Flannery paces the floor anxiously as Anderson Harris scribbles quickly on the sheet of paper in front of him. What he’s writing, Flannery can’t be sure, but there’s no doubt it’s about the bored young man seated across from them.
They’ve been at this for almost four hours now, and haven’t gained an ounce of helpful information. Not that Flannery expected much more. It’s rare that someone so close to their suspects is willing to come clean.
“Mr. Ayala…” Anderson begins slowly, his eyes glued to his paperwork. “What can you tell me about your monthly income?”
Trace Ayala rolls his eyes in annoyance and frowns. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I don’t need totals.” Anderson smiles wickedly. “I’d just like to know where the money comes from.”
“I have a trust fund. You are aware of who my father is, correct? Speaking of which… I’m sure he’ll be calling the Mayor once he hears about this.”
Flannery winces and shakes his head.
He can’t quite figure out why he’s the only one who’s slightly afraid of these kids. They’ve got money, and their parents all have entirely too much influence and power. If they don’t nail them, every attorney and cop who have spent countless hours working this case could very well end up in the unemployment line.
They’re up against politicians, real estate developers, and doctors . People who could take every single one of them down with little to no effort.
“Mr. Ayala… does your father know you’ve been peddling prescription drugs?”
The color immediately drains from Trace’s face, and he begins to fidget in his seat. He should have known. He should have been smart enough to realize he couldn’t sit here, tell them nothing, and get away with it.
“Which, if my memory serves correctly… those drugs belonged to him and your mother.” Anderson nods, satisfied that this interview may finally go somewhere.
“You can’t prove it.” Trace mutters and shakes his head. “You don’t have anything.”
Anderson pulls a folder from his briefcase and slides it across the table. “That’s an undercover officer.”
Trace looks at the pictures, a deep scowl settling on his face. He can’t deny it now. The photos are all the proof they’d need.
“What am I looking at?”
“Criminal possession, trafficking… 15 to 20, easily.”
“But… if… if I… testify… I’m clear?”
“With us.” Anderson nods. “Your father is another story.”
Trace ponders this for several moments.
On one hand, he can keep himself out of prison. But on the other… prison may be easier than dealing with his father.
“Fine.” He says quietly. “What do you want to know?”
***********************
“Do you swear to tell the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God.” Trace looks down at his hand placed gently on the bible, then smirks at the deputy in front of him.
“Does swearing on the bible really matter if I don’t believe in God?”
“Mr. Ayala… “ Judge Timothy Gates sighs, an authoritative warning in his voice.
“Yeah… I swear.” Trace mutters before taking his seat on the stand.
The courtroom is dead silent, a fact that isn’t lost on anyone. Despite the ‘trial of the century’ implications, not a single media outlet has been allowed into the courthouse, which could ultimately throw things in either direction.
Public opinion seems to be that two cold blooded killers are standing trial, and will surely be convicted. However, the public won’t see the testimony from those who knew the accused. Isn’t much of a fair trial when only one side of the story comes out, now is it?
“Mr. Ayala… how long have you known my clients?” Richard begins as he rises from his seat at the defense table, and begins pacing in front of the witness stand.
“Umm… I’ve known Justin as far back as I can remember. I met Veronica when they started dating, freshman year of high school.”
“So, it’s safe to assume that you know both of them pretty well, correct?”
“Yeah… guess so.” Trace shrugs.
He can’t remember ever feeling this nervous. Then again, he’s never had the lives of his friends in his shaking hands, either.
Part of him wants to believe he’s doing the right thing. If they’re guilty, his testimony will put two murderers behind bars, and if they’re innocent… anything he has to say won’t hurt their case. But even with that knowledge, he can’t bring himself to look at either of them.
No matter the outcome, this is the ultimate betrayal. He sold his friends out to save his own ass. Their guilt or innocence doesn’t change that.
“Would you consider either of them to be violent individuals?”
“Well…” He shifts uneasily in his seat and looks at the floor. “I mean… I’ve seen Justin get in fights and stuff, but I never… I didn’t ever think he’d like… really hurt somebody.”
“So, in your eyes… Mr. Timberlake is not capable of committing a single murder, let alone 27?”
“No.”
“And what about Ms. Mason?”
“V’s… I mean… she’s got a temper, yeah.” He nods slowly. “But, I’ve never seen her get violent or anything.”
“Nothing further.” Richard nods, satisfied with every one of Trace’s answers.
Anderson stands, and shuffles through several sheets of paper in front of him, then moves to stand in front of Trace.
“Mr. Ayala… you gave a sworn statement to the Massachusetts PD, that Mr. Timberlake confessed to you that he and Ms. Mason committed at least three of the murders in question. What did he say?”
“Look man… he was drunk… and if you hadn’t noticed, he’s kind of a smartass… I didn’t take him seriously!”
“What did he say?” Anderson presses. No matter what, he’s determined to get this punk to fess up in front of the jury.
“We were at this party….” Trace sighs and shakes his head.
Three and a half years ago:
“So then… she gets all huffy and shit, right? And I’m just like, look woman… your parents are on the verge of bankruptcy, so you can either deal with this shit, and keep the status… or dump me, and I tell everybody Mommy and Daddy’s dirty little secret.” Justin laughs and shakes his head, before taking a long swig from the bottle, then passing it to Trace.
“Wait… you mean the Mason’s are…”
“Oh yeah.” Justin nods. “Henry got tied up in this investment scam, something with a hospital or a library… fuck, I don’t know. Anyway… he put damn near everything they had into this shit, just to have some wing of the place named after himself. Deal went south… bam, he’s out almost 80 mil. The guy running the shit disappeared somewhere in South America.”
“How the hell are they still pulling all this ‘we’re high society’ bullshit then?”
“They know the right people.” Justin shrugs. “So anyway… I’ve got the girl in check. End of story. So, I’m thinking… next weekend… Cabo? I met some chick a few weeks ago and she’s going down, and… she’s got friends.”
“So… you want me to go to Mexico, and help you cheat on your girlfriend? Dude… just fucking break up with her, shit.” Trace mutters and rolls his eyes. He honestly never thought he’d see the day where he was the one with moral standards.
“That’s not an option.” Justin shakes his head angrily, and quickly lights a cigarette.
“And why the fuck not? Why keep her around when you’re just gonna dick her over? She’s been good to you and deserves a hell of a lot better than that.”
“I just… can’t, ok? Fucking drop it.”
“You’re an asshole.” Trace frowns and rolls his eyes. “Find somebody else to go to Mexico.”
“Look… don’t make me out to be the bad guy. There’s… some shit happened, ok? You wouldn’t understand it, and believe me… V ain’t the perfect little princess she makes everybody think she is.”
“My ass. You’re just trying to justify being a douche bag. So… whatever man. Have fun with your whores in Mexico… try not to catch fucking crabs or something.”
“Trace… just… trust me, alright?” Justin exhales slowly, a thick cloud of smoke surrounding him. “We… we got into some shit together, and… I gotta stick it out with her… if I don’t… I just have to, ok?”
Trace nods. He has no choice but to believe him. Granted, in the back of his mind, he can’t understand what they could’ve done that would make Justin so tense, but… it isn’t really his place to ask.
But… he takes pride in his role as Justin’s best friend. They’ve had each others backs through thick and thin. If there’s any way he can help his friend, and possibly spare Veronica in the process… he’ll do it.
“What happened man? You know you can tell me…”
Justin sighs and rubs his face tiredly. “Look… if… if I tell you… you can’t say shit to anybody, you understand? I… it’s bad man, and it’s gotta stay quiet.” Trace nods in response and Justin takes a deep breath. “In Oregon, we… we killed a couple girls. But I’m telling you… it was an accident… and yeah… maybe we should have gone to the cops, but… with the way our parents are…”
“What… like… a car accident or something?”
“Something like that.” Justin shrugs. “Just… you can’t say anything man… I’m serious. If V finds out I told you… she’ll fuckin kill me.”
“Mr. Ayala… according to your statement, that is not the conversation that took place. Here, in your handwriting, it says Mr. Timberlake told you Veronica encouraged him to commit the first murder, and that the second…the murder of Michael Edwards, took place because they’d gotten away with the first. Now, I’m going to ask you to remember that you are under oath. So tell us, which story is the truth?” Anderson glares at him, and Trace swallows hard.
“This one. Justin told me the murders were accidents. I told you and the detectives what you wanted to hear.”
“Mr. Ayala… please explain to me how this jury is supposed to believe anything you say? Is it or is it not a well known fact that you have a serious addiction to prescription drugs, and have even resorted to selling said drugs?”
“Sell them… yes. Abuse them… not so much.”
“Nothing further.” Anderson mutters in disgust and retreats to his seat.
He was so sure that Trace’s testimony was the nail in the coffin. The best friend of the accused coming clean, and it’s all come back to bite him in the ass.
“Redirect, your honor?” Richard grins, striding over to Trace when Judge Gates nods slowly.
“Mr. Ayala… is it true that the prosecution offered you full immunity on the drug trafficking charges if you testified against my clients today?”
“Yes sir.”
“And is it true, that the prosecution resorted to blackmail and entrapment to charge you?”
“I believe so, yes. I was shown photographs of myself selling pills to a man, who I did not know was an undercover officer. When I was called in for questioning, Mr. Harris told me the man was an undercover, and said he’d pursue the charges if I didn’t testify.”
“No further questions.” Richard nods, shooting Anderson a condescending smirk as he takes his seat once again.
