Mission Flats

36

The inflection points in history are rarely apparent to the players, who experience events in real time. The meta-patterns show up only in hindsight. I see now that that day, when Gittens and Kurth presented the case against me, was just such a pivotal moment. After that, the investigation seemed to turn away from me, temporarily at least. It is a common enough pattern in criminal investigations. Detectives swarm after a likely target, then a new suspect emerges and the detectives are pulled toward him, changing direction like schooling fish. For all the talk about ‘following the trail of evidence,’ usually there is no such thing; there are many possible trails, and the preconceptions of the investigators influence which they will see and follow. That I was soon to be dropped from the list of suspects in Robert Danziger’s murder was not apparent to me at the time, and I spent an agonizing weekend in limbo, smothering my inner hysteria, fantasizing scenarios in which I would be arrested, tried, imprisoned. By Monday morning — November 3 — I was hollow-eyed with exhaustion and worry.

That morning John Kelly and I returned to Mission Flats District Court, where, no longer part of the police team, we would follow the investigation from the cheap seats.

‘A-a-a-all rise!’

At 9:01 there was a rustle in the First Session courtroom as the audience stood and stragglers rushed in from the hallway to grab a seat on the crowded benches.

‘Can I get an amen,’ one of the lawyers sighed. In front of the judge’s bench, prosecutors and defense lawyers whispered and smiled. The daily chitchat.

Judge Bell emerged from a side door at stage right and swept up onto the bench, his robe unzipped and billowing behind him.

‘Commonwealth versus Gerald McNeese the Third!’ the clerk rushed to announce, as if he’d been waiting all weekend to do so. ‘Number ninety-seven dash seven-seven-eight-eight. Case brought forward on a motion by Mr Beck.’

McNeese appeared in the little glassless window at the side of the courtroom, the prisoners’ dock. His shaved head now had a shadow of hair. He smirked. Apparently he knew what was coming.

On the opposite side of the courtroom, Kurth and Gittens watched him.

‘I’ll hear you, Mr Beck,’ the judge said. There was a fatalistic note in his voice. Judge Bell knew what had happened, he knew what Beck was about to say. But there was a protocol to be followed. We had to go through the motions.

Beck marched across the courtroom to the prisoners’ dock, to the cymbal-beat of jingling coins in his pockets. ‘Your Honor, I’ve brought this case forward on a motion to dismiss based on a tragic change in circumstances. Since the arraignment, a man named Raymond Ratleff was found dead in Franklin Park, apparently murdered.’

Kurth shifted visibly.

‘Mr Ratleff was an essential witness in this case,’ Beck went on, ‘the only witness — the only evidence of any kind — that placed my client at the scene of this crime. If you recall, my client is alleged to have assaulted Mr Ratleff by striking his head against the sidewalk, a charge he vehemently denies. It would appear that, without Mr Ratleff, there is no evidence to support the charge. Therefore, I would inquire of Ms Kelly whether she has a good-faith expectation-’

‘Mr Beck,’ the judge snapped, ‘this is my courtroom. If anyone is going to inquire of Ms Kelly, it will be me.’

‘Alright, then I would ask the court to inquire of Ms Kelly whether there is any real chance this case will ever be indicted. If not, the charge should be dismissed and my client should be released forthwith.’

‘Forthwith,’ the judge repeated to himself. ‘What about it, Ms Kelly? You still have a case?’

Caroline stood. ‘There is some blood,’ she answered halfheartedly. ‘It was on the defendant’s shoes. It’s at the crime lab now.’

‘Just blood? Nothing else? No way to determine when or how the blood got there, even assuming it is the victim’s?’

‘No.’

‘Do you want to be heard on the motion?’

Caroline shook her head. ‘No.’ It was the only time I ever saw her give up.

Judge Bell massaged his chin in a pantomime of deep thought. In truth, the decision was a no-brainer. With Ray Rat dead, G-Mac was entitled to a free pass. But it was all so distasteful, such a ham-handed sort of treason. The judge fancied himself a gentleman jurist, a Holmes born out of his time. This was all well beneath him. So he turned his nose up at G-Mac’s manipulations and hesitated. But in the end there was nothing to be done about it. ‘The motion is allowed,’ he sniffed.

McNeese whooped loudly. A woman seated near us in the back of the courtroom did too.

‘Mr Beck!’ the judge reprimanded. ‘Instruct your client-’ He didn’t bother to finish. What difference did it make if G-Mac whooped it up a little? The damage was done.

A court officer unlocked the handcuffs and leg irons, and Beck led G-Mac past us out of the courtroom.

The woman, a very beautiful Hispanic woman who appeared to be in her early twenties, jumped up and down with girlish excitement then followed G-Mac into the hall where she whooped again.

At that moment, something in Kurth snapped. He stalked out after them. At the courtroom door, Kelly put out a hand to stop him — ’Ed, don’t’ — but Kurth brushed it aside. He pushed through the two sets of swinging doors out to the lobby, where McNeese was standing by the elevators.

Kelly followed behind Kurth. I was right behind Kelly.

Beck, who had been instructing McNeese on something or other, and McNeese’s girlfriend, who had been stroking his shoulder, both looked up with puzzled expressions. Who’s that? A cop? The scary-looking one with the bad skin? He’s coming toward us. Does he want to tell us something? Did we forget something?

Kurth kept moving, disregarding Kelly’s plea to ‘slow down, slow down.’

Beck, probably forgetting that he was holding a yellow legal pad, raised his hand to stop Kurth.

Kurth slapped the pad out of the lawyer’s hand. He stood inches from McNeese, who was a good deal taller but leaned backward anyway, turning his face to the side. Kurth poked McNeese’s chest with his finger. ‘You think this is over? You think this is over?’

Kelly attempted to calm him: ‘Ed, not here, son, this isn’t the time.’

I put a hand on Kurth’s back, hoping to quiet him the way you would a coughing child. There was an animal hardness to his back, a suggestion of strength that I had no wish to test.

‘Answer me. You think this is a fuckin’ game?’

‘Yo, get this crazy motherfucker away from me.’

People began to drift out of the courtroom, following the noise.

Caroline squeezed to the front of the gathering crowd. ‘Oh, Jesus, Ed.’

At this moment, right beside us the elevator door opened. Inside was a lovely old woman in a red overcoat. Kurth glared at her, G-Mac glared at her. The lady’s eyes bulged. The elevator door closed again.

John Kelly stepped in front of Kurth, squeezing between the two men, and ordered him to ‘back off.’

Kurth pointed his finger at the old man, then he caught himself and stepped back.

‘That’s right,’ McNeese threw in, ‘back off, crazy motherfucker.’

‘Shut up,’ Kelly told him.

McNeese fell silent.

‘Ben,’ Kelly said, ‘take Mr Beck and his client out of here.’

Kurth hissed, ‘Hey, shithead, tell Braxton this was a big mistake. Tell him this isn’t over.’

‘You can’t touch him.’ McNeese smirked.

‘Ben!’ Kelly said. ‘I said get them out of here.’

The elevator door opened again and the silver-haired lady peered out. ‘Excuse me,’ she said tentatively, ‘where would I find the Probate Court Clerk’s office?’

Caroline held up four fingers.

‘Four,’ I informed her.

‘Thank you, Officer.’

On the windswept plaza in front of the courthouse, I pulled Max Beck aside. ‘I need you to give a message to Braxton.’ Leaves and candy wrappers eddied around us. ‘Tell him I want to see him. I need more information.’

‘Are you joking? I’m not going to tell Harold any such thing. Have you even heard of the Constitution?’

‘Counselor, just give him the message.’ I squeezed his arm at the biceps.

McNeese objected on his lawyer’s behalf: ‘Hey.’

‘Shut up,’ I said, as Kelly had just a few minutes earlier. And again McNeese did shut up, which surprised me as much as anyone.

I told Beck, ‘I need Harold’s help.’

‘You want to tell me what this is all about?’

‘I can’t. Sorry. If I told you, you’d have to use it.’

The lawyer regarded me a moment. ‘Are you alright, Officer Truman?’

‘No, I’m not. Just tell Harold.’

‘Alright. I’ll give him the message. Then I’m going to tell him to ignore it.’