Marcia Clark - Killer Ambition

“Seems so.”

“Good for her.” She gave me the tiniest of conspiratorial smiles, snapped her briefcase closed, and walked off.

When Bailey and Declan and I got upstairs, I told them about my last exchange with Terry.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Bailey smiled. “She did it on purpose.”

I nodded. “Payback to Russell for screwing Brittany over all these years.” Who knew? Terry had a human side after all.

We turned on the television in Eric’s office. News programs on all channels were on fire with the story of how Ian and possibly Russell had muscled Brittany into making the false rape accusation.

“They’re toast,” Declan said. “No matter what happens with this trial, it’s over for both of them.”

“You think so?” I knew I sounded skeptical.

“I know what you think of Hollywood,” Declan said. “But trust me, there’re a whole lot of decent people in the industry who’ll never do business with those two-or even speak to them-again.”

It was good to hear, if true. But it wouldn’t be enough. Not for the slaughter of two innocent children.

When I went down to court early the next morning, I again found Janice on the bench in the hallway. I’d asked Bailey to bring her up to my office when she arrived, but Janice had declined. “Too many windows, too high up,” Bailey explained. Janice was in the same position as yesterday: sitting next to her agent, Elden, whom she held by the arm, and clutching in the other hand what appeared to be the same book. I told her I’d secured them a front-row seat for closing arguments.

“Ian Powers is guilty as sin,” she said. “Do you think the jury will do the right thing?”

I sighed and told her I hoped so.

“Can you get that hideous Russell Antonovich for…anything?” she asked.

Elden intervened. “Janice, she’s got a closing argument to give right now,” he said. “Let her be.”

“I’m so sorry.” Janice squeezed her agent’s arm. “You’re right, Elden.” She gave me a shaky smile. “Good luck, Rachel. Do they say break a leg in this context?”

“Not unless they really want you to,” I joked. “I’ll see you in there.”

When we finished in chambers, I saw that the courtroom was packed tighter than ever. There wasn’t even an inch between the bodies seated on the benches. The air was so thick with tension it was hard to breathe. The jurors had dressed up for the occasion; some of them were even wearing suits. It was impossible to tell if that was a good or bad sign. It might just be a sign of celebration, because one way or another, their travails would soon be over.

I gave my first argument-a meat-and-potatoes, no-fireworks description of the evidence.

Terry made a strong pitch for her conspiracy theory, pointing out that the threatening letters and calls Ian and Russell had gotten were “undeniably real” because “the prosecution would’ve been happy to show they were fake” if that had been the case. She was right about that. The only mention she made of the altered ransom e-mail was the brief statement that “Ian Powers is not on trial for tampering with e-mail-or for whatever Brittany Caren claims happened over ten years ago.” She theorized that the henchmen sent by Angela’s father somehow got hold of the original e-mail and showed up on Boney Mountain. How they might’ve done that, she didn’t say. But the way Terry laid it all out, it didn’t sound as preposterous as I would’ve liked. And the jury was soaking up every word. For conspiracy buffs, this argument was practically edible it was so delicious. Did I have any of those on the jury? No one had admitted to it during voir dire, but jurors seldom did. This case was far from won.

“Ms. Knight, your rebuttal argument?”

I thanked the judge, then I thanked the jury for their patience through what was a much more difficult case than we’d expected. I made sure to hit the points Terry had made, then I moved on to my conclusion.

“In the end, this is all about ambition. It started with a screenplay. A screenplay Ian Powers knew had ‘blockbuster’ written all over it. But then Tommy Maher surfaced, screaming to anyone who’d listen that Russell Antonovich had stolen the script from him. Suddenly, the dream was about to go up in smoke. Instead of going to the Oscars, they’d be going to court, maybe for years. And if Tommy could prove that Russell had stolen that screenplay, not only would they lose in court, they’d lose in Hollywood. They’d be branded as thieves and liars. Ian Powers had to make Tommy go away.

“His solution? Frame Tommy for the rape of their child star. Tommy would have to shut up or risk exposure for that heinous crime. And the studio head, Chuck Viener, would never talk. Everyone looks bad if it comes out that a pedophile has been allowed to work on a set with child actors.

“And then, Ian Powers got luckier still. Tommy committed suicide. For Ian, it was a dream come true. Because now, not only were they rid of his haranguing, but any suspicions Tommy might have raised would be dismissed as the ravings of an unbalanced, jealous mind.

“The defense wants you to remember that Ian Powers is not on trial for what he did to Brittany. That’s true. Sad, but true. But what he did to her tells you so much about who this man is. Think about it: Ian Powers was himself a child actor. And as the defense was so proud to bring out, he was the sole support for his family at the tender age of eight. Who could know better the kind of pressures Brittany endured as sole support for her family? And yet, knowing full well the enormous stress of being a child forced to shoulder that weight, he willfully, unconscionably destroyed a child actress for his own personal gain.”

I pointed to Ian Powers, who sat rigid in his chair, staring straight ahead. “That’s who this man really is. Now, did Russell Antonovich and Ian Powers steal Tommy’s screenplay? I think the answer must be yes. Just the fact that Ian Powers would go to such lengths to silence Tommy proves it.”

At that, several jurors turned to look at Ian for a long few seconds. I waited until I had their full attention, then continued.

“The fact that this perfect ‘solution’ begat not only Tommy’s suicide but also a lifetime of misery for young Brittany was of no concern to Ian Powers. Nor, I should mention, for Russell Antonovich, who got the ball rolling when he stole that screenplay. As far as they were concerned, it’d all worked out perfectly. Ian and Russell were making millions-the sequels, the merchandising, the video games. Everything was beautiful.

“Right up until Hayley and Brian threatened to expose both of them for the lie they’d perpetrated. And what did those kids ask for? Not money. Not a cut of Wonderland Warriors proceeds. All they asked was that Russell admit the truth. But Ian Powers couldn’t let Russell admit he’d stolen that screenplay. It would undermine their credibility all over town. And beyond that, how could Ian be sure it would stop there? Even if Russell admitted he’d stolen the screenplay, Hayley and Brian had shown they had possession of an even bigger threat. They knew that he’d set Tommy up with the false rape charge. And if that ever got out, everyone would know he had Tommy’s blood on his hands. Between lawsuits for the profits on Wonderland Warriors and the wrongful death suit for Tommy’s suicide, he’d be ruined. Good-bye beautiful life.

“So Hayley and Brian had to be silenced. There wasn’t much time to plan this out, but Ian wasn’t dealing with a Mafia don. He was dealing with two innocent young kids. It wasn’t hard to get the drop on them. Just leave a DVD in a bag by the side of the road, wait for Brian to come pick it up, and then put a gun to his head-a.44 Ruger gets anyone’s attention-and force him up the mountain, to a remote spot where no one would find his shallow grave.