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[excerpt: LA Times] Bond and House Arrest for Carter until Arraignment
Remy Dumas, Staff Reporter — September 4, 2012
Cain Michael Carter […] appeared in court today for a bond hearing, in the murder case of Terence Fabius McMahon. […] Bond was set at $5 million. Prosecutors had asked for no bail, citing Carter’s connections and second home in Switzerland. Judge Martin, acknowledging the risk, placed Carter on house arrest with GPS monitoring. There he will remain until his arraignment, scheduled for September 13. […]
[link: LA Times] BIZARRE TURN IN CARTER TRIAL
Remy Dumas, Staff Reporter — September 14, 2012
Noah Griner, 47, lead counsel for the defense in the trial of Cain Carter, was found dead in his home last night, from a gunshot wound to the head. The coroner has ruled his death a suicide.
He was found by his wife, Ashleigh Griner, 43, who said she "heard a shot" and "came running." First responders pronounced him dead at the scene. He left a cryptic handwritten note, in which he wrote that he was ‘not depressed,’ but was ‘doing this for my family.’
"We don’t know what it means," Mrs. Griner told reporters. "None of it makes any sense."
His death comes on the heels of a bizarre courtroom scene yesterday. Carter, his client, was scheduled to be arraigned at nine a.m., but Griner did not appear until almost 9:30. Eyewitnesses described him as disheveled and agitated when he arrived.
"He made a scene coming in," said Paola Jimenez, a witness in the courtroom gallery. "He sat down next to Carter and they were whispering together, very loud. It didn’t sound good."
When Judge Owen Martin called for order, witnesses report Griner stood from the defense table to announce that Carter wished to plead guilty. Carter stood up in turn, shouting that he did not wish to plead guilty, but intended to go to trial.
The two argued heatedly, and might have come to blows, if the bailiff had not restored order. Griner told the judge he wished to resign as lead counsel. When he could not provide any grounds, beyond that it would be "dangerous," the judge denied his request.
"[Griner] looked like he’d seen a ghost after that," Jimenez said. "It was eerie."
It is not yet clear whether the courtroom scene and Griner’s suicide are connected. But friends and family report that he did not seem depressed or anxious leading up to the incident.
It was Sunday, and the vast offices of Empire Construction were all but deserted.
Jacob’s office looked south. A gorgeous outlook, if a little sunny. His was messier than the other partners’ offices, procrastination being the décor’s main motif. Posters he’d meant to hang, stacked in a corner. Picked-over vegan barbecue in a paper togo box. Old server units and swivel chairs shoved against the wall. Only a single touch of taste, the speaker on the desk playing Chet Baker Sings.
Jacob Asher was no workaholic. Normal Sundays found him at home. But he couldn’t get his last conversation with Cain out of his mind. Even as he sat, answering emails, his eyes would glaze over and he’d hear Cain again in his mind:
You ain't the one whose house they tore up. You ain't the one who got beat up and dragged through the mud in the press. Am I gonna fight the whole justice system?
He burned remembering.
His head shot up when he thought he heard a door close. It might have just been thunder. He’d seen a storm approaching, a single turgid cloud like a giant comma in the western sky.
He found himself craning to see out his open office door. He found himself wishing for someone to talk to, about anything that wasn’t depressing.
Now he heard footsteps. He was halfway up to go see who it was when a woman walked by. Tall, blonde, striking, she’d have caught his eye any day. It took his brain a moment to process.
"Helen." She’d passed by, but now she came back, peering in with a shocked little smile on her face.
"Jake. I didn’t know you were here."
Statuesque Helen was born to wear a crown. Dressed for a photo shoot, diamonds like a dusting of starlight, she posed in the doorway like a poster frame.
"And why are you working on a Sunday? And with so much going on. Shouldn’t you be relaxing?"
"Hard time relaxing lately. What are you doing here?"
"I’m here to talk to Will." She came into the office. She floated to his desk. She took a careful seat in one of the simple chairs.
"I didn’t know he was in."
"I can’t stay long." She drew her purse into her lap.
"That’s… fine." After a beat, he added: "How are you?"
She slid a vape pen from her purse. She blew little white flowers of vapor off to one side. Jacob smelled a creamy sweet scent.
"Can you blow smoke rings?" she asked.
"I never smoked. Dad was a pharmacist. He’d have killed us."
"This kind isn’t bad for you. Here, try it." He held up a hand.
"Not my thing. You sure you’re doing okay?"
She set her purse down on the floor, and settled back in the chair. She took a dainty puff, and brushed an invisible flyaway.
"Not really." Jacob waited. "Things with Will aren’t good." She coughed gently. "Sorry, I’m such a mess."
"Don’t be sorry."
"But it’s been so rough since Terry died. Really since Cornelius died. It’s like everyone is dying around me! Even that lawyer, can you imagine his poor wife?" She trailed off. "But now it’s like Will’s a different person. A frightening person. I barely know him anymore."
A sniffle had come into her tone, and Jacob opened desk drawers, looking for tissues. He found old napkins instead, and passed them to Helen, who dabbed at her eyes, though they were mostly dry.
"Did something happen?"
"Well…" She looked down, biting her lip.
"Helen, honey, if there’s something you wanna say, say it. I’m not going to tell Will."
"You promise?" A tiny voice.
"Of course."
An even smaller voice: " He made me lie to the detectives."
Asher came to life at once.
"So he did leave the house that night!" He sat forward, triumphant. "I knew it!" He fixed Helen with a look, put a hand on the desk between them: "You have to tell the police. Cain’s going to prison, Helen. We’ve done everything we can. But you could actually save him."
"But what if I get in trouble for lying? You know, the first time?"
"What is wrong with you?" He caught himself. "I'm sorry. They’ll be glad you came forward. He made you lie. We have to save Cain."
Helen shook her head. "There’s no saving Cain. They found the burner at his house, plus a whole bunch of drugs. And now I hear he’s got a public defender and he’s pleading guilty?"
"We have to try, at least." Asher was breathless. "You can’t just let him win."
She turned prim. "I’m afraid of him."
"Sometimes, I am, too. But that doesn’t mean we let him do whatever he wants, does it?"
Helen huffed. "You don’t share a bed with him."
Jacob frowned. "Has he…?"
She giggled. "Oh, stop it, perv. I didn’t come here to talk about that."
"You said you came here to talk to Will."
"I did." Her face got serious again. "I didn’t mean to end up in your office."
Jacob suddenly had doubts.
"You can’t ask me to cross him. Not when Cain’s going to prison anyway. What would I do if he left me? If he came after me?"
Jacob’s heart had always been as hard and cold as butter, and Helen’s words melted him like a microwave.
"You know I’d never let you live in want. You and Cadence never have to worry."
"Imagine what he could do to me."
"He’d have to go through me first."
Helen looked like her tears might become real. "I’m so grateful for you." She rested fingertips on the edge of the table.
"We’ll figure something out. You just hang in there. I know this is a tough time. If things get really bad, you still have my number, right?"
"Of course." She chuckled. Met his eye. "I'd never want to lose that."
"Now, repeat after me: I’m gonna be okay."
She sniffed hard and straightened her back. She tried on a smile. "I’m gonna be okay."
"There ya go." She put the vape pen back in her purse, and checked her phone.
"You’ve always been such a great friend. I’d be so alone right now if it wasn’t for you. And I know we’ll find a way to save Cain."
They looked at each other.
"But I have to go." She broke the moment. Jacob felt suddenly far away.
"Well," she said, flashing a smile as bright as the sun, "call me sometime."
Some men might have taken advantage. Jacob merely watched as she sashayed from the room. Merely breathed the lingering flowery scent she left behind.
For a long while, he just stared at the door where she’d been.
"Knock knock." Someone was rapping knuckles on the doorjamb. Jacob was startled from his reverie, and couldn’t remember what he’d been thinking about.
"Yeah, what’s up?" A young man in a uniform stood just outside. Jacob noticed the package in his hand.
"Jacob Asher?"
"Yeah, come on in."
"Can you sign?"
Jacob signed, and took the package. Bubble-wrap with something small and heavy inside. He banished the thought that it might be a bomb from Will. But his heart still thudded as he cut the package open with scissors from the cup on his desk.
It wasn’t a bomb, but something worse. An old-style flip-phone. A burner. Which could mean only one thing.
There was one text message. He read:
Meet me where he died.
Jacob swallowed hard. He closed the phone. For the first time in his life, he wished he owned a gun.
As if on cue, he heard the rumbling sound of thunder. He stood and went to the wall of windows behind his desk, looking westward. The single big storm cloud was almost overhead. It blocked the sun and darkened the afternoon.
The wind was rising as Jacob drove to the Laurel construction site. Gusts pulling at the car, as if to tug it off the road. Paper trash and leaves flying in the wind. Flat gray light. Suddenly not Sunday, but the apocalypse.
A few fat raindrops hit the windshield like bad omens, but no downpour yet. Just thunder and the gusting wind.
The Laurel was a half-finished mid-rise apartment building nestled near the foot of the hills. Lightning cracked as he approached. The light blinded him and the sound made him jump.
On a Sunday, the construction site was empty. He entered the lot, surrounded by fencing emblazoned with the Empire logo. He parked by the trailer office. The wire fencing rang in the wind.
Will’s deep-green Range Rover was already here. Asher looked up as he slammed his door shut. A scaffolding enclosed the half-finished building. He thought he saw Will, nine stories up. A moment of dizziness took him, but he forced himself to be calm.
He went and found the stairs. The same stairs Terry must have climbed, the night of his death. He made himself not look down.
But the whistling wind and the creaking platform brought sweat to Asher’s lip. He tried not to think of Terry. Tried not to imagine what it would feel like to fall. He fought green chills all the way up.
But when he reached the top, and saw Will, he forgot all about the altitude. Wind and lightning were just a fitting backdrop for a parley with the devil.
"How long have you been standing there?" he called, climbing the last few steep stairs. "What’s with the high drama?" He tried not to show he was winded. Or that he was scared.
Will stood vampire-serene in a dark suit, fixing his cuff.
"Helen’s a troubled woman, Jacob."
"Now you’re spying on me?" Asher rested hands on knees. Just for a second. But then one second became two.
Will dropped his cuff. "So you have been talking to her."
Asher looked up, and rolled his eyes. "Is that why you did it, Will? Because of Helen?"
"Terry fell to his own stupid death."
"You really expect me to believe that?"
"I don’t care what you believe."
"Why are you doing this?" Jacob stood, his breath returning. He knew he ought to walk away. But he had to know. "Will, we were brothers."
Will chuckled. He spread his hands out wide. "Cornelius is dead. That era has ended. Did you want to stay his children forever? There’s a new order now. It’s up to us, Jacob. You could do well for yourself, if you chose to be a part of it. Instead of playing social justice crusader. Or whatever the hell you’re doing."
Asher’s face was a pinched mask of disgust. "You’re kidding me. After what you’ve done, you want me to work for you? When you still lie to my face about Terry?"
"I didn’t kill Terry."
"I can’t even talk to you." Asher turned, as if to walk away, but whirled back with an accusing face: "God, Will, for once, can’t you just be honest? Let me see you remember how!"
Will’s lip curled. His green eyes flashed. "Walk away from Empire if it makes you feel principled. You won’t stand in my way."
"You think I’m just gonna let you do this? Let you take over Empire? Let you get away with murder?"
"I’m not a murderer." Will stepped forward. Jacob stepped back. Only ten feet now separated them.
"I thought you didn’t care what I think." Jacob fought the urge to check behind him. "Why did you even want to meet?"
"I’m continuing our mentor’s legacy. I wanted to offer you a place in the new order. Like you said, Jacob, we were brothers. We could do great things together."
"I can’t even listen to you talk about him. Not after what you’ve done. You pissed on his legacy and on everything we built."
"Or," Will said, as if Asher hadn’t spoken, "you can fight me. And I’ll take away everything you’ve ever loved."
Jacob was shaking his head. His hands had balled into fists. Will clocked the move and smirked. Something frosty entered Jacob’s bloodstream when he saw it.
The wind, already stiff, gusted. All at once, Asher remembered just how high up they were. The floor sank away and the world spun.
"Either way," Will said, "stay away from Helen, and from Cain, and from everyone involved in the case. Stop throwing cash around like you want to be Caesar."
Jacob, dizzy, heart thudding, gripped the railing. Will saw it, and his smirk grew to a smile. His tone was honey and battery acid: "I get it, Asher. I know you wanted to be CEO. You had big plans for Empire, didn’t you?"
"I never wanted the job." Confidence returning, now that he was attached to something.
"Maybe not." Will advanced like a shadow. "But you sure worked real hard to make sure I didn’t get it. Or isn’t that why you were going to vote for Terry?"
Jacob blinked, as understanding dawned. A raindrop spattered across a lens of his glasses. His ‘fro blew like tall grass in the wind.
"So that’s what happened. Terry told you we were gonna vote for him, and you threw him off the building. Will, you’re insane. I never gave a damn about being CEO. I’m upset that my brother and my mentor are dead. I want justice, not a job."
Will threw his head back and laughed. Terry would have recognized the sound. But the high wind carried off the echoes. "You always were an idealistic fool. I just can’t figure out how much you actually believe."
"You are a sad, sick person, Will, and I pity you."
"Moral posturing won’t change the scorecard."
"I’m leaving." Asher turned, careful not to look over the edge. He kept a hand on the railing and took shuffling steps, eyes fixed on his feet.
"That’s it? You’re just gonna walk away? What happened to your high ideals, Asher?"
Jacob, already on the stairs, turned. "No, this isn’t over." He pointed a finger at Will. "Not by a long shot, you son of a bitch." He left Will standing there, alone on the platform, surveying LA like a movie villain.
His stomach turned backflips all the way down. He breathed sweet relief when he put a foot on solid ground.
But as he made his way from the bottom of the steps toward his car, his phone began to ring. The sound of thunder and the plunk of raindrops only compounded the dread that overcame him. He swallowed hard.
He had a feeling he knew who was calling. And when he looked at his phone and saw he was right, his stomach dropped and he feared to answer. He also had a feeling he knew what it would be about.
Slowly, he raised the phone to his ear. The smell of ozone destiny in the air.
"Leah," he said. "Are you okay?"
"Jacob oh my god." She was in panic. He couldn’t make out the story.
"Leah, Leah, what’s happening?" He broke into a run. He slammed against his car, fumbling for the handle. The downpour was imminent. "Are you hurt?"
"They came in the house and they broke down the door and I thought they were going to kill us, Jacob, what is going on—"
"You gotta slow down." His hands shook. It took three tries to start the Volvo.
"Honey, breathe." He slammed into gear. The tires spat dust as he peeled from the lot. "Now go slow: who, who came in the house?" Thwack of raindrops on the windshield. Fast like machine-gun fire.
Her high-speed terror resolved into a single, mournful word: "the police, Jacob, the police!"
The car shuddered as he thumped from dirt to pavement. Bluetooth took over the call. Now he could hear his sister sobbing from every speaker.
"Leah, Leah, listen to me. Why are the police there? What did they say?"
She said words, but he couldn’t make them out. Finally, third time, he got it.
"So they had a search warrant?" She sniffled. "I can’t hear you when you nod."
"Yes," she said. "But why are they searching my house, Jacob? They said it was about Cain Carter, but I’ve barely met him."
Asher’s heart thudded in his chest. But now, instead of heading for his sister’s house, he changed course. "Go to Mom’s. I need to go check on something."
"You’re not coming here?" Her voice a high squeak, like he’d asked her to stop over in Hell.
"I’ll meet you at Mom’s! Get the kids and go there. If the police ask you any questions, tell them you’ll only talk with a lawyer."
"Jacob, my house—"
"Go to Mom’s! Don’t talk to the cops! I’ll see you there!"
He hung up without a goodbye. The better to focus on weaving through the accumulating traffic, headed not for his sister’s place, but his own. He had no doubt the same thing was transpiring there. His blood thudded in his veins like a rock concert, knuckles bone-white around the wheel.
The drive passed like a bad dream. A final flare of hope against hope, as he turned on his street. There, halfway down… he saw the notice taped to the door, and that final hope flared out. They’d broken in when he wasn’t home.
The warrant was signed by Judge Owen Martin. Jacob stood on his tiny front porch, looking at the notice on the door, peering through the crack where it stood ajar.
He pushed, and stepped through into his house. Trashed, just like Cain’s. Though Jacob’s house was smaller than his brother’s. And this looked as much like a robbery as like a search. They’d taken his laptop, his second phone—but also his TV. They’d broken things they didn’t need to.
His blood boiled to think they’d done the same to Leah.
"He won’t get away with this." Jacob spoke through his teeth, standing fists clenched in the wreckage of his living room. "He won’t get away with this." Tears of frustration sprang to his eyes as his nails dug into his palms. His head shook like he’d swallowed something foul.
He had to think. No. He had to go see Leah. Make sure her kids were okay. But then…? He couldn’t risk her safety, under any circumstances.
But his soul had spoken. Will would not get away with this.
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The Rosy Mirror owes a debt of gratitude to Steve’s Bedroom Band, for their rendition of Karl Nawratil’s String Quartet No. 2, Op. 21, IV, Allegro vivace, made available under a Creative Commons 3.0 Attribution license. Accessed via the Musopen Library.
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