Marcia Clark - Killer Ambition

“Well, someone in law enforcement could’ve told you to write that, couldn’t they?”

Parkova frowned. “They could tell me to do this, yes. But why they want me to write this? Better I write a confession, no?”

The answer drew titters from the audience and a few smiles from the jury. Terry went on a little longer, but sparring with Parkova was like hitting a tennis ball into a rubber backboard. Every question Terry lobbed bounced right back with equal force. I’d planned to get into the issue of Parkova’s ability to fabricate the original on redirect, but now I didn’t have to. Parkova had made all the points for me. And besides, the issue would be resolved-or not-when I called my next witness.

Finally, Terry gave up and released Parkova. But as I stood to announce my next witness, suddenly a strangled yelp burst from the gallery.

Russell was standing, his eyes fixed on the monitor. “No! It can’t be!” He was shaking, and his voice trembled. “I don’t believe it! It can’t be!” The agony in his voice was raw and painful, like the grinding of a rusty hinge. He turned toward Ian, whose back was to the gallery, his expression a mixture of wounded shock and anger. “How could you?! How could you do this?!” Ian never turned around. Raynie let out a wail of anguish. “You bastard!” she cried out, then put her head down and sobbed. A woman sitting next to her put an arm around her shoulders. Suddenly, Russell bolted from the courtroom. A few reporters jumped up to follow him.

Caught off guard, even Judge Osterman was rendered momentarily speechless by the outbursts. Now, the entire gallery erupted in a loud buzz as the impact of Parkova’s testimony-and Russell’s reaction-set in. No one knew exactly what the original ransom note meant, but it was clear that Ian had gone to great lengths to keep it hidden. And Russell’s reaction told them it had something to do with Hayley’s murder.

Bailey and I exchanged a look. Russell’s reaction told us something too: he hadn’t been covering for Ian after all. He’d truly believed in Ian’s innocence until Parkova’s testimony sank in. Bailey mouthed, “Told you so.” I nodded. For once, I was glad to be wrong.

Judge Osterman banged his gavel and shouted, “Come to order!” But the gallery wouldn’t be tamed. The buzz continued to build in wave after wave. The judge banged his gavel another three times, but it wasn’t until he shouted, “I’ll have you all thrown out!” that the crowd finally settled. When a semblance of peace was restored, the judge glared at the gallery. “I won’t warn you again. This is a court of law, not your living room!” Then he turned to the jury. “I am ordering you to disregard those outbursts. They are not evidence and they are not competent proof of anything. You are to completely dismiss it from your minds. Do you understand?”

The jury nodded. “Yes,” they said in unison.

“Sidebar, Your Honor!” Terry demanded with barely controlled fury.

But the judge refused. “I’ll deem you to have made a motion for mistrial, Counsel. You can put all of your thoughts on the record later. For now, your motion is denied. People? Please proceed.”

I stood up slowly, but my pulse ratcheted up into high gear. No matter how a civilian witness behaves before walking into court, there is no predicting what will happen once they get there. I’ve seen strong ones fall apart like a cheap suit, and I’ve seen timid ones come through like Braveheart. So the moments before a witness begins to testify are always nerve-racking ones. But I had good reason to be nervous this time: the entire case hinged on the testimony we were about to take. I took a deep breath and said as calmly as possible, “The People call Brittany Caren.”

The response in the courtroom was visceral and immediate. “What?” someone whispered loudly in the back of the courtroom, as another said, “Brittany?” and “Did you hear that?” Again, a loud buzz rolled through the gallery as reporters and spectators reacted to the name.

Judge Osterman banged his gavel. This time he made the threat more immediate. “The next sound I hear from anyone, anyone at all, I’m clearing the courtroom and that person will be held in contempt! Do I make myself clear?”

The audience immediately fell silent. No one wanted to miss this show. Into the sudden hush walked Brittany Caren. Ashen-faced, wearing little if any makeup, and dressed simply in a pale yellow summer shift and an off-white cardigan that was draped loosely over her shoulders, she came up the aisle leaning on the arm of a goateed and mustached man in his forties.

I snuck a look at the jury. They were straightening up in their seats, watching intently as Brittany approached. Bailey opened the swinging gate that separated the lawyers, judge, and jury from the spectators and escorted Brittany to the base of the steps at the witness stand. Brittany took the oath and I helped her get seated, then adjusted the microphone. I looked her in the eye and whispered, “Okay?” She said, “Yes,” and glanced at the man who’d escorted her. I nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”

I stepped back to the lectern. “Your Honor, Ms. Caren is here today courtesy of her therapist, Dr. Shepherd.” I indicated the man, whose goatee and glasses gave him the prototypical look of a shrink. “I ask that he be allowed to remain and sit with me at counsel table. Since the only relevant information he has is privileged, he can’t be called as a witness.”

“I don’t have a problem with that,” the judge said.

I knew Terry certainly did, but she couldn’t say so. There was no legal reason to exclude him. And objecting to this shaky girl’s lifeline would not endear Terry to the jury.

I began by having Brittany briefly describe her early work as a child actress, and how that led to her getting the leading role in Circle of Friends.

“How old were you when you got that part?”

“Twelve.”

“Did you know the writers on that show?”

“Yes, of course. We saw them at lunch, at table reads…yes.”

“Was Tommy Maher one of those writers?”

“Yes.”

“Was Russell Antonovich one of those writers also?”

“Yes.”

“Did Tommy have a dispute with Russell Antonovich?”

“Yes.”

“When did that argument arise?”

Brittany frowned. “I believe the show was in its second season.”

“Did you witness the argument?”

“Everyone on the lot witnessed the argument-it went on and on. Tommy accused Russell of stealing his screenplay.”

“And did he claim that screenplay was the basis for Wonderland Warriors, the film that became Russell’s first big hit?”

“Yes.”

“You say the argument went on and on. Did Tommy make his accusation more than once?”

“He made it a hundred times. But Russell always denied it. Tommy kept trying to tell everyone that Russell was a thief, that he’d find a way to prove it.”

“And did he?”

“Not that I ever knew. Tommy always wrote his scripts by hand. I know because it always took him longer to get scripts done for the show. So I assume he wrote the screenplay by hand too.”

Terry barked, “Objection! Speculation!”

Brittany jumped in her seat.

“Sustained. Ms. Caren, you cannot assume when you testify. If you did not personally observe something, then you can’t speculate about what you believe. Okay?”

Brittany nodded. “Yes, Your Honor.”

I continued. “Now as far as you know, Tommy threatened to find a way to prove it, but he never did?”

“Not as far as I know, no.”

“At the time Tommy was making these accusations, was the film deal for Wonderland Warriors being negotiated?”