Marcia Clark - Killer Ambition

“Yes, I am.”

Declan nodded. Slowly. “And are you confident that the results were accurate?”

“Quite confident.”

“Thank you very much, sir.”

On cross-examination Terry predictably asked, “You mean, as far as you could see, Mr. Gelfer followed proper protocols, correct?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“And he didn’t bring Ian Powers’s blood draw into the lab as far as you could see, correct?”

“Correct.”

“But since you didn’t see his every move, there is a possibility that the evidence sample from the car trunk was contaminated, isn’t there? You can’t rule it out completely.”

“Completely? I don’t know that I can rule out anything in this world completely.”

“So the answer is no, you can’t rule out that possibility, correct?”

“Yes, I can’t completely rule it out.”

Terry raced through her cross. Even on a slow day, she talks faster than anyone I know. But today she was setting a new land speed record. More than once, the court reporter had to stop her and get her to repeat her question. Finally, the reporter lost it. “Counsel, I didn’t get one word of that! If you don’t slow down, you’re going to have to start writing your questions out!”

Terry obviously hoped to force us to rest before the end of the day so the judge would declare the evidence closed. But she didn’t reckon with the awesome powers of Declan Shackner. When Terry finished cross at four o’clock, Declan immediately requested a break.

“Counsel, we’ve already taken our afternoon break,” Judge Osterman said.

“I’m sorry, Your Honor. Some aspects of life just aren’t in my control.”

Judge Osterman sighed. “Fine, we’ll take a ten-minute break. And I don’t mean eleven. Understood?”

“Yes. Thank you, Your Honor.”

Declan made a big show of leaving the courtroom with a fast stride. Barry stepped off the witness stand and came over to us.

“He has a bright future with the DA’s office, doesn’t he?” he asked.

“If I have anything to say about it he does.”

“So what’s the story?”

I told him. He shook his head sympathetically. “Talk about down to the wire. Well, I’m glad to do what I can to help the cause.”

The judge took the bench at ten minutes past four and called for the jury. Barry gave me a private wink and moved slowly up to the witness stand. Declan stalled by scanning his notes for as long as he dared, then had Barry go over every single move he made on the day of the testing in such excruciating detail that even I wanted to pull my hair out. But he did it wisely. Not once did he repeat a question he’d already asked. And at five minutes to five, Declan looked up innocently and told the judge, “I’m about to move into a whole new area, Your Honor. Perhaps the court would prefer to recess now? If not, I’m happy to continue…”

“No, I don’t think that will be necessary. If you’ve got a new area we may as well start fresh on Tuesday. We could all use the holiday break, I’m sure.”

Declan was the man of the day, and when we got up to the office, I poured us all shots of the scotch I kept in my bottom drawer. “Here’s to our champion!”

It would’ve been even nicer if I’d known whether there really was anything to celebrate.

We all weighedin with our opinions about which way the jury was leaning. The unsurprising consensus was that most of them looked ready to acquit.

“I think there might be a few on our side, but they don’t look strong,” Bailey said.

Meaning, they’d be easily talked out of their inclination to convict by the others. I agreed.

“So, what do we do now?” Declan asked.

It was a fair question. Our rebuttal was largely over. The crime lab hadn’t come up with anything on Russell’s letters. The postmarks on the envelopes were authentic, and the letters didn’t appear forged. All of our hopes now rested on Parkova’s findings, which weren’t in yet. But I couldn’t just go back to the Biltmore and wait all weekend. I’d go crazy. I should go to the gym, but I wasn’t in the mood for that either. I knew what I wanted to do.

“I want to go watch Parkova.”

“Me too,” Bailey said.

“It’s unanimous,” added Declan.

We walked out into the early evening. The sun had painted rosy streaks through the clouds and the sky was just beginning to fade to indigo. I watched low shafts of sunlight grow on the horizon as the clouds retreated over the mountains to the east. I enjoyed the short walk to the Police Administration Building, knowing it was my last chance to breathe in the warm, smog-filled air for several hours. Then it occurred to me that most of us downtown dwellers had the lungs of dedicated smokers. The thought made me take shallow breaths until we were inside the building.

Parkova was hunched in front of Ian’s laptop, talking into her recorder in an accent so thick I could barely pick out three words. If we had to play that thing back to the jury, we’d need an interpreter. Parkova turned and took us in. “I have cheering section now?” She glared at us through her heavy glasses and noted Declan, our new addition, but showed no interest in him whatsoever.

“We’re just here to help,” Bailey said.

“You expect to be able to help, how?”

I shrugged. “We could bring you food, coffee…methamphetamine?”

“Just be quiet, is all I ask.” And with that, Parkova turned around and went back to work.

After an hour, the hollow feeling in my stomach reminded me I hadn’t eaten in a while. “I’m going to raid the vending machines. Anybody want anything?” I gestured to the half-eaten PayDay next to the laptop. “Another PayDay?”

“Yes,” Parkova said without looking up. “And a Coke. Not diet.”

Bailey asked for Doritos-a personal favorite of mine also-and Declan asked for an apple.

“An apple?” I was incredulous. “Really?”

Declan laughed. “It’s Speedo weather and my homies are not forgiving.”

“Don’t even think of asking me for sympathy.” I gestured to his slender, perfect-looking body.

When I returned with provisions-and Declan’s sad little apple-I settled in and watched for a while. But there wasn’t much to see, unless you find watching someone type, swear at the computer (that part of her English vocabulary was rich and varied), and scowl an intriguing sight. For the next four hours Parkova worked while we kept whispers to a minimum. I made notes on my closing argument and tried not to think about how this case was likely to end. On occasion, one of us would nod off.

At ten o’clock, Parkova spoke her first non-swear words. “Hah! I knew it. There.”

I sat up, rolled my head to unkink my neck, and rubbed my face to get circulation going. “What? There…what?”

“Original e-mail.”

I couldn’t process that. “What are you talking about?”

Parkova turned around in her chair to face us and pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. “I found MITM attack. This Ian set up so he intercepts Russell’s e-mails-”

“So all of Russell’s e-mails go through Ian’s server first? He can see everything Russell gets?” Declan asked.

“Correct.”

“How on earth did he do that?” I asked.

“Probably bribed engineer at data center. Put Russell’s server behind his, put his server closer to router. Everything Russell’s server gets, it has to go through Ian’s before it reaches router. Clear?”

Not really, but I didn’t care at the moment, so I lied. “Clear. Go on.”

“Once e-mails go to Ian’s computer, he has choice. He can stop it, change it, let it through. Whatever he wants. So I look at ransom e-mail from kidnapper. I can see it comes from computer. It goes into Russell’s server, goes to Ian’s computer, then…changes. E-mail that goes to Russell is different.” Parkova paused and looked at me for recognition. “You get it?”