Page 73 of The 24th Hour
Cindy focused her eyes on Mary Elena Hayes, but her face was turned toward the front of the room. Cindy typed a silent note on her tablet that the victim in this case seemed at ease. Mary Elena had information about what was to come while court was in session that Cindy could only guess at, so she typed a line of question marks across the midline of her electronic page.
Judge St. John asked for quiet. It took several long moments and a bang of the gavel to get it. The jury had already been sworn in. The assemblage now sat quietly. No one coughed or dropped a handbag or a phone charger.
When he was ready, the judge addressed the jury, saying, “The court wishes to thank the jury for their time and diligence in hearing the case regarding the defendant, Mr. Tyler Cates. The time you’ve spent on this has not gone to waste. There will be further proceedings forthwith and the jurors are invited to leave or to remain in their jury seats and observe these proceedings. The press will be admitted. If you are neither a juror nor the press, regrettably, I must ask you to exit the courtroom.”
Cindy unclenched her jaw and checked to see that her battery charger was still snugly in the wall socket as the guards moved the grumbling audience through the double doors.
When the doors were closed again, the judge said, “The defendant, Mr. Cates, has confessed to both the crimes of rape and aggravated assault. Mr. Cates and Mr. Schneider, please stand.”
“Mr. Cates, to the charge of rape, how do you plead?”
“Guilty, Your Honor.”
The judge asked the defense counsel to verify his client’s plea, which he did.
Judge St. John addressed the defendant again.
“Mr. Cates. In the charge of aggravated assault, how do you plead?”
Cindy saw the defendant shift his weight from one foot to the other. The judge opened his mouth to speak and Cates preempted him speedily.
“I plead guilty to that charge, also.”
“Mr. Schneider?”
“Yes, Your Honor. My client accepts the responsibility and the penalty for his actions, and he would like to say a few words to Ms. Hayes from their respective seats.”
Judge St. John asked if that was all right with Ms. Castellano. Yuki bent her head toward Mary Elena, and they exchanged two or three words. Then Ms. Hayes stood and faced her rapist and abuser. She was rigid. Not as at ease as Cindy had thought.
The judge said, “Go ahead, Mr. Cates.”
Cindy typed as Tyler Cates turned and faced Mary Elena and whichever of her personalities, maybe her own, had stiffened her spine.
“I’m very sorry,” said Cates. “You didn’t do anything to bring down my anger and violation on yourself. I hope someday you can find a way to forgive me although I will never forgive myself.”
The judge asked all to sit while he pronounced the sentence.
“Mr. Cates, for the charge of rape, you are sentenced to thirty-five years in prison with the possibility of parole. Forthe charge of aggravated assault, you shall receive an additional fifteen years in prison, also with the possibility of parole.”
Ed Schneider asked the judge to waive time, which Cindy understood and noted. It meant that imposition of the sentence would begin immediately.
Looking at St. John, Cindy saw that his expression had been fixed for the length of the trial. In this, the afterword, he finally cracked a small smile. He thanked the jury again and after they had filed out of the jury box and had been returned to their room, Judge Henry William St. John left the bench. Guards escorted Tyler Cates out of the courtroom by the side door, and Cindy stood in the aisle until she could throw her arms around her dear friend Yuki.
“Great job, Yuki. Great job and on the record.”
CHAPTER 98
LATER THAT MORNING, Sonia Alvarez got a call from Rob Bailey, a former Las Vegas cop she knew and trusted. Bailey had connections with official CIs and unofficial snitches and now had what he called “a smoking hot tip” for her: A known but unindicted killer-for-hire named Samuel Rochas, who went by the unlikely street name of “Padre,” was being held in South Lake Tahoe, Nevada, today before extradition tonight to Mexico City, where he was wanted for killing a high-ranking politico.
Padre was known to have associations with James Fricke via gambling and had been dropping hints to gang members and petty thieves that he may have been involved in the Fricke murders.
Rochas’s blabbing to local criminals, insinuating that he had killed the Frickes, seemed suicidal—or maybe his way of evading Mexico’s court order. Returning to Mexico was dangerous for Padre. Convicted or not, someone would get to him and put him down.
On the other hand, Bailey had sent an attachment—a mug shot of Padre. Alvarez had a very strong and somewhat supportable hunch that Padre had been at Holly Fricke’s funeral, something for which she might have evidence.
Alvarez had the mug shot side by side on her phone with Cappy’s color photo of mourners at Holly Fricke’s funeral gathered outside the chapel and a black-and-white copy of that same photo with Cappy’s handwritten names of the individuals in the shot.
Not all the individuals had been identified. Even with Arthur Bevaqua’s help, there were a dozen individuals without names. And Alvarez was particularly interested in the one who might be Padre.