The Victim (42 page)

Anton pulled the files out of his file cabinet and laid them in stacks on the floor. In one stack were the probation files—cases in which his clients had pleaded guilty or no contest to charges that resulted in terms of probation. Normally, most attorneys terminated the representation of a client upon plea or disposition of a case. If the client was placed on probation, Anton kept the file in a drawer labeled
inactive
. Invariably, a violation or technical issue would arise for which Anton could squeeze out a small fee for the court appearance.

The second stack of files was pretrial diversion cases—clients whose charges were being disposed of through a deferred prosecution program. The cases were considered open but nothing ever happened with them so long as the clients successfully fulfilled their conditions.

The third stack of files was pending sealing or expungement applications. No work was required on these files, as the process took about six to eight months to complete.

The fourth stack of files was open cases, those pending trial or other disposition. Anton tried to keep this stack limited to no more than twenty files at a time. In a perfect world, each client that came through the door would be able to pay the full fee. The reality of criminal defense was that most people don’t plan on getting arrested; hence they don’t have a couple thousand bucks stashed aside for contingencies. Anton was no hack, but he wasn’t at Jack’s level just yet. He still had to work with what he was given.

During the slow months, he was flexible about fees and payment plans. Now he was paying the price. Too many cases, many of which he had taken for much less than he should have. He counted twenty-six files in the open stack, more than he liked to have at one time. About half were misdemeanors and could be resolved with relative ease. The rest were felonies, some pretty serious.

Anton skimmed through the files and made a dozen quick phone calls to clients whose cases were coming up for court. Even if there was nothing new to report, just a minute or two on the phone was enough to satisfy the less difficult ones. He spoke to five and left seven messages, oddly relieved when the calls went to voicemail. Even if the clients didn’t call him back they would know that their attorney hadn’t forgotten about them and was still working on their case. It was good practice and one of the best ways to avoid the number one reason for a bar complaint—lack of communication.

The Avery file was on his desk—unusually thin for a file being prepared for trial. Thin because there were few police reports, no motions, and no deposition transcripts. Going to trial without deposing witnesses was like driving while blindfolded. Anton had no idea where he was going.

Daniella’s Arthur Hearing testimony had been transcribed, but that was about it. She could be impeached at trial if her Arthur Hearing testimony conflicted with her trial testimony. Of course, her testimony conflicted with a number of statements she had made outside of court, to Anton when they were alone. But that was a whole different story.

The only way he could bring out those statements would be to throw himself on the sword.

Daniella wasn’t his biggest worry. He felt that he could match wits with her, throw her off her rhythm. She was cunning, but mainly because she had spent so much time planning her revenge against Anton. On the stand, everything was split second, the jury scrutinizing the witness. Her facial expressions, the way she would shift her weight, her nervous tics. Once Anton found his stride, he would pepper her with questions. He was confident she would fold under the assault.

The “woman scorned” defense he was planning to use was not to be underestimated. It may not have convinced Morales to set a bond, but that wasn’t altogether unexpected. She was terminally pro-state and rarely granted bonds in life felonies.

A jury was different. Men on the jury, especially men in their twenties and thirties, could relate to Bryan. Plus, women, above all, judged other women more harshly than anybody. It was not beyond reason to conclude that Daniella had faked the injury, faked the 911 call, and made up the whole story in an effort to goad her husband into financially supporting her on the verge of what was likely a divorce. Bryan came from an image-conscious wealthy family and his position in his father’s company made him a target, especially for a vengeful woman looking for a payday.

On a purely evidentiary basis, this was a one-witness case—Daniella. The accompanying charge of resisting an officer with violence was a relatively minor felony. While a judge like Sonia Morales wouldn’t hesitate to give Bryan the five-year max should he only be convicted of fighting with the arresting officer, his behavior could be explained by the benzodiazapine in his system. Anton had the jail infirmary staff notarize the toxicology report so that he could admit the record into evidence as a document under seal. No witness would be required to authenticate it.

What troubled Anton was the same thing that had troubled him during the Arthur Hearing: Vicki Brandt, the woman whom Bryan had choked with a belt in her dorm room at Florida International University back in 2005. Immediately following the hearing, Sylvia had tendered an amended discovery exhibit listing Vicki Brandt as a witness, replete with a local Miami-Dade County address.

Wasting no time, Sylvia had already filed her Notice of Intent to Rely on Evidence Of Prior Bad Acts or Other Crimes. A
Williams
Rule notice.

With the speedy demand in play Anton could not depose her. He would meet Vicki Brandt for the first time when she was sitting on the witness stand, testifying against Bryan.

Anton could argue the issue pretrial, but it was a loser. It was alleged that on two occasions, Bryan had forced his way into the residence of another and had used a belt to strangle the victim. The facts were more than strikingly similar; they were downright identical. Judge Morales would have no problem permitting the state to use
Williams
Rule evidence in their case against Bryan Avery.

That was the biggest obstacle. Even if Bryan could shut Daniella down, the jury still had to contend with the fact that another woman was going to come into court to testify that nine years earlier, Bryan had done the same thing to her.

Anton imagined himself, haplessly begging the jury to overlook his client’s prior misdeed. It was always the defense’s position that evidence of prior bad acts could taint a jury’s thinking, causing them to focus less on the evidence of the crime and more on the character of the accused. The logic would follow: if they did it once they’ll do it again.

With his collar unbuttoned and his tie hanging on the coat hook behind his closed door, along with his jacket, he felt like he did years ago when he was a prosecutor. Sleeves rolled up past his elbows, two days of stubble on his face, leafing through dozens of files, trying to put out fires before they erupted into problems that could destroy his case, subjecting him to the wrath of the countless chiefs above him. He missed the camaraderie and sense of purpose. He didn’t miss the bureaucracy, the office politics, and the shitty pay.

Defense work paid seven times more than what he used to make at the state, but he was beholden to clients to whom he was sometimes anything but a lawyer. A babysitter, a therapist. More often than not, a collection agent.

A firm rap on his door startled Anton. Ever since the night at Daniella’s apartment he had been especially jumpy. Before he could inquire who it was, the door opened. Mandy stepped in and shut the door behind him.

He wore basketball shorts and a TapOut shirt that stretched taut across his chest. He must have just come from the gym because his arms had that veiny post-workout swell. He was drinking a bottle of Muscle Milk.

“
What’s up?” Anton said, leaning against his file cabinet.

Mandy stepped over the stacks of files and sat on the edge of Anton’s desk.

“
Not much. While you and Jack were in Arizona yesterday, I went to TGK to check things out.”

“
I doubt I’m going to be surprised, but anyway…what did you find out?”

“
What do you think? Lady at the front desk tells me Daniella came in just the other day asking to see Quincy. Well, she didn’t actually say that, but the lady described her perfectly. Daniella apparently claimed she was me, believe it or not. Showed ID and everything. Said her name was
Amanda Guerrero
and that the jail computers had it all wrong. They let her in. Don’t worry; I played it cool. I told the lady it was probably a misunderstanding and I left. I wouldn’t worry. I think she went back to sleep once I left.”

Anton ran his fingers through his hair, grabbing a handful and yanking in frustration. “There was a conversation I had with Daniella, that night, you know?
The night
.” Mandy nodded as if nothing further needed to be said. “Daniella gave me a stiff vodka tonic, I mean like two, three shots with a drop of tonic. I hadn’t eaten so I felt it pretty quickly. I think it loosened me up a bit too much because I made a really inappropriate remark about Quincy. How I thought he was fucked and that he should just hang himself to avoid the inevitable life sentence he’s going to get at trial. We already know she taped us having sex. She recorded my confession on the phone. Who’s to say she didn’t have a recording device set up in her apartment? She asked me about the Quincy Arrington case. I wonder if she was baiting me into some type of response that could later be used to set him off.”

Mandy’s stomach rimed over with guilt. He clenched his jaw, holding back what felt like the urge to project his protein drink all over the window.

Mandy knew that Daniella was listening in on Anton’s phone calls. He knew that Daniella had become aware of the attack by Quincy Arrington’s boys only because she was in the next room when Anton had called him. Now he knew that she wasn’t playing around with Anton. For all intents and purposes, those two gang members should have killed him. Presumably, that was her intent when she went to see Quincy Arrington in jail.

“
Jack’s office door is locked,” Mandy said, shifting gears. “Yessenia said he’s not taking visitors?”

“
Oh. He’s working on this motion to suppress. Bad search warrant in a child porn case.”

“
Why doesn’t he have one of his associates do it?”

“
I asked him the same thing. He brought his laptop on the plane. I think this whole Osvaldo Garcia thing is doing a number on his ego. Maybe he figures that a brilliant seventy-five-page suppression motion written by Jack Savarese himself will even things out. You know, make up for his failure to get an acquittal for Garcia. I think he’s a little pissed off at me for dragging him back into it, opening old wounds. He takes this job more personally than anybody I know.”

“
It’s his identity,
mijo
. Not a job.”

“
Yeah, I guess. Whatever. Doesn’t matter anyway. He thinks Garcia killed Lola Munson.”

“
Or maybe he just doesn’t want to admit that his preparation for trial was less than thorough. That’s the thing about capital murder. I’ve investigated three death penalty cases for Jack over the years. All the work he had me do had nothing to do with guilt or innocence. It was all for the penalty phase. I spent more time collecting medical records and psych reports, anything that could prove up mitigating circumstances. It was like he was presuming that the jury would find his guy guilty and he should focus on saving the dude’s life.”

“
Jack always says the minute you empanel a jury in a case where the state’s seeking the needle, you’ve already lost.”

“
Which would account for his tunnel vision in the Garcia case. I mean the client was a death penalty lawyer’s dream, when it came to statutory mitigation. Post-traumatic stress induced by combat, brain damage from long-term drug abuse. Jack probably figured that he had a much better chance of saving Garcia’s life than getting him off.
Ay Dios mio
, the guy was a sex offender
and
he confessed? What good would it do to dedicate all your time and energy to reasonable doubt? The only chance in hell he had was to mitigate the aggravators and show the jury that Ozzie deserved life over death.”

Under normal circumstances Anton would agree. Lawyers, even the best ones, were only human. Evidence dealt the cards in any criminal trial. No matter how brilliant, how theatrical, or how persuasive the defense attorney, nothing could overcome the strength of tangible facts.