A large kitchen knife lay on the floor next to the safe. Morning sunlight spilled through the balcony doors and into the walk-in closet, painting his shadow across the floor and up the far wall. He pulled a flashlight from his pocket and shined it at the carpeting, highlighting the small fibers next to the knife. He crouched down and examined them in the bright glow of his flashlight. They appeared to be bits of frayed nylon from when the rope had been cut. Within the carpet fibers was a small puddle of blood. A couple of droplets had also landed on the handle of the knife. He placed a triangle-shaped yellow evidence placard over the blood and fibers, and another next to the knife.
He turned and walked out of the closet, noticing a nearly empty wineglass on the night table. He was careful not to disturb it as he placed another yellow evidence marker next to it. Lipstick smeared the rim. High-stepping over the taut rope, he walked past the mirrored dresser and into the bathroom. He slowly looked around and saw nothing out of place. Soon, the forensics team would be in here with luminol and black lights. At the moment, the detective was interested in his first impression of the place. The toilet lid was open but the seat was down and dry. The toilet water held a yellow color, and the pungent smell of urine registered now as his nose caught up with his eyes. Someone had used the toilet but failed to flush. A lone segment of toilet paper floated in the bowl. Another evidence placard found the toilet.
He walked from the bathroom and into the main area, once again surveying the room. He followed the rope out to the balcony and looked down at the dead man hanging from the other end. In the distance, the Catskill Mountains were cloaked by early morning fog. This was the house of a very wealthy man, and the detective had been handpicked to figure out what happened to him. In just a few minutes he had identified blood evidence, fingerprints on a wineglass, and a urine sample that likely belonged to the killer.
He had no idea at the time that all of it would be matched to a woman named Victoria Ford. And the detective could not have predicted that in two short months, just as he had every bit of evidence organized and a conviction all but certain, commercial airliners—American Airlines Flight 11 and United Airlines Flight 175—would fly into the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center. On a sun-filled, blue-sky morning, three thousand men and women would die, and the detective’s case would go up in smoke.
Lower Manhattan September 11, 2001
IT WAS A BRIGHT, CLOUDLESS MORNING WITH BLUE SKY AS FAR AS THE eye could see. On any other day, Victoria Ford would have considered it beautiful. But today, the cool morning air and fresh, clean sky went unnoticed. Things had gone terribly wrong and today she was fighting for her life. She had been for the last few weeks. She took the subway in from Brooklyn and climbed the subterranean stairs into the brilliant morning. It was still early, and the streets were not as crowded as normal. It was the first day of school and many parents were absent from their normal morning commute, dropping their kids off and snapping first-day photos. Victoria took advantage of the open sidewalks and power-walked through the financial district toward her attorney’s office. She pushed through the lobby doors and entered the elevator, which took forty-five seconds to shoot her to the seventy-eighth floor. There, she rode an escalator up two more levels and pushed through the office doors. A moment later she was sitting in front of her attorney’s desk.
“Straight talk,” Roman Manchester said as soon as Victoria sat down. “That’s the only way I deliver news.”
Victoria nodded. Roman Manchester was one of the best-known defense attorneys in the country. He was also one of the most expensive. But Victoria had decided, now that things had gone to hell, that Manchester was her best option. Tall, with a thick head of dark hair, Victoria had a surreal moment as she stared at the man now and remembered the many times she’d seen him on television, either answering questions from reporters or staging a press conference to proclaim his client’s innocence. Her name would soon be in the same category as the other men and women Roman Manchester had defended. But if it meant that she would avoid conviction and prison, Victoria was okay with that. She knew from the start that it would be that way.
“The DA reached out to me yesterday to let me know they’ve convened a grand jury.”
“What does that mean?” Victoria asked.
“Shortly, likely this week, they will present to a jury of twenty-three private citizens all the evidence they have against you. I’m not allowed to be present, and the proceedings are not open to the public. The district attorney is not attempting to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. The DA’s goal is to show the jury the evidence she has to this point in order to determine if an indictment is warranted.”
Victoria nodded.
“You and I have covered this before, but I’ll give you a quick overview of the case against you. The physical evidence is substantial. Your fingerprints, DNA via blood evidence, and urine were found at the scene. All of this appears to be unchallengeable because they crossed their t’s and dotted their i’s with search warrants. The rope around the victim’s neck matched rope the investigators recovered from your car. There is other, more minor, physical evidence, in addition to a great deal of circumstantial evidence that will be presented to the grand jury.”
“Can’t you challenge it? That’s part of defending me.”
“I’ll defend you, but not at the grand jury. Our time to shine is when the case goes to trial. And there will be a lot of work to do to get to that point. I’ll be able to challenge a lot of the circumstantial, but the physical evidence, quite frankly, is a tough obstacle to overcome.”
“I already told you,” Victoria said. “I wasn’t at that house the night Cameron died. I can’t explain how my blood and urine got there. That’s your job. Isn’t that what I’m paying you for?”
“At some point I’ll get to see all the evidence and sink my teeth into how strong it is. But we’re not at that point yet. For now, I expect the grand jury will rule in favor of indictment.”
“When?”
“This week.”
Victoria shook her head. “What should I do?”
“The very first thing is to figure out how much money you have on hand, and how much more you can get from friends and family. You’ll need it for bail.”