Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“Bud Thomas, one of the lawyers for your sister. I’ve been trying to get ahold of you?” His blond hair was mussed and his gray suit not worth ten thousand dollars. He probably worked as an associate at whatever law firm Abigail had hired. “I’d like to interview you.”
Laurel was under no obligation to speak with the defense. “Captain Rivers and I were interviewed twice by the police regarding your case.”
Thomas straightened, his eyes a deep green. “I can subpoena you for a pretrial deposition.”
“Perhaps,” Laurel said. “But you’d need permission from the judge as well as the DOJ first, and as I’m sure you know, depositions in criminal matters aren’t often ordered in Washington State.”
His brow furrowed. Showing confusion? “You don’t want to help your sister?”
“No.”
The judge walked through the doorway up front and moved behind his desk, followed by a court reporter and another woman who must be his scheduler. The judge had thick salt-and-pepper hair, sharp features, and dark brown eyes.
“All rise,” the bailiff said.
Laurel stood, releasing Huck’s hand. As soon as the judge sat, so did the spectators in the courtroom. The silence was blissful. Outside the building, cameras, news vans, and gawkers all created a frenzy of noise.
The judge slammed his gavel down and then reached into a pocket and drew out thin, black-rimmed glasses to perch on his nose. He flipped open the top of a file folder, read for a moment, and then looked up. “I’m Judge Warren Delaney. This is the matter of the state of Washington versus Abigail Caine.” He read off the case number. “Who do we have here today?”
Abigail’s attorneys, flanking her, both stood. “Henry Vexler from Vexler and Symons for the defense,” said the obvious lead in his expensive suit. His voice was smooth and thick. Warm, even.
The prosecuting attorney also stood, wearing a deep red skirt suit with white shell and black pumps. “Tamera Hornhart for the state.”
The judge nodded. “As you know, I cleared the courtroom today of press and other cases due to the lack of security, but the press will be allowed going forward.” He glanced at Abigail. “Ms. Caine? Please stand.”
“Doctor Caine,” Vexler said quietly.
The judge’s bushy eyebrows rose. “My apologies. Dr. Caine.”
Abigail stood, looking diminutive between the two taller men.
Huck leaned toward Laurel. “Why is her suit too big?” He studied Abigail up front. “And not her usual style at all?”
Laurel lifted her chin. Her half sister favored black leather and high-end red dresses usually. “She looks vulnerable. Fragile. Defenseless.” Frankly, it was a good look, and no doubt Abigail had come up with that herself. Like Laurel, she most likely ranked in the profoundly gifted IQ range and had attended college very young to earn multiple doctorates.
The judge stared at Abigail. “Dr. Caine? You are charged with murder in the second degree, for the death of Zeke Caine on April fifteenth. This is a Class A felony under RCW 9A.32.050. Do you understand the charge?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Abigail said.
“And how do you plead?” he asked.
Vexler gave her a brief nod.
“Not guilty,” she answered. “It was self-defense, Judge.”
An unnecessary addition to her plea, but now it was out there. In the judge’s mind. Laurel studied him, wondering what he saw when he looked at Abigail. The woman was beautiful and often used men. Easily.
As if in tune with that thought, Abigail partially turned and looked at Special Agent Norrs, her lips trembling. They’d been dating since December, and Norrs was truly hooked. He couldn’t see the malignant narcissist or psychopath or whatever deviant lay beneath Abigail’s fragile looks. It would take years of meetings, tests, and studies to ever truly diagnose that woman.
Norrs leaned toward Abigail and said something, but Laurel couldn’t hear the words.
Tears filled Abigail’s eyes. She nodded and visibly steeled her shoulders, turning back around and facing the judge.
“Give me a fucking break,” Huck muttered next to Laurel.
Judge Delaney looked to the prosecution table. “Ms. Hornhart, do you wish to be heard on release conditions?”
The prosecutor flipped open a blue file folder. “Yes, Your Honor. The state moves to revoke bond that was granted to the defendant during her probable cause hearing and remand the defendant into custody. Dr. Caine actively sought out the victim, who was avoiding contact and had gone into hiding from the authorities. She initiated a confrontation that resulted in the victim’s death. She also holds substantial wealth and could relocate to another country easily. The facts of the case point to intent, not self-defense. Given the severity of the charge, we believe she poses a flight risk.”
Vexler stood tall. “With respect, Your Honor, the state is attempting to dress speculation as fact. Dr. Caine has significant and verifiable ties to Tempest County. She’s a tenured professor at Northern Washington Technical Institute, she owns multiple parcels of land through her business companies, and she has no prior criminal record. Her sister is a supervisory special agent with the FBI. She surrendered her passport and has complied with every condition of her release. There is no basis for revocation.”