Moment of Truth (16 page)

Crk-crk-crk-crk.
He couldn’t think for the crackling noise. He kicked himself for rushing to confess before he was sure of the facts. His reaction had been almost reflexive, the instinct of a good father; shelter, protect, fix. Or maybe it had been the instinct of a bad father, overcompensating. If he hadn’t felt so responsible for what had happened, would he have been so quick to confess falsely? He couldn’t answer that question. He didn’t know. He shifted in the hard chair.

“Sit still!” commanded the sheriff, guarding the door. “Else the camera won’t get you right!”

“Camera?” Jack said. It must have been some sort of closed-circuit TV system. He scanned the cell. It was dim, lit only by a bare bulb in the hallway and the bright flickering of the TV screen. A camera lens peeked over the top of the TV.
Crk-crk-crk.

“Sit still, goddammit!”

Suddenly the static noise ceased, the gray blanket on the monitor vanished, and a full-color picture popped onto the screen, divided into four boxes. The upper right box showed a courtroom made miniature and the upper left box was a close-up of a judge, an unassuming man in a tie and cardigan sweater instead of black judicial robes. In the lower left sat a well-dressed woman behind a sign that read
COMMONWEALTH
; in the lower right was a young man behind a
PUBLIC DEFENDER
sign. If Jack hadn’t been so preoccupied, he would have laughed. It looked like the Hollywood Squares of Justice.

“Sit up straight!” ordered the sheriff. “Be ready. You’re on deck.”

The TV courtroom seemed to be waiting for something, but Jack’s thoughts raced ahead. He doubted he’d get bail, considering Mary’s inexperience. It was why he’d hired her, after all. He didn’t want an experienced criminal lawyer who might figure out he was setting himself up. He had never intended to hire Bennie Rosato herself, but one of her rookies, and he’d been delighted by the reluctant voice on the telephone.

But he might have been wrong about Mary. She was evidently suspecting that Paige was involved, and it worried him. Ironic. With her inexperience came energy and she wasn’t as callous as an experienced criminal lawyer would have been. She cared too much, and somewhere inside, Jack was touched. She hardly knew him, yet she was fighting for him. He smiled despite the tight handcuffs, the weird TV, and the fact that he was about to be arraigned for murder.

“Two minutes, Newlin!” the sheriff said.

Jack stopped thinking about Mary. She was his lawyer and she’d better be a lousy one. Her questions threatened to expose Paige and jeopardize his plan. And what she’d learned about Trevor, if it was true, made him crazy, but he couldn’t turn back now. He had to stay the course; keep up the charade. He was good at it, from a lifetime of practice, he was coming to realize.

“Okay, Newlin,” the sheriff called out. “You’re up.”

The sharp
crak
of the TV gavel burst from the monitor, and Jack couldn’t deny the tension in his gut. He had to know the truth and he’d have to find it out from behind bars.

But right now, it was time for the justice show.

Located in the basement of the Criminal Justice Center, the courtroom for arraignment hearings looked like the set of a television show for good reason. It was, essentially. The courtroom was the size and shape of a stage, half as large as a standard courtroom. It was arranged conventionally; from left to right sat a defense table, judge’s dais, and prosecutor’s table, but a large black camera affixed to the dais dominated the courtroom. Next to the camera sat a TV screen divided into four boxes: judge, courtroom scene, D.A., and P.D. A bulletproof divider protected those behind the bar of the court from the public, who sat in modern seats like a studio audience. The Newlin case was breaking news, packing the gallery with media and spectators wedged tight in their winter coats.

Mary sat with Judy in the gallery, waiting for the Newlin case to be called, and she kept comparing the real courtroom to its TV version. The TV reduced the gleaming brass seal of the Commonwealth to a copper penny and shrank the judge to an ant with glasses. Jack wasn’t anywhere on the screen. “This is wrong,” she said. Blotches big as paintballs appeared on her neck. “Today a decision gets made about whether my client gets bail or not, and he’s in one place and I’m in another. How are we supposed to consult?”

“Lots of states do arraignments by closed circuit now, because it saves money,” Judy said. “You can use the phone to talk to him, remember? If you press the red button, the gallery can’t hear you.”

“But the sheriff guarding him can hear everything he says, and the courtroom and judge would hear everything I say. Wake me up when we get to the right-to-counsel part.”

“You think it’s unconstitutional?”

“Is the Pope Catholic?” Mary checked the monitor as the boxes vanished and Jack’s face appeared, oddly larger than life above the logo
PANASONIC
. The close-up magnified the strain that dulled the blue of his eyes and tugged their corners down. She gathered she had him worrying with her suspicions about Paige, but that was as it should be. Maybe because he was on TV, or maybe because of the Kevin Costner thing, but she sensed that he was an actor playing a role and his story was more fiction than truth. In any event, her job now was to free him on bail, against the odds. She rose to go.

“Good luck, girl,” Judy said.

Mary mouthed her thanks, ignored the itching beginning at her neck, and walked to the door in the bulletproof divider, which a court officer unlocked. It was quiet on the other side, an expectant hush that intimidated her, but she nodded to the public defender, who stood to the side as she took his desk. Across the studio courtroom, Dwight Davis neatly took the D.A.’s desk. He looked more used to it than Mary, and she noticed the two sketch artists drawing him. She understood completely. He was a real lawyer and remarkably unspotted.

At the dais, the bail commissioner pushed up his Atom Ant glasses and pulled his cardigan around him. Bail commissioners weren’t judges and some weren’t even lawyers, and they rarely saw a private attorney at an arraignment, much less a D.A. the caliber of Davis. Mary had the impression that the bail commissioner was enjoying every ray of the unaccustomed limelight. “Mr. Davis, will you be handling this matter for the Commonwealth?” the commissioner asked, his tone positively momentous.

“Yes, Your Honor,” Davis said deferentially. Even Mary knew that most lawyers called him commissioner.

“Good morning, Your Honor.” Mary introduced herself, following suit, and the commissioner nodded.

“Excellent. Mr. Newlin, can you hear us?” The commissioner addressed a camera mounted at the back of the courtroom, above a monitor that showed another image of Jack.

“Yes, Your Honor,” Jack answered, his voice mechanical through the microphones.

“Mr. Newlin, this is your arraignment,” the commissioner said needlessly. “You are arraigned on a general charge of murder in the death of Honor Newlin.”

Mary saw Jack wince, the tiny gesture plain on the large TV screen.

“Murder, that is, homicide, is the most serious crime one human being can commit against another. Your preliminary hearing is scheduled for January thirteenth in the Criminal Justice Center. You will be brought down at nine o’clock and taken in turn. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well. I see you have a private attorney present, so I will not appoint a public defender. Now we come to the question of bail in this matter.” The commissioner turned to the D.A. On the screen his miniature face turned, too. “Mr. Davis, I expect you have something to say on the bail issue.”

“We do, Your Honor.” Davis stood straight as a pencil. “As you know, murder is, as a general rule, not a bailable offense in Philadelphia County. The Commonwealth feels very strongly that the commissioner should follow custom and practice in this matter, for in this case, bail is not in order.”

Mary bristled. “Your Honor, bail should be granted. There is precedent for bail in murder cases, as you know. The law is simply that bail isn’t automatic, as it is for other offenses. Bail is routinely granted where the defendant is an upstanding member of the community.” She had been up all night studying the law. “That is the case with Mr. Newlin. He is a partner at the Tribe firm, a member of the Red Cross Board, and of several charitable trusts. It goes without saying he has no criminal convictions. He is a superb candidate for bail.”

“You make a nice point, Ms. DiNunzio.” The commissioner mulled it over, rubbing his chin like a mini-series jurist. “It is true, the defendant is well known in the community. Mr. Davis, what say you?”

“Your Honor, in my view, the defendant’s prominence cuts both ways. First, he should not be treated better than other defendants merely because of his social status. Secondly, as a wealthy partner in a major law firm, the defendant possesses financial resources far beyond the average person and has a substantial family fortune. All of this argues that he poses a significant risk of flight. This individual can use his resources to flee not only the jurisdiction, but the country.”

Mary shook her head. “Your Honor, Mr. Newlin poses no flight risk. He has a number of ties to the community and in fact has immediate family here. His daughter, Paige, lives and works in Philadelphia.”

Jack flinched at the sound of her name, Mary saw it; his forehead creased in a frisson of fear. He didn’t want Paige brought into it, and it conflicted Mary. She had to make the right argument, whether he wanted it or not. She caught the ghost of her own reflection in the glass of the TV, and she looked almost as stressed as Jack.

Davis stifled a laugh. “Your Honor, I find it difficult to understand how defense counsel can argue Mr. Newlin’s devotion to his daughter. He is, after all, charged with the murder of her mother.”

The bail commissioner looked into the camera lens, as if for a close-up. “Mr. Newlin, I’ve heard your attorney’s arguments, but I must rule against you. There will be no bail in this matter and you are remanded to county jail until your next court date.” The bail commissioner closed one pleadings folder and opened another. “That concludes your arraignment, Mr. Newlin. Please sign the subpoena in front of you and the sheriff will escort you back to your cell.”

Jack vanished as abruptly as if someone had grabbed the remote and changed the channel, and Mary watched with dismay as the screen returned to its four boxes. She knew, more than she could rightly justify, that he was innocent. All she had to do was prove it.

But her client was her worst enemy, and the first round had gone to him.

On the way back to the office, Mary took a detour through the young and hip floor at Bonner’s Department Store, which was downtown near the Criminal Justice Center. The floor was actually named Young & Hip, which told Mary instantly that she wasn’t allowed to be there. Growing up, she had only been Guilty & Sinful, and as a lawyer had segued right into Guilty & Billable.

She wandered through racks of shirts that looked too small to cover even a single breast and skirts you wouldn’t have to roll to shorten. Now what fun was that? And how would you achieve that bumpy effect at the hem? She considered asking where the real clothes were, as opposed to the joke clothes, but she was on a mission. She searched for a salesperson.

“Can you help me?” Mary asked, locating a skinny young woman with about three hundred plastic clips in her hair. Each clip was shaped like a baby butterfly that had landed, quite by magic, on its own clump of hair. Mary addressed the woman without reference to her hair, pretending that a headful of insects was not only normal, but desirable. “I need some information about a photo shoot that took place here Sunday. It was for the store. For a newspaper layout, I think.”

“Wait.” The saleswoman put a green fingernail to her cheek, and, again, Mary acted as if emerald were a naturally occurring shade in nongangrenous tissue. One couldn’t question the Young & Hip. “You have to ask the manager. She’s over there.” She pointed, and Mary followed her green fingernail like a traffic light that said Go!

The manager turned out to be the youngest and hippest of all, which Mary should have anticipated; short, canary-colored hair that looked greasy on purpose, no discernible shame about her black roots, and a tongue pierce that created a speech impediment. The manager was otherwise tall and slender, with contacts-blue eyes and a name tag that read
TORI
!

“Excuse me, were you at the photo shoot at the store this weekend?” Mary asked.

“Sure.” Tori! leaned on a chrome rack of Capri pants,
NEW FOR SPRING
despite the fact it was midwinter. “I’m at all the shoots. They have ’em at the store ’cause it’s cheap. Swingin’ in the racks, you know.”

Mary nodded. “There was a model at the shoot named Paige Newlin. A redhead. Do you remember her?”