Act of Deceit

Chapter 23

“I understand we have a disposition in this matter,” Judge Nanston said, after sitting down behind the bench in the crowded courtroom.

Donnally sensed relief in her voice, and he knew why. Brown’s guilty plea had excused her from the obligation of acting on her legal conclusion that the case had to be dismissed on speedy trial grounds. By accepting the deal, she’d escaped a week of infamy on conservative talk radio, maybe even a recall election.

Charles Brown, no longer chained and handcuffed to the chair next to Margaret Perkins, stared up at Judge Nanston. His hair had been cut and his beard had been shaved, and he looked ten pounds heavier. Donnally guessed it was from lithium or another manic-depressive drug he’d been given in custody. The innocent expression and gray suit Brown wore gave him the appearance of a minister who was stunned and bewildered by his drunk-driving arrest. Only Brown’s eyes betrayed the racing thoughts within.

Perkins rose. “I’m sorry, Your Honor, but I don’t believe we have a disposition.”

Donnally felt his body tense with expectation. Maybe Perkins had found an escape from what seemed like an ethical straitjacket. Maybe justice would be done after all.

Perkins continued, “The defendant’s position is that he’s not guilty of the offense.”

Blaine’s head jerked toward Perkins, his face flushing with fury and betrayal.

Judge Nanston slumped back in her chair.

“Does this mean you want to renew your incompetence motion?” Nanston asked.

“No, Your Honor. We’d like the court to set a trial date.”

Donnally spotted Blaine’s left hand hanging by his side, rubbing his fingers against each other like he was trying to wipe off pine sap. Donnally didn’t expect Blaine to look back. He had avoided Donnally from the moment he’d entered the courtroom ten minutes earlier.

“May we approach, Your Honor?” Blaine asked, his voice taut, suppressing the anger raging within.

Judge Nanston nodded. She rolled her chair to the edge of the platform on which the bench stood, and then leaned over into the huddle of Blaine, Perkins, and the court reporter. Every few seconds, one of them would glance over at Brown, who sat staring down at the defense table.

Donnally glanced up at the courtroom clock, at the silent second hand lurching along against the background of the unintelligible whispers at the front of the courtroom. He scanned the faces of the reporters sitting in the gallery behind him, each one’s head angled toward the bench, as though their ears were parabolic microphones.

The group dispersed.

All eyes followed Perkins as she returned to the defense table and sat down. She and Brown leaned in toward each other. He stared at Perkins as she spoke. Finally he swallowed hard and nodded.

Perkins stood and looked up at Judge Nanston.

“We have reached a disposition, Your Honor. Mr. Brown will plead no contest to the count of manslaughter.”

Donnally pushed himself to his feet. Everyone in the courtroom turned toward him, except Blaine.

“No contest?” Donnally said, eyes fixed on Blaine’s back. “No contest? Like it was a crime that nobody committed?”

Both bailiffs rose, hands on their guns.

Donnally saw the clerk reach under her desk, finger poised to press the alarm that would flood the courtroom with sheriff’s deputies.

Perkins faced toward him, her hands extended as though pleading for forgiveness for an act her duty required.

Judge Nanston glared at Blaine like a neighbor demanding that he control his off-leash dog.

Blaine turned and took the few steps toward the low barrier behind which Donnally stood.

“Take it easy, man,” Blaine said, reaching for Donnally’s shoulder. “This isn’t the time-”

Donnally pushed away his hand.

“I know this isn’t the time, it’s the last time anybody will have a chance to stop this. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“The best that I can, under the circumstances.”

“Then change the circumstances. Nothing says you have to take this deal. Make him go to trial.”

“For what? Given a choice between letting him walk on reasonable doubt and a first-degree murder conviction, the jury would’ve compromised on manslaughter anyway.”

“I’ll tell you for what,” Donnally said, jabbing a forefinger against Blaine’s chest, ignoring the approaching bailiffs. “So Anna Keenan, wherever she is, can hear the word ‘guilty.’”