Living Stones (31 page)

The next morning they came for him. The orange jumpsuit didn’t bother him, but the shackles and chains on his wrists and ankles did. He stared as he walked into the stark courtroom. The judge peered down at him. The presumed U.S. Attorney with the FBI guy across the room and the armed guards all looked frightening. Reporters with notebooks crowded the area behind the railing. Robert felt nauseated. This was for real. They ushered him to stand before the judge, who seemed to look right through him. The room remained silent as the judge gazed at some papers on his desk. Finally he spoke to Robert.

“You, Robert Bentley, are being charged with several serious crimes. You are in federal court because of the nature of the charges. I will ask the federal prosecutor to bring the allegations based on whatever evidence they have.”

The attorney stood to read the charges. “Your honor, Robert Bentley is charged with assault using powerful explosives, second degree murder, and attempted murder with intent to kill.” He sat down.

The judge looked at Robert. “How do you plead, guilty or not guilty?”

Robert said nothing. He stood still, head down.

“Do you hear the charges against you? Are you guilty or not?”

Robert’s heart raced and he shook visibly.

After several moments, the judge continued. “Hearing no plea, the court presumes the defendant alleges innocence.”

The judge spoke again to Robert. “Young man, you have heard the charges. The court determines you will remain in custody without bail because of the risk you pose of either fleeing or being a danger to others. Your case will go to a grand jury, which is normal procedure in the federal court system. A jury of your peers will decide whether the evidence presented by the federal prosecutor will be sufficient to indict you. That means they will decide whether you should stand at trial for the charges against you. If they are not sufficient, you will be freed. If they are, you will be tried in federal court by another jury. If you decide to plead guilty, you can avoid a trial and will appear in court to be sentenced. Do you have any questions?”

Robert shifted his position a bit. The shackles dug into his ankles. He heard all the judge said, but it seemed unreal. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a response.

“Robert, I understand you don’t want to talk. Listen to me now. You need a lawyer. These are very serious charges. The crimes you are alleged to have committed have reverberated around the world. The United States federal courts have prized evenhanded justice for over two hundred years, to free the innocent but also to punish the guilty, usually with imprisonment. You are at risk for possible life in prison, if not the death penalty.”

Robert felt his face blanch. His shackled hands shook. He suddenly felt faint as his heart thumped rapidly in his chest.

The judge continued: “To serve as your own lawyer is not wise. You can hire your own counsel, or we will appoint a public defender for you on standby, to advise you even if you don’t want him or her. You need a defense attorney to represent you and guide you, beginning with your appearance before the grand jury. You will have visiting privileges and telephone access while in detention. If you decide to talk or ask questions, let one of the officers at the center know and an attorney will be available.” He banged his gavel. “Court dismissed.”

Conrad Bentley leaned back in his reclining wood chair, set his feet up on his desk, grabbed his early morning coffee, and reached for his
New York Times
. He’d been so busy the previous day he’d skipped the evening news broadcasts. But no deadlines today. So good to stay home. Internet access made it unnecessary to fight the crowds on the Long Island train going to Wall Street every day.

Life had treated him and his wife well, except for their only son. Lorraine and he missed Robert, despite his tirade when he left one year ago. He had never sent an e-mail or called. They had tried to find him on social networking sites, but to no avail. They talked about him frequently, expressing regrets for being too busy for him in earlier years, wondering where he went and when they would find him. They had considered contacting police about his being missing, but Robert had reached legal age and had a right to his independence.

Conrad opened his paper and stared at the headline, S
EATTLE
B
OMBER
C
AUGHT
. Then his eye stopped at the first paragraph in bold print: “Robert Bentley, 22, of Seattle, the alleged synagogue bomber, apparently acted alone. Taken into custody early yesterday . . .”

“Lorraine! Come here!” He read on, his mind a blur as he scanned the article, seeing the words “Long Island” and “Pakistan” and “homegrown radicalized Islamist.” He couldn’t get enough air to breathe. He pulled his feet off the desk and spilled his coffee over his lap, dropping the cup on the floor. Lorraine rushed in.

“What happened? What is it? Are you OK?”

“Read this!” He shoved the paper at his wife and buried his face in his hands. His breath came in quick gasps while she read out loud.

Her voice quivered as she read the story. He looked up to see her face flush down to her neck. Her voice broke as she finished the article and shook her head. She began to cry.

“No, no! This must be a mistake!” He continued: “Robert had issues, but not this. Turn on CNN while I go online.” The story was all over the online news sites. Every one had screaming headlines, bloggers’ comments, analysis, interviews with police, security experts, the FBI. CNN had information in its news scroll as its anchors interviewed various sources with information or speculation.

Suddenly, Conrad Bentley’s cell phone beeped. He didn’t recognize the “206” area code.

“Robert Bentley speaking.”

“Mr. Bentley, this is Chad Harris with
The Seattle Times
newspaper. May I speak to you about Robert Bentley? We understand he is your son and—”

Robert clicked off his cell. “Oh my God! Lorraine, the news media knows Robert is our son.”

Lorraine wiped her tears with the back of her hand. “Robert, you used to be such a fine boy. You’ve had trouble, but this? What could have possessed you? We’ve tried to raise you to respect people. But a rabbi died as a result of the bombing. You’re being charged with murder. I can’t believe you did it. This can’t be!”

Lorraine threw the paper on the floor sobbing. She looked at her husband, still bent over with his head in his hands. The coffee soaked his pants and the cup lay on the floor. “My baby! Our child? What has happened? There must be some horrible misunderstanding. What can we do?”

“We’ve got to find out more,” Conrad said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Turn off your phone, dear. I am going to call the office and
tell them not to respond to any media inquiries about our son . . . and I am going to reach out to the FBI.”

After a couple of phone calls to regional FBI headquarters, Conrad reached the Seattle office where a receptionist answered the phone.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Robert Bentley’s father. I’m calling from New York.”

“Oh, yes, sir. We’ve have had a hectic morning with calls from the media here and around the world.”

“So you do have him?”

“He’s at the SeaTac Detention Center south of Seattle.”

“Can you give me more information?”

“Sir, I am certain our agents will want to speak with you, but for now here is the number of the center. I suggest you start there. But first, give me your contract information.”

Conrad tried the number. After several more minutes on hold, a male voice answered. He acknowledged that Robert occupied a solitary cell in the highest security wing.

“I’m his father, calling from New York. Is it possible to speak with him?”

“No. I’m sorry. We’ve had many reporters wanting to get to him. I have no way to verify you are not a reporter right now.”

“Look! I’m just his dad, for heaven’s sake! I want to talk to my son. He’s innocent until proven guilty, isn’t he?”

“Yes, sir. OK, let me get some information from you so we can confirm who you are.” He proceeded to ask several questions that only the family would know.

The hours ticked by slowly as Robert’s father tried to work. He couldn’t concentrate as he stared blankly at the stock exchange data changing wildly around the world. He talked to several family members who called about Robert. Finally after dinner, the call came. Both he and Lorraine picked up the phone.

“Conrad Bentley? I’m calling from the Federal Detention Center in SeaTac, Washington.”

“Yes. I’m on the phone with Robert’s mother as well. Can we talk with our son?”

“Unfortunately, no. Officials have been attempting to talk with him all day as part of our investigation. He refuses to say anything or answer any questions. They did ask whether he would take a phone call from you, and he shook his head. In fact, that response is the only one we have had from him.”

“Does he have a lawyer?”

“Not to our knowledge. The arresting officers read him his Miranda Rights. He’s just been arraigned in federal court today.”

“How will he defend himself without an attorney?”

“The judge has strongly advised him to get counsel. Even if he refuses, the court usually appoints a public defender to monitor the proceedings and advocate for him as needed to be sure he is treated fairly.”

“So he knows anything he says may be used in court against him?”

“Right.”

“He needs a lawyer right away. If we flew out to Seattle, do you think he would see us?”

“I don’t know. You are welcome to try.”

A few minutes later, Lorraine Bentley walked down the stairs to her husband’s office. “I don’t know what to think,” she said to Conrad. “If he won’t even talk to us—”

“He must be scared to death, Lorry. So he won’t talk to anyone, even us. Of course we might be the last people he wants to confront right now. I wonder if he would talk even to a defense attorney.

“Whatever he has done, he needs legal help. We have to get a lawyer for him. I’m going to book a flight for tomorrow, for both of us.”

Conrad and Lorraine Bentley stepped into the large, stark white reception office at the Federal Detention Center. “We spoke over the phone yesterday. I’m glad you flew out today. I’m Officer Greg McKenzie.” He shook hands with both Bentleys.

“We’re sick about Robert,” Lorraine began. “We haven’t seen him for a year and have no idea where he lives or what he has been doing.”

“Remember to be careful in what you say, Mrs. Bentley. He is innocent until proven guilty.”

“We hope he is innocent of the charges, of course. Does he have a lawyer yet?”

“Not to my knowledge. However, yesterday at his arraignment, the judge said he will appoint a public defender if needed.”

“Did he speak to the judge or to any of you?” Conrad asked.

“No. He remains silent. Won’t talk to anyone. He is eating, however.”

“Oh!” Lorraine sighed deeply. “What should we do?”

“Go see him. You are not the first anguished parents we’ve seen.
Many of them come in wondering how their son could have landed here. Sometimes parents are good at getting cooperation from the inmate. It’s to his disadvantage not to have legal help.”

Lorraine’s heels echoed loudly as she walked down the cement corridor with her husband and Officer McKenzie. She noticed the smell of some kind of cleaner that irritated her nose, and the harsh fluorescent light flickered. They had to go through a metal detector and handbag X-ray.

McKenzie led them to the bars fronting Robert’s cell, but did not let them in. “I’ll be right around the corner at my desk if you need me for anything.”

“Hello, Robert.” His Dad extended his hand through the bars. Robert did not take it. He looked briefly at his parents then turned away.

Lorraine erupted into tears. “Robert, we love you no matter what has happened. We came to be with you and help in any way we can. Please don’t reject those who love you the most.”

Robert remained standing with his back to his parents. The onesided conversation continued for ten minutes. Finally it became apparent, even to Lorraine, that he would not even acknowledge them. They called Officer McKenzie, and he led them out. They said goodbye to Robert’s back.

On the cab ride to their hotel, both Bentleys sat silent and dazed. Finally Lorraine spoke. “I can’t believe he is treating us like this when we flew out to be with him! Is there any point in trying to get a good lawyer for Robert if he won’t even talk to anyone, including us?”

“I think we should try,” her husband said. “I have contact with some financial attorneys here in Seattle who should know the name of a good criminal defense lawyer. I’ll work on it tonight in the hotel room. Then let’s try to see Robert tomorrow to talk some sense into him.” He paused. “I take it back. Let’s wait a day for both of us to cool off and for Robert to change his mind when we don’t appear tomorrow.”