Chapter 66
DEL RIO LOOKED confident, bordering on smug. I knew this look. It wasn’t really confidence—it was his way of signaling his rage before he went crazy.
I wanted to sit him down and talk to him. I wanted to get right in his face and shout, Don’t blow this.
But Rick didn’t hear my silent scream. He just squared himself in the witness box and sat back as ADA Dexter Lewis crossed the courtroom to him.
“Mr. Del Rio, please state your full name.”
“Rick Del Rio.”
“Is that Rick for Richard?”
“Yes.”
“That’s the name you were born with?”
“I was born Ricardo Esteban Del Rio. Okay? Born in California, U.S.A.”
The ADA’s question was provocative, but it was smart and ethical. He was showing the jury that Rick could have aliases, that he wasn’t even truthful about his name. But Rick had taken it as an ethnic slur. Twenty feet from where I was sitting, a fuse had been lit.
“Okay, Mr. Del Rio. Where’d you meet Ms. Carmody?”
“Online.”
“In some kind of matchmaker chat room?”
“That’s right.”
“And on your first date, did you take her out to dinner?”
“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.”