Marcia Clark - Killer Ambition

“As to count two, the murder of Hayley Antonovich, we the jury find the defendant, Ian Powers, guilty, and we further find the murder to have been willful, deliberate, and premeditated.

“As to both counts one and two, we further find that the defendant personally used a deadly and dangerous weapon, to wit, a knife.”

My lungs filled with air for what felt like the first time since I walked into the courtroom. I looked at the jury, my eyes filled with gratitude. Not one of them looked back at me. A careful bunch, they kept their faces neutral. And when Judge Osterman polled them, at Terry’s request, they affirmed that these were their verdicts in voices that were loud and proud. I’d thank them later…if they let me. Chances were, they’d want to get out of here as fast as they could go.

The judge thanked them for their service, told them they were allowed to talk to anyone they wanted about the case now, but were free to decline and should not feel pressured to do so. Then he warned the press to be civilized and respectful of jurors and all parties and declared that the court was in recess.

In an instant, a loud roar erupted as everyone in the courtroom jumped to their feet and began to talk at once. I pulled Declan in and we wrapped Bailey and Toni in a group hug, as I let the relief wash through me. As much as possible in a court of law, justice had been done.

The next morning,I got word that Jack Averly had finally turned up. He’d made his way to a quiet seaside resort in Puerto Vallarta, no doubt traveling on a share of the ransom money. (We’d figured Ian must have picked it up while Averly flew to New York.) Averly probably could’ve hidden there forever if he’d had half a brain. But he got drunk at a campfire party on the beach and mouthed off about his days as a PA/drug dealer at RussPow Studios. An alert guest, who just happened to be a producer for CNN, called the Los Angeles bureau. He’d be back in pocket soon, facing flight and accessory charges that would keep him locked up for at least a couple of years.

And I soon learned that Declan was right: Hollywood had its own unique but very effective way of dealing with its own.

The Daily Inquisitor led the charge at first: “Wife Leaves Superstar Director-‘I Can’t Take His Life of Lies!’” According to the story, Dani had left Russell and “confidential sources” claimed it was because of what she’d learned during the trial. “Dani said she was sure Russell had been in on the rape setup that led to Tommy’s suicide.” Dani was never quoted anywhere, but the fact of her separation and impending divorce turned out to be true. It was all downhill from there.

Some of the actors who’d carried the signs in front of the courthouse claiming Ian had been framed now admitted that they believed he was guilty and were “glad justice had been done.”

But the hardest blow was delivered by Brittany herself, in an exclusive interview with the Inquisitor that I might-or might not-have helped make happen. A front-page cover showing a tearful Brittany carried the headline “They Ruined My Life! Russell Deserves to Be Sitting Next to Ian in That Jail Cell!” She told the whole story, no holds barred. And now, without the constraints of a courtroom, she could say, “Russell was in on all of it: the lie about Tommy raping me, the deal to give me work for life-he was on board because he stole that screenplay and he’d lose his deal if the studio found out. He and Ian made my life a living hell! I’ll never work for Russell again and I don’t care if that means I’ll never work for the rest of my life.”

Of course, we soon learned that it meant just the opposite. I heard from Andrew Chatham that a hot young director who’d been through rehab himself had offered Brittany a supporting role in his next film.

“Mark my words, Ms. Knight,” Andrew said. “Russell Antonovich is through in this town. In the coming months, you’ll see that one deal after another will fall apart. Russell’s studio will close down by the end of the year.”

It wasn’t prison in the traditional sense. But it was hell on earth for Russell Antonovich. I’d have to make my peace with that.

Declan and I got the official summons to see Vanderputz for congratulations two days after the verdict-once he finished taking bows on every channel but Animal Planet. Eric came with us, and I was glad he was there to witness it. Our fearless leader managed to make it sound like we’d won a third-grade attendance award. “That was very nice work,” he’d said. “Of course, the evidence was overwhelming…” Translation: even my pet shih tzu could’ve won it.

“He never fails to disappoint,” I said to Eric on our way back to my office.

“Like I said, consistency is his strong suit.” Eric smiled. “But he did let your felonious expert slide.”

There was that. Not one word was said about my having hired Parkova without prior approval.

When Declan and I were safely behind the closed door in my office, we exchanged views.

“What an asshat,” Declan said.

“A real chowderhead,” I added. “But I’ve been meaning to ask you what you made of that book.”

“The fairy tales?” he said. I nodded. “Did you read the notes in the margins?”

I had. “I’ve got my theory,” I said. “But I want to hear yours.”

“That was Tommy’s inspiration for Wonderland Warriors, ” Declan said. “Nothing specific, but I saw the movie. Did you?”

“No. But I heard it was part fairy tale.”

“It was. And his notes had some of the ideas that wound up in the movie.”

“But it wouldn’t have been enough to prove he wrote the screenplay,” I said.

“No. But it is for me. I’m glad I got to see it.”

What you know and what you can prove. They can be very different things. “Me too.”

“Well, I’ve got a stack of case files screaming my name,” Declan said. He stood to go, but paused at the door. “I…just want to thank you for writing that note to my folks.”

I’d written to tell them what a talented lawyer Declan was and that his star was going to rise quickly in the office. “I just told ’em the truth.”

Declan gave me a long look that acknowledged another truth: I’d also done it to give his father a wake-up slap. “Thank you, Rachel.”

After Declan left, I thought about all the fathers in this case.

Nietzsche said, “When one has not had a good father, one must create one.” This case proved it in ways even Nietzsche might not have predicted. Brian wanted not only to vindicate his father, but also in some measure to justify his father’s suicide, by proving he’d written the screenplay that launched Russell’s empire. Hayley wanted to create an honorable father by forcing him to admit his misdeed and give the credit where it was due. And Declan, whether he was aware of it or not, had taken a civil service job that was all heart and small pay, in part to force his father to accept him on his own terms-in essence, to create the loving father he needed.

And as for me, what was a prosecutor if not someone who stood up and fought back against the predators of the world? Only now, during this case, had I fully understood how the lessons I’d thought of as games were actually my father’s way of teaching me how to fight back-both physically and emotionally. “Never hesitate, Rachel. Always shoot to kill,” he’d said. I now saw that in becoming a prosecutor, I’d put his lessons, his final gift to me, to good use. And so I had found the good father I thought had abandoned me.

With the trial over, my fatigue hit me like a brick wall. I needed some serious R and R. I’d racked up an impressive amount of comp time and I intended to use it. Bailey said she planned to do the same. Graden had offered to kick off our vacation with a dinner for everyone-including Declan and his plus one-at his place.