The Plea, page 7
part #2 of Eddie Flynn Series
With a dead smile, Gerry stood, buttoned his jacket, and straightened his tie. The affable pretense disappeared—the shark was back in the room.
“Your Honor, the defendant is my client legally. I was with him in the precinct when he was interviewed. I caught this case first. If you endorse Mr. Flynn’s argument, you are endorsing this illegal solicitation.”
This was Gerry’s big point. He’d probably hoped that he wouldn’t have to use it, that the judge would do him a favor. Knox wasn’t in the business of doing favors, and threatening him wouldn’t work. He needed finessing. He turned toward me.
“Your Honor, Mr. Sinton is making a legal argument. I think he’s correct that this is a matter of legal interpretation. No matter what you decide, you’re likely to be appealed. I’ve said enough. I’ll let you consider the matter.”
Judge Knox rubbed his hands together, placed his elbows on his desk, and stared into space. While Knox had pretty good common sense and was just on the right side of severe for a criminal judge, he was piss-poor on any kind of legal question. On the rare occasions when he’d had no choice but to make a decision based on the law, he’d been heavily criticized by the appellate court judges. His disdain for the criminal defendants who appeared in his court was well known, and he didn’t care if he was criticized by a higher court for being too harsh—or not recognizing their rights—but having an appellate court judge tell him he got the law wrong was too much for him. Knox didn’t want that. He avoided these situations. Anything not to have to make a decision.
So I gave him a way out.
“Before you decide, Your Honor, I’d just like to apologize for the scene in your courtroom earlier. It’s a shame that Mr. Sinton felt the need to bring this issue before you. We should have been able to resolve this between us.”
I could almost see the lightbulb go off in Knox’s head.
“Mr. Flynn, may I say how unhappy I am that this matter has gotten this far. Two experienced attorneys bickering over a client does not reflect well on either of you. So I’m going to give each of you another chance to resolve this yourselves. Gentlemen, I have the power to appoint the public defender as counsel. I think that might just be the way forward here. So both of you step outside for two minutes. Either you both come back in here with an agreed way forward, or Mr. Child goes to the PD’s office and the both of you can sue each other in some other damn court.”
“Your Hon—” began Gerry.
“Not another word, Mr. Sinton. Go outside and talk this over.”
And with that, Judge Knox wiped his hands and smiled to himself.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The corridor echoed with our feet pacing to and fro and Gerry Sinton chipping his pinkie ring on the walls.
“Is he always like that?” he said.
“Pretty much. Look, he doesn’t want to make a decision that somebody could appeal. The public defender can’t object to taking a case, and we can’t appeal that decision either. He doesn’t want to decide either way. Why don’t you leave it with me? Child’s in good hands. I’m very experienced. I can offer him the best representation.”
Gerry folded his arms. “What kind of resources do you have? I’ve got two hundred lawyers and a team of experts that I can work around the clock. How many support staff do you have?”
“You’re looking at the support staff and the typist and the cleaner.”
“This is a mistake, Flynn.”
“I’m not so sure. I know the judges and how to play them. You might have a dozen attorneys on this, but that won’t stop the DA handing you your ass because you don’t know what you’re doing. Although, the manpower is always handy in a murder trial…”
“You have no idea who you’re dealing with. Just take the money.”
I remembered that Sinton needed the case just as much as I did. If David Child could hurt Harland and Sinton as much as Dell hoped, then the firm needed to represent him at all costs—so they could watch him. And make sure he didn’t cut a deal by handing his lawyers over to the feds in exchange for a light sentence.
“I don’t want money. I want the case. This will be a huge media-hungry trial. This can make my practice. It’s my case. I’m not backing down. I’ve got nothing to lose. Since we both can’t represent him, we may as well just go tell Knox to call the public defender.”
I took three steps and put my hand on the door handle to Knox’s office. Sinton reached out to stop me.
“Wait, wait. That’s interesting. You said we can’t both represent him. Why not? I’ve got the resources; you’ve got the experience. You take the role of special adviser, or consultant, whatever you want to call it. We’ll handle the case up front.”
“No way,” I said, turning the handle.
“Wait! You could take second chair. That’s—”
“Nice meeting you,” I said, opening Judge Knox’s door a crack.
“Hold on,” said Sinton through gritted teeth. “Okay, first chair. But we’re a team.”
“Whatever,” I said, stepping into Knox’s office.
Knox was playing Angry Birds on his cell phone. A fresh cup of coffee was growing cold in front of him.
“Your Honor, we have a compromise. The firm of Harland and Sinton will serve as my co-counsel in this case.”
The judge nodded but didn’t take his eyes from his smartphone.
“Glad to hear it, gentlemen. Bail hearing in five minutes. Just wait outside for the prosecutor.”
Gerry Sinton had swallowed the bait. Christine was in this mess because of Gerry Sinton and Ben Harland. I wanted to be close to these guys. Maybe I could find something to satisfy Dell, enough to get Christine off the hook and enough so that I wouldn’t have to talk David Child into a prison sentence. I had my chance now. I felt pretty good that this was the right thing to do. I couldn’t force Child into prison without at least trying something else, trying to get Christine clear another way.
Gerry Sinton put his back to the pale corridor wall and breathed slowly. He’d gotten his client back.
I’d bought Christine a chance.
And probably signed my own death warrant.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
A knock on Judge Knox’s door. The prosecutor, Julie Lopez.
“We’re back on the record in People v. Child. The defense team has grown in the last few minutes, Ms. Lopez. I trust you have no objection,” said Judge Knox.
“None,” said Lopez, eyeing Gerry Sinton.
“And, just for the record, your client is consenting to this hearing in his absence, Mr. Flynn?” said Judge Knox.
“Correct, Your Honor. I see no reason to drag him into open court in front of the press. We’re happy to proceed here, in private.”
“Well, what are the agreed bail terms, Counsel?”
“We require the defendant to reside at—” said Lopez, but Sinton cut her off.
“Just a second, Your Honor. We haven’t applied for bail. My client does not wish to apply for bail at this time. This is a media-sensitive case, and my client is—”
“Your Honor, I’m first chair. Ignore my co-counsel. Our application has already been noted by the court and we are acting on instructions from Mr. Child, who wishes to apply for bail. We agree to the residence terms. Any others?” I said.
“With the exception of court appearance dates, he’ll report daily to the nearest precinct before one p.m. He’ll surrender his passport. No alcohol or drugs other than prescribed medication, and the defendant will submit to periodic random alcohol and drug testing,” said Lopez.
“Your Honor, the defendant—”
“Agreed,” I said, before Sinton could do any more damage.
“Bail granted in the sum of ten million dollars. Preliminary hearing tomorrow at…”
“Your Honor, we’re ready to proceed with the preliminary hearing this afternoon,” said Lopez.
“Have papers been served?” asked the judge.
Lopez handed me a large manila envelope.
“They have now,” she said.
Rubbing his chin, Judge Knox thought about his golf game being canceled.
“What are your thoughts on prelim? If this case is going to be a media magnet, I presume you’ll be waiving the preliminary hearing,” said the judge.
Most felony cases, like murder, didn’t have a prelim, a hearing designed to decide if the prosecution had enough evidence to hold the defendant on the charge and put the case to the grand jury. The prosecution didn’t have to prove guilt. They had to prove they had an arguable case in the form of probable cause. Usually, if there’s enough for an arrest and charge, that means there’s more than enough evidence for the prosecution to slide past a preliminary hearing with ease.
“What’s your call?” said Judge Knox.
I already had a good guess at the contents of the prosecution file. The night before, Dell had laid out the evidence held by the cops. A prelim would be a waste of time. There was enough evidence to convict David Child twice.
“We’re not waiving the prelim,” I said.
If I ignored the evidence and just listened to David talk, I believed him. He was falling apart, and I wasn’t ready to let him do that, not yet. I needed to see the evidence for myself, talk to him again. I wanted to keep options in play.
The phone on Judge Knox’s desk began to ring.
“Very well. Case adjourned until four p.m.,” he said, and answered the call.
Before we got to the door, the judge stopped me in my tracks.
“Wait, Mr. Flynn.”
Lopez, Sinton, and I turned to the judge. He looked stricken. His face had become pale, and I saw sweat forming on his top lip. He listened to the call, his eyes moving rapidly—processing the information. Finally he shook his head.
“He’s here with me. I’ll tell him. We’ll want a full investigation. This is outrageous. You keep me informed, Wilson,” said Knox. “Goddamn it,” he cried, slamming down the receiver. “Gentlemen, you’d better get down to the cells right away. Your client’s been stabbed.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Hammering the “C” button on the elevator didn’t make it move any faster. Sinton stood in the corner, his hand over his mouth—head bowed, deep in thought. He hadn’t said a word since Knox had given us the news.
“Come on,” I said, punching the button for the basement.
Closing my eyes, I let my forehead rest against the cold aluminum veneer that sat above the elevator control. Silently I prayed that David was still alive. In that moment I realized that I had begun to care about him. He’d looked so helpless, his world and mind collapsing around him. And for what? He was no killer.
Child didn’t have that mean streak, or that lack of empathy, and even though his world was falling to ash around him, he wasn’t angry—he was scared.
No way that kid killed his girlfriend.
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to remember everything I knew about David. You don’t get to his level of wealth without hurting somebody. And men in David’s position didn’t get their hands dirty. If he wanted somebody killed, he could always pay a man to do it.
I wished I could see him out of the cell—watch him outside the cold panic of a jailhouse-orange jumpsuit. Then I would know for sure. Right then, all I had was my gut telling me he was innocent.
Now somebody had stabbed him.
The elevator slowed and the doors opened with a chime. I heard the riot in the cells long before we’d reached the bottom floor. The detainees were going crazy. Blood in the air. The guards were screaming at the prisoners, who responded by shaking the bars, spitting and wailing back. Fingers pointed accusingly at the guards. A chant began—“Killa, killa, killa.” A guard had unwound a hose from the back wall and was getting ready to spray the entire pen when the medic waved at me from the offices. Running past the cells, with Sinton trotting behind me, I made it to a small corridor that led off into the first-aid room.
As I slowed, I slipped, and my feet danced at the floor, trying to find a grip until I managed to steady myself with a hand on the wall. The overhead lights were reflected perfectly on the soaking-wet floor. Here and there, on the doors, on the walls, I could still see the remnants of fresh blood. Checking over my shoulder, I saw that the trail of freshly mopped floor stretched all the way back to the cells. The first-aid room had been busy, and blood-soaked bandages and gauze poked out of the full wastebasket. Even the medic still bore bloodstains on the shoulder of his shirt. The medical couch in the corner was also stained red with blood, and even though it had been wiped, it had not yet been properly cleaned.
“What happened?” said Gerry.
“Who’s this guy?” said the medic.
“It’s okay. He’s with me. How’s our guy? Is he going to make it?” I said.
“He was alive when the paramedics took him. His vitals didn’t look good, lost a lot of blood.”
“Jesus, what happened?” I said.
“I don’t know. The alarm went up, and I saw a couple of guards dragging him out of the cage. Kid was covered in blood. His arms were cut bad, and he had a big stab wound in his midsection. Bitch wouldn’t stop pumping. Whoever stuck it to him ripped the blade upward trying to gut him, then slashed his face pretty bad.”
“Where are the paramedics taking him?” said Sinton.
“Downtown ER,” said the medic.
“Don’t go anywhere for a second,” I said, but Sinton was already running toward the door. He wanted David on his own—so that he could get me fired. I was sorely tempted to take off after Sinton. But I needed to know what had happened first. And I had time. Chances were that David would be taken straight to surgery. Sinton would have a long wait to see his client. I prayed that this wasn’t my fault and that the big guy who’d taken David’s shoes earlier hadn’t decided to get even.
The noise had abated, and only a handful of detainees were arguing with the guards. I checked the restroom. They hadn’t yet mopped this room, and I could see a trail of bloody footprints leading to a table. Neil, the guard who’d helped me get close to David that morning, sat with his hands over his head, his face inches over a cup of steaming coffee. Bloodstains on his cuffs. A cop sat beside him, his notebook open on the table, pen in hand.
“Neil, you okay?” I said.
His head came up quick, and he tried to force a smile but failed and coughed before wiping his mouth and leaning back in the chair. “You shouldn’t be wandering around without an escort.”
“I don’t need an escort. I know these cells just as well as you do. The medic told me you pulled the kid out. I need to know what happened,” I said.
“This guy a lawyer?” said the cop, pointing at me with his pen.
“It’s okay. This is Eddie Flynn. He’s the guy’s lawyer. Sit down, Eddie,” said Neil. “Look, there’s not much to tell. After the panic attack subsided, the medic passed Child fit to return to holding. He was in there maybe two, three minutes, when I heard a little shouting, nothing out of the ordinary. Then I saw the Mexican, the guy with the tats and the long braided hair, he comes over to Child, says something to him. He’s about to go for him when your client stepped in front of Child and got the full force of the attack. It took me ten, maybe twelve seconds to get in there and take the guy down. By then it was too late. The guy with the braid must have had a shiv up his ass. It’s the only way it could’ve gotten past a search. We isolated Popo, cleared a space, and then got to work on him. We couldn’t get him stable, so we moved him to the first-aid room. Damn fine thing he did in there, saving Child.”
“I don’t understand…”
“Popo! Don’t you know anything? The guy with the braid was trying to start shit with Child. Next thing you know, he’s got a shiv in his hand and he goes for Child. At the last second, Popo jumps in, and he takes the hit. Brave kid. Maybe stupid, but brave.”
“Jesus, Popo. He never would’ve done it if I hadn’t told him to watch out for David.”
“He’ll make it. Popo is tough. And we got to him pretty quick.”
More weight fell on top of me. Dizzy. Sick. Ashamed that I’d put Popo at risk.
“Where is Child?” I said.
“He’s having another panic attack. We put him in the secure holding cell one floor up. Got an officer on the door, but he can’t stay there all day. I need that guard.”
I wanted to put my hands up and thank the Lord that Christine’s ticket to freedom was still breathing, but I couldn’t. Popo the drug addict, the snitch, the thief, the unlikeliest hero in the whole city, just stepped in and saved the life of a billionaire. My eyelids felt heavy, and I ran my fingers from the corners of each eye over the skin and then massaged my temples. Popo must’ve done it for me. He’d seen the hit coming and stepped in, out of misplaced loyalty to me perhaps, and he’d stopped a murder. Or maybe I was doing Popo a disservice. Sure, he was a junkie and a criminal, but there was something else in Popo. Maybe he did it purely because it was the right thing to do.
“If you hear anything about Popo, let me know right away.”
I turned and made for the exit. Because of the incident, the guards were short-staffed and edgy. There would be no more visits. Priority was restoring calm in the cages and fishing guys up the line to court and bail office or back down to holding. Everything would slow down. That bought me some time. I wondered how long it would take Gerry Sinton to realize the mistake—that Popo was in the ER and not Child. I gave it a half hour, max.
“Thanks, Neil. You probably saved Popo today.”
“There’s not a lot in that kid that drugs haven’t eaten away already. He wasn’t in good shape when he came in, but he’s a fighter.”
A thought popped into my head and wouldn’t wait.
“The guy with the braid who attacked David, how long was he in the cage before he made his move?”
“Ah, I think he was in there a half hour, maybe longer. He went in just after you took David out to the interview room.”
I nodded and left Neil to give his statement to the cop. I called the elevator, and while I waited I watched the guard behind the security desk wiping down a whiteboard. The printed legend above the board read, DAYS WITHOUT MAJOR INCIDENT. The guard wiped off “87,” popped the cap off a fat Magic Marker, and drew a big zero on the board.
