Marcia Clark - Killer Ambition

“As for Hayley, Ian Powers likely believed he could control her. With Brian gone, she had no ally. Brittany was still on the bottle and unable to cope with even a shooting schedule, let alone a pitched battle against two of the most powerful figures in Hollywood. If Hayley was isolated, she could be persuaded not to expose him and her father.

“But once again, Ian got ‘lucky.’ Hayley sent Brian texts that night. Texts that showed Hayley was right there, under Ian’s nose. She made it so easy, that poor little girl. All he had to do was send her a text from Brian’s phone, telling her to come out and meet him. Think for just a moment how cold-blooded this man has to be. This young girl had been like a daughter to him for most of her life. But that didn’t matter. With cold, calculated deliberation, he lured this child out-deceived her so he could hunt her down like an animal, slit her throat, and dump her body into the trunk of a car.”

I paused and turned to look at Ian Powers. His face was pinched with fury, but also fear. He met my eyes for just a second, then looked away. I turned back to the jury. This time, I noticed only one or two of them had been watching Ian.

“And I must say, the plan, as hastily made as it was, nearly worked. If it hadn’t been for that freak storm, we might never have found Brian’s body. We would have believed what Ian Powers wanted us to believe: that Brian killed Hayley and flew to Paris to live large on the ransom money.”

I paused, taking a moment to let it all sink in, as much for myself as for the jury.

“Before I sit down, I want to leave you with one final thought.

“Pearl Bailey said that a man with ambition but no love is dead. In Ian Powers you have just such a man. A man whose overweening ambition left him with not a single shred of humanity. An ambition so all-consuming, he willfully, knowingly destroyed four lives. Not only the lives of Hayley and Brian, but also the life of a talented writer and a thirteen-year-old girl, whose remorse for what Ian Powers made her do sent her into a downward spiral that may yet prove to have ruined her for life. Ladies and gentlemen, it’s too late to ask for justice for Tommy Maher, or for Brittany Caren, but it’s not too late for Brian and Hayley. I ask you to do justice for them and convict their murderer, Ian Powers.”

The jury wentout at three o’clock. With the whole country watching, there was no way they’d come back with a verdict before tomorrow, but I intended to stay in the office. I wasn’t going to take any chances.

As I left the courtroom, I found Janice waiting for me.

“You did a magnificent job,” she said.

I thanked her. “You’re welcome to come up to the office with us.”

“Thank you, but no. I’ll just wait here, if that’s all right.”

“Of course, Janice.” I noticed she was still carrying that same book. She never seemed to be without it. “Do you mind if I ask you about that book?” I gestured to the one in her hand.

Janice smiled sadly. “Tommy gave it to Brian when he was little.” She held it out. It was a child’s book, titled Fifty Famous Fairy Tales. Janice handed it to me, and it fell open to a well-worn page about halfway through. I noticed handwriting in the margin. “That’s Tommy’s writing,” she said. “Brian never let it go. When I saw that he didn’t take it with him to Los Angeles, I thought it meant he intended to come back.” She looked away, then said softly, “Now I know he did. He just came out here on a mission.”

“Janice, would you mind letting me hang on to this for just a day or so?” I asked.

Janice was reluctant. “I suppose so. But I will want it back.”

“I promise. In fact, I’ll bring it back to you tonight if you like-”

“No, tomorrow’s fine.” She looked down for a moment, her expression thoughtful. “I don’t know whether I ever told you this, but Tommy loved Brian so much. I think Brian was one of the only bright spots in his life. That’s why it never made sense to me that he’d…leave…over the theft of a screenplay. Now I understand it a little better. After all the hell he had been through over the script, this false claim about Brittany was just too much. Knowing Tommy, he felt doomed.” She sighed and shook her head. “Anyway, I wanted you to know that Tommy really was a good father…”

I told her I believed her, and how sorry I was, for all of it. We spoke for a few more minutes and then she and Elden left.

Bailey and Declan and I headed upstairs.

“So what do you think?” Declan asked. “Did we get him?”

“We don’t do that,” answered Bailey.

“I never bet on a verdict,” I said. “Bad luck.”

Declan raised an eyebrow but said nothing. I pulled out bottles of water and sodas from my fridge and set them on the table. Bailey took a bottle, leaned back, and put her feet up on the table next to my desk.

“No doubt about it, Russell was in on the phony rape scheme,” Bailey said.

“Had to be,” Declan agreed. “Like that director said, no one risks a film budget on an actor as dicey as Brittany.” He shook his head. “What a sleazy dick.”

“True, that.” Russell Antonovich was every bit as consumed with greed as Ian. The only difference was, he had his pit bull, Ian, to do the dirty work while he got to stay in the background and reap the benefits. It killed me to think he’d pay no price for his part in all this.

The justice our system metes out can be such an imperfect thing. We had no solid proof that he knew about the false rape claim. There was no legal way to go after Russell. But there’s more than one way to skin a bottom-feeding, parasitic worm. And I intended to find it.

After the jury went home for the evening, we decided it was safe to take the night off.

“How about a drink at the Biltmore?” Bailey suggested.

I knew she’d been missing Drew. None of us had had any kind of life since this trial had started. I called Drew ahead of time just to make sure we wouldn’t get ambushed by reporters.

“Coast is clear,” Drew said. “And when you get here, I’ll tell you why.”

I’d told Bailey and Declan about Sunglasses, the jerkweed reporter who’d shown up in my hallway and then at the bar. Now, on the way over, I told them Drew had the rest of the story for us.

In spite of Drew’s assurance, I entered the bar warily. But it was a quiet night and easy to see that there was no one there who looked like a reporter. Declan ordered a beer just to join us in a toast-he had to drive-but Bailey and I cut loose and ordered martinis. Drew poured himself a shot of Oban, a really nice sipping scotch.

“Here’s to a job well done,” Drew said, raising his glass.

We all clinked and sipped.

“Okay, I’m dying to hear it. What happened?” I asked.

Drew smiled. “I poured him a martini with about four shots in it-”

I nearly choked on my drink. “Four straight shots in one tiny little glass?”

“We have big beauties for special occasions,” Drew said.

“Oh, man,” Declan said. “I’d be in a puddle on the floor.”

“That was the general idea,” Drew said. “Dude drained it in two swallows. Who the hell does that with a martini, anyway?”

“A classless douche like that,” Bailey said. “Go on.”

“He started getting so loud and obnoxious, customers were complaining. Even his buddies were embarrassed. So I told him he’d have to leave. He stood up.” Drew slammed his palm down on the bar. “Face plant. They had to carry him out and put him in a cab.”

We all laughed.

“So much for the wannabe reporter,” I said.

“Hang on for the finale,” Drew said. He went to the register and came back with his cell phone. “Check it out.”