Killer Ambition - [78]

A shocking development in the murder case of Hayley Antonovich and Brian Maher! Two suspects were taken into custody last night and the identity of one of them has rocked the film industry! Ian Powers, manager for superstar director Russell Antonovich and co-owner of RussPow Studios, was arrested last night, along with studio production assistant Jack Averly, and charged with the murders of Hayley Antonovich and Brian Maher. Their arraignments will take place this morning. We’ll have live coverage inside the courtroom, so stay tuned…

I flipped between channels. All of them made the same breathless announcement and all promised “live coverage of this dramatic moment.” A pretty funny thing to promise considering the fact that there wasn’t much to cover. An arraignment was a limited affair: I would read the charges, Powers and Averly would plead not guilty, and then we’d set a date for the preliminary hearing. At most, it should take about five minutes. But it was a chance to watch all the players in action, and that alone guaranteed they’d get viewers.

I’m a big believer in the public’s right to know, so if anyone wants to sit in and watch a trial, I’m all for it. What I’m not in favor of is spin. And spin is all you get when the media jumps in. Lawyers who are third-rate on their best day and have never tried a lawsuit get “face time” to pontificate endlessly-and worse, misleadingly-about every facet of the case. As a result, the public’s right to know becomes the talking heads’ right to misinform. And then there are the stealth commentators: the lawyers and experts who are working for the defense but don’t admit it. They get on camera and present themselves as neutral observers, when all along they’re just stumping for their side of the lawsuit.

Knowing those publicity junkies would soon pollute the airwaves with garbage about my case put me in a foul mood. I turned off the television and dawdled over coffee while I read the paper. The Times carried the story on the front page, above the fold-proof that the case had gone big-time. So far, it was just an unbiased recitation of the charges. The paper’s favorite expert, a law professor of limited brainpower but limitless desire for exposure, merely observed that the charges carried a sentence of life without the possibility of parole. Pretty much straight-down-the-middle reportage. I knew it wouldn’t last. The moment the trial got under way, rumor and innuendo would fill in for the facts whenever they were juicy enough. Any source would do, corroborated or not.

When I first stepped outside, I was surprised to find that it was a little cooler than I’d expected, and I thought about heading back to change. But by the time I got to the courthouse, the temperature had begun to rise. If I’d left any later, I would’ve been a mess. I looked through the glass doors into the lobby and saw a few cameras but not a big crowd. Feeling cheered, I hopped onto an elevator and rode up to my floor, thinking it might not be so bad after all.

When I got to my office, I called Declan.

“Want to do the arraignment with me? May as well get your name on the record.”

He happily accepted.

Then I called Bailey. She accepted too, but not quite as happily. “I guess I should.”

When Declan and I stepped off the elevator, I saw that I’d been lulled into a false sense of security. The few cameras I’d seen in the lobby were the latecomers. The bulk of the attendees for today’s proceedings had already shown up, and they were clogging the hallway from one end of the courthouse to the other. I pulled Declan aside before we ran the gauntlet.

“Don’t answer any questions. Keep your head down and follow me.”

I took the lead and kept my eyes focused on the door to the courtroom. At first we got left alone. Only the reporters who regularly covered the courts knew who we were. But halfway to the courtroom, one of them spotted me. “Hey, Rachel! What’ve you got on Powers? Who’s the real killer?”

The rest of them picked up on the cue and started shouting questions. I shook my head, said, “No comment,” over and over, and wove my way through the crowd. I’d just pushed open the door when a semi-familiar voice with a British accent called to me from the anteroom.

“Rachel Knight! We meet in person at last. Andrew Chatham.” He put out his hand, and I reflexively took it.

Shorter than I was by about three inches, Andrew was very slim and dapper in a blazer, white button-down shirt, and dark slacks. Kind of Fred Astaire-ish.

“Hello, Andrew. I have no comment.”

“Well, that’s an improvement on our recent phone call.”

I looked at him, puzzled.

“When you hung up on me.” He smiled without a hint of malice. I don’t know why, but something about him made me smile back. “So I shall take this exchange as my victory for the day and not, as you Yanks put it, push my luck. Good day. Have a nice arraignment.”

Amused, I replied, “Thank you, Andrew.”

Only one camera was in the courtroom, so I surmised it would provide the “pool feed,” meaning everyone would use the footage it got. I moved to the prosecution side of counsel table with Declan close behind me. This courtroom was devoted exclusively to arraignments. Instead of the usual setup with separate counsel tables at either side of the courtroom, it had one big U-shaped table that gave room for the defense and prosecution to sit on opposite sides and other interested parties-bail bondsmen, cops, or probation officers-to sit in the middle. It was also the only courtroom that had a glass-enclosed section on the defense side. That was where the prisoners sat. Mornings were always crowded in this courtroom, but today was the worst I’d ever seen, with the press and the public in full attendance, eager to get their first up-close look at everyone. The audience section-twice the size of a normal courtroom-was filled to capacity, a very rare event.