Moment of Truth (34 page)

“Yes, they did,” Kovich began, and Davis nodded.

“Please tell the judge, first, what you observed about defendant’s appearance.”

“I observed what appeared to be human blood on Mr. Newlin’s hands and clothes.”

The testimony continued with Davis taking Kovich through the high points of the videotaped confession, and Mary listened with increasing dismay. She counted only two objections by Roberts and a lame cross-examination, but nothing would have made a difference. At a preliminary hearing, the Commonwealth had only to make out a prima facie case of murder, the barest minimum, and they had that easy. The reporters scribbled and the courtroom sketch artists drew madly when Judge Silveria ruled:

“I find the Commonwealth has borne its burden of proving a prima facie case on all counts of the charge of general murder, and I order the defendant Jack Newlin bound over for trial.” The judge banged his gavel. “Shall we set bail?”

Davis rose quickly. “Your Honor, the Commonwealth opposes bail in this matter. We believe Mr. Newlin poses a substantial risk of flight, especially in view of the fact that the Commonwealth has made a determination to prosecute Mr. Newlin to the fullest extent of the law in this matter. We have announced today that we are seeking the death penalty in this case.”

In the gallery, Mary felt her heart tighten in her chest. So there truly would be no deals. The prospect horrified her. She looked for Jack at counsel table but all she could see was his profile, his bruised chin held high. His lawyer rose beside him in far too relaxed a manner.

“Your Honor,” Roberts said, “regardless of the Commonwealth’s scare tactics, Mr. Newlin poses no real flight risk. It is one thing to deny bail at the arraignment, but another to deny it after the preliminary hearing, Your Honor. I cannot recall the last case in which bail was denied at this juncture.”

Judge Silveria banged the gavel again. “That much is correct, Mr. Roberts. Your client is hereby released on bail. Bail shall be set at $250,000. Next matter, please.”

Mary felt relieved, despite the high number. She knew Jack could make the ten percent he needed to get free, and bail should have been granted, as a legal matter. She could use another crack at changing Jack’s mind. Maybe a taste of freedom would influence him.

The gallery rose almost as one, with the reporters, sketch artists, and spectators filing out, but Mary remained behind. Roberts was packing his briefcase, but Jack had turned and was scanning the gallery. Mary didn’t know why; Paige wasn’t in the crowd, probably he’d told her not to come. She found herself rising to her feet as the gallery cleared completely and she realized Jack was staring at her.

Her heart lodged in her throat, a place it had no business being, and she didn’t know what to do. He was looking right at her, his eyes betraying a tacit connection. Then they became guarded again, and he turned away. But Mary hadn’t imagined it; it had happened. He had been looking for her.

She stood her ground in silence, which in itself made a statement. Jack was lying and he knew it, and if there was any justice in this city, all she had to do was keep standing up for the truth. She had to bear witness. She vowed never to give up and never to sit down and never to
let
down until she had brought the truth to light.

She remained standing in the empty gallery long after Jack had been led from the courtroom, and her eyes wandered over the judicial dais, the nylon flag, and the golden seal of the Commonwealth; the objects and symbols she took for granted in courtrooms and had never really looked at until now. She found herself believing in the objects in a way she had never believed in the chalices, wafers, and rosaries of her childhood, and she wondered if she believed in the gavel because she didn’t believe in the crucifix. It might have been true; she wasn’t sure. Mary knew she didn’t have all the answers and wasn’t better than anyone else. But for the first time in her life, she came to the conclusion that she wasn’t any worse.

Fifteen minutes later, she was hurrying from the Criminal Justice Center and past City Hall, the cold wind pushing her along. The press thronged behind her in front of the courthouse; she had managed to duck most of them. She had to get back to the office to try to find Brinkley. He must know something that was making him investigate Paige and Trevor. Mary had to find out what it was.

The sidewalks were crowded and she threaded her way along, but when she got to the corner was surprised to see an attractive man approaching her with a plainly lustful look. She put her head down and hustled past him, but when she looked up again there was another man looking at her with naked interest. Mary didn’t get it. Men never looked at her like that and they wouldn’t be starting now. Her hair was messy, her coat was wrinkled, and her eyes were red from her contacts.

“Mary,” said a voice behind her, and she turned. Standing right behind her, plainly out of breath, was Paige. “Do you have a minute?” the teenager asked.

There were worse things than being suspended, Brinkley was finding out. In truth it didn’t feel so different, except for the money. He’d never felt a part of Two Squad anyway and had been on the outside looking in most of the time on the job. Now it was just official. Also it gave him more time to freelance. On the Newlin case. He stayed in the loop, thanks to the reporters who had gotten him suspended. The newspapers had the blow-by-blow of Newlin attacking his lawyer, and Brinkley knew instantly it was a scam. The man just did not have it in him. Brinkley had also heard that the prelim had gone down with new counsel, and that the judge had ruled for the Commonwealth and also set bail.

He was driving downtown in his black ’68 Beetle, rotted at the doorjambs and chassis. The cold wind whistled through the rust holes, and he had to keep his leather jacket buttoned. Someday the Beetle’s floor would fall out, but that was part of the fun. It ran great and the vinyl seats were still free of duct tape. Sheree had been too ashamed of the car to drive around in it and had dubbed it Shit Car. Brinkley used to call it that, too. Until today.

He cruised forward with the aftermarket CD player loud in the midday traffic, feeling like a kid playing hooky. Beside him on the seat was the FedEx package in a soft envelope. He stopped at the red light on Broad Street, where a brother pulled up in a cherry red ’Vette. Brinkley kept his eyes straight ahead. Just let him say something. A man can drive any damn car he wants to.

The traffic light turned green, and Brinkley hit the gas. The Corvette wouldn’t approve of his music either. It wasn’t rap or jazz; it was Elvis. Brinkley had a collection of over a hundred CDs and had been to Graceland three times. Each time he had been the only black detective from Philly in line, but he didn’t care. Sheree hadn’t gone with him on any of the trips. She didn’t appreciate the King, which bugged him, and Brinkley clung to that thought. It was good to be having some bad memories of her. Maybe he could string them along, one after the other like keys on a ring, and not want her back.

He turned the corner, spotted the building up on his left, and slowed to a stop in front of it. Then he flicked on faint blinkers, grabbed the FedEx package, and climbed out of the Beetle.

Mary and Paige entered Captain Walsh’s office, which was surprisingly bare for such top brass. She introduced herself and Paige, then took a seat in front of his regulation-issue desk and gestured to Paige to take the other. Mary had decided to go straight to the top with Paige’s confession. The old Mary would have been intimidated, but the new Mary didn’t think twice about asking to see the manager. “Thank you for meeting with us, Captain,” she said, and Paige nodded stiffly.

“Certainly.” Captain Walsh nodded, his thick neck folding into the starchy collar on his white uniform. He wore a dark tie and gold badge and his hair looked permanently uncombed. Mary avoided staring at his birthmark, which matched the blotches on her neck. Captain Walsh gestured to the door, opening behind her. “Here’s Detective Kovich. I think you know him.”

“Yes, sure.” Mary twisted around. Kovich entered the office in a short-sleeved shirt and spongy brown pants that revealed he hadn’t cut down on portion size. Following him was a young man with spiky black hair moussed straight up and a black tweed jacket with baggy black slacks. Mary figured him for the Young & Hip version of detective.

“The good-lookin’ one is Detective Donovan,” Captain Walsh said, and Mary smiled politely.

“I also remember a Detective Brinkley, from our interview at Paige’s apartment. Will he be coming?”

“No, Detective Donovan has replaced him on the case.” Walsh addressed the young detective. “Say hello to the nice lawyer, Danny.”

“Hello, Ms. DiNunzio,” he said, with a mock half-bow, and Mary hated him instantly.

“Where’s Detective Brinkley, Captain?” she asked.

“Detective Brinkley is no longer on this case. I’m holding a press conference later today about the matter. He was put on suspension for improper conduct.”

Mary knew it was code for disagreeing with the boss and wondered how Walsh and Kovich would react when Brinkley turned out to be right. She paused until Kovich took a position at the right side of Captain Walsh, leaning against a credenza in the back. Donovan stood next to him, slipped his hands in his pockets, and looked skeptically at them. Mary ignored the boys-against-the-girls vibe and cleared her throat.

“Captain, as you know, I represented Jack Newlin in the early stage of his murder case, and after investigation I came to believe that he was innocent of the crime and that he confessed falsely, to protect his daughter. It turns out to be the truth, and Paige has decided to come forward.”

Captain Walsh frowned so deeply his birthmark folded in two and he addressed Paige. “Is this true, young lady?”

“Yes, it is,” she said. Her voice sounded soft and young, and Mary’s heart went out to her. Mary could only guess at how frightened she must feel, turning herself in to face a murder charge. She had warned Paige that she might not be tried as a juvenile. “I’m very sorry for what I did, and I’m very sorry I let my father do what he’s doing. I shouldn’t have. He’s innocent. I did it. I … killed my mother.”

“Well, now. That’s quite a mouthful.” Captain Walsh’s lips set like concrete. “I think at this point I should tell you your rights under Miranda. I think I still remember how.” He went through the litany as Mary’s stomach tightened. As bad as it felt for Jack to be in jail, it would feel equally lousy to have Paige there. It was a no-win situation, and Mary could almost understand why Jack had done what he did. Walsh finished, then asked, “Do you understand your rights, Ms. Newlin?”

“Yes,” Paige said, her voice trembling, and Mary took her hand and squeezed it.

“Kovich, why don’t you get us some waiver forms?” Walsh said, and the burly detective straightened and hustled out of the room. “Ms. DiNunzio, are you representing Ms. Newlin?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Good, fine.” Walsh clenched and unclenched his fist, as if he had a hand exerciser, until Kovich returned with a flurry of papers and handed them to Mary. “Ah, here are the forms,” he said, as she read them and nodded for Paige to sign. She did, with a pen handed to her by the captain. “Now, Ms. Newlin, why don’t you tell us what happened,” he said.

“Sure. Right. Okay.” Paige ran her tongue over dry lips. “I was going home to talk to my mother, to tell her I was pregnant. I told my dad on the phone that day, and he said he would be home to help me tell her. I brought my boyfriend over, but I told my dad I didn’t.” She paused. “My mother went nuts when I told her, like she went crazy. She was drunk and she hit me so hard I fell off the chair. Then she started kicking me in the stomach really hard, saying she was going to kick my baby out of me.”

Walsh’s dark eyes flared. “She said what?”

“She started yelling, ‘You kill it or I’ll kill it!’ And then I just went crazy, too. I think it was the drugs.” Paige halted and looked at Mary. They had been over this at Mary’s office, and Mary had advised her to tell the whole truth, drugs and all. It had to come out, and Mary was hoping it could provide a diminished capacity defense or maybe reduce the charge.

“Drugs.” Walsh sighed, his frown undisguised. “What were you high on?”

“Crystal meth.”

Mary leaned toward the captain. “It was given to her by her boyfriend, Trevor Olanski. He was present at the crime and can substantiate everything she says. We’ve been trying to locate him but we can’t. I have reason to believe he was in New York last night.”

Walsh turned to Paige. “Please go on.”

“Well, I never took meth before and I was so mad, like
raging
. It’s hard to remember. I grabbed the knife off the table and I … I … stabbed her.” Tears of guilt sprang to Paige’s eyes but she didn’t cry, and Mary felt proud of her. “I didn’t even know I was so angry inside, but I got out of control and I stabbed her. I finally stopped and calmed down, and I dropped the knife. My mother was … on the floor, so my boyfriend picked me up and got me out of there. Well, then my dad came home and he must have found my mother and figured out what happened. He confessed, but he didn’t do it. He didn’t.” Paige managed to hold back her tears, and Mary squeezed her hand. It was over. Paige had come through. Jack would be set free.