A Cold Day in Hell Read online

  The article included a picture of Katherine smiling with her much older and very tan husband. Anthony Vine was something of a local celebrity due to his appearances in his own cheesy commercials. He’d walk out onto a gym floor surrounded by people lifting weights and yell his catch phrase into the screen, “If you’re not fit, IT’S VINE TIME!!” His leathery orange face graced the side of bus stops, billboards, and park benches all over the city.

  She saw that they had interviewed Joe Wheeler about the arrest. “We do have a suspect in custody as of noon today. He did give a statement before his arrest, the details of which I won’t get into now.” Just looking at the small photo of Joe Wheeler made her stomach turn. Her relationship with him had been the low point of her existence. Still reeling from the abandonment of her first husband, who had left her high and dry with two babies, she had looked to Joe for a father figure for them. She was still in the police academy when he charmed his way into her life, her kids just two and three. But his charm had faded fast to fists and beatings. She got out before her girls knew what was going on. If she could have erased those few years from her life, she would have. In a heartbeat.

  She shoved that piece of the newspaper under the coffee table.

  In a separate article, District Attorney Carl Church also chimed in, praising Detective Wheeler for his good work in making a speedy arrest in such a horrific case. Church’s picture wasn’t included in the article, but she could imagine him in his gray pinstriped power suit, looking sympathetic and outraged all at the same time. That look had gotten him elected to two terms and he pulled it out whenever it would have maximum effect. Election time was right around the corner; he’d make hay with this one for sure.

  All the power players were jockeying into position for this homicide.

  As she tossed the rest of the paper to the floor, Lauren could practically smell the shit that was rolling downhill directly toward her.

  7

  The next morning was a mob scene at the Garden Valley Town court. Every local news station, talk radio show, and newspaper had a reporter covering the arraignment. The town’s court building itself was tiny; the actual courtroom, closet-sized. It was made to handle the disposition of traffic infractions and parking tickets, not homicide side shows.

  Lauren came in wearing one of the fifteen black suits she had lined up in her closet for just such occasions. They were her courtroom trademark. Hair tied in a neat, professional bun at the nape of her neck, her tall black heels clicked as she crossed the floor. That normally would’ve made her cringe, but no one was paying any attention to her. The media people were absorbed in setting up for their sound bites. They were looking for the stars, not the bit players, in this drama. Instead of heading to the right, where the prosecution was set up, she went left to the defense table.

  “You made it.” Violanti was unpacking his brief case, lining up his paperwork, pencils, and legal pads in a neat array in front of him. Then rearranging them.

  A touch of OCD? Lauren thought watching the shuffle. “You didn’t think I’d show?”

  “It’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind. My wife proves that to me on a daily basis. I thought you might have a change of heart overnight. And besides, you said you’d tell me after the felony hearing.”

  “I heard enough yesterday.”

  He placed a gold pen to the right of his water glass. “He’s a good kid, Riley.”

  She ignored that comment. “Did you make me my copies?”

  Reaching into his perfectly ordered stack, he produced a manila file. “What about your fees?”

  “I take it you’re handling this pro bono for your godson?”

  “Yes.”

  She took the folder from him. “I want a ten-thousand-dollar retainer. Billed hours come out of that until it’s gone or the case is disposed of. Whichever comes first.”

  He let out a low whistle. “That’s steep.”

  She wanted to let him know that if he really wanted her in on this, he was going to pay for it. And pay a lot. “It’s less than what you would charge if he wasn’t family.”

  “I’ll cut you a check today. Did you bring me a copy of your license?”

  She pulled two pieces of paper out of her pocket and slid them over to him. “One copy and my retainer agreement. I think you’ll find it pretty standard.”

  Now he chuckled. “You’re all business today. I’ll have my client approve these, sign off on them, and we’ll be good to go.”

  “Thank you.”

  Turning and looking into the crowd behind her, she saw Anthony Vine sitting in the back row with a man who reeked of personal attorney to the rich. Another burly man was standing at the head of the row, blocking it so that no one else could sit down. He was deflecting the reporters who were circling around like a flock of turkey buzzards to get a comment.

  “All rise,” the bailiff announced and the entire room jumped to their feet. “The honorable Judge Martin Shea is presiding over this court today.”

  A tall white-haired man in his sixties wearing the standard long black robe ambled out to the stand. He looked tired and pissed off. “I would like to remind our friends from the media that this is a court of law,” he began. “Also, I would warn against any outbursts from the gallery. Anyone disrupting these procedures will be immediately removed from the courthouse. Please be seated. We have one case on the docket this morning. Counselor?”

  A young assistant district attorney stood, straightened her skirt, and stated, “Lynn Ferro, for the people, Your Honor. We’re ready to proceed.”

  The judge half turned toward the defense table. Violanti addressed him, “Good morning, Your Honor, Frank Violanti for the defense. We’re ready to enter a plea for the purposes of arraignment and enter a motion on bail.”

  The judge nodded and said to the bailiff, “Have the detective bring in the defendant.”

  Just as the bailiff was about to retrieve David from the holding area, Violanti said, “Your Honor, in light of the strong presence of the media and your allowance of cameras in the courtroom, I would respectfully request that my client be brought in uncuffed, as to not taint the possible jury pool.”

  “The people object to that, Your Honor. The defendant is charged with homicide, not a parking ticket.”

  Judge Shea bristled at the ADA and she immediately recognized her mistake. “My courtroom always has adequate security on hand to ensure the safety of everyone involved. Whether it’s a parking ticket or a murder. Request granted. Instruct the detective to uncuff the defendant prior to him being brought into my courtroom.”

  Lauren glanced up at Violanti from her seat and he raised an amused eyebrow to her. The prosecutor seemed to shrink down into her suit a little. Lauren had always thought Lynn Ferro looked like a pale little bird, boney and gaunt. District Attorney Church wouldn’t be happy with her, and when he wasn’t happy, somebody paid for it.

  About five minutes later, Joe Wheeler, Garden Valley’s sole detective, led David Spencer in. The fortyish detective was taller than David, with balding brown hair he slicked back with gel. His suit looked slightly rumpled, like he’d slept in it—or maybe hadn’t slept at all. Garden Valley hadn’t had a homicide in years and its only detective had probably been working overtime since the arrest.

  A buzz rose from the courtroom as soon as they came in and camera flashes started going off. Joe pushed David forward, with his hand planted in the small of his back, toward the defense table. David looked confused for a second, then Violanti pointed to the space next to him and David slid in beside his godfather. Joe turned David over to the local court officer, who positioned himself behind and to the right of David.

  “No flash photography is allowed in this courtroom,” Judge Shea admonished the press. “That’s my only warning.”

  As Joe Wheeler moved toward the prosecution side, he caught sight of Lauren sitting
at the defense table. She returned his gaze without a blink. His face pinched up in a mixture of outrage and confusion, and he almost came to a halt before he regained control. He was still watching her as the judge began the hearing. Lauren turned and faced forward, blocking him out.

  “Are we ready then?” Judge Shea prompted.

  Lynn Ferro cleared her throat. “Your Honor, the defendant, David Ryan Spencer, has been charged in the information provided with one count of murder in the second degree, one count of rape in the first degree.” She paused to look at the papers in front of her. “And one count of assault with a deadly weapon or dangerous instrument in the first degree. Copies of the people’s complaint have been turned over to the defense and we are ready to speak on bail.”

  The judge looked directly at David. “Have you been provided with a copy of the charges against you, Mr. Spencer?”

  “Yes.” His voice was small and shaky.

  The judge nodded and made a mark on a paper in front of him. “And having spoken with your attorney, how do you plead?”

  David glanced at Violanti, who nudged him ever so slightly. David’s voice was a little stronger this time. “Not guilty, Your Honor.”

  Judge Shea now addressed the entire courtroom. “Let the record reflect that the defendant, David Ryan Spencer, has pled not guilty to the charges as listed. A felony hearing will be scheduled for Wednesday, July 5th, at two o’clock in the afternoon.”

  Violanti bent forward and recorded the date in his agenda. “No conflicts, Your Honor.”

  The judge looked over to the prosecutor; she nodded. “The people are fine with that as well.”

  “I will now hear the arguments on bail.”

  Ferro picked up some papers from the desk and held them in front of her like a shield. “Sir, due to the nature of the crime, the people request that the defendant be remanded without bail until at least the felony hearing.”

  Violanti all but rolled his eyes. “Your Honor, my client has no criminal record, has strong ties to the community, and he’s an

  eighteen-year-old kid. The defense requests he be released into the custody of his parent or at least a reasonable bail be set.”

  The judge sat looking down at the paperwork in front of him, made a note, and then said, “Due to the severity of the crime of which he’s accused, I’m going to side with the people and have him remanded without bail. The issue can be revisited after the felony hearing. That is all.” He banged his gavel on the desk and stood up as the cameras clicked all around.

  Joe Wheeler jumped up, strode across the courtroom, and grabbed David by the arm. David was half twisted, trying to talk to his mother, who had been sitting behind the defense table in the gallery. Joe yanked him to his feet, locking eyes with Lauren for a hot second before she turned away.

  “Whoa. Easy, Detective,” Violanti warned. Joe ignored him.

  “Mom?” David called back in a pleading voice. “Uncle Frank?”

  “You mean he’s not coming home? Frank? He’s got to stay?” David’s mother wailed, watching Joe march David away through the side door.

  Violanti put a hand on her shoulder as she began to cry. “I told you to expect that, Sarah. We’ll argue for bail after the felony hearing.”

  She was desperately looking back and forth between David and Violanti’s face. Her whole body was shaking. “What is a felony hearing? I don’t understand. What’s going on?”

  He leaned over the divider that separated the court from the gallery. “Sarah, shhhh.” He was trying to get her to quiet down, as the cameras had all zoomed in on them, savoring every tear. “I’ll come over to your house tonight and explain everything. Again. Don’t talk to anyone on the way out.”

  But he was too late; reporters were already shoving microphones in her face. Violanti grabbed her and pulled her through the little swinging door set in the divider. “Bailiff, can we use the side door to avoid this circus?”

  “Sure, Counselor.” He swung the door open and held it for them. Lauren followed them outside, happy to escape the notice of the reporters.

  David Spencer and Joe Wheeler were nowhere in sight. Joe must have turned him right over to the holding center officers as soon as they came outside. Church probably arranged for the holding center bus to be at the side door. Nothing but the best for this sideshow, Lauren thought.

  Violanti put his arm around the sobbing Sarah and led her out into the back parking lot. It was actually the lot for a closed down hair salon next to the courthouse. Violanti had texted Lauren that morning about the secret lot. He was forever visiting different courthouses for his defense cases and knew all the tricks and hot spots for each one. They had both gotten there early to avoid the media. Lauren had played a game on her phone for a little while before going in, to let the media settle inside, like predators do when staking out their territories. The lot seemed to be deserted, except for their two cars.

  Violanti turned to Lauren. “I’ll get you the retainer and anything else you need tonight. Can I meet you somewhere after you’ve gone over the paperwork?”

  She nodded. “Call me on my cell.”

  Lauren watched as Violanti crossed the empty back lot, gently comforting David’s mother, who could only be a year or two older than herself. Lauren thought she might be forty, but a hard-looking forty. Whether that was from the stress of the last week or a lifetime of bad breaks, Lauren could only guess. Sarah Spencer was still crying as he eased her into his car and pulled out.

  The media was probably clustered around the ornate front facade of the little courthouse trying to get their sound bites in. Grateful for the vacant lot, Lauren was about to jump in her Ford when she felt someone come up behind her. She turned.

  “Joe.”

  He was standing behind her with his hands on his hips, feet planted wide apart, that look of contempt plastered on his face she knew so well.

  “Shouldn’t you be with your prisoner?” she asked. She was in no mood for his bullshit right now.

  “He went back to lockup in a patrol unit. The better question is what the hell were you doing sitting with my arrest?”

  “It’s none of your business, Joe—”

  She hadn’t even gotten finished with her sentence when he punched her in the mouth. She wasn’t ready for it and ended up on her ass next to her car in the parking lot. Her tooth had gone into her lip, blood dripping down her chin. Her hand went immediately for her gun, but it was locked in her glove box. Weapons weren’t allowed in courtrooms for anyone but the deputies. Of course, he knew that.

  “You son of a bitch.” Spitting blood onto the asphalt, she pulled herself up against the car, head reeling. “If I had my gun on me, I’d shoot you right now.”

  “I don’t doubt it. Lucky for me you’re unarmed.”

  “Coward,” she snapped through her bloody teeth.

  “Stay out of this case, Lauren,” he warned, pointing his finger in her face. “You may have everyone else believing you’re some super cop, but I know you. I know you.”

  “You don’t know shit about me anymore.” She wiped her chin with the back of her hand, smearing it with blood. “Just like old times huh, Joe? Still get your rocks off beating on women.”

  “Yeah, except now I don’t have to lie and say I’m sorry so you’ll keep on screwing me.” He walked away, leaving her bleeding in the parking lot.

  Sixteen years ago, she had met Joe Wheeler in the police academy. He wasn’t the sweaty, scorned, ugly man he was now. He’d been young, ambitious, and handsome in a rugged way. He had an authority about him, and it had been comforting to Lauren then to let him take charge, to let him take care of her. She had a two- and three-year-old at home, and it had been hard, being alone, trying to take care of them. Getting the police job was like winning the lottery. Then she met Joe. When she looked at him now, she could barely see even a wisp of the man she had almost
married. Over the years his bitterness had morphed him into the awful, sweaty, sadistic person he had become.

  When she met him, Joe had been confident and strong. He would run behind her in the academy and encourage her. They studied together at her house while her girls played on the kitchen floor. His dad had been a high-ranking cop in the department and big things were expected of him. The two of them graduated from the academy at the top of their class. It wasn’t until they hit the streets that his temper began to show.

  Two years and four trips to the emergency room later, they were engaged. She kept the abuse to herself. It was embarrassing: to be a cop and handling domestics when you were getting your own licks at home. She was still new on the job, still afraid of not being taken seriously

  because of her looks, and Joe was well liked. He always said he was sorry afterward, and reminded her that she knew better than anyone what kind of stress he was under. He convinced her that she provoked his outbursts and that if she could just change, everyone would be happier. He told her that so many times, she really believed it.

  She probably would’ve married him if she hadn’t come in to work one night with her eye blackened shut for the second time in two months. Her partner, Earl, an older black man who had also gone to the academy with both of them, asked her what happened. She told him she fell into a door. He nodded his head at the news and left the reserve room without a word. When she went to get into their patrol car, it was gone. Earl came back an hour later. When she asked where he went, he simply said, “I was taking care of some business.”

  That night, after she got home, she heard Joe’s car pull into the driveway of her small, rented house. They didn’t live together, but he came by every night after work, usually waiting until her kids were in bed. Tonight he was early. Erin and Lindsey were playing Barbies on the kitchen floor. He turned his key in the lock and came in.