The attendance of Marian Braun was a surprise to Randall – Superior Court judges often liked to pretend they were above the political fray. But she had obviously come at the mayor’s bidding, although she was fastidiously ignoring everyone, and obviously unhappy. Pencil in hand, ostentatiously making notes on some thick document in a three-ring black binder, she’d already been sitting at the table when Randall had arrived.
The mayor’s major domo was unfortunately named Richard, too. Scott Randall suppressed a smile recalling that the common name led to the inevitable sobriquets of ‘Big Dick’ and ‘Little Dick’ for the mayor and his assistant. Little Dick was chatting with a couple of staff members that Randall recognized, although their names escaped him.
Finally – Randall checked his watch: seven thirteen – Mayor Washington burst into the room. Purposeful, overworked, impatient, he was talking at high volume to a middle-aged woman who trailed behind him scribbling non-stop in a steno pad. Washington wore a camel’s hair coat over his suit. He was reasonably tall and nearly burly. Broken nose, veins in the face, a lot of unkempt gray hair. Walking fast as he came through the door, he kept coming until he got to his seat at the head of the table, when he stopped almost as though surprised at where he’d come to rest.
‘All right.’ He nearly bellowed, eyes all over the room. ‘Everybody here? Let’s get going.’
Little Dick had appeared behind him and helped him out of the overcoat, an automatic operation the mayor did not acknowledge in any way. By the time Washington was down in his chair, the woman had poured and flavored his coffee – three sugars and cream, Randall noticed – and had disappeared.
The mayor slurped from the cup, swallowed, and waited an instant for one of the staffers to stop fidgeting in her seat. After another moment, Marian Braun looked up, put her pencil down, and closed her binder.
Washington nodded at her and looked around the table, coming to rest on the young man near the far end. ‘You’re Randall,’ he said, pointing a thick finger.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘How old are you, son?’
Randall bridled slightly at the condescension, but what could he do? ‘Thirty-three, sir.’
‘You married? Children?’
‘No. Neither.’
Washington had him on the hot seat and seemed content to let him cook a minute. He slurped some more coffee. ‘Somebody pass those rolls down here, will you? Thanks.’ He randomly grabbed from the pile, took a bite, and chewed. ‘You know why we’re all here.’ He wasn’t asking.
Randall swallowed drily. ‘The Frannie Hardy matter, I believe.’
‘That’s correct.’
At this formal corroboration of the reason that this meeting had been called, Marian Braun spoke up. ‘Excuse me, Richard, but that being the case I can’t be here. I can’t discuss a case that’s before my court.’ She was already starting to get up.
But the mayor wasn’t impressed. ‘Why don’t you stick around anyway, Marian, in case the second half of this conversation concerns the court budget for next year. Maybe that will be worthy of your attention.’ He directed a fierce glare at her, and eventually, she yielded to it and settled herself back in her chair.
Richard Washington took another deep draught of coffee, and carefully replaced the cup in its china saucer. The silence was perfect.
The rage came from nowhere, which made it all the more effective. Suddenly the mayor slapped the flat of his palm on the table with enormous force. China rattled and some coffee spilled. Everyone jumped. ‘Do you have any idea the amount of trouble you’ve caused with this, Mr Randall?’ he exploded. ‘Any idea?’
It took a split second even for the quick-witted Randall to recover. ‘It was part of my investigation into-’
Washington interrupted again. ‘You think we’re all operating in a vacuum? Well, let me help you out…’
Pratt interrupted. ‘With respect, sir…’
The mayor didn’t seem any too happy with the DA, either. He faced her and snapped. ‘What, Sharron?’
‘The issue isn’t that it’s caused some political trouble. The issue is legal. Mr Randall did the right thing.’
Washington conjured with that for a moment. His voice with its normal inflection was almost more frightening. ‘I absolutely reject that,’ he said. ‘What he did – what Marian did, too, for that matter – might not be illegal, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say it was right.’
Pratt retained the serenity that only knowing that you are right can provide. ‘The woman refused to cooperate with the grand jury, Richard. She was belligerent and disrespectful.’
‘She was a housewife worried about picking up her children. That’s what the media seems to have settled on, that’s what Jeff Elliot wrote about yesterday. And now her house has been burned. Did any of you happen to notice that?’
‘That’s irrelevant,’ Pratt responded. ‘What’s your point, Richard?’
‘My point is that I’m taking a tremendous amount of flack for allowing this travesty to continue in my city. Mr Randall, in his inexperience, over-reacted. Folks, I want the woman released. Today.’
A collective gasp, then silence fell around the table.
‘I can’t do that, Richard.’ Braun was firm. ‘The first contempt citation expires tonight, and she has to serve that out. Mr Randall here can call her before the grand jury first thing tomorrow morning, at which point her continued incarceration will be up to her if she decides to talk or Mr Randall if she decides not to.’
The mayor made no effort to hide his sarcasm. ‘Thank you, your honor, but I want it clear that holding innocent citizens in jail out of personal pique doesn’t sit well with me.’
Randall finally found his voice again. ‘The woman is not innocent, your honor. She knows something.’
‘She knows something.’ Washington nodded, his mouth twitching at the corners. ‘I’m glad you brought that up, Mr Randall. Chief Rigby,’ he whirled, ‘has anyone been charged or indicted in the murder of Bree Beaumont to date?’
‘No, sir.’
‘So this Hardy woman knows something about somebody, but we don’t know what and we don’t know if it’s got anything to do with that murder?’
No one answered. Washington glared around the table. ‘And yet she sits in jail.’ He shook his mane of hair in disgust. ‘I called this meeting to acquaint all of you with my very strong feelings about this matter. I’m going to air those feelings at this morning’s press conference, and I wanted to do all of you the courtesy of a heads up. No one has more respect than I do, Marian – and you, too, Sharron – for the judicial process. But I’m hard pressed to believe that this woman knowingly holds the key to a murder. So this is mere pettiness.’ He pointed again at Randall. ‘And, son, for you, this is what we call overweening ambition. It’s not an admirable quality. If you hadn’t tried to end-run the police department, we wouldn’t be here now. Chief Rigby?’
‘Yes, sir.’ From his expression, he knew what was coming. The chief of police was the pawn of the mayor, appointed by him, accountable to him. And Rigby had just found himself on the wrong side of the fence.
‘Apparently you’ve been trying to make kissy-face with Ms Pratt so that her fear and loathing of the police would not too greatly interfere with the day-to-day workings of the department. I even applaud your intentions. But we’ve got a homicide department and it’s not run by Mr Struler here, or by Ms Pratt. If you don’t like Glitsky, get a new head of homicide. But the police department investigates murders and you back up your people. Clear?’