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?In the morning, tired, untoward, and groggy, I was allowed to change into the clothes I’d arrived in and driven back by bus to 100 Centre Street for my court appearance.
?I was put on a line and we entered what I later found out was called “The Tombs.” It was a series of holding cells in the building next to the courthouse. We each passed a small desk and a man checked our names on a list. When he located mine, he had an officer escort me immediately to an elevator.
?I cannot tell you how happy I was to walk into the courtroom and see Louie DeSoto there. I also looked up to see Sheryl in the first row of the gallery. She looked so amazing, I literally lost my breath for a moment. Her eyes flashed when she caught sight of me, and I wanted to take her in my arms with every fiber of my being.
?“Hey, Mark, sleep well?” Louie asked quietly, his jaw moving as he bit into a fresh piece of gum.
?“More than I expected, I guess,” I remarked.
?“ALL RISE,” the bailiff yelled.
?We stood as the judge, a heavy man with a thick mustache in a robe that barely covered his girth, climbed slowly up on the bench. He sat and began to go through papers.
?“You may be seated,” he told the crowd, and we returned to our seats.
?“The people of the state of New York versus Mark Watkins,” the bridge officer said, then turned to Louie. “You waive the reading?”
?“Yeah, yeah,” Louie said. I shot him a glance, not knowing what any of this meant, and he held up a hand, as if to say he had it covered.
?The bridge officer gave the judge a folder, and the judge carefully went through it.
?The woman at the other table in a cheap but neat pantsuit, who I assumed was the prosecutor, waited until the judge finished perusing the documents, then stood and spoke. “Your Honor, we want to make notice that this case is One-Ninety-Fifty, and we are making a Seven-Ten-Thirty-A with it.”
?Again I looked at Louie, but he kept his small beady eyes on the judge, who made a few pencil notes on the folder.
?“Bail?” the judge said.
?“Your Honor,” the prosecutor announced, “this is a double homicide. We recommend the defendant be remanded.”
?Louie stood up and raised his hand as he spoke. “Louis DeSoto representing Mark Watkins, Your Honor.”
?“Yes, Mr. DeSoto,” the judge sighed wearily. He seemed quite familiar with Louie.
?“My client is a respected member of the community, who owns a condominium where he has lived for over twenty year
s—”
?“And is the suspect in a murder-for-hire plot,” the prosecutor said.
?“At this time, the investigators have no proof that it was my client’s pistol that was used in said homicide. I would also like to point out that my client only owns a handgun because of his close connection to law enforcement.”
?“The defendant was a security guard, years ago,” the prosecutor complained.
? The judge frowned. “Has this case been presented to the grand jury?”
?“The murders occurred Thursday, Your Honor,” the prosecutor admitted.
?“And it’s Saturday. Who says we don’t make quick arrests in New York?” the judge noted. “Until the charges come from the grand jury, I will release Mr. Watkins on $100,000 bond. I will also ask that his passport be surrendered.”
?He pounded his gavel, and Louie slapped me on the back and walked with me out of the courtroom.
?“That was a lucky break,” Louie said. “I got you in the morning calendar because I knew they wouldn’t have enough evidence yet.”
?“Yeah, but I don’t have $100,000,” I stated.
?“It’s a bond. You’d only need $10,000.”
?“Oh!”
