I leaned in toward the paralegal. “Call everyone back here. Now.” I needed somebody with a lot more legal experience than I had to deal with this.
Clarice nodded. “You got it.” Then she shoved me—pretty hard—out the door. “Go to court.”
The flower-scented air attacked me as I turned and strode down the steps into the nice spring day just as news vans from the adjacent city screeched to a halt in front of my building, which housed the prosecuting attorney’s offices, the public defender’s offices, and the DMV. The brick structure formed a horseshoe around a wide and very green park with the courthouse, police station, and county commissioner offices set perpendicular to my building. Directly across sat Timber City Community College, which stretched a far distance to the north as well. The final side held the beach and Lilac Lake.
Ducking my head, I took a sharp right, hit the end of the street, and turned for the courthouse. The building had been erected when the timber companies and the mines had been prosperous in the area and was made of deep mahogany and real marble brought in from Italy. Instead of walking downstairs like I had the last two weeks, I climbed up a floor to the district court level. It even smelled different than the lower floors. More like lemon polish and something serious. Oh yeah. Life and death and felonies. My knees wobbled, so I straightened my blue pencil skirt and did a quick check of my white blouse to make sure I hadn’t pitted out.
Nope. Good. I shouldn’t be too scared, because the pseudo-metropolis of Timber City had only 49,000 residents, roughly the same as a large state college. But compared to my hometown of Silverville, which was about fifty miles east through a mountain pass, this was the big city.
My wedges squeaked on the gleaming floor, and I pushed open the heavy door and made my way past the pews to the desk to the right, facing the judge’s tall bench. My temples started to thrum. I remained standing at the table and set down the case files before flipping open the first one.
A commotion sounded, and two men strode in from the back, both wearing fancy gray suits. I recognized the first man, and an odd relief took me again, even though he was clearly there as the defendant’s attorney and on the opposite side of the aisle as me. “Mr. O’Malley,” I murmured.
He held out his hand. “Call me Chuck, Anna.” He was a fishing buddy of my dad’s and had been for years. “They’ve thrown you into District Court already?”
I shifted my feet. “It’s a long story.” That would be public shortly. “The DEA took Scot away in handcuffs,” I said.
Chuck straightened, his gray eyebrows shooting up. “Charges?”
“The warrant said something about narcotics.” We were on different sides right now, and Chuck was a phenomenal criminal defense attorney, but the truth was the truth and would be out anyway. “He probably needs a good lawyer.”
“I’ll check it out after this hearing.” Chuck’s eyes gleamed the same way they did when my Nonna Albertini brought her apple pie to a community picnic. He nodded at his client, a guy in his late twenties with a trimmed goatee and thinning hair. “This is Ralph Ceranio. He’s pleading not guilty today.”
Thank goodness. That just meant we would set things for trial.
Chuck smiled. “Unless you agree to dismiss.”
I smiled back. “I’d like to keep my job for another week.” Probably. “So, no.”
Chuck turned as the bailiff entered through a side door by the bench and told everyone to stand, even though we were already standing. Then Judge Hallenback swept in.
Oh my. My mouth dropped open, and I quickly snapped it shut. It was rumored the judge had been going downhill for some time, and I was thinking that for once, rumors were right. While he had to only be in his mid-sixties, maybe he had early dementia? Today he wore a customary black robe with a charming red bow tie visible above the fold. It contrasted oddly with the bright purple hat with tassels hanging down on top of his head. A bunch of colorful drawn dots covered his left hand while a grey and white striped kitten was cradled in his right, and he hummed the anthem toBaby Got Backas he walked.
He set the cat down and banged his gavel, opening a manila file already on his desk. “Elk County vs Ralph Ceranio for felony counts of fraud, theft, and burglary.”
I swallowed.
“My client pleads not guilty and requests a jury trial, your honor,” Chuck said, concern glowing in his eyes. He and the judge had probably been friends for years, too.
“Bail?” the judge asked, yanking open his robe to reveal a Hallenback’s Used Car Lot T-shirt. Oh yeah. The judge and his brother owned a couple of car dealerships in the area. If he retired now, he’d be just fine. “Hello? Prosecuting attorney talk now,” he muttered.
I quickly read Scot’s notes. “Two hundred thousand dollars. The defendant is a flight risk, your honor. He has access to a private plane and several vehicles.”
“Everyone has a private plane. Heck. I even have one.” The judge shook his head before Chuck could respond. “Fifty thousand dollars. How many days do you need for trial?”
I had no clue. I didn’t even know the case.
“Probably a week, Judge,” Chuck said, helping me out.
I could only nod.
“All right.” The judge reached for a calendar and announced the date six months away. “See ya then.”
Chuck patted my shoulder. “I’ll be in touch.”
I swallowed again, wanting to beg him to stay with me for the second hearing. But I had to at least act like I had a clue what I was doing. The bailiff, a brawny guy whose nightstick somehow looked thicker than usual, moved for the door he’d emerged from earlier and opened it. He grabbed an arm covered by an orange jumper while I shuffled the files and looked down, trying to read Scot’s mangled notes. Hopefully I could get caught up quickly.
The judge slammed down his gavel again. “Elk County vs. Aiden Devlin for narcotics possession and intent to distribute.”
