Dark moon, p.18
Dark Moon, page 18
When the King and White twins had left the courtroom, Judge Tomlinson looked over at the prosecutor.
“Mr. Barton, the motion to quash has been concluded. I’m not sure why you are here since this was not your motion, and I am not sure who is sitting with you at counsel table.”
“This is Tara Jeffers, Your Honor. She’s my witness on my motion to quash the subpoena for Ronald Brigman’s records.”
“What motion to quash? Did you receive a copy, Ms. Knight?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“I have it here,” and Preston Barton’s round little frame waddled over to the bailiff who distributed the papers.
Sarah barely glanced at it. “Your Honor, the defense objects. This is untimely filed, and Mr. Barton has no standing to oppose our subpoena.”
“It is untimely,” Judge Tomlinson observed, looking over his half glasses at the prosecutor.
“It’s very straightforward. I would ask the court to waive the time requirements.”
“Well, even if I could do that you still don’t have any standing to file it. You remember standing don’t you, Mr. Barton? Civil procedure, first year of law school, the person or entity who has the right to bring an action before the court.”
“But, Your Honor,” the prosecutor bleated, “the state is opposed to disclosure to the defendant of the sensitive personal documents of the victims. I represent the victims, and Ronald Brigman is a victim of Alexa Reed!”
Sarah felt Alexa flinch as she sat beside her. She saw Jim give her hand another reassuring squeeze under the table.
Sarah stood up. “If I might be heard, Your Honor?”
“Yes, Ms. Knight.”
“Ronald Brigman’s financial records aren’t going to be disclosed to Mrs. Reed. They are coming to me, as counsel of record. And Mr. Barton represents the People of the State of California, not Ronald Brigman.”
“I’m afraid Ms. Knight is correct, Mr. Barton. To the extent you’ve even filed a motion, it is denied.”
“Your Honor, wait!” Tara Jeffers leapt to her feet while the prosecutor folded his lawyer tail and sat down.
“Ms. Jeffers, I thought you were here as a witness?”
“Well, I represent Michael Reed and Ronald Brigman. I’m here on their behalf to oppose disclosure of their personal bank records.”
“Hm.” Judge Tomlinson’s kind gray eyes studied Tara’s taught eagerness intently. “I’m sorry, Ms. Jeffers, I’m afraid you’ve got a bit of a problem. Your purported clients are both dead. That means they no longer have standing to oppose anything. The representatives of their estates can offer an opposition on their behalf, but Dr. Brigman and Mr. Reed are no longer able to be litigants in a court of law.”
“Yes, but I represented Michael in his family law matter.”
“Yes, but you aren’t in family court this morning. You are in my court, and you don’t represent his estate. Those two gentlemen who just left are the attorneys for his father, who is the executor of his estate. Besides, you are wasting the court’s time. We’ve already settled the matter of Michael’s records. The defense doesn’t get them.”
“But they can’t have Ronald Brigman’s either!” Sarah noticed an unprofessional note of hysteria in her voice.
“Your Honor,” Sarah stood up. She was glad she’d worn black. It made quite a nice professional contrast to Tara’s electric blue. “Ms. Jeffers has no standing, either, to oppose our subpoenas. She doesn’t represent Ronald Brigman’s estate. I sent notice to the estate’s lawyers, Silverstein and Greenberg in New York. And you see they are not here, today.”
“She’s quite right, Ms. Jeffers.”
“I–I well, he was a friend. He would not want his personal records turned over to Alexa Reed.”
“I think we covered that point, Your Honor. The records are coming to me.” Sarah remained standing at counsel table, enjoying Tara’s increasing discomfort as she realized she’d waded into legal waters where she didn’t belong.
“Ms. Jeffers, you are wasting the court’s time. This hearing is over!”
“But, Your Honor!” Tara was on the edge of hysteria. There’s something she really doesn’t want us to see, Sarah thought. Good, maybe we’ll get a break at last.
“Wait, please. There were privileged communications in those records.”
“In Michael Reed’s, yes.” Judge Tomlinson agreed. “But not Ronald Brigman’s. He wasn’t an attorney.”
“But I talked to him. Things that Michael told me, I told him!”
“And these communications are in Dr. Brigman’s bank records? That makes no sense on many levels, Ms. Jeffers. If you disclosed the confidences Michael Reed made to you to Ronald Brigman, you have waived the attorney-client privilege, and anything Michael Reed said is no longer confidential. Why do I feel as if I’m instructing a bunch of first-year law students? Has everyone on the prosecution side taken leave of his or her senses this morning?” Judge Tomlinson glowered at that side of the courtroom.
Tara made one last-ditch effort. Sarah could smell her fear under her overly controlled grooming. She was willing to make herself look foolish to try to keep the records out of the defense’s hands.
“Sorry, Your Honor. The point is Alexa Reed should not profit by her decision to kill her husband and Dr. Brigman. Mrs. Reed is a lying, devious, manipulative individual with a psychopathic borderline personality disorder, whose only goal in life was to live off her husband’s money. She–”
“Wait, Ms. Jeffers! Just wait, please!” Judge Tomlinson held up his hand. “I am not persuaded by character assassination. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Your Honor. If I might finish?”
“You are finished, Ms. Jeffers. I did my tour as a judge in family law court a few years back. The kind of language you are using disgusted me then, and it still does. I feel like levying a hefty sanction on you for wasting my time this morning. If you’d done your legal research, you’ve have known you had no standing to move to quash these subpoenas. If you will kindly fold up your papers and exit now, I won’t impose the two thousand dollar fine I’m considering.”
Sarah thought she heard a slight whimper from Tara as she swept her legal pad into her Louis Vuitton brief case and headed for the back door. She could see Bob Metcalf, who was sitting behind them, trying to suppress a smile.
After Judge Tomlinson had left the bench, Sarah turned to Jim and Alexa.
“There are going to be way too many reporters outside in the corridor. Let’s go out together, but I’ll linger and offer a few sound bites while the two of you get past them as fast as you can.”
Jim nodded. He put his arm around Alexa’s waist protectively as he shepherded her toward the door.
Her plan worked. As soon as the reporters saw Sarah make herself available, they lost interest in watching Jim hurry Alexa out to the car.
Sarah was well-practiced in the art of answering a question without actually giving an answer. Within twenty minutes, the throng of reporters had dispersed to take up positions on the courthouse steps where they taped their solemn recitations for the evening news.
Relieved to be alone in the vast lobby of the courthouse, Sarah headed toward the front doors. Suddenly, Tara Jeffers stepped into her path. She looked even meaner up close than she had while making her ridiculous arguments in the courtroom.
“I want to talk to you,” she snarled.
“We have nothing to discuss.” Sarah kept on walking.
“Yes, we do!” Tara carefully placed one of her Manolo Blaniks in her path.
Sarah stopped and turned to face the bright blue demon glaring at her. “I’m going to summon a bailiff.” Sarah nodded toward the gaggle of khaki-uniformed officers standing by the metal detectors.
“Listen to me!” Tara hissed. “Stay away from Ronald Brigman’s bank records.”
“Is that all you have to say?”
“No, it’s not. If you want to stay alive, leave those records alone!”
* * *
Midnight, Jim’s Bungalow, Pacific Beach
She was afraid he’d gone to bed. She had taken a desperate chance, driving over to his house at midnight just because she wanted to see him. She’d been drinking alone at Trend for hours and driving herself crazy thinking about the way he’d squeezed Alexa’s hand so reassuringly that morning during Tara’s diatribe and the way he’d held her close to push past the throng of reporters. Finally, she could stand it no more.
He was wearing gray sweat pants and a white t-shirt and holding an empty glass that she guessed must have held scotch. It was the most casually dressed she had ever seen him. She reminded herself that nothing would have been possible with him even if Alexa hadn’t been in the way. But the mounting threats were starting to wear her down, and Jim had become her anchor in the swirling intrigue that surrounded this case.
“You haven’t been home to change since the hearing this morning!”
“I had meetings with prospective clients this afternoon and then I went to Trend for a drink.”
“Alexa and I were hoping you’d show up for dinner.”
Alexa and I. The words hurt. He seemed to read the sadness in her face. He pulled her inside and said, “Never mind. I’m sure you haven’t had a thing to eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Yes, you are.” He led the way into his dark kitchen, snapped on the light, and pulled out a stool for her at the island in the center. Without asking, he took her briefcase and purse and began to unbutton her suit coat. He didn’t care if he was inappropriate. He was sailing on too much scotch, and he’d missed her, and right now nothing mattered more than having her here with him.
“What are you doing?”
“Making sure you don’t dribble brie and mushroom quiche on your very expensive jacket. Chanel?”
“No.”
“Then designer Who?”
“Does it matter?”
“You were the best looking one in the courtroom this morning.”
Sarah gave him the first smile he’d seen that day.
“Aren’t you going to make a crack about real men and quiche?”
“No. I’m going to be happy you let me into your house at midnight and are willing to feed me. The suit is Marc Jacobs, by the way.” I’ve had too much to drink, Sarah thought. I shouldn’t have come here. But I’m so happy to see him that it hurts. I only hope I don’t do something stupid.
“Should I pour wine or make coffee?”
“Wine.” Ok, Sarah thought. That was stupid. I’m already over my limit.
He opened a bottle of cabernet and poured two glasses. “Go slowly on this. The quiche will be ready in a few minutes. I brought it back from Alexa’s. We had some for dinner.” He told himself not to be distracted because she was wearing a lacy black camisole under the discarded jacket.
“How was she tonight?”
“Worried that she isn’t going to remember why she was at Brigman’s. I’m wondering if I took her to the scene, if it would help.”
“We’d have to get Tomlinson’s permission. She’s on house arrest. But I’m pretty sure he’d give it.”
“It might be worth a try. You’re going to have those bank records to give me tomorrow?”
“Yes. There’s bound to be something in them. Tara Jeffers stayed behind to threaten me after the reporters left.”
Jim’s face was grave. “Threaten you how? The same way Tessa and David Spineli threatened you? And Coleman Reed?”
“Pretty much.”
He set the plate of quiche in front of her. “Here, eat up.”
“Thanks.”
He watched her wolf it down. Unlike the inedible stuff she brought home in saran wrap, she always ate his food, and that made him happy.
“That was fast. I bet you haven’t eaten all day.”
She looked up guiltily from the empty plate. “Do the pretzels at Trend count?”
“Definitely not. Here, one more piece.” He fought down the wave of feelings that washed over him as he sliced another serving and heated it in the microwave. She needed someone to look after her. She needed him.
“Thanks.” Sarah attacked her second helping more slowly, savoring every bite.
“It’s wonderful as usual.”
“I still say you need a personal chef.”
She laughed. “Wouldn’t work. My hours are too irregular.”
“There would at least be something in the frig for you to heat up when you finally got home.” His light tone changed. “Listen, Sarah. About those threats–”
She waived her hand impatiently. “You know people in my business are always being threatened.”
“But these aren’t empty threats.”
His tone made her look up from her plate. “What are you talking about?”
“When I left your house last Friday night, a black Nissan SUV was parked across the street, watching. I chased it as far as I-5 but couldn’t get a license plate number.”
She put down her fork, but said nothing.
He studied her face. “So you see why I’m concerned?”
She sighed. “I don’t want to tell you this, but that’s not the only time there’s been someone watching my house. Except I know who was responsible the first time.”
“Who?”
“David. It was the night of the bail hearing. He called right after I got home from the hospital and demanded to see me. When I said no, he told me he had an investigator outside watching my house. I called the police and pretended the car was there to case my neighbor’s place for a burglary. When the cops started shining lights inside, he got out of there.”
“Have you heard from Spineli since?”
“No, but I’ve seen him following me sometimes in traffic. I mean, he doesn’t exactly drive a low-profile vehicle. He wants me to see him. He thinks it will intimidate me. I’d say whoever you saw last Friday night was linked to David.”
“How dangerous do you think he is?” Jim frowned as he asked.
“Hard to tell. He bragged, of course, that he could get away with hurting me. I do know his legitimate business has some unsavory ties. That’s what got his brother in trouble with the Securities and Exchange Commission.”
“I’d tell you to go get a restraining order, but they’re pretty worthless.”
Sarah nodded. “Maybe it’s just a nosey reporter who thinks he might get a shot of me coming and going from work.”
But Jim shook his head. “I highly doubt that. No one can take a decent photo at midnight. Do you have a gun?”
“No.”
He frowned. “Someone in your position should have a gun.”
Sarah shrugged. “Well, I don’t.”
“I’m going to get you one.”
“No, thanks.” She had finished the last of the quiche. She was suddenly overcome by the desire to sleep.
“Hey!” Jim caught her as she was slipping off the stool.
“Sorry. Food. Wine. I’m tired, now. I’d better go home.”
“Well, you can’t drive. And to be honest, neither can I. I’ve killed quite a bit of scotch tonight.”
“No, I can drive. I’ll be fine,” she insisted.
“You will not be fine. Guest room, now.”
“No. I have to go home.” Because something will happen if I stay. And tomorrow at the cottage, when I see you with Alexa, my heart break all over again.
Jim sighed. “Then I’ll call a cab for you.”
Within ten minutes, he bundled her into the bright yellow taxi and then stood in the drive watching it vanish into the dark.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
First Friday in November, 2013, Law Office of Bob Metcalf, San Diego
“Did you know?” Jim asked Bob Metcalf at three-thirty on the first Friday afternoon of November. He and Sarah once again occupied the pressed-wood chairs in front of Bob’s messy desk and once again had turned down bottled water from the dorm-room frig.
Bob leaned back in his chair and studied them both thoughtfully. “Alexa and I suspected, but we had no way of knowing. You’re sure?”
“Positive,” Sarah said without hesitation. “Michael was bribing Ronald Brigman.”
“And it looks to me as if Michael’s attorney was in on the scheme, too,” Jim added.
“What makes you think that?”
“Because Michael paid Tara a retainer on January 12, 2009, of twenty thousand dollars. And on the same day, he paid Ronald Brigman the same sum, even though Brigman wasn’t appointed by the court to be the evaluator in the case until early March.”
“And you discovered all this from Brigman’s bank records?” Bob asked.
“Yes. Alexa fortunately had Michael’s account numbers. I could track the money he paid Brigman. Once Brigman got appointed on the case, Michael paid him four thousand a month.”
“But the court made Michael responsible for the psychological evaluation fees and for the cost of the therapy Brigman ordered for the children,” Bob said.
“Right. But those sums are all distinct from those four-thousand-a-month payments. You can tell by reading the court’s orders which payments the court ordered and which ones Michael was making on his own. Brigman, by the way, was raking in a fortune from Michael.”
Bob looked stunned, although he said, “I shouldn’t be so surprised. There have been rumors for years that Tara had a deal going under the table with certain evaluators and judges. Her well-heeled clients always wound up with full custody even in the face of a string of DUI’s or a history of drug abuse. And she used Ronald Brigman in a lot of those cases.”
“By any chance did she use Percy Andrews in the others?” Sarah asked.
“In fact, she did. The bar joked about her pet evaluators.”
“Did she sleep with either of them?” Jim asked.
“I doubt she slept with Percy. He’s married, and there have never been any rumors that he strayed from the wife. Brigman, of course, had been divorced for years; so I’d say there’s a good chance they were an item from time to time. Tara was also notorious for sleeping with her clients.”
