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6
Porte Franklyn, Virginia
Commonwealth Attorney Simon Hailstock’s Conference Room
TUESDAY MORNING
Though Alec Speers, assistant commonwealth attorney and chief of the Homicide Unit, was the sleep-deprived new father of twin girls, the contents of the envelope he’d found on his desk that morning had hit his bloodstream like a dozen espressos. He was hyped, jittering around in his chair. He nodded to his newest assistant attorney, Kirra Mandarian, hired just eight months ago and already assigned to the Homicide Unit. At first he’d been annoyed when she’d been foisted on him, though she’d graduated UVA law school near the top of her class and clerked with Amos Fielding, a powerful federal district court judge in the Eastern District of Virginia with big-time clout. But Alec had to admit Judge Fielding’s assessment of her had been right on. Mandarian was a hard worker, smart and likable, and best yet, she connected well with a jury, not that she’d had much opportunity so far. Alec knew she’d spent her teen years in Australia with her famous uncle, Leo Mandarian, after the murder of her parents when she was twelve. She had juice, but she never talked about the high-profile adventures she’d led with her uncle that included some influential politicos, including Virginia’s senior senator and his son.
Kirra said to her boss, “How much longer before the twins sleep through the night, Alec?”
“The pediatrician says two more weeks. Then she grins and I think she knows something we don’t know and isn’t telling us.” He yawned just as Commonwealth Attorney Simon Hailstock walked in.
“Here we go,” Alec said under his breath.
Simon Hailstock strutted into his private conference room ten minutes late. Of course he was late on purpose, Hailstock’s way of reminding his attorneys who the boss was. He looked fit for fifty-two and preferred Italian suits and Ferragamo loafers. He relished wielding power and was a good-old buddy to a select few. To all others, like his chief of the Homicide Unit, Alec Speers, and new hires like Assistant Commonwealth Attorney Kirra Mandarian, he was short on civility and long on condescension. They both knew never to disagree with him outright or even joke with him because he had no sense of humor, except in front of a camera where he always seemed ready with pithy sound bites and one-liners everyone knew his secretary, Mrs. Quigley, prepared for him. She was known for them.
His attorneys thought little of him because he forced them to offer plea deals that were wildly unjust to victims. As for most cases deserving to go to trial, Hailstock was usually opposed, not because of how much it would cost in time and money; no, if a case was lost, it would make Hailstock look bad and hurt his chances to move forward in three or four years to higher things, like a congressional seat in Washington. He didn’t want the slightest chance of a case losing and spoiling his conviction record. Needless to say that didn’t make him beloved by defense attorneys. If Hailstock decided to run again for commonwealth attorney, Alec would wager his favorite high-tops that every defense attorney in Porte Franklyn would turn out to vote for him.
Hailstock remained standing and gave Alec his habitual stingy smile before he turned to Kirra. The stingy smile gave way to his stingy voice, cold and precise. “The only reason you are here, Ms. Mandarian, is you were at the police station when Mr. Grissom was hand delivered with that envelope pinned to his jacket. I’m told his ankles were duct-taped and he was zip-tied to the railing at the side entrance at the PF central station. Is that correct?”
“Yes, sir,” Kirra said. “That’s correct.”
“I understand you were chatting with the desk sergeant at the time and took it upon yourself to act as affiant. You called Judge Bentley and asked him for an affidavit for a search warrant. May I ask why you were at the police station at that particular time? In the evening, I might add. May I also ask why you did not immediately call your chief?”
Kirra sat forward, her hands clasped in front of her on the table. “I wouldn’t have been at the station, sir, but I’d forgotten to return some notes Lieutenant Thorpe had given me on a case we were working on together. I called and knew he was still at his desk. It was the Kevon Martin case, sir, the repeat offender who used a six-inch serrated knife to terrorize the driver of a Honda in a carjacking. As you know, the driver, Mr. Henry Philpot, later died of a heart attack, his death a direct result of the attack. So that’s why I returned to the station.”
Hailstock looked ready to spew, but reined himself in and said to Alec, “Mr. Speers, I believe you are working with opposing counsel on the Philpot v. Martin case to reach a reasonable compromise? I believe the defense attorney is willing to agree to a sentence of three years in prison and a year of community service for Mr. Martin because Mr. Philpot died of natural causes. It seems reasonable.”
It depends on what the definition ofnatural is. Alec nearly laughed when that old chestnut flew into his mind. He wasn’t about to tell Hailstock his reasonable compromise wasn’t going to fly. Alec was going to stand firm on a sentence of ten years, reminding the defense attorney a trial would likely end in Mr. Martin being sentenced to Red Onion Prison for twenty years. Because he didn’t want to get fired out of hand, he only nodded. If Hailstock called him on it later, he’d deal with it then.
Hailstock gave him a long look filled with threat, then nodded back to Kirra. “Continue.”
Kirra said, “When I saw the man with a pillowcase over his head and an envelope with JUSTICE written across the front attached to his jacket, I realized whatever was in it might be inadmissible in court if it was opened without a warrant in police custody. It needed to be seen to, so I decided to take advantage of being there and act as the affiant myself.”
“Am I to assume you don’t think either Mr. Speers or I understand the definition and importance of affiant, Ms. Mandarian?”
“Of course not, sir, I only wanted to relay exactly what Judge Fielding always preached to me. My apologies for being unnecessarily detailed.”
Alec said, “Had she called me sooner, I would have told her to proceed. I bless the fates Kirra was at the PF Central Station. I’m not saying it would have happened, but it’s possible the police who found Grissom might have compromised any evidence in the envelope by opening it without a go-ahead warrant.”
Hailstock didn’t look happy. “Yes, that is one way of looking at it. However, Ms. Mandarian, you delivered the envelope to Lieutenant Thorpe rather than this office and to me. Why?”
Kirra said, “Sir, when I got the warrant, Lieutenant Thorpe was still on scene. I apologize, but I didn’t think it was inappropriate to have him open the envelope and I had no desire to bother you at home. I’m very sorry if I erred, sir.”
Hailstock looked down at the sheaf of papers on the table in front of him. “I am still displeased. I didn’t get copies of the envelope contents until this morning. My secretary, Mrs. Quigley, told me all the attorneys in your unit were given copies of the evidence against Mr. Grissom as well. May I ask why you felt you had the need or the authority to do that?”
Kirra cleared her throat. “Mr. Hailstock, I’m the one who distributed the evidence. I’m not as experienced as my colleagues and was anxious to have their input, as well as Lieutenant Thorpe’s. I did of course ask Mr. Speers afterward and he believed it was appropriate.”
Alec looked at her beneath his lashes. It was well done, fluent, though not quite true. Hailstock had sole discretion over whether or not a defendant would be prosecuted and tried, but Kirra had now ensured Hailstock couldn’t sit on this evidence against Grissom, for whatever reason. The evidence was a gold mine, but Alec wasn’t sure how Hailstock would react, what he would do, and he hated that. He thought again of the Philpot v. Martin case and knew in his gut Hailstock would find out what he planned. Would he stop him? Fire him? Let him proceed? Alec looked again at Kirra, knew she understood their superior very well, and had acted the only way she could to make Hailstock take the appropriate course of action. Maybe.
Alec thought of his unit of six men and four women, ranging from Kirra’s age, twenty-six and right out of a year clerkship, to Willis Horton, sixty-two, a tough old hound who was looking forward to spending his time fishing off his ancient trawler when he retired. He’d seen Willis sitting on the edge of his desk that morning, swinging his leg, more excited than Alec had seen him in a long time, maybe as excited as Alec was. All the attorneys were hyped. He heard endless speculation on the identity of the vigilante, who’d initialed each page E.N., obviously Eliot Ness.
Alec got his reasoning together, sat forward, and clasped his hands. “Sir, we’re facing a unique and potentially explosive situation. The press will be all over this and Elson Grissom has powerful friends. Everyone in the press and our citizens will want to see justice done. Every attorney in the Homicide Unit is prepared to assist you in any way.”
Hailstock said in his courtroom voice, deep and smooth and sincere as a priest’s, his parents having paid top dollar for a voice coach when he’d been in law school, “Chief of Police Pershing, Lieutenant Thorpe, and I spoke with Mr. Grissom earlier this morning. He’s in the hospital under observation, claiming he was still disoriented from what turned out to be a ketamine injection his assailant jabbed in his neck, and pain in his kidneys from the beating he was given. Needless to say, he had two attorneys hovering around his bed.”
Alec raised his hand.
