The back stairs of the courthouse, accessed via the fire door with the faulty alarm, led me to the secure detention floor. The Department of Corrections reserved this block for the most dangerous detainees and for the most vulnerable. Behind the barred entrance, two guards manned a bank of security monitors. I knew one of them by sight, told him I was there to see Child. This section of detention was not in lockdown, and he let me through after patting me down and having a thorough thumb through my files, just to make sure that I wasn’t trying to slip anything to the prisoner.
The corridor doglegged once, and at the end, beyond the stretch of cells on the right-hand wall, I saw a single guard sitting outside the secure room. For a detention officer he was small, no more than five foot two. The riot stick slung from his belt looked bigger than he was.
“Anyone ask to see my client?”
“The doc came to check on him, but he left ten minutes ago. You want to see him?” said the guard.
“Sure do.”
“You his lawyer?”
“No, I’m his interior decorator. Of course I’m his lawyer. Can you open the cell? Aren’t you supposed to be watching him?”
“He’s an AR—at risk—so I check on him every nine minutes. Wanna read my chart?” he asked.
He’d probably ticked his inspection boxes already and there would be no point in checking. The cell door opened with a metallic groan, and inside I saw Child lying on the two inches of rubber mattress that passed for a bed. Even lying down he cradled his head, perhaps afraid that unless he kept a hand on his brow the whirlwind he found himself in would spin even faster that it was already.
“I got you bail, but with some conditions. You’ll have to—” I began.
“Is he alive?” said Child.
My impression of this man went up even more. When you’re sitting in an orange jumpsuit with a murder change hanging over your head, it’s real easy to forget about other people’s problems.
“He was protecting me,” said David, levering himself into a sitting position.
The bed was in fact a steel plate that hung from a pair of brackets bolted onto the wall on the right. A steel toilet took center stage in the cell, and on the left was a steel bench. The floor was poured concrete that still looked wet, and I could feel the dampness coming up through my feet—I could smell it, too.
“Why’d he do it?” he asked.
“I asked Popo to keep an eye on you. But I suppose it’s more than that. He wouldn’t have tried to stop the attack if he didn’t give a shit.”
The guard closed and locked the cell door.
“I never had any friends growing up. I got bullied a lot. When I made my first million, I suddenly got popular. Maybe … I don’t know, you think he wanted money?”
“I don’t think he fully realized who you were.”
“Yeah, but I’m like, on the cover of Time magazine. He must’ve recognized me.”
“Well, I don’t think Popo has a subscription to Time. He can’t read and I sure as hell didn’t tell him who you were. Social media doesn’t appear on the radar if you’re homeless, broke, and looking for your next fix. If he knew you were a billionaire, you bet he would’ve asked for money. I suppose he probably guessed that you had dough because you’re white, you’re clean, and you wore those expensive sneakers, but he wouldn’t put himself in front of a shiv just because you were a rich white boy.”
He massaged his forehead.
“What happens now?”
“There’s been a development. Gerry Sinton showed up, played hell, and persuaded the judge to assign him as co-counsel. If you want to fire him, you’re going to have to go to court. The retainer you signed with Harland and Sinton is tight and gives them a lien on any attorney-client work product. You can ignore him, but it’ll get messy. Not for you, for me. He’ll tie me up in injunctions and try to get me disbarred for soliciting one of his clients. My advice is to keep him around, for at least a while.”
“That’s fine. I was beginning to feel bad about firing him.”
I could hear the intermittent popping of the guard’s bubble gum outside the cell door, so I moved closer to David and sat down beside him.
“Before we go any further, there’s something you have to know. Gerry didn’t want to apply for bail. He told you as much last night, in the precinct, didn’t he?”
David nodded. “He said the press would get all over it. My company’s share price would hit the floor, and because I own a few planes, I’m too much of a flight risk to get bail anyway. He said there was no point in applying for bail—too many downsides.”
For some reason, at that moment, I was suddenly aware that I hadn’t shaved that morning. I could feel the rasp of a day’s growth on my chin. I cleared my throat and met David’s eyes as I told him the truth.
“Any first-year law student could’ve told you that you would get bail and that the judge has the power to do that in chambers, keeping things nice and private. Plus, it doesn’t matter how many private jets you’ve got—give the court your passport, place a big bond on the table, and with your clean record, you will always get bail. I know Gerry has little experience, if any, of criminal procedure, but I don’t think he’s that stupid. I think he wanted you to stay in custody.”
“Why?”
“So that you would be killed.”