Murder of Innocence (Murder Is Forever) Page 6

  Detective Melissa Smith sits beside Tonja. She gives her a moment to get settled.

  “Remember, we can stop the tape at any time. Are you ready?”

  Tonja wipes a bead of cold sweat from her brow, then nods.

  Smith and Dodd share a look. The TV screen flickers to life.

  The footage is grainy at first, blurry and terribly shaky—until the camera is affixed to a tripod.

  Immediately the image stabilizes and comes into focus.

  It’s a medium shot of a queen-size bed.

  Despite the low lighting, a woman with curly strawberry-blond hair is clearly visible lying on top of the gray duvet cover.

  Her head is turned away from the camera, her identity impossible to discern, but she’s wearing a magenta-and-white floral-print dress, and, with a creeping feeling of dread, Tonja leans forward in her chair, scrutinizing the screen.

  It takes her a moment, but then she recognizes that dress.

  It’s the one she borrowed from Lisa four years ago for her first night out in Santa Barbara.

  “Is that … me?” Tonja asks Smith, protectively placing her hands on her pregnant belly.

  “You tell us.”

  But Tonja doesn’t have to. Her expression—stunned, nauseated, panicked—confirms to the detectives that it is.

  The camera stays on Tonja alone for a few more interminable seconds.

  Then Andrew Luster appears.

  He calmly enters the frame and sits down on the edge of the mattress. He takes a long drag of what appears to be a rolled joint, then looks directly into the camera and flashes a chilling, serpentine grin.

  “I dream about this,” he says in a ghostly monotone. “A strawberry-blond, beautiful girl, passed out on my bed … basically there to do … whatever I choose.”

  Andrew turns his attention to Tonja, lying behind him, as still as a corpse.

  He reaches over and tickles the tops of her thighs. No response. Slowly, he traces his hands up her legs and teasingly but fully lifts up her skirt. He rolls her nylons down to her knees, then pulls down her underwear.

  Through it all, on-screen Tonja doesn’t move a muscle.

  But the real Tonja lets out a horrified gasp. “Oh my God!” she exclaims. “What is he—no, no! Stop it!” she tells the man in the video.

  Of course her pleas are futile. This footage was shot four years ago when Tonja was completely incapacitated by a powerful drug and Andrew was in total control.

  It takes all of Tonja’s strength not to look away as Andrew continues this abhorrent sexual assault on her unresponsive body.

  When he’s finally finished, Andrew painstakingly puts Tonja’s underwear and nylons back in place, then gently smooths the fabric of her magenta dress. He gives her one last kiss, stands, and shuts off the camera. The screen blinks off.

  Tonja sits there for a moment, almost as motionless as she appeared in the footage. She’s struggling to process the avalanche of horror she’s just seen.

  She feels repulsed. Violated. Devastated. She has literally just witnessed her own rape—a rape that, until now, she never even knew had happened.

  “How … how could he do that?” Tonja whimpers.

  Smith places a consoling hand on her shoulder. “I can’t even imagine how difficult that must have been to watch, Mrs. Balden. I just have one more question for right now. I know you and Mr. Luster dated and lived together for a number of months. We’re trying to work out a timeline of his crimes, so do you have any idea when this tape might have been recorded?”

  Only now does Tonja’s numbness start to wear off. She breaks down in sobs. “It … it was the very first night we met! We went back to his place. He made us margaritas. With liquid X in them. Then he … he … did this. I had no idea! I never did. Jesus, I moved in with him three weeks later. I fell in love with him! How could Andrew have a normal relationship with me after …”

  Tonja trails off, overcome by anguish and betrayal.

  Smith shares a frigid look with Dodd and Galvez.

  Andrew Luster might be even sicker than they realized.

  CHAPTER 21

  ALL RISE! CASE NUMBER CR-four-nine-two-five-nine, The People versus Andrew Stuart Luster. The Honorable Judge Ken W. Riley presiding.”

  People shuffle to their feet as Judge Riley enters this mahogany-lined courtroom and takes his vaunted perch behind the bench. With his round spectacles and rosy cheeks, he has the appearance of an avuncular high-school Latin teacher. But his bearing is sour, his control of his courtroom absolute, and his patience thin.

  “Good morning. Unless there are any new motions, let’s get started. Mr. Luster, how do you plead?”

  Andrew Luster clears his throat, buttons the jacket of his dark Gucci suit, and picks a piece of lint off his blue-striped Armani tie. If he feels uncomfortable, he hides it with a smug, entitled smile. Standing beside Andrew is his high-priced lawyer Roger Diamond, a fiery Los Angeles criminal defense attorney with a reputation for being as vicious as a python and as unpredictable as his mop of unruly, uncombed gray hair.

  “Your Honor,” Andrew snarls, “I am angry and I am insulted, but I am not guilty.”

  “Bailiff,” the judge says, “send the defendant some flowers, see if we can’t cheer him up.” Chuckles from the courtroom. “Moving on to the matter of bail. Counselor?” Judge Riley looks to the Ventura County senior deputy district attorney seated at the plaintiff’s table: Maeve Fox, a prim, sharp veteran prosecutor.

  “Maeve Fox for the People, Your Honor,” she says, standing. “I would like to begin by reminding the court of the grievous, heinous nature of the array of crimes the defendant has been charged with. Among them, the drugging and aggravated sexual assault of three innocent young women whom he secretly filmed without their consent for future perverted viewing.”

  Sitting in the back of the gallery, Detective Melissa Smith shakes her head.

  The police had found seventeen videotapes showing Andrew engaging in sex acts with different unconscious women. That’s in addition to all the other women whose pictures hung on the wall of his closet and the over one hundred women listed by their first names in his little black book. And God knows how many more.

  Smith is confident that Andrew drugged and assaulted many, many other women. She had hoped charges would be filed against him on behalf of all the others. But the system just doesn’t work like that.

  Detectives Smith and Galvez and their team had worked for weeks to chase down and identify every victim. It proved to be a nearly impossible task. In the end, they were able to build only one more case, in addition to Carey’s and Tonja’s, against Andrew: his rape of a local high-school student, who was only seventeen when she met Andrew on the beach and went back to his bungalow to have some drinks.

  Because the victim was underage at the time, Judge Riley allowed her to be referred to in court filings as Shawna Doe. Carey and Tonja, too, petitioned and were granted the right to remain anonymous.

  Still, Luster has been charged with eighty-six separate criminal counts, including rape, sexual battery, sodomy, and poisoning. If he’s found guilty on even a handful, he’ll be facing over a century behind bars. That’s some small comfort to Smith, but not much.

  “It is indisputable,” Fox continues, “that the defendant was and remains a highly dangerous threat, not only to this community, but to every single woman in the world. Furthermore, the People would note that the defendant is extremely personally wealthy. Facing the prospect of spending the rest of his natural life in prison, and with a multimillion-dollar trust fund at his fingertips, the People believe the defendant is an exceptionally high flight risk. We ask that bail be set at ten million dollars.”

  Only now does Andrew’s cocky smile start to waver. Only now does it appear to hit him that he just might spend the rest of his days in jail.

  “Thank you, Counselor. Mr. Diamond?”

  As if sensing his client’s fear, Andrew’s lawyer leans over to him and whispers, “R
elax. I’ll have you home in time for dinner.” Then he stands and addresses the judge. “Just ten million, Your Honor?” Diamond sneers. “Why not twenty? Fifty? A hundred?”

  Andrew looks like he’s wondering just what the hell his lawyer is doing.

  “At that level, does it matter?” Diamond says. “My client may be affluent, but he can’t afford anything close to that. And Ms. Fox knows it! She wants to lock up an innocent man and throw away the key. A man falsely accused by three vindictive gold diggers whose only crimes were being born into a wealthy family and enjoying the company of women. It’s an outrage!”

  “Save the theatrics for trial, Counselor,” Judge Riley cautions. “What’s your counteroffer to the government’s bail request?”

  “Actually, Your Honor, I had an idea …”

  CHAPTER 22

  ANDREW LUSTER SHUTS HIS eyes and takes a long, luxurious gulp of his drink. He moans in delight as the bubbles prick his tongue and slide down his throat. Never in his life has champagne tasted so good.

  It tastes, in a word, like freedom.

  “Roger, you’re a goddamn genius! Cheers!” He clinks his glass against the can of ginger ale his attorney, who is sitting on the sofa beside him with a stack of documents on his knees, is holding.

  Andrew downs the rest of his drink in one gulp, then pours himself another.

  “Go easy on the sauce, would you?” Roger Diamond says. “We’re not celebrating. We have a lot of work to do on your defense.”

  “Not celebrating? Shit, I could have been locked in there for months! Now I get to hang out here at home, and all I have to do is wear this little thing.” Andrew hikes up the leg of his jeans to get another look at the bulky black electronic bracelet strapped around his left ankle.

  In Ventura County, this kind of pretrial arrangement—house arrest with GPS monitoring—had previously been granted only to juveniles, kids who had committed minor infractions and who had school to attend and families to keep an eye on them. Incredibly, the silver-tongued Diamond was able to convince Judge Riley to allow its use for Luster. He also managed to lower Andrew’s bail to a much more affordable one million dollars. As far as either of them can tell, Andrew is the first adult defendant in county history to be granted such a privilege. The deputy DA had been furious, grumbling that it was granted because of Andrew’s privilege—his wealth, his status, his fancy, smooth-talking lawyer.

  Diamond had just shrugged and taken it as a compliment.

  “Hey, do you think this is waterproof?” Andrew asks. “I can still go surfing with this thing on, right? Might be tough to get my wetsuit on over it but—”

  “Andrew. Focus.”

  Diamond’s harsh tone gets his client’s attention.

  “Listen to me. You’re facing some very serious charges here. And because of who you are, who your family is, this case is already starting to get some national press. The DA’ s office is going to come at us hard. I’m very good at what I do, Andrew, but I can’t do it alone. Understand?”

  Over the next few hours, Andrew and Diamond put their heads together and formulate a defense strategy. They agree to portray Andrew as the real victim in all of this; they will claim that his accusers are simply three vengeful party girls who are only after his money.

  Andrew grins. He’s mesmerized by his lawyer’s legal mind. The significant fees he’s paying suddenly feel like a steal. “You’re going to get me off, aren’t you?” Andrew exclaims.

  “Guilty people get off,” Diamond replies. “Your case is still an uphill battle. But it’s looking a whole lot better.”

  CHAPTER 23

  December 2002

  ROGER DIAMOND RISES AND approaches the witness stand, weary but determined.

  He’d known the Luster case would be a doozy when he’d signed on over a year and a half ago. But he’d had no idea it would stretch on so long or take so much out of him.

  After months of wrangling and countless motions and petitions, the trial finally got under way a few weeks ago. And so far, so good. Deputy District Attorney Maeve Fox has proven to be a shrewder prosecutor than he’d anticipated, but two of her three star witnesses—first Tonja, then Shawna—have withered under Diamond’s surgically precise and devastating cross-examination.

  Now it’s his turn to question Carey. If Diamond can poke enough holes in her story to make even one member of the jury doubt her credibility, Andrew Luster just might walk.

  “Good morning, Ms. Doe,” Diamond says. “We all know that’s not your real last name. But what else are you lying to us about?”

  “Objection, argumentative,” Fox snaps.

  “Sustained,” replies Judge Riley.

  “Ms. Doe … like many young people your age, do you have any student loans, outstanding credit card debt, anything like that that you’re working to pay off?”

  “Um, some. I don’t see what that has to do with—”

  “And are you aware that my client has a net worth well into the tens of millions?”

  “I didn’t know that when I met him.”

  “I asked if you’re aware of it presently.”

  “Yes.”

  “All right. Now take me back to the night you met my client. What were your first impressions of him?”

  “Um, I don’t know. He was … weird. I was like, Why is this old guy trying to flirt with college girls? He seemed pretty creepy.”

  “That’s interesting. Because that’s not exactly what you told the police, is it?” Diamond picks up a document on the defendant’s table. “According to Detective Smith’s official report, you told her you had a long and pleasant conversation with my client that night. You accepted a beverage from him.”

  “It was just a glass of—”

  “You liked him so much, in fact, that you decided to go home with him. You described my client as ‘cute,’ ‘friendly,’ ‘nice.’ These are your words, aren’t they?”

  “Yes—I mean, no. He was fine, I guess. At the bar. But I didn’t decide to go home with him. I didn’t decide to do anything after he put—”

  “Moving along, Ms. Doe. Your sexual encounter with my client happened on a Friday. Yet you didn’t contact the sheriff’s department until Monday. What took you so long to talk yourself into believing you had been violated?”

  “Objection, badgering,” Fox says.

  “I’ll rephrase. Why did you wait all that time to go to the police?”

  “I … I don’t know. I was in shock. In denial, maybe. I was scared.”

  “Scared? Scared of what? Scared of what your friends and family would say if they found out you had just taped a porn audition?”

  “Objection!”

  “Mr. Diamond, that’s enough,” barks Judge Riley.

  Diamond has no further questions. Carey is dismissed from the stand, and she scurries out of the courtroom, pointedly avoiding eye contact with Andrew, who has been watching his lawyer’s questioning with muted glee.

  “Awesome job,” he whispers to Diamond as he sits down beside him.

  “Don’t look so happy,” Diamond warns. “And we’re not out of the woods yet.”

  Judge Riley adjourns for lunch. When court is back in session, Fox rises to declare that the People’s case is nearly complete. She has just one more exhibit to enter into evidence.

  The tapes.

  When she plays them, they go off in the courtroom like a truck bomb.

  Diamond is powerless to object or redirect as Fox shows nearly ten excruciating minutes of vile, stomach-churning footage to the jury.

  Tonja, Carey, and Shawna are each seen lying in Andrew’s bed, unconscious, helpless, while he undresses them. Fondles them. Penetrates them. Sodomizes them. All while boasting out loud about how powerful it makes him feel. About the thrill of what he’s doing and the sexual satisfaction it gives him. Either all three women are Oscar-caliber actresses or they’ve been drugged into a comatose state by one deeply depraved man.

  Scanning all twelve shocked, revolted,
traumatized faces of the jury, many of them in tears, Diamond fears his client’s fate may be sealed.

  CHAPTER 24

  JUDGE RILEY DOESN’T SEEM like the type to get swept up in the holiday spirit, which is why it surprised defense attorney Roger Diamond when, one morning last week, he noticed the judge had placed a small, silver-tinsel Christmas tree at the edge of his bench.

  Diamond is staring at it now, watching the fluorescent courtroom lighting bounce off its tiny fake branches as he listens to prosecutor Maeve Fox say, “Your Honor, the People rest.”

  Diamond starts to stand. He expects Judge Riley to ask him to begin presenting the defendant’s side of the case.

  Instead, the judge dismisses the jury for the remainder of the day, although he keeps the attorneys behind to discuss various administrative matters. Chief among them is the issue of whether to continue or alter Andrew Luster’s bail agreement over the lengthy upcoming winter holiday.

  “Your Honor,” says Fox, “given that the court will be in recess for two weeks, the People ask that the defendant’s house-arrest arrangement be suspended during that time and that he be remanded into the custody of a county correctional facility.”

  “Your Honor, I see no reason for this request,” Diamond argues. “For the last eighteen months, my client has appeared at every hearing. He’s done everything the court has asked of him. He’s never violated a single term of his bail agreement. Not once.”

  “That’s irrelevant,” Fox counters. “The defendant was granted house arrest to allow him to be closer to this courthouse, Mr. Diamond, so you two could more easily work on his defense. With the court in recess, there’s no need. Hence, jail.”

  “No need? The defense hasn’t presented our case yet. We have a great deal to work on. In fact, I’d like to ask the court to broaden my client’s travel privileges during the holiday to include my Los Angeles offices.”

  “Now that is just ridiculous,” Fox fires back. “The defendant should be in jail.”