The prosecution team, Moltke and two other men, no Myra, seemed supremely confident. They were whispering among themselves; periodically, one would glance at Ben, smirk, then look away. If that was supposed to be an intimidation tactic, it was working.
To Ben’s surprise, Moltke walked over to his table. “Good morning, Mr. Kincaid.”
“You set me up, you son of a bitch.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“You invited me to a plea bargain. Instead, it turned out to be an ambush.”
“My press conference ran a little longer than I anticipated.”
“Bullshit. You planned the whole thing, so you could score a few points at my expense on the six o’clock news.”
“Well…I’m sorry if you were rattled, son. The people have a right to know.”
“The Rules of Professional Conduct restrict press statements on pending criminal matters.”
“Try explaining that to the press.”
“Where’s Myra?”
“Myra?” Moltke grinned. “Myra’s a fine girl. A bit green, but she has potential. She can be an invaluable assistant, at times, if you know what I mean.”
“I hope I don’t.”
“Under my tutelage she’ll expand her talents. She’s already displayed an exceptional flare for…oral argument.”
“You’re disgusting, Moltke. Nothing personal. I wish you had sent Myra.”
“Myra is perfectly adequate for an eight-thirty bail hearing, but this is the big time.”
“You mean, there’s press coverage galore, so you dismissed the acolytes so you could soak up the glory yourself.”
Moltke made a harrumphing noise. “A man learns to take advantage of his opportunities. If he hopes to make anything of himself. I’m sure you’ll learn that in time. If you ever make anything of yourself.”
Touché. “We probably shouldn’t be conferring, Moltke. The reporters will assume you’re offering me a deal.”
“Actually, son, I am.” He whipped his arm around Ben’s neck and steered him away from the gallery. “I’m proposing an offer that will save us both considerable trouble.”
Ben looked at him suspiciously. “Are you proposing a plea bargain?”
“No, son, this isn’t a plea bargain. The press would hang my carcass out to dry if I did that. I’m just suggesting that we…simplify this proceeding.”
“Simplify?”
“Tell you what. You promise me you won’t move to dismiss after we put on our evidence, and I’ll spare your client the ordeal of hearing a litany of nasty testimony against her.”
Tiny wrinkles appeared around Ben’s eyes. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“It’s like this. If we think you’re going to try for a demurrer after we put on our evidence, we’re going to have to haul out everything we’ve got. No reason your client should be put through that. We’re here to search for the truth, not to put on a show. Just agree not to make the motion, and we’ll save your little lady a lot of unnecessary hell. It’s the humane approach. What do you think?”
“I think,” Ben said, removing Moltke’s arm, “I’m not nearly as green as you think.”
Moltke seemed taken aback. “What’s that?”
“That’s my way of saying, take your offer and get the hell out of my face. Nicely.”
“I thought it was a fair proposition—”
“You thought you could con me into being incredibly stupid. If I accepted your soft-soap appeal to my better nature, not only would I forfeit my chances of getting the charges dismissed today, I would also lose the opportunity to learn about your case—because you wouldn’t put forward your best evidence. Given the lack of cooperation from your office so far, this may be the only discovery I get. I’m not going to throw that away.”
“I was just trying to spare your client—”
“I know exactly what you were trying, Moltke, and it had nothing to do with the search for truth or any of your other sanctimonious twaddle.”
Moltke’s face became grave. “You’re making a mistake, son. Our case is stronger than you think.”
“We’ll see. If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to review my notes.”
Moltke walked away solemnly, shaking his head.
A few moments later, the bailiff cracked open the door. “All rise.”
Magistrate Gould stepped into the courtroom. He was a relatively young man, probably in his mid-thirties. Ben had never been before him; Gould had only been appointed about eight months earlier, to work in conjunction with Judge Derek. Word on the street was that he had a case of judgeitis—carrying himself ponderously, pushing people around at hearings, wielding sanctions like a whipping stick. If true, Ben knew Gould wouldn’t be the first person who had trouble adjusting to the immense power of his new position.
Gould hushed the bailiff before she could read the case file. “Where’s the defendant?”
“I’m sure she’ll be here soon,” Ben said, fingering his collar. “Any minute.”
“This hearing was scheduled to begin ten minutes ago. She’s late.”
Ben decided not to mention that His Eminence was also late. “I’m sure you’ve had parties arrive late before, sir.”
Gould drummed his fingers on the bench. “True. The defendant at a detention hearing I held yesterday was ten minutes late.”
“Well, there you go.”
“I revoked his bail and sanctioned his attorney.”
Ben craned his neck and adjusted his tie.
Suddenly, Gould leaned forward across the bench and boomed, “What is that you’re wearing?”
Ben looked back over his shoulder, then front and forward. “Who, me?”
“Yes, of course, you.”
What was it? His shirt, his shoes, his fly? Ben quickly checked himself out. Everything seemed to be in order.
“I’m referring to your tie, counselor,” Gould explained. “Is that…pink?”
Ben had to look. “Well, yes, sir. With little blue squiggles—”
“This is a courtroom, counselor. Not a discotheque.”
“Of course it is, sir.”
“I guess you think that because I’m just a magistrate rather than a full federal judge you can dress in this disrespectful manner?”
“Not at all, sir.”
“I don’t want to see that tie in my courtroom ever again, counsel. Do you understand me?”
“But my mother gave me this tie.…”
Gould pointed a finger at Ben. “You’re—” He seemed to be hauling a memory out of some faraway corner of his brain. “You’re the one who filed this pleading.” He held up several stapled sheets of paper.
“Yes, your honor. That’s our pretrial motion to—”
“It’s on legal-size paper.”
“Uh, yes, your honor. So it is.”
“That’s eight-by-fourteen-inch paper.”
“I believe that’s correct.”
“This is federal court, counselor. We file our pleadings on eight-by-eleven-inch paper.”
“I’m sorry, your honor, my secretary must’ve—”
“That’s no excuse, counsel.”
“No, of course not. I hope your honor will permit the pleading to be considered despite this grievous error.…”
“Of course I will.” Gould reached into a drawer and withdrew a pair of scissors. In two quick snips, he cut off the bottom three inches of Ben’s motion. “There. Now it can be considered by the court. I hope we didn’t lose anything important.”
“Me too, sir.” Why did he have the feeling he was losing this hearing before it had begun?
Gould reached for his gavel. “Under the circumstances, with no defendant present—”
Ben heard a shuffling of feet behind him. It was Christina. Thank God. “Magistrate, may I have a minute to talk with my client before we begin?”
Gould glanced at his watch. “One minute.”