CHAPTER 30
Chicago, November 2, 2019
THE COURTROOM HEARING WAS A FORMALITY, COMPLETELY UNNECESSARY, and the last place Rory wanted to be this morning. Still reeling from her panic attack, mildly hungover, and with her mind squarely preoccupied with the enigmatic dream she’d had the night before, she was desperate to get to the nursing home and ask Greta about her connection to Angela Mitchell. But Frank Moore had agreed to this hearing months ago as a way to provide a final voice to the board members, who were allowing this man to walk free two decades before his sentence was complete. Present with Rory in the courtroom were the six members of the parole board, a designated representative from the district attorney’s office, who looked like he was straight out of law school, and a court clerk, as well as Naomi Brown and Ezra Parker, the social worker and parole officer who had accompanied Rory to the Starved Rock cabin. They all wore some form of appropriate attire for a courtroom, except Rory.
She looked more like the parolee than his attorney, dressed as she was in gray jeans and a dark T-shirt. She couldn’t get away with wearing her beanie hat in court, so she allowed her wavy brunette hair to fall to either side of her face like barely parted window curtains. She made sure her glasses were in place, and when she walked into the courtroom, her combat boots rattled and drew everyone’s attention. She had warned Judge Boyle that she was not meant for a courtroom. The stares would normally have sent her into a state of panic, but she spent most of her angst during the height of her attack the previous night when she drunkenly drove to Angela Mitchell’s old house. It had once been Thomas Mitchell’s house as well, she thought just as the side door of the courtroom opened and two bailiffs appeared. They led Thomas Mitchell into court and sat him next to Rory. Judge Boyle materialized through a different door and took his spot on the bench.
“Good morning,” the judge said, his voice echoing through the nearly empty courtroom. “This will be a brief hearing.”
The judge kept his gaze on the papers in front of him and never looked up to see those present in his courtroom. He appeared to be as excited about this morning’s proceedings as Rory.
“Ms. Moore, I’ve brought the board up on the latest circumstances of the passing of Mr. Mitchell’s previous attorney, and that as his new representative you’ve agreed to all the previous stipulations.”
They covered again the living arrangements, regular check-ins with the parole officer, restriction on drugs and alcohol, drug testing, and on and on.
“Yes, sir. Yes, ma’am,” Thomas said whenever a member of the board addressed him.
The formalities took fifteen minutes. Once everyone was satisfied, the judge shuffled some papers.
“Mr. Mitchell, your release tomorrow will be tricky,” Judge Boyle said. “There is intense media attention surrounding the exact details, and Ms. Moore and I have discussed the importance of you staying anonymous. The press release lists a ten A.M. release. I’d like to keep that as the formal time listed, but release you instead at four-thirty A.M. It will still be dark. The warden has agreed to this, and to an east-side exit. I think this will be the best way to keep things discreet and allow you to get to your residence without notice.”
Unstated, but agreed upon long ago, was that his attorney would be the one driving him from jail. He had no one else in his life. And now, Thomas Mitchell no longer had Frank Moore.
Judge Boyle looked at Rory. “Transportation has been arranged?”
Rory nodded.
“Mr. Mitchell. You’ve been an exemplary inmate. The state hereby agrees to your release at four-thirty tomorrow morning, November third. I hope you make much of your life from this point forward. Good luck to you.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Thomas said.
The judge banged his gavel and was up and gone, his robe drifting like a cape in the wind.
Thomas looked at the board members, bowed his head. “Thank you.”
He was gracious and kind. A perfect gentleman. Rehabilitated and ready to integrate back into society.