By six-forty-five Amanda was in the basement of the Stockman Building looking through the firm's storage area. The files in State v. Cardoni filled three dusty, cobweb-covered cartons. There would have been many more boxes if the case had gone to trial. Loading the boxes on a dolly while keeping her suit clean was not easy, but Amanda managed. As soon as she rolled the boxes into her office she stripped off her suit jacket and started piling their contents on her desk.
Frank's case files were always well organized. One three-ring binder was for memos discussing legal issues that might be raised in the case. After each memo there were photocopies of the cases and statutes that supported each argument. Another binder contained police reports arranged chronologically. A third binder held reports generated by the defense investigation. A fourth binder was set up alphabetically for potential witnesses and contained copies of every report generated by either side that made any reference to the witness. A typed sheet with potential direct or cross-examination questions and areas of investigation that needed to be pursued preceded the reports. A final binder contained press clippings about the case.
Amanda opened the binder that had been compiled for the motion to suppress. It contained an inventory of the items found at the Milton County house. There was also an envelope with photographs of the crime scene. Amanda spread the photos across her desk and referred to the report. It took her only a moment to find the coffee mug and scalpel in the inventory and the photographs that showed where each item had been found in the house. Mike Greene had promised to give Amanda a set of crime scene photographs this afternoon at Justine's arraignment. She was willing to bet that those photographs would be similar to the photos spread across her desk.
At eight o' clock Amanda sent her secretary to the district attorney's office to get the keys to Justine Castle's house so that she could select clothes for Justine's court appearance. At eleven-thirty she wolfed down a sandwich and drank more coffee at her desk. By the time Amanda headed to the Justice Center at one o' clock for Justine's arraignment, she was exhausted but up to speed on Vincent Cardoni's case.
Amanda made it through the glass-vaulted lobby of the Justice Center and up the curving marble stairs to the third floor before someone from KGW-TV called her by name; instantly she became the focus of a mob of shouting reporters. An attractive brunette from KPDX asked Amanda if she was a stand-in for her famous father, and a short, disheveled reporter from the Oregonian wanted to know if there was a connection between the murders at the farmhouse and the infamous Cardoni case. Amanda ducked to avoid the mikes and the glare of the TV lights while repeating No comment to each question. When the doors of the arraignment court closed behind her, sealing her off from the press, she sighed with relief.
The courtroom was packed. Attorneys sat with their clients. Anxious wives bounced children on their knee, trying desperately to keep them quiet so the guard would not expel them before their husbands were brought out of the holding area. Mothers and fathers held hands, watching nervously for a child who had gone wrong. Girlfriends and gang members shifted in their seats while they enjoyed the excitement of seeing someone they knew in court, just like on TV.
A row of chairs inside the bar of the court was reserved for lawyers from the public defender's office, private attorneys who were waiting for court appointments and retained counsel. Amanda took a seat in this section and waited for Justine's case to be called. Arraignment, a defendant's first court appearance, was the time when the judge informed the accused about the nature of the charges filed against him and his right to counsel. If the defendant was indigent, counsel was appointed at the arraignment. Release decisions were sometimes made. Amanda had been to arraignments many times, and they were all the same. She paid attention to the first few cases because it gave her something to do, but she soon lost interest and glanced back at the spectator section out of boredom.
Amanda was about to return her attention to the front of the room when she sensed someone watching her. She scanned the crowd and was ready to chalk up the incident to her imagination when she noticed a large, muscular man with close-cropped blond hair. The man sat with hunched shoulders and his hands folded tightly in his lap, giving the impression that he was uncomfortable being in court. He wore a flannel shirt buttoned to the neck, khakis and a stained trench coat. Something about him was vaguely familiar, but Amanda had no idea where, or if, she had seen him before.
The door to the hall opened, and Mike Greene fought his way past the reporters. Once inside, he used his height to scan the room and spotted Amanda. Greene was still dressed in the brown tweed sports coat, rumpled white shirt and gray slacks that he had been wearing at three in the morning.
I see you went home, Mike said when he was seated beside Amanda.
I've got on new duds, but I never got to sleep.
That makes two of us. The sleep part, that is.
Mike handed Amanda a thick manila envelope.
The complaint, some of the police reports and a set of the crime scene photographs. Don't say I never gave you anything.
Thanks for not being a hard-ass.
Mike smiled. It's the least I can do after making you drink that foul sludge the homicide dicks call coffee.
Have you given any more thought to release?
Can't do it. Too many bodies, too much evidence.
State v. Justine Elizabeth Castle, the bailiff called out.
Mike Greene walked to a long table at which another assistant district attorney sat. Its top was almost obscured by three gray metal tubs filled with case files. While Greene took out Justine's file, Amanda went to the other side of the room. A guard led Justine out of the holding area. Her client had on no makeup, but she looked good in her dark suit and silk shirt.
The arraignment moved swiftly. Amanda entered her name as attorney of record and waived a reading of the complaint. While the judge conferred with his clerk about a date for a bail hearing, Amanda explained what was going on. Justine listened carefully and nodded in the appropriate places, but Amanda had the impression that her client was barely holding herself together.
Are you okay? Amanda asked.
No, but I won't break. You do your best to get me out as fast as you can.
The judge ended Justine's arraignment, and the guard started to lead her away.
I' m working on your case full time, Amanda told her client. I won't see you again today, but I'll be by tomorrow. Don't lose faith.
Justine held her head high as she walked through the door that led to the elevator that would transport her back to jail. Amanda wondered if she' d be able to carry herself with that much dignity if she was in Dr. Castle's shoes.
The reporters swarmed around Amanda in the corridor outside the courtroom. She refused to comment and fought through the crowd to the street. The rain had stopped but it was still cold and blustery. Amanda hunched her shoulders and crossed the street to Lownsdale Park, hurrying past the war memorial and the empty benches. While she waited for the light at Fourth and Salmon to change she cast a glance behind her and thought she saw movement near the small red-brick rest room on the edge of the park. The light changed and Amanda crossed the street, heading down Fourth toward her office. She had the sense that someone was behind her. Could one of the reporters be following her? Amanda stopped and turned around. A man in a trench coat ducked into the entrance of the office building across the way. Amanda stared at the entrance. She even walked back up the block a few steps for a better view. Two women walked out of the building. Amanda stared at the door they exited, but no one else came out. Suddenly a wave of fatigue hit her, and she leaned against a parking meter. She closed her eyes for a moment and still felt a little dizzy when she opened them. She chalked up her feeling of being followed to exhaustion, took a deep breath to clear her head and walked down Fourth to the Stockman Building.
Chapter 39
Mike Greene grew up in Los Angeles, married his high school sweetheart and graduated from the law school at UCLA. Everything was going wonderfully, his life was perfectly on course. Then one day in his fourth year as a prosecutor for the Los Angeles district attorney's office Mike ate a bad burrito for lunch. When court resumed he was too sick to go on, so the judge recessed for the day. Mike thought about calling his wife, Debbie, but he didn't want to worry her, so he rested for an hour and drove home.
Mike walked through the door of his split-level three hours earlier than usual and found Debbie astride his next-door neighbor. He stood in the bedroom doorway, too stunned to speak. While the guilty couple scrambled for
