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Tears filled her eyes and she nodded back, her support unwavering. Fuck, I felt like crying too.
On the other side of the courtroom sat Mitch Dowd. Beside him was Mikey Grimaldi, both come to watch me go down, I guessed.
Forrest Perry sidled up to me as the inmates in front of me were read the charges against them. Each entered a plea, and the judge moved on to the next.
“Second thoughts?” Perry murmured.
I leveled him a cold stare. “You giving up already?”
“No, no.” He held up his hand. “I just need to know the score before we enter a plea and this all becomes really real.”
Newsfuckingflash, I wanted to tell him, it was already really real. Being locked up, watching your back in the yard or in the showers or at mealtime was really fucking real.
Perry leaned in to me and nodded at the older man with a head full of white hair at the front of the courtroom. “Judge Jack Norman. He’s a tough old guy. No nonsense but fair. Could’ve been worse.”
“Docket #29575,” the clerk said. “Ronan August Wentz.”
I was unshackled from the line of waiting inmates, and Perry and I moved to stand at the defendant’s table, our backs to the crowd. At the other table was the District Attorney—a severe, sharp-looking woman in an expensive suit, her blond hair tied up in a tight twist.
“Lydia Wells,” Perry muttered. “This isn’t going to be fun.”
Judge Norman read over the file and then peered down at Perry. “Before a plea is entered, I believe there is an issue of probable cause?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Perry said, getting to his feet. “My client was brought in for questioning without the presence of an attorney, and the grounds for his subsequent arrest are purely circumstantial. In fact, the allegations rest solely on the word of Franklin Dowd, who has a well-documented history of animosity toward my client, and whose father—formerly of the Santa Cruz Police Department—still has friends on the force. Honestly, Your Honor, this entire situation feels like a classic set-up and we move to dismiss the charges entirely.”
I let out a breath. Smart to bring up my history with Frankie before the prosecution could do it. But I never pressed charges against Mitch. If I had, I might’ve had something to fight back with.
Fucking
stupid.
Judge Norman thought this over. “Ms. Wells?”
“Your Honor, it’s laughable for the defense to reduce the accusations against Mr. Wentz as hearsay or a conspiracy among law enforcement when the defendant has a clear history of violence and criminal behavior and who has, in fact, assaulted Frankie Dowd in the past.”
Perry shook his head. “A typical high school fight, Your Honor, is hardly grounds—”
“However,” Wells interjected, holding up a hand, “if the accusation from the victim himself—rendered from his hospital bed in the critical care unit, no less—isn’t sufficient, prosecution is prepared to submit an eyewitness. Michael Grimaldi.”
Someone in the audience gasped. Shiloh, I thought. Grimaldi got to his feet, looking like a fucking boy scout in a suit, hands folded in front of him. Mitch caught my eye, his expression smug.
Beside me, Perry stiffened. “What’s this?” he whispered.
“Bullshit,” I hissed back.
Ms. Wells smiled calmly. “Mr. Grimaldi will submit to deposition and stipulate that he was there on the night of July thirtieth and can attest that Mr. Wentz, did indeed, perpetrate the heinous attack that left his friend and my client clinging to life.”
Perry cleared his throat, regaining his composure. “The arresting officers made no note of any testimony from Mr. Grimaldi that would give them probable cause.”
“Mr. Grimaldi will testify that, given the severity of Mr. Wentz’s attack on Frankie, he feared for his own life and fled the scene. But after visiting his friend in the ICU, he knew he could not remain quiet.”
“Is there an affidavit?” the judge asked, annoyed. “Or are we just having a conversation?”
“Here, Your Honor.” Wells handed a document to the bailiff. “With regards to probable cause, I respectfully refer Your Honor to the detectives’ report that clearly gives motive. Mr. Dowd will plead no-contest to the vandalism of the Rare Earth jewelry shop, the owner of which is romantically attached to Mr. Wentz.”
Judge Norman set the affidavit down. “It is the determination of this Court that probable cause has been sufficiently rendered.”
“Your Honor—”
