Bylines & Skylines (An Avery Shaw Mystery Book 9) (3 page)

“Where are you going?” Fish called to my back. “The court session doesn’t start for another hour and you just got here.”

“I have to stop at a gas station,” I replied. “I need to buy a lottery ticket. This is clearly my lucky week.”

“And this is clearly my version of Hell,” Duncan snapped. “How did this even happen?”

“I think it’s karma,” Fish replied, not missing a beat. “You’ve finally managed to piss me off to the point where I’m unleashing Avery on you. May God have mercy on your soul.”

“This is … unbelievable,” Duncan groused. “I’ll be taking my complaints to the front office! Just you wait. This isn’t going to happen the way you think it’s going to happen.”

Something told me Duncan would be the one who would end up disappointed, but that was something to worry about later. For now, I needed to run to the gas station and get a full list of convention events. I was never going to get another opportunity quite as delicious as this one to torture Duncan. I couldn’t wait to see if rumors of one person giving another an aneurism just by being obnoxious were true. If anyone could do it, though, it was me. I never lack in self-confidence on that front.

Look out world – and especially Duncan – because here I come. It’s definitely going to be a great week.

“
J
udge
, it really wasn’t my fault. I know my probation specifically says that I can’t drink, but I honestly thought I was drinking root beer. I didn’t know there was such a thing as hard root beer. Honest.”

Sitting in court on arraignment day is never fun, but occasionally you run across a few gems while waiting for your case to come up. Theodore Haskell was one of those cases. The Warren man – on probation for running a bogus charity and lining his own pockets instead of helping those in need – was trying to explain to Judge Chester Baumgartner why he didn’t mean to streak naked through his yard and then kick a police officer in the shins when he tried to corral the intoxicated man. Sadly for Haskell, Baumgartner had obviously heard it all before.

“I see,” Baumgartner said, shaking his head as he studied the file in front of him. “You didn’t know they made hard root beer, huh?”

“No, sir. I surely did not.” Haskell was a great actor. I had to give him that. I almost believed him. Of course, I was enjoying the best Monday ever so I was probably biased.

“Where did you purchase the root beer?” Baumgartner asked.

“I … what?” Haskell was caught off guard by the question.

“Where did you purchase the root beer?”

“I … um … at a liquor store, but they sell soda and juice and stuff there.”

“Uh-huh. How much did it cost?”

“Your honor, I’m not sure what that has to do with anything,” Haskell’s lawyer interjected.

“I’m not asking you the question. I’m asking him the question,” Baumgartner said. “How much was the root beer?”

“I believe it was seven dollars or so, sir,” Haskell replied, clearly nervous.

“How often do you spend that much for a six-pack of regular root beer?”

“I … um … didn’t really think about it,” Haskell answered, shifting from one foot to the other.

“Well, that seems unlikely,” Baumgartner said. “You asked for an extension to pay your fines because you didn’t have enough money, yet you’re buying really expensive root beer without blinking an eye. Can you explain that?”

“I … .” Haskell bit his lip.

“That’s what I thought,” Baumgartner said. “Okay, I find you guilty of a probation violation. I’m adding one thousand dollars to your fine and sentencing you to ten days in the county jail.”

“But … what about my job?” Haskell protested.

“You should’ve thought about that before you violated your probation,” Baumgartner said. “You asked for a second chance, got it, and then squandered it. That’s not really my problem.”

“Well, you’re just a jerk then.” Haskell’s cheeks flooded with color. “It was an honest mistake.”

Baumgartner clearly wasn’t in the mood to mess around. “Who here thinks it was an honest mistake?”

It took me a moment to realize he was addressing the courtroom, which was mostly empty because the bulk of the arraignments were already finished. When his eyes landed on me, I couldn’t help but feel annoyed.

“Ms. Shaw, do you think it was an honest mistake?” Baumgartner asked.

Of course he would zero in on me. I had a reputation for being loud-mouthed and opinionated. I shrugged, unsure how to answer. “It does taste like root beer.”

Baumgartner waited.

“Of course, once he realized he was tipsy after two bottles – and if he really wasn’t drinking as he was supposed to he would have a really low tolerance – then he probably should’ve stopped instead of continuing,” I added.

“What Ms. Shaw is saying is that she doesn’t believe you, Mr. Haskell,” Baumgartner said. “These nice deputies will take you to the jail to begin your sentence.”

“But … no,” Haskell sputtered.

“Yes,” Baumgartner said, handing the file to his clerk and reaching for the next. “Up next we have … .”

“Thanks a lot, you bitch,” Haskell hissed as the deputies led him past me. “I hope you get hit by a car.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” I replied, although I couldn’t understand how he made this my fault. “I hope you don’t get snookered by hard root beer again. Just a tip, the hard orange soda is alcoholic, too.”

Baumgartner smirked in my direction before turning his attention back to the final case file on his desk. “Lance Dombrowski, please come forward.”

I grabbed my notebook from the wooden bench next to me. Finally. I’d been waiting two hours for this and the odds of it lasting more than two minutes were slim. A Macomb County Sheriff’s Department deputy led Dombrowski, who was clad in an orange jumpsuit and shackled at the ankles and wrists, in front of Baumgartner.

Baumgartner widened his eyes when he took in the man’s battered and bruised face and glanced at the assistant prosecutor. “What are the charges?”

“Well, your honor, it seems Mr. Dombrowski attended a Take Back the Night rally in Roseville last evening,” the prosecutor replied. “Instead of participating in the rally, though, witnesses say he attempted to drag a young woman behind a bush and … um … fondle her.”

Ugh. What a pervert. I knew he disrupted a rally. I didn’t know the specifics.

“The girl in question was seventeen,” the prosecutor added.

“She’s lying,” Dombrowski gritted out. “I never touched her.”

“We have more than seventy-five witnesses to the incident, your honor,” the prosecutor said. “We’re willing to bring all of them in for testimony if need be.”

“I see the sworn statements,” Baumgartner said. “We’ll save the testimony for the trial. What’s your request on bond?”

“We request no bond, your honor,” the prosecutor replied. “We believe Mr. Dombrowski is a danger to the public.”

“I’m a danger?” Dombrowski was incensed. “Have you looked at my face? I’m not a danger. I’m the one in danger.”

“Yes, may I ask what happened to your face?” Baumgartner queried. “Did you resist arrest?”

“Of course not!”

“The suspect was already subdued by the time police arrived,” the prosecutor offered. “It seems the women at the Take Back the Night rally didn’t take well to someone attacking one of their own in a public setting. They … took matters into the own hands and he was strung up like a Thanksgiving turkey with eight women sitting on him when the deputies arrived to make the arrest.”

I snorted loudly, pressing my lips together to keep from bursting into laughter. Baumgartner sent me a weighted look, although it wasn’t exactly an admonishment. He looked as if he was having trouble keeping it together, too.

“So the women beat him up?” Baumgartner asked.

“They pulverized him, your honor,” the prosecutor replied.

“They caught me off guard,” Dombrowski argued. “I wasn’t doing anything, so I wasn’t expecting to be attacked.”

“What about priors?” Baumgartner asked, and I didn’t miss the fact that he placed his hand over his mouth to hide what I’m sure was a smile.

“Mr. Dombrowski has two priors,” the prosecutor replied. “Both are for exposing himself to women in public settings.”

“Those bitches lied!” Dombrowski roared.

“That will be enough of that,” Baumgartner warned, sobering as he extended a finger. He ran his tongue over his teeth as he looked over the file and then shook his head. “Bond is rejected. I don’t feel comfortable letting his individual loose on the street.”

“Yes, he might get mugged by Girl Scouts and lose a limb or something,” I said, realizing too late that I said it out loud. “What? Everyone was thinking it.” I would be more worried about making a scene if the courtroom was packed. It was practically empty … and they did make me wait a really long time before calling the only important case on the docket.

“Thank you, Ms. Shaw,” Baumgartner said, rubbing his cheek. “No bond. We’ll set the preliminary examination for two weeks from today.”

“Two weeks?” Dombrowski exploded. “You expect me to sit in jail for two weeks?”

“I expect you to realize you got off incredibly lucky,” Baumgartner replied. “Those women could’ve killed you … and gotten away with it. No one would’ve blamed them had they protected themselves with deadly force.”

I was really starting to like Baumgartner. I never realized he had such a funky sense of humor.

“Do you want to hire your own counsel or have an attorney appointed to you?” Baumgartner asked.

“I want to be let go and have those crazy women thrown in jail,” Dombrowski replied. “They’re menaces.”

“Court appointed it is,” Baumgartner said, making a notation in the file and then glancing up with a bright smile. “I believe that’s it for the morning session. There’s no one else, right?”

“I’m not done yet!” Dombrowski howled.

“Oh, you’re done,” Baumgartner said. “You just don’t realize it yet.”

“
M
S. SHAW
,
I would appreciate it if you didn’t speak out of turn like that while court is in session.” The judge caught up with me outside the courtroom as I stood in front of the elevator a few minutes later. He didn’t look particularly upset, although he didn’t look particularly happy either. “I’m supposed to maintain a controlled environment.”

“Like a zoo?”

Baumgartner snickered. “You’re a piece of work. You know that, right?”

“I’ve been told on more than one occasion,” I replied. “I honestly didn’t mean to say anything out loud. It just happened.”

“Yes, I believe it happens on a regular basis with you,” Baumgartner said, shaking his head. “You don’t end up in court very often. Why are you here today?”

I shrugged. “I have no idea where the regular court reporter is. Fish told me to come here, so I did.”

“You’ve been fairly quiet the past few weeks,” Baumgartner said. “I miss reading about your exploits in the newspaper … and watching you dismantle politicians on live television.”

Things clicked into place relatively quickly when he said that. Baumgartner was known to openly battle with some of Macomb County’s political representatives, and one in particular. Tad Ludington, Macomb County’s former county commissioner and my one-time boyfriend (don’t ask), is one of his biggest opponents.

“Oh, you saw that, huh?” I smiled at the memory. Taking Tad down in front of a multitude of local television cameras did have its perks. I was something of a regional celebrity now, and for a change, it wasn’t only in my mind. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard from him since his investigative unit went belly up, have you?”

Several weeks ago I outed Tad in phenomenal fashion, causing a meltdown and threats. He’d been hiding under a rock ever since, although I was nowhere near done making his life miserable. I simply needed to start kicking rocks to find him.

“I was just going to ask you the same thing,” Baumgartner admitted. “Since there’s going to be an open seat on the county commission thanks to Leon Dorsey’s medical retirement, I thought he might attempt to weasel his way back into local politics. If you haven’t heard anything, though, he must be deep in hiding.”

“To be fair, I haven’t been trying to find him,” I said. “I’ve been busy with personal stuff.”

“Nothing bad, I hope.”

“Just looking for a house and preparing to go to the comic book convention.”

Baumgartner chuckled. “You are a strange woman, but I’ve always liked you.”

“That’s probably because you don’t have to deal with me on a regular basis.”

“Probably,” Baumgartner agreed, shifting his eyes to the elevator as it dinged and the doors slid open.

I glanced over my shoulder to see what he was staring at and involuntarily widened my eyes when I saw another former boyfriend step off the elevator. Jake Farrell, Macomb County’s esteemed sheriff, was deep in conversation with another man when he pulled up short, his eyes darting to me as if drawn there by magnets.

“You haven’t been arrested, have you?” Jake asked.

“Ha, ha,” I intoned, making a face. “I was covering a case.”

“That’s better than being the case,” Jake said, shifting his eyes to Baumgartner. “Did she behave?”

“Sort of,” Baumgartner answered. “She didn’t do anything that would warrant evening news coverage, so I consider it a victory.”

“Me, too.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “Well, while you’re both here, this is Richard Aiken.” He gestured toward the suit-clad man standing next to him, who looked to be in his late forties. “He’s a local attorney. He’s going to be running for the open county commissioner’s seat in the August primary.”

“Oh, it’s nice to meet you,” Baumgartner said, taking the opportunity to introduce himself.

“I’ve heard wonderful things about you,” Aiken said. “I do mostly corporate law so I haven’t had the chance to stand in front of you, but I’m thrilled to make your acquaintance.”

“And this is Avery Shaw,” Jake said, focusing on me. “She’s a reporter with The Monitor.”

“Oh, I’ve definitely heard about you,” Aiken said, his eyes widening. “You’re famous.”

“Only in her own mind,” Jake said.

“Don’t listen to him,” I said, shaking Aiken’s hand. “I’m famous in his mind, too.”

“Try notorious,” Jake muttered.

“Still, it’s nice to meet you,” Aiken said. “Will you be covering the race?”

“I’m sure I’ll cover some events,” I replied. “We hop around on things these days. We don’t have the staff we used to because of cuts, so very few people have designated beats any longer.”

“Is that how you ended up in court today?” Jake asked.

“Yup. I’m also in charge of coverage for the comic book convention. Fish made me Duncan’s boss.” What? I was dying to tell someone and I wasn’t seeing Eliot until lunch. Jake understood my hatred for Duncan as well as anyone.

Jake barked out a laugh. “You’re Duncan’s boss? Well, that should end well. You’ll definitely end up in front of the judge … or on a slab when he kills you.”

“Don’t underestimate my powers of survival,” I countered. “I’ll be fine.”

“Keep it that way,” Jake said. “As much as I’d like to hear your plans for Duncan domination, I’m here on a mission. I’m supposed to introduce Dick to all of the judges so … .” Jake fixed me with an expectant look.

“Is that my cue to leave?” On a normal day I might stay and mess with him. I really couldn’t work myself into a lather over a lawyer running for a county board seat, though. Once I ran his name back at the office it might be a different story. For now, though, he was just another guy in a suit. Sure, irritating Jake was always fun, but I was running late for a lunch date with Eliot. That didn’t mean I couldn’t needle him a little bit.