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Dan exited the car at the curb. While Maria parked, he and Jimmy made their way to Judge Hayes’ courtroom on the second floor.
The courthouse was almost a hundred years old and needed attention. The courtrooms were small and the hallways were narrow. The slow-moving elevators had caused more than one attorney to show up for court late. And the vending machines offered nothing remotely healthy. He’d suggested they stock granola bars in the coffee shop, but oddly enough, they had yet to replace the doughnuts.
He spotted Jazlyn outside the courtroom. He was not surprised.
“Jimmy, take my stuff and go inside. I’ll meet you in a minute.”
“Roger that.”
Jazlyn looked terrific, but then, she always did. Unlike some female attorneys, she let her hair fall naturally, and she wasn’t afraid to wear colors other than brown and black.
“Morning, Jazlyn. You’re looking pretty fly this morning.”
“Only fly? I was hoping for dope.”
“Least I didn’t say you looked lit.”
She suppressed a smile. “Maybe you should leave the hip slang to Maria. Is that a new suit?”
“Emergency purchase. Long story. You’re handling the Mayor Pérez case?”
“I am indeed.”
“I figured the DA would want his best prosecutor on this.”
She batted her hand against her chest. “You flatter me. But I’m not sure I was chosen for my courtroom prowess.”
“Then why?”
“I was chosen because I have experience dealing with you. This case is too important, and far too high profile, to be stolen from us by the St. Pete miracle worker and his bottomless bag of tricks.”
“I’ve never stolen anything from anyone. I have prevented the DA from putting away innocent people on more than one occasion, though.”
“That’s your story. I gather the mayor is going to fight this?”
“Damn straight. She’s got way too much at stake to allow herself to be railroaded by...whoever is ultimately behind this.”
“Oh my. Do I hear the nascent seeds of a conspiracy theory?”
“Someone started this ball rolling. Someone who wanted the mayor gone.”
“Dan, all the evidence points to her.”
“Because she bought a bakery? Your case is flimsy and you know it.”
“I don’t know that at all.”
“It’s more like someone cherry-picked the facts because they don’t really care who did it. They just want the mayor gone.”
“Chill, Dan. You’re sounding a little cray-cray, even by your tenuous standards of normalcy.”
“Whoever committed this crime is a serious whack job. Not a functioning member of society.”
“Most serial killers have day jobs.”
“How many have been the duly elected mayor of a major metropolitan city?”
She granted him that point. “Any chance you’ll throw in the towel? I’ll make you a good deal.”
“I’m going to expose this case for the political rat-screwing it is.”
“Okay then. Good talk.” She turned toward the door.
“By the way,” he said, a little more quietly, “you look great in blue. Matches your eyes.”
She shook her head and entered the courtroom.
* * *
A few moments after he and Jimmy took their seats at the defendant’s table, the marshals brought Camila into the courtroom. She was still wearing the orange coveralls. Since no jury would be present, the powers-that-be saw no need to allow her to change into street clothes. Of course, like most law enforcement policies, it was completely wrong and favored the prosecution. The judge was the most important player in a criminal trial, and he couldn’t help but be influenced by seeing someone in prison garb, looking as everyone did who lived under prison conditions. Moreover, it would be almost impossible to bring her over from lockup without giving some ardent paparazzi a chance to snap a page-one photo.
Normally, the marshals marched close and surrounded the defendant, but he noticed that on this occasion they kept a discreet distance. Perhaps they were aware that this woman had been their boss and could be again. Or maybe it was the fierce don’t-mess-with-me look in her eye. At any rate, it was working.
“How are you?” he asked, once she was seated.
“Mad as hell, mostly.” He noted the dark circles around her eyes, but she did not appear as impaired as most.
“People treating you ok?”
“In jail? What do you expect? At least they are keeping me in isolation.”
“That might be lonely. But I think it’s for the best.”
“They could still get to me.”
“They?”
“My enemies. The people behind this.”
Jimmy leaned in between them. “You mean Lex Luthor?”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Sorry. Conrad Sweeney.”
Her eyelids lowered. “You know about him?”
“Yeah. Garrett’s checking him out. And I’m trying to set up a meeting.”
“He wanted to buy me. When that didn’t work, he swore to take me down. He fancies himself the big cheese in this town and doesn’t like competition. For that matter, he doesn’t like women, he doesn’t like Hispanics, and most of all, he doesn’t like people he can’t control.”
“You’re saying you think he barbecued those men?”
“No. He would never take that kind of risk. He’s a puppet master. But one way or another, he gets what he wants. And what he wants now is me gone, preferably dead. If this hearing doesn’t go his way, he’ll send someone after me inside.”
He would like to dismiss this as errant paranoia—but he couldn’t. “Better if I can get you out of there.”
The bailiff appeared in the rear doorway that led to the judge’s chambers. “All rise.”
He noticed a few people in the gallery who appeared to be reporters. Not many, but then, this was only a preliminary hearing. He needed to get used to it. This case involved a local celebrity, so it would attract media attention—and the demeanor of most judges changed when they were performing for an audience. With luck, this might restrain Judge Hayes from some of his more outrageous pro-prosecution shenanigans.
Judge Hayes entered, his black robe flowing behind him. Medium-height. Well-fed. Wedding ring. Jagged hairline. Rubber-soled shoes.
The judge took his seat and called the style of the case. “Are the parties present and represented by counsel?”
He and Jazlyn rose. “The defendant is present, your honor. Waive the reading of the preliminary charges. Waive the reading of the rights, though of course not the underlying rights themselves.”
The judge nodded. “How does the defendant plead?”
Camila didn’t need nudging. “Not guilty. To all charges.”
Jazlyn spoke. “Your honor, given the gravity of the crimes, we’re assembling a grand jury. We expect to present our case to them by the end of the week.”
“Thank you, Miss Prentice.”
Out the corner of his eye, he saw Jazlyn’s neck stiffen. Like most single women these days, she preferred to be addressed as Ms. Prentice.
He knew there were only two good reasons for prosecutors to go through the hassle of calling a grand jury. First, because the defendant was a high-profile politician and to whatever degree possible they wanted to eliminate the inference that the charges were political in-fighting. And second—because a grand jury indictment was required in Florida if you seek the death penalty.
Not surprising, really. The killer had taken four lives in the cruelest manner imaginable. He wasn’t an advocate of executions, but if this wasn’t a death penalty crime, nothing was.
“Are there any motions we can take up at this time?” He noted that the judge seemed a little stiffer, more formal, than usual.
“Yes, your honor.” He would return the favor by being equally formal. “I would ask the court to consider bail.”
“Out of the question,” Jazlyn replied, not that anyone asked her. “This is a murder case, potentially a capital murder case. We will likely recommend the death penalty. There have been four murders already, and they were...horrifying. Let’s not give the defendant an opportunity to commit more.”
“Just as a reminder,” he said, “the accused is only that. Accused. She hasn’t been convicted of anything yet, and given how flimsy the prosecution case is, she probably never will be.”
Judge Hayes gave him a stern look. “Counsel.”
Yeah, yeah, don’t argue the merits of the case during a motion hearing. But everyone did. If you had a chance to bend the judge’s ear, you took it. “The question with respect to bail, your honor, is whether there’s a danger to the community or a flight risk. In this case, neither exists. As the court undoubtedly knows, the defendant is the duly elected mayor of the city. She’s a public figure and possesses a readily recognized face. There is nowhere she could go without being identified.”
“Didn’t stop her at the bakery,” Jazlyn muttered.
“Furthermore,” he continued, “there is no chance she could leave town without being spotted.”
“Again,” Jazlyn said, “just not true. She does have a driver’s license.”
“She has no motivation to go anywhere. To the contrary, she wants to have her day in court to defend herself against these politically motivated charges and hopes for the earliest possible trial setting.”
The judge’s head bobbed back and forth as if he were watching a table tennis match.
“If I may correct opposing counsel’s misstatements,” Jazlyn said. “This case is not motivated by politics. I don’t care anything about politics. I just want to get murderers off the street.”
“I’m not talking about her, your honor. I’m talking about the people who pull her strings.”
Jazlyn appeared incensed. “You’re crossing the line, counsel. No one pulls—”
He held up his hands. “I meant no disrespect. But Ms. Prentice does not run the DA’s office. Even the DA himself has people he must answer to.”
Judge Hayes cut off the debate. “We’re not going to discuss politics in this courtroom. As for the rest, I agree that the danger to society is probably minimal. But I am concerned that releasing a defendant on trial for first-degree murder might set a dangerous precedent.”
“That’s a slippery-slope argument,” he said, trying to correct the judge in the gentlest manner possible. “And as we all remember from law school, that’s a logical fallacy, not a valid justification for a decision. It’s a way of avoiding arguing about the matter at hand by conjecturing about where it might lead in the future. None of us is Nostradamus. We should focus on the here and now.”
“As I was saying,” the judge continued, looking increasingly irritable, “it sets a dangerous precedent.” Note to self: Don't interrupt the judge. “And I don’t agree with you with respect to the possibility of flight. It is entirely possible that a prominent citizen could flee. It has happened before.”
Thinking about Roman Polanski? That was the name that typically arose when judges denied well-known defendants bail for no apparent reason. “Your honor, the defendant will agree to surrender her passport.” He hoped. He hadn’t actually thought to discuss it with her.
Judge Hayes shook his head. “Lots of places to hide in the continental United States.”
“Then the defendant will agree to wear a collar. That should put the court completely at ease.” By a collar, he meant an electronic tracking device. The most common was an ankle band that would tell where the wearer was and, to some extent, what she was doing. The best ones, for instance, could detect stress or alcohol and drug consumption.
He saw Camila looking at him. She probably didn’t like the idea, but if that’s what it took to get her out of the jailhouse, she wasn’t going to complain.
The judge appeared torn. “I might be able to live with this if we can monitor her movements. Perhaps place her under house arrest.”
Jazlyn cut in. “Your honor, the state objects. That’s just not enough. Would a collar have told us that four people were about to be rotisseried at a bakery? We’d know where she was—so what? She’s cool enough to avoid elevated stress signs. We have to keep the public safe.”
“The best way to do that would be to find the fiend who actually committed the crime.” He knew that would irritate Jazlyn, but hoped the reporters would splash it across the headlines. “Your honor, we have an extraordinary case with extraordinary circumstances. This calls for individualized attention from the court.”
The judge pursed his lips. “We haven’t even discussed the matter of money. A bail of this nature, on these charges, will be expensive.”
Yes, he knew they’d get to this eventually. He thought cash-based bail was distasteful, unjust, unconstitutional, and an inexcusable means of raising money and increasing overcrowding in jail. Many defendants endured long jail stays on minor charges just because they couldn’t raise the cash to purchase their freedom or pay a non-refundable fee to a for-profit bail bondsman. Those jail stays could cost jobs, leave children unattended, and destroy lives. Some people pled guilty to lesser charges just to get out of jail. Many organizations, including the Civil Rights Corps, thought this was unjust and served no purpose in a world with electronic monitoring, pretrial risk assessment, and court reminders that could be delivered to the defendant’s phone. But sadly, it was a fundraising device still frequently used, even in jurisdictions where the jails were so rough that a twenty-four-hour stay could be deadly.
Camila, of course, was not poor. But that didn’t mean jail couldn’t be hazardous to her health. “Name an amount, your honor.” A dangerous challenge, but necessary. “Any reasonable amount. We’ll raise it.”
“I don’t want campaign funds used here. Only the defendant’s personal resources.”
“Of course. How much?” His question assumed the judge had already decided to grant bail, which was probably not the case, but it couldn’t hurt to act as if he had. “If she can’t finance this personally, I believe the defendant will have little trouble obtaining a loan.”
The judge appeared to recognize the truth of this argument. “I suppose the state opposes?”
“Darn right,” Jazlyn said. “At the very least, wait until we’ve heard from the grand jury.”
“That could take weeks.”
“I will pledge to have it done before the end of this week.”
“I appreciate that.” The judge hesitated. “But I don’t honestly think this defendant poses much flight risk. I will agree to bail for the present, subject to review after the grand jury speaks, on the condition that the defendant agrees to wear an electronic monitoring device. Bail is set in the amount of twenty-five thousand dollars.”
“Your honor!” Jazlyn said. “This is a murder charge!”
“I’m aware of the charges, counsel,” the judge replied sternly. “Don’t get your papers in a twist.”
He and Jimmy exchanged a look.
The judge continued. “The defendant will be restricted to her home, her attorney’s office, and limited shopping for necessities approved in advance by her surveillance officer. The defendant may also visit her workplace...if that’s necessary.”
The judge apparently knew the deputy mayor had already seized the reins. “The defendant agrees to all those conditions, your honor. And we thank the court.”
Jazlyn was not amused. “The state strongly voices its objection.”
“I’ve already ruled, Madame Prosecutor,” the judge said.
Many people would be outraged by this decision, and Jazlyn undoubtedly wanted to make it clear this was not her idea. He was surprised, if not astonished, himself. Maybe Judge Hayes was not so adamantly right-wing as everyone thought. Or maybe he wanted to seem reasonable and impartial now—so he could lower the boom later, when it mattered.
“Is there anything else?”
He pondered. He had a victory, and he didn’t want to mess it up. “We’re going to have to discuss venue at some point, your honor.”
“Later. We’ll let the grand jury speak, see how the pretrial publicity plays out. Then we can decide whether anything needs to be done.”
That was imminently reasonable, even if they both knew the publicity would be enormous. “Then I have nothing more, your honor.”
“Very well.” The judge looked out toward the gallery. “I see there are some members of the fourth estate in my courtroom today. We’re all aware that this cute gal at the defendant’s table is our mayor. I know you’ll feel compelled to report on these proceedings, but I will urge you to avoid any statements that might prejudice the jury pool. We all want a fair trial.”
He could see Camila’s jaw tighten, but to her credit, she kept her mouth shut. The “cute gal” had a lot of self-control.
The judge banged the gavel and left.
“Did you follow all that?” he asked his client.
Camila nodded. “Not that complicated. I get out of jail. And the judge is a sexist pig.”
He didn’t argue. “The marshals will take you to the surveillance office. There’s a lot of rigmarole and paperwork, but you should be free by this afternoon. We’ll meet up later and compare notes.”
“Am I really going to have to ask permission before I go to Whole Foods?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Drug store? Doctor’s office?”
“Definitely.”
She sighed. “Better than having my meals brought on a tin tray, I suppose.” She rose and the marshals led her away. Unless it was his imagination, they were showing even more deference now.
He loaded his backpack and started out of the courtroom. He was glad he got Camila out of jail, but this hearing had given him a strong taste of just how hard this case was going to be to win. One fact was certain—he might have seen some success today, but the battle was far from over.