drew’s case will be if he’s convicted. Second-degree murder is simple. Twelve years to life. What’s the big deal?” He placed the file on top of the stack and shoved it to the edge of his desk. “You can’t nitpick every case that comes along, Carolyn, not if you’re going to keep working with the PD. It’s about time you learned to supervise, don’t you think?”

Carolyn stood, walking over and picking up the stack of file folders. “It’s time
you
learned the law. The victim was stabbed. A knife is a deadly weapon. That’s an enhancement.” She flipped open the file and scanned the pleading, jostling the stack of folders in her arms. “The DA pled it as an enhancement. The defendant also has a prior felony conviction. That falls under 1170.12. I know this one by heart. ‘If a defendant has one prior felony conviction that has been pled and proved, the determinate term or minimum term for an indeterminate term shall be twice the term otherwise provided for the current felony conviction.’ Try explaining that one. Your twelve to life just flew out the window.”

Brad tossed his feet on top of the desk. “I don’t have to explain anything,” he said. “I’m an administrator now.” He closed his eyes. “Get back to work. It’s time for my nap.”

“By the way,” Carolyn said, knowing he was teasing, but unable to resist putting a dent in his testosterone-driven ego. “Mary Stevens told me she slept with you. She called you a prick.”

Brad’s eyes flew open. “A little prick or a big prick?”

Men, Carolyn thought, disgusted. He didn’t care that she had to assign a high-profile homicide to an officer with no experience in court investigations, but he snapped to attention when she mentioned sex. “She said you couldn’t compete with the brothers. Does that answer your question?”

He jerked his head back as if she’d slapped him. “Damn women,” he said. “When did you get so vindictive? Can’t we have some fun every now and then?”

“I canceled my wedding,” she reminded him, blowing a strand of hair off her forehead. “My best friend and top investigator was murdered. Her sexually abused daughter is living in my fiancé’s house, and her husband may spend the rest of his life in prison. There’s not much I feel like joking about right now.”

Brad sat up in his chair and picked up a pen. “You wouldn’t have Mary’s home number on you, would you?”

“Why? You want to try again to see if you can get a better score? You’re incorrigible, Brad.” Carolyn headed toward the door, then turned around and glanced back at him. “Maybe you
should
take a nap. I like you better with your mouth closed.”

When Carolyn returned to her office, she found Kevin Thomas waiting for her. “I hope you don’t mind,” the district attorney said. “Your door was open.”

“Not at all,” she told him, circling behind her desk. “Have a seat. Do you want some water, coffee, soda?”

“I’m fine,” Thomas said, placing his briefcase in his lap and opening it. “I need to take Jude Campbell’s deposition. I’d like to schedule it for tomorrow.”

Carolyn sat down in her chair. Although Drew’s trial was months away, they had only three weeks until the preliminary hearing. She’d been surprised that Hank had talked Thomas into getting a warrant for Drew’s arrest so fast. With any suspicion whatsoever of child abuse, however, getting a court order to remove the children was a snap. The district attorney’s office generally shied away from filing prematurely on a case this complex and serious. In most instances, they would have taken more time. She assumed they’d acted fast because of the fact that Drew might also be a murderer, and they were fearful of leaving him at large in the community. Once a defendant was arraigned, the clock began ticking. They could ask for continuances, of course, yet eventually the judge got fed up and forced them to go to trial. “Do you want to do it at my fiancé’s house, or in your office?”

“I realize it might be more comfortable for the victim if we deposed her at your home, but I think it’s important that she gets used to speaking about the situation with her father in an official setting.” He used his finger to adjust his glasses higher on his nose. “I’ll make arrangements for a victim’s advocate to be present, someone who can be with her throughout the criminal proceedings. I’d appreciate it if you would call Ms. Campbell now so we can set a time.”

“I was just about to check on her.” Carolyn had no doubts that Kevin Thomas was a competent prosecutor, but he was somewhat peculiar. She noticed how his inexpensive brown suit hung loosely on his shoulders. He certainly didn’t spend hours in the gym the way Brad did. Thomas was dreadfully thin, to the point that he didn’t look healthy. She hadn’t seen him in a few months, but he appeared to have lost a great deal of weight. Her brother, Neil, had a slender physique, but he dressed stylishly, turning it into an asset instead of a negative. She’d always been jealous that she hadn’t inherited his metabolism. Neil could eat a truckload of food every day and never gain a pound.

Kevin Thomas moved and talked in slow motion. Listening to him was sometimes exhausting, and even the judges dreaded having him plead a case before them. The attorney was also a perfectionist, which wasn’t always bad when you were dealing with people’s lives. His handwriting was miniscule. She’d heard that this was indicative of low self-esteem. In most instances, she didn’t put much stock in handwriting analysis, at least when it came to revealing character. With Thomas, however, it seemed to fit.

While the attorney sat there like a statue, Carolyn dialed the main line at the house. It was after four, and Rebecca picked up the phone. “It’s me. Can you be a sweetheart and put Jude on the phone?”

“Where are you?” the girl shouted. “I called your office, but your answering machine picked up. I left three messages on your cell phone.”

“I forgot to turn it back on after I left court,” Carolyn explained. “Is something wrong?”

“Big time. Jude’s gone. The bitch stole half of my clothes, even my bridesmaid’s dress for the wedding. Not only that, she clipped the two hundred bucks I was saving out of my nightstand, then tried to bust open Marcus’s safe with a hammer. She even took my iPod. It took me a year to download all those songs.”

Carolyn placed her hand at the base of her throat. “I have a family matter I have to take care of, Kevin,” she said. “Do you mind stepping out for a few minutes?”

“No problem,” he said. “Would you like me to close your door?”

Her mouth was already parched. She smiled stiffly. “Please,” she said. “It’s always something when you have a teenager.” Her daughter was screaming in her ear, the young person she had taken on the responsibility to protect was missing, and the attorney was taking forever just to close his damn briefcase.

Once she was alone, Carolyn cupped her hand over the phone. The walls were thin, and she didn’t want Thomas to eavesdrop on her conversation. “Calm down, Rebecca. How could Jude leave? Bear was on duty today, and I set the alarm when I left this morning. Are you certain she isn’t somewhere on the property? What about the barn?”

“What about the car?” her daughter tossed back. “She took Marcus’s Jeep. When I couldn’t get you, I called him at work. He’s on his way home. Bear wanted to report it to the police, but Marcus told him he better ask you first. He didn’t remember the license plate number, anyway. He was surprised it even started. Bear said the jumper cables were gone from the garage, and that Jude must have jumped it off the Range Rover.”

Carolyn’s future husband was a car collector. One of the reasons he’d purchased the house in Santa Rosa was it had enough land to build a five-car garage. “I have to go,” she told Rebecca. “We’ll figure everything out when I get home. If Jude calls, get in touch with me immediately. Oh, and try to get her to tell you where she is.”

“Where do you want me to call you? On your cell phone? I called you three times and you didn’t answer.”

Carolyn yanked her cell out of her purse and turned it on. In addition to the messages Rebecca had left, Marcus and Bear had tried to get in touch with her. “My phone’s on now. I’m in a meeting, but I’ll be there as soon as I can. Don’t go anywhere. I need you there in case Jude calls.”

“Duh, Mom,” Rebecca said. “People who steal things don’t usually call to say hello. Marcus isn’t going to marry you if you keep doing stupid things. Then what will be do? We already sold our house. I can’t believe you let someone like Jude stay here. Shit, you might as well bring a murderer home.”

“Don’t curse,” her mother said out of habit.

“Why not? You’d say dirty words, too, if someone ripped off all your stuff. For all I know, she did. I didn’t check your closet. How did she know the safe was in the floor in the pantry? Even I didn’t know until—”