Читать книгу Murder in the Courthouse - Nancy Grace - Страница 14

CHAPTER FOUR

“Mom, I swear, I didn’t do it. I didn’t murder her. It wasn’t like that at all. I told you what . . .”

“Hush. Shhhhh.” She looked around her sharply. “I told you to never mention that . . . that incident again . . . never.”

Looking deep into her son’s eyes, she held his hand across the table. The trial was set to start tomorrow morning.

Normally, inmates were strictly disallowed to be alone with anyone other than their lawyers, but in this case, the rules had somehow been bent a little. Todd Adams was the most high-profile defendant ever housed at the old Chatham County Jail. So when Adams’s mother showed up along with his lawyer, who kept a deep tan year-round and had a penchant for wearing sunglasses indoors and out, the jailhouse guards always gave her a few minutes alone with her son . . . without lawyers hovering around and talking incessantly as lawyers are known to do.

The very last thing this jail needed was a celebrity lawyer like Mikey DelVecchio calling a press conference to complain about jail conditions. That would lead to an “investigative report” on some news magazine show, and the county sheriff’s goose would be cooked.

The jail had frequent “incidents” it tried its best to keep on the down low. Just the other day, a murder suspect, “Ninja” Hassan DeMay, nearly beat one of the guards to death. DeMay was allegedly angry over marinara sauce on his chili mac dinner and unleashed on a rookie guard.

Then yesterday a shakedown uncovered a deadly homemade shank, fashioned from weather stripping and the cellophane wrapped around food trays. The aluminum metal stripping had been sharpened to a jagged point by scratching it against the concrete floor.

Just the kinds of things Mikey DelVecchio need not know anything about. Ever since he represented some Hollywood starlet on a shoplifting charge, he’d been in the news, celebrity treatment all around.

And even though the star got convicted . . . no matter. DelVecchio went on to represent another Hollywood A-Lister on DUI, then another for going on a drunk and naked rampage in a fancy New York hotel room with a hooker, then a doped-up pop star. Even when he lost, somehow, the convictions never stuck to DelVecchio, just the “glamour.”

Nobody knew exactly how, but likely thanks to Snoop vaulting the story to national headlines, Todd Adams’s family lassoed DelVecchio into representing their son. The word was that whenever DelVecchio flew into town, he holed up at a five-star hotel, ate and drank like a king, charged it all to Adams’s family, and went to his room with two or three girls on his elbows.

Everybody in Savannah seemed to “know” Adams did it. Julie was a hometown favorite. She was the public high school’s homecoming queen and everybody remembered it. She was sweet and beautiful and the talk had been, for quite a long time, that Adams ran around on her. But nobody would ever dream of hurting Julie’s feelings by even alluding to her husband’s unfaithfulness.

Now he was here, in the Chatham County Jail. And with a lawyer like Mikey DelVecchio, nobody could touch him. He got the kid-glove treatment . . . special food, private cell, magazines, books, extra TV time, and perks like this—long visits alone with his mom in one of the inmate-lawyer conference rooms.

“Shhh, baby. No need to go through it all again. I know what happened. I’m your mother . . . I believe you.”

“But Mom, why would I kill anybody, much less Julie. She was . . . amazing . . .”

“She was, she was! We all know that, and we all know you would never, never have intentionally harmed her. Why, nobody doubts that you loved Julie!”

“I did, Mom, I did!”

“And the jury is going to see that!”

“I mean Mom, they don’t have any proof I ever . . .”

“No! Don’t say another word. You’ve already told me everything I need to know. And I believe you, son! So not another word.”

Adams’s mother looked over her shoulder and quickly glanced around the room, convinced they’d be overheard. Sheriffs were the worst, always listening, nosy . . . busybodies, no doubt about it. Didn’t they have lives of their own? It was none of their business what went on between her and her boy.

“And son? No more outbursts.” Tish Adams spoke in an urgent whisper. She cut her eyes toward the guards. “After what happened the other day, we can’t afford another slipup . . . No matter how badly you feel about Julie’s accident, it wasn’t your fault. You absolutely cannot continue droning on and on back here about it. It will be misconstrued! For instance, that horrible prosecutor could take what you said the other day, no matter how innocent, and twist it and turn it and use it against you! You’ve got to be quiet back here! And no talking to cellmates anymore! Haven’t I told you about that? And these . . . these guards . . . they’re not your friends!”

Glancing sideways, she was convinced the guard to her left was listening. He’d done it before. He practically had an antenna on the top of his head, craning his neck toward Todd and herself as far as it could physically stretch.

“But Mom . . . I’m not talking about what happened to Julie . . .”

“Didn’t you hear me tell you last time to shut up . . . these walls have ears . . . are you blind?” Again, Tish jerked her head toward the guards at the door.

“Mom, I’m not talking about Julie now, I’m talking about Cynthia.”

His mom stared at him blankly. “Cynthia, Mom . . . Cindy. Remember her from high school? She was in the baton corps? Remember before every football game they’d run out on the field . . . one time she had a baton with fire on the ends and she . . .”

“Stop it! For Pete’s sake . . . stop it! Yes, I remember the baton with fire on the ends. And yes of course I remember her, Wallace and Helen Gresham’s daughter from the Country Club. She would have been a much better match for you than Julie Love. I tried to tell you Julie was all wrong for you. Yes . . . what about Cynthia? She always wore that little royal blue sequined short set for the dance routines. Too tight and too short, I always told your father that . . . but still. But what does she have to do with anything?”

“I mean Mom, they won’t bring that up will they?”

“Who? Will who bring up what?” Her eyes furrowed together so closely they nearly created a single brow over her eyes.

“Mom . . .” Todd Adams looked uncomfortably around the tiny room, then past his mom and back toward the guards. “You know . . . that we were, uh, friends.”

“Who were friends? You and Cynthia? Of course you were, you knew each other from high school. You had lots of friends, dozens of friends, of course you did. You were the most popular boy in school as I recall.”

“No Mom, I don’t mean that . . . I mean do you think they will bring up that we were . . . um, dating?”

The look on his mother’s face was unreadable, like a mask. Not a single nerve moved, she didn’t even blink. Not once. She stared straight at him as if she were actually looking through his head at the wall behind him.

“Dating? Cynthia? You dated Cynthia in high school. Yes. I know that. What would that have to do with anything at all?”

“I mean, they could argue it was motive, Mom . . .”

“But that was years ago. That’s hardly motive, that doesn’t even make sense.”

“Mom, it wasn’t years ago. It was last year . . .” Adams looked down and to the side, his voice lowered to a whisper.

“Last year? And now you tell me? And is the expression ‘dating’ your word for holing up at some out-of-the-way motel? You let another girl drag you into her problems? The Cynthia girl is divorced from a pool guy and has three kids. Is that the same Cynthia?”

“He’s not a pool guy. He owns his own pool company, Mom . . .”

“Like that makes it better?” She spat it out in a whisper but with the venom of a snakebite. “If you keep your mouth shut, they’ll never know.”

Why did her son keep getting duped by women who were only after one thing? The Adams money. The Cynthia girl rearing her ugly head now. And on the heels of the flood of Julie Love headlines.

Everyone in town had known it . . . Julie Love was a “catch” at the time the two had gotten engaged. She was the golden girl who made all As, worked at a food bank, and attended church every Sunday with her parents. Little witch was even a Girl Scout. And she was the homecoming queen, which apparently meant something even though it was at the public school. A drama queen as well, always making a big production over her brother. He was handicapped since birth, confined to a wheelchair. Julie Love insisted on carrying him to nearly every major event she attended.

Most groom’s mothers did not have a starring role in their son’s weddings, which seemed so unfair to Tish. She took it upon herself to plan the whole thing for poor Julie. The girl was hopeless at event planning. Julie had actually started with what she called an “intimate gathering of family and friends.” Ridiculous. Why even bother to get married? “Intimate gatherings” were not picked up by the Savannah Chronicle. Fat chance. The couple wouldn’t be able to buy their way into the wedding or engagement announcements. Of course, Julie Love insisted that didn’t matter.

An “intimate gathering” screamed “shabby and cheap” to Tish. Once Julie was confronted with the Adams guest list, things began to look up. Not another single body could’ve fit into the sanctuary of the Savannah First United Methodist Church. By the time all the Adams guests were tallied, Julie tearfully announced, at an Adams family dinner no less, that her family couldn’t afford a big reception. Tish could still remember the moment even now, when Julie conjured fat tears to roll down her cheeks into the linen napkin in her lap. Her voice trembling, she said her mom and dad simply couldn’t swing it financially.

What a little liar. Tish and her husband ended up footing half the bill for the party. Tish was still stewing over it. The papers—yes, Tish called in a favor and got the wedding details in the Chronicle after all—the papers said Julie Love was a beautiful bride . . . a beautiful fake as far as Tish was concerned.

In fact, if only the world could see through Julie Love’s façade, they’d realize this whole mess was actually Julie’s fault. She was so simpering, so mealymouthed, so saccharine sweet. Tish had watched it for years. In her own mind, she often called it “The Julie Love Show.” Everything about the girl was a put-on. Even using her handicapped brother as a prop. Pushing him around at public events, fussing over him as if she really cared. It was a ploy. A ploy to get people to notice her, to love her, to get on all their good sides.

Julie never, not for one second, fooled Tish. She could see through that the first time Todd had brought her over to the house to meet his mother. She had taken Todd away, put on that spectacle of a wedding where Tish was a nothing. Julie never let Todd spend time with his family anymore. Then she tried to lock him into a loveless marriage with a baby of all things . . . and now, this!

Anybody in their right mind could see what kind of boy Todd really was. Why, he had it all . . . good looks, charm, education, manners, a good job . . . everything!

The truth was, Todd had always been too good for Julie Love. Tish knew it and so did the whole neighborhood. And here they were, all lined up in court and siding against Todd! With friends like these . . .

“But Mom . . .”

“No ‘buts.’ Everything will work out, you’ll see, my precious boy. Now . . . let’s talk about what you should wear tomorrow for court. That’s all you have to worry about. Do you understand?”

He nodded, shutting up so his mom could talk, like always. It was easier that way.

“It’s all going to be OK. You just wait and see. You’ve got the best lawyer money can buy. Listen to me . . . listen to your mother. Now I’m going to get those photos for you to put up in your room.”

“It’s not a room, Mother, it’s a cell. A jail cell.”

“I know that, dear, but I prefer to refer to it as your room. And that’s how you should think of it too, like a dorm room.”

“A dorm room? Are you crazy?”

“Calm down, son. No need for the sheriffs to hear you agitated, is there? Remember, I went to nursing school before I married your father and had you. Want me to get a doctor’s order for a sedative?”

“You never finished.”

Tish gave her son a look that would’ve scared anyone else into cold silence before she spoke. “Thank you for reminding me that I gave up a career for you and your father. And no, dear . . . I’m not crazy. I’m just trying to make the best of a bad situation and that’s what you need to do, too. Now let’s get those pictures of Julie Love up in your room.”

“My cell.”

“The power of positive thinking, Todd, positive thinking.”

“Mother. I’m behind bars on two murder one counts. My trial starts in the morning. They had to bus jurors in from another county. What’s positive about that?”

Todd Adams’s voice took on a whining quality. His mother didn’t notice.

“What’s positive? The fact that the world will hear what a wonderful son and husband you are. They’ll hear about your golf scholarship, your job, your degree, your beautiful home and family . . . that’s what’s positive.”

“And I don’t want those pictures up in my cell.”

“Room.”

“OK . . . room . . . whatever! I don’t want those pictures up in my room!”

“But why? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Because . . .” He paused. “They make me depressed. I’m already miserable in this place. Crappy food, hardly any TV, and it’s not even cable . . .”

“But photos of you and Julie Love will remind you of all the happy times—”

“No they won’t. They’ll remind me that I’m here in jail because she’s dead. They’ll remind me of home . . . of what I’m missing.”

“Shut up!” It came out like a hiss. Tish turned in her seat to look back at the guard at the door. He was pale and wimpy. The way he’d kept peering in through the glass door, glaring through a hideous set of thick glasses . . . she was positive he’d eavesdropped on every single word she and her son had so stupidly uttered.

His mother’s tone made him sit up straight in his chair and stop the whining.

“How will it look in front of a jury when they find out you don’t have a single photo of Julie Love up in your room?”

“Cell. My cell, Mother.”

The two sat in sulky silence, each staring the other down. Finally, Tish Adams broke the silence.

“Your father and I didn’t work our fingers to the bone to have our son arrested, much less convicted for first-degree murder. This absolutely will not happen to our family. Now you listen to me and you listen good. You will put up these photos and you’ll keep them up. And remember, no friends. Nobody in this facility is your friend, not the guards, not the inmates, not even the chaplain. You have one friend, Todd, and that’s me. Your mother.”

He wouldn’t look up, instead gazing down at his knees like a corrected schoolboy.

“Now wipe that look off your face. Your father’s about to come in to visit and then DelVecchio. I’ll get the photos. Understood?”

Todd Adams wouldn’t answer.

“I said, understood?”

“Understood, Mother.”

“Good. You’ll see, sweetheart. And don’t worry about the Cynthia girl. That will have no bearing on this whatsoever. It was just a stupid mistake on your part, really just careless. It was ancient history . . . all the way back to high school. Nobody cares about that. And, truth be told, if you hadn’t been married to someone . . . someone like her . . . you’d have never sought a shoulder to cry on. That’s all it was really, just a shoulder to cry on. This will all turn out just fine. You’ll be out of here in no time and back home where you belong. With your father and me.”

Todd Adams said nothing.

Undeterred by her son’s lack of enthusiasm, she went on. “Mark my words, son, we will hold our heads up high in this town again. We will show our faces at church the very first Sunday you are out of this . . . this dungeon, and we will march right up the center aisle and onto the front row. You’ll see.”

“Mom, if you hate this town so much, why don’t we just move once this is over?”

The look she gave him should have killed him, but it didn’t. In fact, it seemed to have no impact at all.

Looking deftly over her shoulder, she plowed forward a little more loudly and a lot more cheerfully. “I’ll bring the pictures of Julie over in the morning. The wedding photo, in particular, will look perfect right over your bed. On second thought, maybe we should go with, I mean, you’d probably want the sonogram.”

He looked up at his mother blankly. “The what?”

“The sonogram . . . of the baby . . . from the doctor’s office, you dolt.” The words came out in another hiss that caused the guards to look toward them.

Tish Adams straightened her spine, smoothed down the pale yellow skirt of her matching Talbots sweater and skirt set, and pulled up the corners of a smile. She methodically gathered together her purse, papers, and a gorgeous set of faux tortoiseshell Chanel sunglasses. She stood up to leave. Brushing past the guards, she smiled brightly. “Hello, gentlemen! How nice to see you this morning! Have a blessed and wonderful day, you two.”