Sealing Fate Read online

  While the image the press manufactured for Barbara angered Brian on a daily basis, the new image created for him turned out to be a salable commodity and presented a bandwagon that the media mainstay could hardly wait to jump aboard.

  Suddenly Brian went from a malevolent force loose in the public coffers to the victim of a betrayal fashioned by the woman closest to him in conspiracy with a sociopath. Brian had wondered how Barbara might ever get an untainted jury panel to hear her case. He still wondered whether a fair trial would be possible. The daily dosage of news about the case had become a deluge, and the only potential jury pool would have to be residents of Greenland or comatose.

  The calls to Brian's office had suddenly changed, reflecting the new public perception of Brian Madsen. Callers extended condolences, expressed support, and promised to stand by him. Some sent campaign contributions, although he wasn't campaigning for anything. It was thoughtful and caring, and none of it mattered. It was all life after the fall.

  Brian's characteristic ambition, drive, and compulsion to somehow make a difference were simply gone. In their place was the abyss—the absence of any reason to get up each day, a sense that every day was less relevant than the last and sucked only a little less than the next would. He was aware that his emotional detachment was a psychological mechanism to keep him from the abyss he stared into daily. So what? This insight was as useless as the day itself.

  The dreams Brian had about Cathy had slowly decreased a couple months after her death, and he thought they would fade away. But there had been a recent reversal in those changes, and the dreams were becoming more frequent and more emotionally intense. Now he didn't want to get up in the morning to face the day, and he didn't want to go to bed at night to face the dreams and the rekindling of a better life that he would lose by morning.

  In this latest sequence of dreams, Brian had turned the clock back to time they had spent together, had seen the light in her eyes, and had touched her face. Then came the inevitable realization that he would never see her again and he would never have the chance to tell her … what? That he thought about her, that he missed her, and that life was not the same? And maybe just to talk with her one more time.

  Chapter 27

  After eight months of failed attempts to negotiate a resolution that would allow Barbara to serve her time in a psychiatric hospital, this was the day it all came to a head. No cameras were to be permitted in the courtroom, but a media circus was surrounding the courthouse. Trailers, satellites, camera operators, miles of cord, and microphones were thrust into the face of any passerby who might share an opinion about Barbara Madsen. Her trial for the murders of both Cathy Jenkins and Michael Hayward had already been carried out in the press, where both evidence and innuendo were admissible and most citizens had already reached a verdict.

  Multiple pretrial motions to suppress evidence on Barbara's behalf had been overruled, and all evidence against Barbara would be presented to the jury. As promised, Carol Hayward had been at the preliminary hearing and every motion, appearing anxious for any opportunity to speak.

  The trial was estimated to take three weeks, including a parade of witnesses who would testify that Barbara was a wonderful human being, whose perfect record in life before Cathy Jenkins warranted a merciful result. There could be no evidence that suggested Barbara was innocent, as the recorded evidence in Barbara's last conversation with Michael Hayward, was irrefutable. The evidence would instead focus on assertions that these were crimes of passion, worthy of manslaughter convictions only.

  According to Lloyd Martin, the best-case scenario was conviction on two counts of manslaughter two, with a total cost to Barbara's life of fifteen years and possible release after ten to twelve with good behavior credit. Thanks to the efforts of Jim Orson and those who moved behind the curtain to obtain the favors that his clout motivated, the worst-case scenario would be a double murder conviction resulting in life imprisonment without possibility of parole.

  With Brian's ongoing review of case law, he had come to realize that Orson's accomplishment was no small feat. A second killing was frequently an aggravating factor that elevated a life imprisonment sentence to the death penalty. He owed Orson more gratitude than the disappointment he had conveyed.

  Brian parked his car and walked into the court building, took keys and change from his pocket, and put them in a plastic dish. Then he walked through the metal detector. His stomach was in knots, and he wished he could be anywhere else. He emptied the plastic dish into his hand, gave the uniformed guard beside the metal detector a nod, and walked down the hall. Brian took the elevator to the third floor.

  He made his way down the corridor until he found the door marked “Department 38” and then checked his watch. Nine fifty-five. He pushed open the door and walked the carpeted aisle toward the front of the courtroom, where a waist-high gate in a wooden barricade separated the participants from the spectators.

  As Brian made the walk up the aisle, he noted that the seats on both sides of the aisle were largely unoccupied. There were two dozen men and women, primarily dressed in suits. Some stared at files, while others sat talking. There was no one he recognized, but a number of them looked like members of the press. On the other side of the gated fence were two counsel tables, one of which was occupied by Lloyd Martin and Barbara and the other by Garrett Gardner.

  When Brian approached the gate, Lloyd stood and extended a hand as he opened the gate for Brian.

  Garrett stood and gave Brian a solemn nod. “Hello, Mr. Madsen,” he said and then turned his attention back to the open file on the counsel table in front of him.

  Lloyd mumbled a greeting and then pointed a hand to the chair next to his, and Brian sat down.

  Brian leaned toward Lloyd and asked, “Where's Barbara? She met with you, right?” It suddenly occurred to Brian that she might have actually had second thoughts and elected to board a plane for Nepal or Ethiopia.

  Lloyd said, “Yeah, she just went down the hall.”

  Brian wasn't sure if he were relieved or if it would have been better for her to be long gone to parts unknown, leaving no clues. He would have understood if she had disappeared, taking her chances on a distant culture rather than fifteen years to natural life in a state prison.

  Barbara appeared in the doorway and walked toward them. Her expression was detached and distant. Brian stood and gave her a hug. Then he moved over a chair so she could sit down next to Lloyd.

  There was silence for several minutes, at which point the clerk and bailiff entered the room. A moment later the judge emerged from his chambers and stood in the doorway while the bailiff called out, “All rise and come to order, department thirty-eight is now in session, the Honorable James Pierson presiding.”

  The judge, who appeared to be in his early sixties, was thin-faced, clean-shaven, and bald, except for brief patches of closely cropped gray above each ear. He walked rapidly to the bench and sat down, the clerk's cue to turn to the thin crowd and announce, “You may be seated.”

  They sat down and waited expectantly while the judge reviewed documents in front of him and then looked from one counsel table to the other over his glasses. “Are the parties ready to proceed in connection with the matter of the people versus Barbara Madsen?”

  Both attorneys stood. Then Garrett said, “Garrett Gardner for the people, Your Honor. We are ready to proceed.”

  Lloyd responded, “Lloyd Martin for Ms. Madsen, Your Honor. We are also ready.”

  “Fine,” Pierson said. “Who wants to go first?”

  Garrett spoke up, “Your Honor, the state first moves for dismissal of the charges in connection with case number 1931781.”

  “That would be all charges in connection with the death of Catherine Jenkins?” Judge Pierson asked.

  “Correct, Your Honor,” Garrett said.

  “And the reason?” Pierson probed.

  “Lack of sufficient evidence, Your Honor.”

  Pierson furrowed his brow. “As I
recall, we had a preliminary hearing in connection with this case. And Judge …” He paused for a moment as he reviewed the file in front of him. “Constance Mathews of the municipal court found that there was sufficient evidence for this matter to proceed to trial. Is that correct, Mr. Gardner?”

  “It is, You Honor. The reason for the dismissal has arisen in the investigation and analysis of the evidence since the prelim,” Garrett said with apparent confidence. Pierson didn't look convinced, so Garrett spoke again. “The dismissal has been approved all the way up to the district attorney, Your Honor.”

  Pierson furrowed his brow and nodded, seemingly appeased yet curious. “Seems a little strange given the findings of the municipal court and the magnitude of this case.” He directed the comment to Garrett, who remained quiet. Pierson then looked to Lloyd. “Okay with you, I presume, Mr. Martin?”

  “Yes, Your Honor. I was informed of these developments late yesterday, and I have no objection to the dismissal.”

  Pierson issued a sardonic smile. “I would think not, Mr. Martin. I would think not. If I were the district attorney, however, I would have many questions.” He leaned back in his chair and grinned widely. “And given the scope of the press coverage in this case, I suspect that he'll have many to answer.” He nodded to no one in particular and then said, “All charges against this defendant in connection with the death of Catherine Jenkins are hereby dismissed.”

  He read the case number for the benefit of the court record and then looked back to the parties. “Next order of business. My clerk tells me that you have a proposed plea bargain in connection with the matter.”

  Brian looked at Lloyd expectantly, as this was news to him.

  “That's correct. We have worked out the details this morning.” He glanced down at Brian with what looked like an apologetic expression for not having divulged this development. Then he turned his attention back to the judge.

  Brian was stunned. He was the true outsider with no knowledge that any deal had been achieved or even seriously contemplated.

  “Mr. Gardner?” the judge inquired.

  “Yes, Your Honor, we have reached agreed recommendations for the court.”

  “Very well,” the judge said. “Enlighten me.”

  Garrett deferred to Lloyd with a wave in his direction.

  Lloyd cleared his throat and began, “The parties have agreed that Barbara Madsen will plead no lo contendre to manslaughter two in connection with the death of Michael Hayward, Your Honor. Sentencing recommendations have been included in the stipulations filed with the court.”

  His Honor nodded silently for a moment. He then spoke directly to Barbara, “Is it your desire, Ms. Madsen, to enter into the plea agreement voiced by Mr. Martin?”

  Barbara stood and said, “It is, Your Honor.”

  “And you do so voluntarily and of your own free will without coercion from any source?”

  “That's right, Your Honor,” Barbara replied.

  “Do you understand, Ms. Madsen, that, in pleading in this manner, you are waiving your right to any trial by judge or jury?”

  Barbara nodded. “Yes, sir. I do.”

  “Do you understand that you are also waiving rights of appeal in connection with your plea?”

  “Yes, sir,” Barbara said without hesitation.

  The judge removed his glasses and looked at Barbara intently, as if he could see her more clearly without them. “You are aware that sentencing recommendations have been made?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Have you also been made aware that I am not compelled to accept those recommendations? That they are only recommendations and that, if the court deems appropriate, they may be entirely disregarded, and sentencing will made in accordance with statute?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Brian leaned toward Lloyd and whispered, “Maybe she should reconsider. Does that mean he's going to let her have it with both barrels?”

  Lloyd shook his head and waved off Brian. When Brian looked up, he saw the judge was watching him.

  “Do we have a question here?” Pierson asked.

  “No, Your Honor, we're good,” Lloyd replied.

  Brian began to speak, but Lloyd again shook his head, so Brian yielded. This was, after all, Lloyd's battlefield.

  “I'm told we are prepared to waive time and proceed with sentencing today. Is that right, counsel?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Lloyd and Garrett said almost in one voice.

  “Very well.” The judge paused and scanned the courtroom. “If family of Michael Hayward is present and would like to be heard, please stand to be identified.”

  Brian knew this was a relatively new requirement of state law that required the court to allow the victim's family to be heard and to take the testimony of a victim's family into account before making a sentencing decision. Although the law presented a singular opportunity for relatives to confront a perpetrator and was probably of psychological benefit to those venting, in a legal sense, it seemed of dubious value. Relatives of the deceased were always distraught, and even if they weren't, why should the penalty be stiffer because the victim was liked more by his relatives? If you killed someone, he or she was no less dead because there was a rift between family members.

  In this case, the point was moot. Brian looked around the courtroom and was surprised to see no one come forward. He remembered Carol Hayward, besieged by grief, expressing through tears to clambering reporters that she would be present in court to seek justice against her husband's killer and to maximize the sentence Barbara would receive for ending his life and their lives together. The woman seemed to be living for this day. How could she not be present?

  Brian scanned the courtroom one more time. The eyes of the onlookers did the same, but no one stood.

  Apparently, Judge Pierson read the same newspapers as everyone else and was aware of Carol Hayward's vows to testify because his eyes scanned the room a second time, and his expression registered surprise when there was no response. When the judge had satisfied himself that there were no takers, he gave a nod and looked toward the reporter.

  “For the record, no one has come forward to be heard.”

  She nodded acknowledgment, but like all court reporters, she didn't want to speak, or she would have to record her own words as well as everyone else's.

  Judge Pierson looked at Barbara, and all eyes focused on him as he spoke, “Barbara Madsen, the court will accept your plea. There can be no doubt that the crime in this case was more than serious. It was brutal, heinous, and, to most, unimaginable.”

  Brian grabbed Lloyd's arm involuntarily. This judge was going to ignore whatever guidelines had been agreed and put away Barbara forever, and there was not a damn thing he or any of them could do about it.

  Judge Pierson continued with his eyes never leaving Barbara's. “Nonetheless, it was a crime of passion in the heat of an unplanned moment. This is not any form of justification, but it does mitigate in favor of more moderate sentencing. Accordingly, this court will accept the sentencing proposal advanced by the parties. Barbara Madsen, please rise.”

  Barbara and Lloyd both stood, assumed a submissive posture, and waited for Judge Pierson to continue. “You are hereby sentenced to seven years in the California Institute for Women. You are remanded to the custody of the county sheriff for transport.”

  “Your Honor,” Lloyd said in the first moment of silence, “we had requested that Mrs. Madsen be given seven days to put things in order and handle family matters before reporting to begin serving her sentence.”

  Judge Pierson look momentarily annoyed, as if he had caught Lloyd engaging in an act of overreaching. He looked at Garrett. “Any response from the people?”

  Garrett paused a little too long and then said, “We would have no problem with forty-eight hours, Your Honor.”

  The judge's expression reflected annoyance. “Two days is okay, but seven is too long, counsel.”

  Garrett was having second thoughts. “Perhaps
it would be better if there were no delay.” But it was stated without conviction, and it seemed that Garrett was aware this argument was too late in coming.

  Judge Pierson looked at Barbara. “For the same reasons you were granted bail originally, you will have seventy-two hours from right now to report. That means Thursday at noon. During that seventy-two-hour period, you will not leave the city. The bond previously posted will remain in effect until your return. Are we clear? Any questions?”

  “We are clear. Thank you, Your Honor,” Barbara said responsively.

  Lloyd nodded his concurrence.

  Judge Pierson stood and then stated, “This court is in recess for fifteen minutes.”

  Everyone stood as Judge Pierson walked from the bench to his chambers, opened the door, and disappeared from view. The buzz of voices filled the room, while some of the reporters ran for the door. Others waited, poised to talk to any of the key characters in the day's drama, in hopes of bagging a spot on the eleven o'clock news.

  Brian looked at Lloyd, who was smiling. “Is that what was agreed?” Brian asked incredulously. “Seven years in a state penitentiary?”

  Lloyd nodded, still smiling. “Sort of. The Institute is a minimum-security facility. As in no fences. It has dorms, televisions, and the opportunity to work or study. With good behavior credit, Barbara will be out in forty-eight to fifty-four months.”

  Brian considered all this. It was delivered as if forty-eight to fifty-four months would conclude right after lunch. When Brian last checked, this was four to four and a half years. He looked at Barbara, who was nodding at something Lloyd had said and seemed to be taking all this well.

  The court attendant, a pretty Hispanic woman of about thirty, who wore a red jacket that made her look like a realtor, motioned toward Lloyd, who nodded and led Barbara and Brian through a side door in the courtroom into a hallway. She motioned down the hall toward the interior elevators.