The clerk leaned in to direct Gallen’s attention to something in a file. She looked it over, raised her perfectly plucked brows, and nodded. “That’s certainly a new one on me,” she remarked. “So, Mr. Graves, do you substantiate this claim?”
The lawyer cleared her throat. “My client isn’t sure,” she said. “The DNA evidence, however, speaks for itself.”
“Not your usual stance, Ms. Hagen,” Gallen said dryly. “Nor am I convinced that this information is relevant to—”
Mac stood up. “Your Honor,” he said. “I’m Captain Macintosh. You have some of my files there, I believe. May I approach?”
Gallen looked at him for a second, her lips pursed, and crooked a finger to bring him forward. Ms. Hagen hurried forward too, so they reached the bench at the same time. It was a terse, soft-voiced exchange of words that didn’t carry. Boyd leaned forward as though a couple of inches would make any difference in whether he could hear it or not.
“Fine,” Gallen said abruptly as she sat back in her chair. She straightened her robes and ignored the cop and the lawyer in front of her until they retreated to their respective sides of the room. “Mr. Graves. In light of the information that I have here, it’s clear that there is a compelling case for you to accompany Captain Macintosh back to Cutter’s Gap. However, the case against you with respect to Sergeant Lo’s injuries is also compelling. No matter what Captain Macintosh uncovers in relation to your recent discovery, you did assault a police officer in commission of his duties.”
“Overzealous commission, Your Honor,” Hagen blurted. “My client was being arrested for an as yet unproven crime that was committedagainsthim.”
Gallen gestured her acceptance. “There are avenues for him to pursue that complaint, Ms. Hagen, but none of them involve headbutting the arresting officer. Bail is set at fifteen thousand dollars, with the understanding that Mr. Graves will be under Captain Macintosh’s supervision.”
She gave the desk a pro forma tap with her gavel.
Morgan’s snort was a low, almost satisfied sound as he shrugged.
“Judge Gallen,” Mac protested as he bolted back to his feet. “How am I meant to carry out this investigation—”
“My client is not able to make that sort of—”
This time Gallen banged the gavel sharply on the desk. “Enough,” she snapped into the jarred silence. “I believe I made it clear that I appreciatebothof your stances on this. That is why the bail is only set at fifteen thousand dollars, despite his assault on a member of the police force.”
Hagen protested, “That is still an unreasonable amount, considering that my client’s marginal lifestyle could easily be read as a direct result of—”
Boyd stood up. “I’ll pay it,” he said. Somewhere down in Key West, he imagined his mother had just woken up in a cold, fiscally responsible sweat. He flushed as Gallen narrowed her eyes at him but squared his shoulders. “I’ll cover Morgan’s bail.”
“Appreciated, whoever you are,” Gallen said. “But not exactly necessary to announce in open court.”
The sardonic bite to her voice deflated Boyd. That should have been obvious, he supposed, but he hadn’t stopped to think about how the process actually worked. He’d just blurted out what was on his mind.
“However, I assume that settles your objections, Ms. Hagen?” Gallen continued as she leaned forward to raise an eyebrow at Hagen.
It took a moment, but Hagen finally nodded. “It’s acceptable,” she said stiffly.
“My day is made,” Gallen said. “Next.”
The nervous young man in question muttered urgently to his lawyer as they stood up. While they stammered through a decision not to appeal a speeding ticket, Mac, Hagen, and Morgan turned to glare at Boyd. A slight dip of the chin from Hagen registered her gratitude. The other two just looked pissed at him.
Boyd awkwardly sank back into his chair. Maybe this was a bad idea. For a start, he had no idea where he was going to find fifteen grand.
Chapter Four
WALLET. KEYS.Pocket knife. Three condoms, fingered by the guard and handed over with a smirk.
Morgan didn’t react. He didn’t give a fuck what some flunked-out cop relegated to a plexiglass box in this fart-sour hole thought. Of the two of them, it was Morgan who got to walk outside, and he certainly didn’t plan to ever come back.
He shoved his property into the pockets of his jeans and followed the signs that directed him toward the exit. The soles of his sneakers squeaked against the freshly scrubbed linoleum as he walked, but the heavy application of bleach and soap didn’t do much to banish the smell of old puke and too many bodies.
Morgan wasn’t entirely surprised when he saw Lo in front of the exit, white bandage stark where it folded over his nose. Someone like Lo was used to getting their due whenever something happened to them—workman’s comp if they got whiplash in a car chase, free drinks at the bar if they had a bad case, payback if someone broke their nose—even if they deserved it.
“It was my anniversary last night,” Lo said once Morgan was within range. His voice was flattened, almost comical, as he tried to drag an angry tone out of his swollen face. “You think my wife was happy when I turned up at the restaurant looking like this?”
Morgan laughed at him. “Gotta tell you, Sergeant Lo,” he said. “I kind of just assume your wife’s not happy. I mean, she’s married to you.”
A ruddy flush crawled over Lo’s wide cheekbones. He took a step forward and leaned in to Morgan.
