I MIGHT AS well have driven to Santa Barbara with Leah the next morning for all the support I managed to show Turk at his arraignment at the Central Division San Diego County Courthouse. I wore my scratched blackout sunglasses inside. They hid my two black eyes, but did nothing to disguise my swollen nose. And they made the use of my cane more of a necessity than in the past week. I’d barely tapped my way down an aisle and into a seat when Turk’s case was called.
I could only make out blocky shapes in the front of the courtroom. A voice belonging to the judge read out the charges against Turk. Murder in the first degree and resisting arrest. The D.A. obviously overcharged in hopes of forcing a plea deal at the felony disposition conference. She had to know that no jury would convict on first-degree murder. Turk was innocent, but even if someone thought he was guilty, the only reasonable charge would be second-degree murder. A crime committed in passion, not premeditated.
My tackle of Turk didn’t keep the D.A. from tacking on the resisting arrest charge. A bargaining chip that I’d paid for with a broken nose. Still, if I’d let him run, or limp in his case, from the police, some adrenalized cop on the takedown squad might have used a bullet to take the case out of the court’s hands.
The judge’s voice asked, “How do you plead?” after each charge.
“Not guilty, Your Honor,” was Turk’s answer. His voice strong. Resolute. Twenty-four hours in jail, and he hadn’t been beaten down, yet. Good. Even if it was just a façade. A façade was better than nothing. Especially in jail.
The bail schedule for a murder suspect in California is $1,000,000 and can only be lowered if there were unusual circumstances for the defendant.
Elk Fenton rhapsodized eloquently about Turk’s commitment to the community, being anchored to his landmark La Jolla restaurant, and even his disability incurred while he saved my life. The judge gaveled a million-dollar bail, scheduled an early disposition conference for the following Tuesday, and remanded Turk to the county jail.
I could faintly hear the footstep, thunk, and drag of Turk’s cadence as he was led from the courtroom. At least they’d given him a new cane.
Twenty minutes later, I stood behind Fenton next to Amy Burroughs, Turks, married sister, on top of the steps of the county courthouse as he told the assembled press that Turk was one hundred percent innocent and looked forward to his day in court and the chance to clear his name.
Fenton concluded his comments and the media’s shadows and forms faded away. The lack of clarity made me miss my new, broken, sunglasses. I accepted Amy’s arm to descend the steps.
“Rick?” A familiar voice. “Cathy Cade with Channel Six News.”
Shit.
“We’re not taking questions, Cathy.” Fenton’s voice from the street level below.
“Is it true that Thomas Muldoon assaulted you?”
“That’s a lie!” Turk’s sister shouted as she maneuvered me down to the sidewalk.
Amy was five years younger than Turk, but shared his cornflower blue eyes and fiery burred red hair. But unlike him, she was happily married. I remembered another time Turk gave someone other than me a black eye. When a drunk trust fund punk groped Amy in the bar at Muldoon’s. I wondered if Amy remembered.
Three separate masses emerged from the dark background when I hit the bottom of the steps.
“That’s enough.” Elk, the blob on the left.
“Is it true Mr. Muldoon attempted to evade arrest?” Cade, the smaller mass in the middle. She definitely had an inside source at the Brick House.
I let go of Amy’s arm and snapped open my service cane. The top-heavy shape on the right closed in on me. Cade’s cameraman. I kept my mouth shut. This was Fenton’s game. I was just a silent cheerleader. A symbol.
“If any of these baseless allegations air on the news, I’ll sue your TV station for libel.” Elk, at his offended best. “How dare you sully the name of a good and decent man.”
It sounded like a convincing show. Although, I knew Elk occasionally gave Cade deep background on celebrity court cases. A lot of back scratching, expensed lunches, and switching sides.
“That’s a rap, Stu.” Cade, her outline now a couple feet from me. “Put some ice on that nose, Rick. It looks awful. Ellis, see you at the EDC.” Early disposition conference.
“You’re a horrible woman!” Amy shouted as Cade and her cameraman’s footsteps faded away. She’d never seen how the game was played before.
“Cathy’s just doing her job.” Fenton. His voice had a shrug in it.
“This is my brother’s life.” Annoyed.
“Yes, ma’am.” Fenton, polite. “And I intend to see that he lives the rest of it as a free man.”
“I hope so. That’s why I’m putting a second mortgage on my house.” Amy might not have been a member of Turk’s defense team, but she was obviously paying for at least part of it. “Rick, do you need a ride?”
“Rick’s going to ride with me,” Fenton volunteered without asking me. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Everything is going as expected.”
“Um-hum.” Amy sounded like she didn’t think Elk was giving her her money’s worth. “Thanks for coming down to support Turk, Rick. I know he really appreciates it.”
I doubted he did just yet. Amy’s footsteps disappeared into the traffic noise on Union Street.
“I’m parked on State Street. This way.” He was on my left. “Would it help you to hold my arm?”
“I’ll use the cane. Thanks.”
I took off my sunglasses and hooked them on the neck of my dress shirt under the blazer I wore for the arraignment.
“Wow.” Elk. “He really did a number on your face.”
“The bullet hole was from someone else.”
“I know.” Reflexive. “For a kid growing up in La Jolla, you sure haven’t had an easy life.”
“Tract home section.”
“I guess that explains everything.” He didn’t laugh. Maybe if I’d ever invited him over to my house as a kid he would have. Ellison “Elk” Fenton grew up on a hillside overlooking the Pacific Ocean in La Jolla. My family lived in a cul-de-sac at the bottom of a hill overlooked by other homes.
The sun was out and rectangle shapes trudged by on the street. Morning traffic in downtown San Diego. Pedestrian traffic as well as I tapped my cane alongside Elk and avoided individual outlines. Every shape and form, unrecognizable, but clearer than yesterday.
Those coming the other way got an unshielded look at my face. I hoped someday to be able to see their reactions.