Page 33 of Two Kinds of Stranger

‘Okay, now that should be enough. You only have to pay a percentage of the bail bond the court sets. As long as we don’t get a crazy judge who sets bail at an extortionate amount then you are getting out of here, today.’

She covered her mouth as she cried. She was listening, understanding, but this was a young woman barely clinging on with both hands.

‘Elly, I need you to sign this. It’s a release for your hospital records. We need to try and find out what happened to you in that apartment.’

She got herself together a little, signed the form and pushed the pen and the paper back across the desk.

‘We’ll see you a little later this morning, in court. Don’t talk to any of the other detainees in your holding cell,’ I said, but this part, I thought she wasn’t taking seriously.

‘Elly, I know you’re going through hell, but you need to listen to Eddie,’ said Kate. ‘You can’t trust any other person around you except us right now. The DA, or the cops, will likely ask one of the detainees to talk to you, and get some kind of confession. Don’t. Talk. To. Anyone.’

She heard that. Wiped her eyes. Nodded.

‘Thank you. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I won’t talk to anyone. . .’

Trembling, she rose and the door opened behind her. The corrections officer towered over her. She was in her mid-twenties, but she looked much younger. Those jailhouse sweats were way too big, and she was small and frightened of this place. In that moment, the look of fear on her face reminded me of my daughter, Amy. I had caught the same look in Amy’s face when I picked her up from school. I suddenly felt very protective of Elly Parker. Amy had her family around her, and Bloch, Lake, Harry and me. Elly’s parents were gone. Her husband murdered along with her best friend. She was alone in this nightmare.

But she wasn’t alone any more.

The CO led Elly out through the security door, and Kate and I made our way back to the court.

‘Kate, we’re going to save this kid,’ I said.

‘I just hope we get her out on bail,’ said Kate.

I nodded, but didn’t say anything. Kate was experienced enough and brilliant enough, and she had been through the wars of major trials, but she hadn’t yet had her heart ripped out by this system. I hoped she never did, but in this line of work it happens. Even the jaded lifers in criminal defense work, with hide as thick as a longshoreman’s hands, occasionally get their tickers punched by a client. Elly was about Kate’s age. I guessed she saw herself in Elly, or part of herself. That’s the thing about our legal system–doesn’t matter who you are, it can come for anyone, and when it does, the destruction is just the same.

In the hallway outside the arraignment court, people lined the benches set along the gray walls.

‘Any word from Bloch yet?’ I asked.

Kate shook her head.

We made our way to the court dockets pinned up on the wall and checked for Elly’s name. She was on Judge Busken’s list. Not the worst judge we could’ve drawn. The thing about a judge setting bail is that there are no hard and fast rules–there’s convention and rough guidelines, but bail can vary between ten dollars and three billion dollars–sometimes even higher. It’ssupposed to be related to the defendant’s earnings, and the seriousness of the crime they are charged with, and the amount is set to ensure that they don’t skip bail. If they do, it will hurt them.

Busken, with a double homicide–murder one for the husband and Elly’s best friend? I could see Busken going as high as three million. Maybe higher. We needed a plan B. A bail bondsman. For a price, and security on the bond, bondsmen can help people get bail. But there are limits on what they can offer. Most bondsmen run a mile from murder trials–the price is just too damn risky–usually there is no security sufficient to cover the bond and, if the accused split, the bondsman can go out of business.

‘You okay to handle the hearing if it comes up? I want to see if I can find us a bail bondsman,’ I said.

‘Sure. Who are you going to speak to? A good bondsman, I hope?’

‘Oh no,’ I said, ‘I want the worst one possible.’

Kate looked at me strangely.

‘Is this an Eddie Flynn thing that I don’t understand and it’s best if I don’t know anything about it?’

‘Could be.’

‘Great.’

If you want to know what’s going on in a courthouse, you have two options. You can get to know the security personnel or, if there’s a coffee shop in the courthouse, get to know the staff who work there. There’s a tiny coffee shop in the back of 100 Center Street that sells sandwiches, donuts and, if you’re the right kind of customer–gossip.

‘Can I get a hot cup and a glazed, please, Renata?’

Renata had worked the shop for ten years. Pouring cups of Joe and making sandwiches, occasionally cleaning the illuminated sign above the sandwich counter, which was so oldthat when the plastic and magnetic letters fell off the sign, and broke, they could not be replaced. A sharpie had been used to make up the letter O in COFFEE.

They don’t take cards. Just cash. And you make sure it’s a silent tip that goes into the tip jar–any rattling of dimes that go in that jar is likely to provoke a mean gaze from Renata.