Private Vegas (Private 9)
“You know what I did. I took her to Santa Anita. She bet on a winner. It made her happy.”
“And what did you like most about her?”
“She had a nice personality. She said she thought I was interesting.”
“Interesting? Is that right? So you told her that after you got out of the military, you were convicted of robbery, spent four years at Chino, and now you did a lot of sneaking around with cameras and such in your job as a private eye?”
Caine said from his seat, “Your Honor. Is there a question somewhere in that pile of garbage?”
“I’ll withdraw my question, Your Honor. My apologies. Mr. Del Rio, what did you and Ms. Carmody fight about?”
“Huh?”
“You said that you and Vicky fought. What were your fights about?”
“Nothing. Like most people. We both forgot about the fight the next day.”
“You see, Mr. Del Rio, I’m asking because Ms. Carmody told Sergeant Degano in the ambulance that she had been in a fight. Now, I’d say that a fight between you and Ms. Carmody would be something like an eighteen-wheeler rolling over a Mini Cooper—”
“Objection, Your Honor. Mr. Lewis is badgering the defendant, smearing him with innuendo in a transparent attempt to bias the jury against him.”
Judge Johnson admonished Lewis, said, “You surprise me, Mr. Lewis. There are remedies available to me if you
continue in this vein.”
Lewis dipped his head, appeared somewhat remorseful, then asked, “Mr. Del Rio, could you give us an example of a fight you had with Ms. Carmody?”
“Fights come in all sizes,” Del Rio said. “For instance, there are arguments like what we’re having, because I don’t agree with your questions. And I don’t like your tone of voice.”
Lewis mimicked Del Rio: “I don’t like your tone of voice.”
Del Rio was on his feet. His blood was up, and his hands were clenched into fists. “You want to fight with me, Lewis? Is that what you want?”
Bingo. That was exactly what Lewis wanted, but Del Rio didn’t get a chance to lift a hand. The bailiff saw a brawl in the making, barreled into Del Rio, and forced him down into his seat in the witness box.
Caine hollered for a mistrial and the judge hollered back, “Not on your life, Mr. Caine. The defendant wanted to testify. And now he’s done it.”
Chapter 67
I SWEAR TO God, I couldn’t believe what was happening. The judge slammed the gavel until the courtroom came to something resembling order, but she was clearly losing control of the proceedings.
When the opposing attorneys were back behind their respective tables, when the roar in the gallery had subsided into a stunned silence, the judge put her pooch in her lap and said, “Mr. Del Rio, you are one split second from being removed from this court.”
“I’m sorry, Your Honor.”
“Can you control yourself? Or would you like to watch your trial on closed-circuit from a holding cell?”
“I’ve got myself under control, Your Honor. I apologize to you and everyone else. But that dirtbag—”
“Stop right there!”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Del Rio stared bullets at Dexter Lewis, and the jurors looked back and forth between them. Caine asked for a sidebar, and he and Lewis approached the bench.
I knew Caine was requesting a mistrial again, because there was no chance the jurors could ignore Rick’s violent reaction to Lewis, even if they were instructed to do so.
There was inaudible chatter at the bench, then the attorneys stepped away, Dexter Lewis showing a twitchy smile, which told me that he was doing his best to keep a victory lap in check.