The famed line “If it doesn’t fit, you must acquit” from the Simpson defense team had been replaced this century by the prosecution’s claim “If she did it in her past, it won’t be her last.”
At 5:06 p.m., Judge Clarence Carter rapped his gavel to bring the court to order. The crowded courtroom quieted as the judge prepared his notes. Only the hum of the fans that had been brought in to help cool the room was audible.
The judge gave the typical overview of how to conduct one’s self in a court of law, and warned that immediate removal by bailiffs would be ordered if anyone veered from this conduct.
“Mr. Foreman,” he finally said. “Have you come to a unanimous decision?”
“We have, Your Honor.”
A bailiff took the verdict from Harold Anthony and delivered it to the judge.
“Will the defendant please rise?”
Sitting at the defendant’s table in one of her designer dresses that no longer hugged her body the way they used to, now baggy and loose from weight loss, was Ellie Reiser. It had been fourteen months since Sidney Ryan’s body was discovered poorly hidden in her apartment, a year since she was arrested for the murder, and three months since she first sat behind the defendant’s table. She’d been released from her position at the hospital, and had spent her life’s savings on her defense team. She stood.
“Dr. Reiser, will you please face the jury?”
Ellie turned with a somber expression and faced her peers.
The judge turned to Harold Anthony.
“Mr. Foreman?”
Harold stood and read from his card.“Superior court of New York, in the matter of the people of New York versus Ellie Margaret Reiser . . . We, the jury, in the above entitled action, find the defendant, Ellie Margaret Reiser, guilty of the crime of murder in the first degree of Sidney Ryan.”
The courtroom exploded with cheers and sobs, applause and moans. The judge rapped his gavel again. The crowd refused to quiet. Ellie put her hand over her gaunt cheeks and sank back down into her seat.
Amid the commotion, a man stood from the back pew and limped gingerly out of the courtroom on his prosthetic, until he was past the crowd of media people and in the hallway.
CHAPTER 60
Sunday, September 16, 2018
HE HADN’T BEEN ON THE ROAD FOR MONTHS. A STEEP LEARNINGcurve came from driving with his left leg, but he felt there was nothing he could not conquer after ridding himself of the goddamn walker. And what better way to teach his left leg the nuances of pedal work than a fourteen-hour road trip? Now, out of the city and on the open road, with the windows down and the breeze strong in his face, he felt damn good.
Gus took the drive in two days. Four shifts of three hours, give or take. It had been more than a year since he had bid adieu to the folks at Alcove Manor. During the grand ceremony of his departure, he even managed to hug Nurse Ratched on the way out—both smiling, but with looks that told another story. He had considered telling her to piss off, just a quiet whisper in her ear as she hugged him. He was sure a similar sentiment was on the tip of her tongue. Instead, when he had made it home, he lifted his prosthetic leg onto his coffee table, popped a beer, and turned on the Yankees game. Between innings, he picked up the phone and orderedflowers for each nurse to whom he had been a complete asshole. It wasn’t much, but it was the best he could do.
He made the final three-hour stretch of his journey without issue. He had resisted the urge during the past two days to push his driving time much past three hours. He still worked once a week with Jason, who had warned about sitting for too long, and Gus had learned over the last year to listen to what the kid had to say. It was Jason who had originally gotten his ass up and walking, and without that kid, Gus might still be lying in the rehab prison, relieving himself into a plastic jug.
He found the hotel, checked in at the front desk, and politely turned down the young man’s offer to help with his bag. His limp was visible, but less prominent than three months back. He had undergone his final fitting a month earlier when Jason completed the laser-scanning technique that allowed for the final design of his prosthesis, and Gus was still getting to know his new leg. He had turned down the “runner’s option,” which would produce a robotic-type extension from his hip that would allow for more versatile mobility.
“You’ll be a literal Robocop,” Jason had told him.
But Gus was no longer a cop, and agility hadn’t been his strong suit when he had two functioning legs, so he saw no reason to attempt to achieve it with one. He chose the more practical solution of a carbon-fiber hip socket and 3R60 knee, which allowed him to walk with an almost normal gait that would improve with time and experience. The Ottobock Triton foot, as opposed to the Robocop futuristic boomerang, was designed to allow him to wear a shoe that, when wearing pants, made him look like any other sixty-nine-year-old man. It had been more than a year since he lost his leg, and he was doing better than anyone had predicted.
In his hotel room, he sat on the edge of the bed andremoved his prosthesis. He rubbed his stump to relieve the pain, which still came from time to time. He sat back on the bed with his shoulders against the headboard, opened his fast-food burger, popped a beer, and pulled the file folder from his bag.
After an hour, he set the file aside, turned off the lights, and went to sleep.
CHAPTER 61
Monday, September 17, 2018
HE LEFT THE HOTEL AT NINE O’CLOCK THE FOLLOWING MORNINGand made the thirty-minute drive into Atlanta. He found the police department headquarters on Peachtree Street and pulled into the parking lot. He flashed his retired detective badge at the gate attendant, who saw gold and waved him through without scrutiny. Gus found a parking spot, refusing to use the handicapped spot in the front row, and walked to the entrance.
“Gus Morelli!”
Gus smiled as he managed the steps up to the front entrance. “Johnny Mack,” he said when he reached the landing. They shook hands like the old friends they were.
