The Cutting Room
‘Three days later, while lab results were pending, I learned that the very afternoon the Benz was seized, Mr Lunders had gone and listed his 2008 Cigarette High-Performance Top Gun for sale through a broker in Coconut Grove, Miami. The racing boat was being offered for thirty percent less than other Cigarettes listed for sale of the same year and style. That raised my eyebrows way up. So I ran a system search of airline flights and learned that one T. Lunders was booked on a one-way JetBlue flight out of Palm Beach International to New York’s JFK the following afternoon. And a T. Lunders and A. Lunders were also booked on a Lufthansa flight to Zurich the day after that. His mother’s name is Abigail Lunders. Based on that, Mr Lunders was asked to come down to his boat broker to provide additional paperwork to facilitate the pending sale of his boat. When he arrived at the marina, I approached the defendant, identified myself once again, and told him his boat was being searched pursuant to a homicide investigation. Mr Lunders didn’t like that; he again declined to talk to us.’
‘Objection!’ Varlack barked. ‘The defendant has a right against self-incrimination! He doesn’t have to talk to the police if he doesn’t want to and that can’t be used against him. That’s Criminal Law 101!’
Steyn frowned. ‘Was the defendant free to go at that time?’
‘I had not yet taken him into custody,’ Manny replied.
‘That, I’m thinking, is going to be up for debate in a future motion,’ the judge replied with a cocked eyebrow. ‘Sustained.’
‘The fingerprint analysis of both the lipstick and the prints left on the interior passenger door of the Mercedes confirmed Ms Skole had been in Abigail Lunders’s vehicle,’ Manny continued. ‘Based on the prints and hair of the victim being found in his car, the video surveillance of her getting into the defendant’s car, and then the quick sell-off of his worldly possessions and his impending flight from the jurisdiction to a country that doesn’t have an extradition treaty with the US, a decision was made to arrest him for the murder of Holly Anne Skole.’
That was enough for the judge. Particularly the Switzerland flight. As much as Joe Varlack and his well-heeled sidekick tried for the next twenty minutes to downplay the evidence as circumstantial and unreliable, and discredit Manny as biased, sloppy, lazy — and a zillion other disingenuous adjectives — there was no way that even liberal, let-’em-go, Slow Steyn was going to give Talbot Lunders a bond. Enough dots had been connected to keep him behind bars pending trial. And the truth be told, it was an election year. If Steyn did let Talbot Alastair Lunders of the Palm Beach Lunders buy his way out of the pokey with $150,000 in cold, hard cash, the press would start screaming favorable treatment for the rich and it would be difficult for anyone to argue otherwise come the August primaries.
Harmony called up the next case and a fresh set of attorneys approached the podiums, ready to do battle. The lurid transfixion that had held the audience captive during Talbot Lunders’s Arthur finally broke, and the hushed conversations and illicit texting started up once again as courtroom life returned to normal. Case file in hand, Daria made her way past the rows of spectators to the majestic mahogany doors. With her palm on the handle, she turned to look back at the box. Joe Varlack and Anne-Claire Simmons were standing outside the jury box, at the side of their client, who was at the far end of the box. Although they were speaking in hushed voices and she was too far away to hear what was being said, it wasn’t hard to read the body language — both attorneys were pissed and the client wasn’t listening. More than not listening, handsome Talbot wasn’t even affected. And that was what held her attention as she stood at the door. Accused of a brutal murder, remanded to a jail cell for the foreseeable future, facing imminent indictment by the grand jury, and, ultimately, a possible death sentence, and the guy seemed about as interested or affected as if the crowd around him were discussing the weather in Nepal. She’d seen cold-blooded gang members more worked up over a traffic ticket. He almost seemed amused.
Just as she was thinking that her defendant’s reaction, or lack thereof, to what was happening was bizarre and disturbing, she saw his lips move. Then, with a smug smirk, he raised his shackled hands together and pointed straight at Daria across the room. Those in the courtroom who had been watching the exchange looked over at her, which, in turn, started a chain reaction of courtroom rubbernecking — everyone wanting to see what or who the accused sadist was pointing at with his jingling chains, like the Ghost of Christmas Past.
The blood rushed to her face. It was as if she’d been caught peeking in someone’s bedroom window and now the whole neighborhood was up and out on the front lawn staring at her. The case file slipped from her hands, spilling papers and crime-scene photos all over the floor. She rushed to pick them up and dropped her purse. Makeup, pens, tampons, loose change, and an assortment of hoarded receipts shot everywhere. Court again came to a complete halt. Dixon, the correction officer who was manning the door, and Manny both stooped down to help her.
‘Thank you,’ she mumbled to both men as she hurriedly stuffed papers into her file and things into her purse. ‘It must’ve slipped.’
After a few painful, all-too-quiet minutes, the judge finally broke the rubbernecking trance. ‘Okay, back to work, everyone. Ms DeBianchi, you got it together there? You okay now?’
Daria waved a hand in the general direction of the bench. She wished she could disappear.
‘Harmony, where’s my file on Acevedo?’ Slow Steyn barked. ‘This is the wrong one, I think.’ Court started up once more.
‘Let’s go now!’ Corrections shouted. ‘Take your seats. That means you, too, Lunders! Caused enough trouble now, didn’t ya, pretty boy?’
‘I think she’s hot for him,’ she heard one observer in the gallery remark with a chuckle.
‘I got the door, Counselor,’ Manny said as Daria stood to leave. ‘Have a nice day, Judge,’ he called with a wave as she scuttled past.
Once in the hallway, Daria took a breath and tried to shake off her embarrassment. She felt like a complete idiot, dropping her file all over the floor like an incompetent intern. Or worse, like a flustered schoolgirl who’d made eye contact with the school quarterback.
Why the hell had she gotten so rattled? Why had she lost her composure? It pissed her off, was what it did.
Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was defiance. Or maybe it was an attempt to reestablish her authority that had made her steal one final glance in the direction of the box as the mahogany doors began to close behind her with a hydraulic hiss. Whatever her intent, whatever the reasoning, she instantly wished she hadn’t. Because in all her years prosecuting terrible men for the terrible things they’d done, she’d never before felt the icy-cold sensation of fear race through her veins when she looked at a defendant. She’d never before had to fight off an overwhelming urge to run as hard and as fast as she could away from a moment. And she had never before wished that she’d not been assigned a case.
But that day had come.
Her defendant had not moved. He had not sat down. He was still standing in the box, still pointing at her with his manacled hands, a knowing smile frozen on his face, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. As if he knew she would try to look at him once again, try to break him. The Ghost of Christmas Future now, staring at her as though she had none. Watching her at the door she’d just walked through, those beautiful hazel eyes of his fixed on the small sliver of her person that remained visible before the door finally closed and the judge ordered him removed from the courtroom.
8
‘Looks like somebody’s got herself a secret admirer,’ Manny said with a touch of sing-song in his voice that made him sound like a pesky little brother. ‘I wouldn’t get too excited, though. Your new friend reminds me too much of Michael Myers. You know, the psycho from Halloween. The guy who chased sexy Jamie Lee Curtis around for a night in that freaky mask while he whacked all her friends to pieces—’
‘Yeah, I got it, Detective,’ Daria replied, as she turned away from the courtroom and headed toward the bank of escalators, the hurried clicking of her pumps echoing like a jackhammer down the deserted hallway. She was still embarrassed about dropping her file. ‘The guy is definitely creepy.’
‘So’s his lawyers. The big guy, anyway. What’s with the pony?’
‘Ha.’
‘What guy gets a fucking manicure? Come on. Don’t think I didn’t spot those pudgy, girly hands, Counselor. Never worked an honest day in his life, I bet. Wait a second, he’s a lawyer. Of course he hasn’t. They’re all scumbags.’
‘Remember who you’re talking to, Detective. I have an Esq after my name, too.’
‘Present company excluded, of course. I meant defense lawyers.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘We worked the room in there, didn’t we, Counselor?’ Manny said with a grin, waving at a couple of cops down the hall, who waved back. ‘Like Sonny and Cher, we were. What a team.’
‘Hmmm. Sonny and Cher?’
‘You know, I remember Varlack from that news show he used to do on Channel Ten. “Advice with Joey” or whatever. He was a big bag of wind back then, too. Damn, has Father Time been hard on that guy. Looks like he ate Father Time,’ Manny remarked with a chuckle. ‘Do you think he really believed his deranged client was gonna walk out of here today because Mom and Pop were waving a big, fat check at the system?’
Daria stepped on the escalator going down. ‘Well, if you’d been a minute later, he probably would have,’ she replied coolly.
‘Uh-oh. You’re mad,’ Manny replied, following her.
‘You’re quick.’
‘I wasn’t late. I was here the whole time,’ he said, taking the fat file from her arms. ‘Let me get that for you. It’s heavy and you look so tired. And cranky.’
‘Hey there, Manny!’ a defense attorney called from behind them. ‘You going to the game tonight?’
‘Not tonight. I got tickets for Saturday.’
‘See ya there!’ the lawyer replied before disappearing into a courtroom.
He turned his attention back to her. ‘Like I said, you look drained. Give me that.’
The man knew everyone and everyone knew him. She handed her file over without a fight. ‘Bullshit. I texted you a dozen times — no Manny.’
‘There’s your problem. I never text. Hate that thing. The world is going to shit, Counselor; no one talks to nobody no more. Everyone just sends cryptic messages. Can’t even bother to spell out the fucking words — pardon the English. I’m old school — call me if you need me. That’s not so hard.’
‘I can’t call you when court’s in session.’
‘You’re not supposed to text, either.’
‘You were so not out in the hall.’
‘I was, too. Dixon came and got me.’
‘You were drinking coffee downstairs in the cafeteria; I can still smell the espresso on your breath. Don’t lie.’
Manny smiled again. ‘You’re good. Let me clarify: I was in the building the whole time. My buddy told me we were on page twenty-two. I’ve been before Slow Steyn enough damn times to know that means I had at least an hour. That guy is never on time.’
‘Your source is unreliable. We got moved up.’
‘And I was still there on time. No harm, no foul.’
Daria shook her head. ‘Next time I’m gonna lie to you. Have you here two hours before kick-off. That’ll teach you.’
‘I’ve been doing this for a long while, Counselor; I know every trick in the book. And I always make it. Always. Ask anybody.’
She sighed. ‘I can’t live like that.’
He laughed. ‘I like how you shot down the Palm Beachers. Now that was fun to watch. You got a set of cojones on you, Little Lady. That’s a good thing to have in this building.’
She really wanted to stay mad at him, but unfortunately it wasn’t sticking. ‘Thank you,’ she replied. ‘I’m ignoring the short comment for now, though I want you to know I don’t like jokes about my height. The hearing went pretty smooth, considering. But don’t count out Yin and Yang just yet. They get paid a lot of money for a reason. Today was a fishing expedition, and they netted more than a few fish and a real good understanding of where we are with our case. Or, more telling, where we are not. I don’t imagine they’ll be making deals anytime soon. Which brings me to my biggest concern: Kuzak’s going to the grand jury on this tomorrow. You know that, right?’ Guy Kuzak was a seasoned prosecutor and the only ASA who presented cases to the grand jury.
‘I’ve already met with Guy. Don’t worry, Counselor, I’ll be there at nine.’
‘Yeah, well, I am worried. But if everything goes like it did today, and you testify the way you did on the stand, I’m confident the good people of Miami-Dade County will do the right thing and indict. Now I’m thinking ahead. If our defendant’s not talking and he’s not plea-bargaining, then for trial purposes, we’re gonna need something tangible to tie him to the murder: blood, semen, hair, smoking gun. Any of the above would be nice. Anything on the boat?’
‘We’re running tests on shredded fibers that were found in the bathroom of the cabin and the driver’s side floorboard of the Mercedes. They were black viscose and spandex with a shiny silver poly weave that would seem to match the shirt Holly was wearing when she disappeared, but because the shirt was never found, we have nothing to compare it to. I’ll try to track down where and when she might’ve bought it. If it was recent enough, then maybe I can get the same shirt and test it against the found fibers.’
‘How many fibers do you have?’
‘About twenty or thirty strands in the boat. Another half-dozen in the car and in the trunk. They were torn, you know? Shredded. Enough to figure that the shirt was ripped off the girl, possibly on the boat, and then he carried some on his person that fell off in the car.’
‘That would be something,’ Daria said as they both stepped on to the next floor’s escalator. ‘Better still, find me that ripped shirt stuffed inside one of Talbot’s toys. If we can also find something that can tie him to the sulfuric acid, that would be big. Really big. Receipts, Internet surfing. Where the hell do you buy that shit anyway? We have his computer, right? What’s on that?’
Manny shook his head. He hesitated before speaking. ‘We have it, but it’s wiped clean. It had a sensitive password protection on it. One try and then it activated a virus that wiped the hard-drive clean. Our tech guy had never seen that sort of security before, and he blew it.’
She stared at him. ‘You’re kidding, right? We can’t retrieve any of it?’
‘Nope. The whole thing’s gone. Whatever he was trying to protect must have been pretty important.’
‘What about his cell? Tell me that didn’t self-destruct.’
‘Pulled the records. He stayed in Miami the night Holly disappeared, according to the cell towers. Made two calls between four and five-thirty a.m. — both to the same number, and that was a throwaway. No way to find who owns that phone.’
She tapped her hand impatiently on the escalator’s handrail. ‘Well, we need something. Since you made the arrest already, time is ticking and we have to deal with the cards we have. I’d sure as hell like a better hand.’
‘Hey, hey,’ Manny said, his face growing dark as they stepped off and went to get on the final set of escalators down. He moved in front of her, blocking her from getting on. ‘Are you saying I shouldn’t have arrested the guy? No, don’t answer that, because, yeah, that’s what you are saying. Listen, he was gonna run and you and I both know it. So let me ask ya, Ms Hard-ass, would you rather be standing here with me now and the scumbag tucked away safely in a jail cell trying to figure out how to make a good case better, or be sitting in your office with what looks like a better case but your fucking psycho playboy nowhere to be found? Or worse — living the high life up at the family chateau in Switzerland, thumbing his nose at us while we sit here and beg the Swiss to extradite his ass before he ups and kills some hot-looking yodler, knowing full well they won’t? And oh, yeah, by the way — your boy’s family does have a crib in Lucerne. I checked before I popped him. Dad’s a Swiss national. Ooh la-fucking-la.’
Daria shrugged. ‘What I’m saying is that now we have a potential speedy problem. And what we don’t have is the luxury of waiting for shit to fall in our laps. I don’t want to see an acquittal because while we had plenty of evidence to prove the guy took pretty Holly for a spin in Mommy’s new Benz, we didn’t have enough evidence to actually prove him guilty of murder, ’cause then he can sit across the street from my office and thumb his nose at both of us for the rest of our sure-to-be-shortened-careers, and even if I find the bottle of sulfuric acid with his name on it that he used to melt her fucking feet off, or the rope he used to tie her wrists together, there will be nothing I can do about it since it will be too late. Pardon my English. So let’s get past the blame game, shall we? And let’s build a case that will send his sorry ass to death row.’ She moved past him and on to the escalator.
Neither said anything until they were halfway down to the lobby. ‘This is not the best way to start off a relationship,’ he finally remarked.
‘Nope. And neither was you showing up an hour late to my Arthur Hearing and giving me a fucking heart attack.’
‘You gotta get over that.’
‘Oh, and by the way, since we are being honest, you’re going to need a new tie if we do go to trial or have a motion or even walk down the street together — preferably one that does not have miniature Miami Dolphin helmets on it. And you are definitely gonna need a new suit.’
Manny peered down at his jacket, his brow furrowed. ‘What the fuck? Now I’m hurt.’
‘You shouldn’t be. You should be grateful for my candor. I sent a habitual offender away for twenty years who strong-armed the manager of a Men’s Wearhouse on Biscayne. He said he gives discounts to law enforcement. Go see him. And the next prosecutor you get will thank me. I’ll also warn her or him way in advance of your problem minding the clock. I will not sugar-coat it, as was done to me.’
Manny shook his head. ‘Let me be honest now: Are you always this much of a bitch?’
She didn’t blink. ‘Yes. Particularly when I’ve almost been stood up and, unlike you, I haven’t had my afternoon coffee. I didn’t even have my morning coffee, since I was here at seven, busting my ass to help my new C get the morning calendar ready.’
‘I’m gonna buy you a cup. We need to get you some caffeine and get past this — you know, discuss a game plan, focus our anger on the bad guy, because I need to like you again. I really do.’ He looked down at her legs and bit his knuckle. ‘Okay, it’s coming back to me now.’
‘Very funny. Don’t be a pig. That sort of flattery will get you nowhere.’
He sighed loudly. ‘Because I’m trying to make amends here, I’ll make sure Raul makes you a fresh pot, ’cause he won’t after three, but he will for me. That’s how much I’m trying. I’m pulling out connections. I’ll even throw in a pastelito.’ He rubbed his stomach. ‘Yum.’
‘Don’t ask for favors on my behalf.’ She finally smiled a little. ‘It is the least you could do.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘As long as you pull your fangs in.’
They stepped on to the main floor and headed to the courthouse cafeteria. Across the all-but deserted lobby, a well-dressed woman stood by herself at the bank of elevators. When she spotted Manny and Daria she began to walk toward them. She looked to be in her forties, with ash-blonde hair that was coiffed into a long, edgy, layered cut that could only have been professionally styled that morning. Daria’s eyes fell on the Hermès Birkin bag and then on the baubles — as in plural — that rested comfortably on several digits of her slim, tan hands. Tennis hands, no doubt. Miami had its share of wealthy inhabitants, but there was a noticeable difference between flashy South Florida spenders and their understated sisters to the north. Another Palm Beacher had crossed the county line.
‘Uh-oh. This is gonna get interesting,’ Manny remarked.
Before Daria could ask why, the woman was upon them.
‘Excuse me, Ms DeBianchi,’ she said, extending her hand only to Daria. She nodded coolly at Manny. ‘Detective Alvarez.’
Manny nodded back.
‘Ms DeBianchi, my name is Abby Lunders. I was watching you in court this afternoon, listening to what you were saying, and I need to speak with you right away …’
9
The resemblance was uncanny. And given Daria’s all-too recent experience with the woman’s seemingly psychopathic offspring, a little unnerving. Mom had the same rich, polished skin tone, full lips, high cheekbones, and heart-shaped chin. Like Talbot, a preternaturally striking person. And the same intense, light hazel eyes. Eyes that didn’t merely see — they studied. With a perfectly smooth forehead and almost flawless, wrinkle-free skin, Abby Lunders probably spent a considerable amount of time in the plastic surgeon’s office. And with super-toned arms and a slim waist a teenager would envy, no doubt the gym, as well. In the right lighting, she could pass for her son’s sister, which was obviously the look she was aiming for.
‘It came in my inbox last week. Friday. I’ve no idea who sent it. I don’t normally open up mail from people I don’t know, but given its title and what’s happened with Talbot, I did. I just can’t believe what’s on there. I don’t even know what I’m looking at exactly, but after being in court this afternoon and hearing all the things that you said, Detective, about the body and how you found that girl. I …’ She hesitated. ‘There are simply too many similarities.’
The three of them were across the street at the State Attorney’s Office, sitting in Daria’s third-floor cramped cubby of an office that overlooked both the courthouse and the Dade County Jail. ‘Can we use your computer, Counselor?’ Manny asked, holding up the USB flash drive that Abby Lunders had given him.
‘Let me make sure we have a copy,’ Daria said, taking the flash from Manny. The security debacle that had happened on the laptop wasn’t far from her memory. ‘I’ll get Investigations to scan it,’ she said as she stepped out of the room.
‘Mr Varlack didn’t want me to say anything,’ Abby began after Daria had left. ‘He wants to use this at trial. But I … I don’t want to wait that long. I mean, if it’s so obvious Talbot didn’t do this horrible thing and that someone else is responsible — then he shouldn’t have to wait in jail for five more minutes. Not in that sewer pit,’ she said with a disgusted shudder, nodding behind Manny at the imposing nine-storied mass of gray concrete outside the window that was the Dade County Jail. ‘And Mr Varlack says it could be months, possibly a year before the case goes to trial. That’s insane. Absolutely insane! How could it take that long?’
Manny nodded, but said nothing. He’d seen murder cases languish on a judge’s docket a lot longer than a year before a jury was finally sworn.
‘Talbot’s a good man. I know you don’t believe that, I know you don’t want to believe that, but he is. I heard what you said in there. He’s never been in any trouble. He’s smart, hard-working. He would never do the things you’re accusing him of because, well, frankly, he doesn’t have to. He doesn’t need to drug a girl to get her to go home with him or have sex with him. Just look at him. When he was eighteen, he modeled on runways in Milan and Paris. He does not want for beautiful girlfriends.’ She nodded at the case folder marked State v. Lunders that sat on Daria’s desk. ‘And I mean really stunning girls. No offense to the dead.’
Manny resisted the urge to roll his eyes. ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Mrs Lunders. Rape’s not a crime of passion, and the fact that your son can easily bed attractive women doesn’t move me. Let’s take a look at what was sent to you.’