Page 17 of The Writer
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“ORDER! ORDER!” JUDGE Berman bangs his gavel against the block on his desk for the third time. There’s enough force behind it, ADA Carmen Saffi wouldn’t be surprised if it snapped in half. He is out of patience. She’s never seen him so angry. “Bailiff, I want the reporters out! Now! I gave them a chance to sit quietly, and they blew it. They can listen through the door like everyone else.”
The time to avoid a media circus is long gone. By Sunday morning, the New York papers had the story; the local television networks ran with it that night. By Monday, while they were in Denise Morrow’s initial arraignment, the story went national, with coverage on all the morning shows. The 24/7 news channels pounced that afternoon. In the following days, a million Nancy Grace wannabes flooded the internet putting in their two cents. Then late yesterday, someone at the county morgue leaked their findings, adding gasoline to an already roaring fire. Saffi wants to string up Declan and Cordova, but the truth is she’s just as responsible for this mess as they are. Hell, she still thinks Morrow did it. The woman has yet to show a single sign of remorse. The smug, indifferent expression on her face now as she sits quietly at the defense table does nothing to make her look innocent.
Saffi spent the past three days reading Denise Morrow’s books, every last one of them, and came to a single conclusion—Denise Morrow is playing them. The woman has made a career writing true crime. She’s studied not only some of the world’s most infamous killers but those who were wrongly accused. More important, she dissected the police work on all those cases. In her books, she showed an uncanny ability to get in the head of everyone involved—not only the accused, but the victims and the investigators. She knew their methods. Their weaknesses. Their strengths. She took some of the most complex scenarios and broke them down into the simplest terms so they could be understood by the layman. She’s smart, educated. The fact that they found her the way they did should have been a red flag. She has the know-how to conceal a crime, but instead, she sat herself down in the middle of the mess and waited for them to point their collective finger at her. Hell, she let them take pictures! She made herself look guilty, knowing none of the evidence would stick. Knowing they’d look like idiots. Knowing—
“Counselor? You still with us?”
When Saffi looks up, Judge Berman is staring at her.
“I asked you a question.”
“Sorry, Your Honor. Can you please repeat that?”
“What happened with the grand jury yesterday?”
“I filed a postponement of one week.”
Geller Hoffman puts up an exasperated hand. “You can’t expect my client to sit in a cell while the State licks its wounds.” He holds up a folder containing the medical examiner’s findings. “In light of this new information, we’d like the court to revisit bail.”
Saffi points at Morrow. “She was covered in blood, Your Honor!”
Hoffman makes a show of shaking the folder. “Not hers. Not the victim’s. The State doesn’t even have a murder weapon. What it does have amounts to nothing more than a random kitchen utensil found at the scene. My client’s prints aren’t even on it.”
“Nobody else was near that apartment at the time of death. Nobody but the defendant. Security footage proves that. We believe the blood belongs to the victim and there was a lab error. We need time to retest.”
Hoffman shakes his head. “Your Honor, this is what I mentioned the last time. It’s clear my client didn’t do this, yet the prosecutor’s office and investigating officers are laser-focused on her. They haven’t looked at a single other person. They have no theories. They have… nothing.”
A copy of the ME’s report is open on Judge Berman’s desk. He has the data from CSU too. He flips through it all again before turning to ADA Saffi with a sigh. “A grand jury would toss this, and you know it. Obviously, that’s why you asked for more time, but Mr. Hoffman is right—you can’t keep his client in a cell while your team attempts to patch the extensive holes in your case.” He closes the folder and slides it off to the side. “I’m setting bail at two hundred and fifty thousand, and that’s generous; it should be zero. You need to drop these charges and issue an apology.”
Saffi swallows the lump in her throat. “The State requests the defendant surrender her passport with bail. For reasons previously stated, she is a flight risk and has the means to disappear.”
Geller Hoffman rolls his eyes. “Your Honor—”
Judge Berman cuts him off. “It’s not unreasonable to ask your client to stay in the country as the police investigate the murder of her husband. Suspect or not, she needs to remain accessible. She will surrender her passport as a condition of bail, and it will be promptly returned to her if the State drops these charges or the grand jury fails to indict.” He frowns at Saffi. “You’ve got one week. Get it together, Counselor.”