She shook her head, losing the smile. “No, and it’s a mess. We can’t get any answers from the DEA.”
I nodded like it was all okay and turned for my office just as two college students exited. The first was a tall woman with blue hair. “You’re good. The DEA agents left your drawers open and some files messed up, but we fixed them.”
“Thanks.” I smiled and again acted like the world hadn’t just started spinning in the opposite direction. Sure, I was thrown off by my boss being arrested. But Aiden Devlin was back in town, andhe’dbeen arrested. I sat on my too loose rolling chair, grabbed the phone, and dialed Celeste. As Scot’s paralegal, surely she’d know something. Anything.
“Hi,” she said, no doubt having seen my extension number come up on her phone from the opposite side of our office. “How was court yesterday?”
“Uneventful,” I lied. “Have you heard anything about Scot? It’s impossible that he’s been dealing drugs.”
“I know. Whatever this is, I’m sure Scot will get it sorted out,” she said, sounding lost.
Okay. So she didn’t know anything. On to my next topic. “Please find any other documents you have on the Aiden Devlin case, so I can pursue this until Scot gets back. The casefile I took to court yesterday was missing most of what I needed.”
She sighed. “The DEA took everything Scot had on that case, and it wasn’t much. You have the case file.”
Too much was missing. What was going on? “Get me everything you can find that they didn’t take. As soon as you can.”
She promised to do so and then hung up.
I tightened my calves to keep my chair from rolling away. Then I reached to dial out again when my computer dinged a notice. Crap. I glanced at the time. I was due in misdemeanor court in five minutes. It seemed ridiculous that I was still working the day away when the sky was falling, but court was court, and I was scheduled to be there. So I grabbed the stack of casefiles I hadn’t had a chance to read through yet, jumped up, and hustled outside and down the street to the courthouse.
This time I descended to the lower floor, where various people shuffled around as they lined up at the parking ticket counter. I passed them for the smaller courtroom where I was somewhat more comfortable and shoved open the much lighter door. This felt more like home.
An air of expectancy, or maybe dread, filled the small courtroom. A wide aisle split the rows of pews up the middle. Up front the judge’s maple bench presided over the room with solid bulk, and matching tables sat in front at either side of the aisle. Unlike the upper floor, this part of the courthouse had been added in the eighties, so the benches were a salmon color and the wood a lighter, more industrial style oak. Fluorescent lights cast yellow shadows across the windowless room, turning the salmon color a dingy pink.
The bailiff standing by the bench, a sweet guy named Larry, glanced up from his phone and nodded.
I returned the ‘professional hey’ with my own nod, sat, and set down my case folders. This was a chance to reach plea bargains before the judge even showed up, and then all we had to do was go on the record with our deals. Or set trial dates. I glanced around. The public defender wasn’t there.
That was okay. I could deal with the criminals myself. Life was pretty simple in my view. Usually. I took the top file, opened it, and read, “Thelma Mullen?”
Two elderly women, one thin and one not-so-much, slowly made their way from the last row to sit at my table. “I’m Thelma and this is Georgiana Lambertini. You probably have a file on her, too,” the thin one said, smiling.
The ladies didn’t appear a day over eighty with pouffed white hair and more wrinkles than a linen skirt on a humid summer day. Thelma perched like a colorful bird in a skinny purple suit, lime green pumps, and a yellow broach in the shape of a black widow spider. Georgiana had covered her impressive bulk with a bright flowered muumuu above beach thongs.
Thelma leaned forward. “We were nailed with a B and E, sweetie,” she said with a twinkle in her faded blue eyes.
I held up a hand. “Don’t say anything else. I’m the prosecutor, and I’m not on your side here.”
Georgiana patted my hand. “Oh, you’re a sweetheart. I can tell. Of course, you’re on our side.”
“No,” I protested, looking around, panic grabbing me yet again. This week was too much. At some point, my heart was just going to implode from the pressure. “You should have your own lawyer. If you can’t afford one, we’ll get one appointed to you.”
Thelma waved the suggestion away. “Oh, we don’t want him. We met him and didn’t like him. We want you.”
“You can’t have me,” I said softly. “I’m here to prosecute you.”
“No.” Thelma shook her head. “That’s not right. I can tell about people. You’re one of the good ones.”
She reminded me of my grandma, and the familial guilt slid through me like garlic butter. Maybe this was just a misunderstanding. I opened the case file and read it quickly. “You were caught going through the underwear drawer of your neighbor, Melvin Whitaker?”
The women nodded.
“Melvin lives in the adjoining duplex to yours?” I asked.
“Yes. Melvin has disappeared, and we were trying to find the pot,” Georgiana stage whispered as I concentrated on the cataracts in her thick eyes. She squinted at me, trying to focus.
Pot? Eesh. “What are you talking about?”
