Marcia Clark - Killer Ambition

“Very sure.”

This kid had the heart of a lion. It’d kill me if he had to pay the price just because I’d put my own neck on the line. But I couldn’t stop him. It was his choice to make and I had to honor it. I went back to my office and sat down to finish my cup of coffee-not that I needed the caffeine-but Bailey called and told me to meet her in front of the courtroom right away. “I can’t handle any bad news-” I began.

“Just get here.”

I hurried out, and when I approached the courtroom, I saw a familiar figure seated on the bench near the doors. “Janice!” Brian’s aunt was clutching the arm of a nice-looking man in glasses and a well-cut beige suit with one hand and a colorful-looking book with the other. We exchanged greetings, and though hers was warm, her strained expression told me what this trip was costing her.

“I…want to apologize for not being able to get here sooner,” she said. “Bailey tells me it’s too late for me to testify.”

I confirmed that it was. Rebuttal is confined to the points raised by the defense. Terry hadn’t made a big issue of the screenplay theft or gone into anything about Brian that Janice might’ve been able to speak to, so I couldn’t justify putting her on the stand. “It is, but I’m glad you’re here. I’ll go arrange for you to get a seat.” Especially now, at the end of the case, there was heavy competition for space in the gallery. I looked at the man she was holding on to and introduced myself. “Would you like a seat also?” I had a feeling Janice wouldn’t be going anywhere without him.

“I’m so sorry,” Janice said. “Rachel, this is my agent, Elden Brademeyer.”

We shook, and he confirmed that he’d very much appreciate it if I could find him a seat. I saw Terry march toward the courtroom and glance at us as she opened the door.

“I’d better get inside-”

“I’ll take care of the seating,” Bailey said. “You go ahead.”

I set up at counsel table, and two minutes later the judge called us all into chambers. Wagmeister was running late, so it was just me and Terry. I told the judge about the new information we’d obtained over the weekend and intended to present in rebuttal. The battle in chambers was heated. Terry fought hard to keep it out. But Judge Osterman shut her down. “No, the evidence is relevant and admissible. And it’s very clear that the prosecution had no way of finding it any sooner. Motion to exclude is denied. And I assume you’re also moving for mistrial?” Terry confirmed she was. “That will be denied as well. If you need time to prepare for cross, let me know and I’ll consider it.” Before we left chambers, Terry asked for time to speak to Ian in lockup. The judge frowned. “You may, but make it fast. I’m taking the bench in fifteen minutes.”

Terry emerged after ten minutes. I expected to see her go and talk to Russell. But as I watched her out of the corner of my eye, she didn’t so much as glance in his direction. I huddled with Bailey.

“Notice she didn’t say a word to Russell?” I asked. “I have to believe he already knows what we’ve got. Otherwise, she’d be over there telling him about it.”

Bailey nodded. “If only to warn him. So I guess you were right. Russell knew. He’s been covering for that asshole the whole time.” She shook her head. “But somehow…I don’t know.”

I nodded. I didn’t want to believe it either.

When the door to lockup opened, Terry stood and noticed me looking at her. A very slight, almost imperceptible smile crossed her face. It was so brief, I wasn’t entirely sure I’d seen it.

It was a very different Ian Powers who emerged this time. No more bright smiles, no more waves to his loyal fans. White-faced, eyes hooded, he walked stiffly to his seat and kept his back to the crowded gallery.

When the judge took the bench, Declan declared he had no further questions for Barry Feinstein after all, and Terry declined further cross. The jury looked tired and unhappy about having to come back after a three-day weekend. I’d have to cut to the chase fast.

I started with Parkova. When Tricia asked her to state her name, she said, “M. Parkova.” Tricia raised an eyebrow but recorded the name without further comment. Parkova sat, scowled at the packed gallery, took one glance at the jury, then pushed her glasses up her nose and turned to me, stone-faced.

I started with her federal hacking conviction, established that she’d served her time, then quickly got to the point. I had her describe how she’d located the original e-mail and how it had been intercepted by Ian’s computer on the way to Russell.

Then I put the original e-mail up on the monitor.

We don’t want money. All we want is for you to make a DVD admitting that you stole Tommy Maher’s screenplay for “Wonderland Warriors.” Bring it to God’s Seat on Boney Mountain at 7:30. If you do not comply within twenty-four hours, we will tell every media outlet about what you and Ian Powers did to Brittany Caren.

The jury stirred, confused but interested. A wave of whispers spread across the gallery like rustling leaves.

“This was the original e-mail that was sent to Russell, correct?”

“Yes.”

Here in court, Parkova’s terse style was a blessing.

“But it was intercepted along the way by Ian’s computer, correct?”

“By his server, yes.”

“And did that original e-mail go through to Russell Antonovich’s e-mail?”

“No.”

“What happened to it?”

“E-mail was altered before it reached Antonovich.”

“Can you tell who may have done that?”

“I cannot, no. Someone with access to Ian Powers’s server, or computer.”

Parkova explained about the man in the middle attack, and how Ian’s server was placed in a position to intercept all of Russell’s e-mail.

“So when the e-mails intended for Mr. Antonovich passed through Ian Powers’s server, did that give Ian Powers the chance to alter them before they got to Mr. Antonovich?”

“Yes. Whoever controls Ian Powers’s computer can decide whether to let Antonovich e-mails go through or change them…or delete them.”

“And in this case, the original ransom note that passed through Ian Powers’s server was altered?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing further.”

I’d deliberately left the original ransom note up on the monitor throughout my questioning where the jury could read and reread it. I expected Terry to take it down when she started cross. But for some reason, she didn’t.

Terry bounced Parkova around a little about her felony conviction and shady past, then took aim at the most damaging part of her testimony.

“Now, being an expert hacker yourself, not to mention a convicted felon, you could have altered that e-mail yourself, couldn’t you?”

“Yes. But why would I do this?”

“To curry favor with the police? I imagine you could use a favor or two from them.”

“I need nothing from police.”

“You’re on parole, aren’t you?”

“Yes. So?”

“So, you still need to make nice with the police, don’t you?”

“Make nice? I don’t know what you mean by this. I do this job because I get paid. Just like you.”

Surprisingly, I saw Judge Osterman suppress a smile at that.

“So you wanted to give the prosecution what they needed so you’d get paid, isn’t that right?”

“No. They have to pay me no matter what. Doesn’t matter. I find, I don’t find. Still, I get paid.”

Stymied on that front, Terry went for the jugular. “But you still could have altered that e-mail yourself. Isn’t it true, Ms. Parkova, that the jury has to take your word for it? The word of a convicted felon?”

Someone else might’ve been offended. Parkova just looked annoyed. “Don’t have to take my word. Easy to check. Just go look at computer.” Parkova shook her head, her expression a mixture of disdain and irritation. “And how would I know to write such a thing? I know nothing of this case.” Parkova added in a voice laced with boredom, “I don’t know why this original e-mail is such big deal anyway.” She gestured to the monitor, which still showed the original e-mail.