“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t blame you. Listen to me carefully, Mark. I’ll try to explain it. They want to know what Jerome Clifford told you before he died. They will ask you some very specific questions about the events immediately before the suicide. They will ask you what, if anything, Clifford told you about Senator Boyette. Nothing you tell them with your answers will in any way incriminate you in the murder of Senator Boyette. Understand? You had nothing to do with it. And, you had nothing to do with the suicide of Jerome Clifford. You broke no laws, okay? You’re not a suspect in any crime or wrongdoing. Your answers cannot incriminate you. So, you cannot hide under the protection of the Fifth Amendment.” She paused and watched him closely. “Understand?”
“No. If I didn’t do anything wrong, why was I picked up by the cops and taken to jail? Why am I sitting here waiting for a hearing?”
“You’re here because they think you know something valuable, and because, as I stated, every person has a duty to assist law enforcement officials in the course of their investigation.”
“I still say it’s a stupid law.”
“Maybe so. But we can’t change it today.”
He rocked forward and set the chair on all fours. “I need to know something, Reggie. Why can’t I just tell them I know nothing? Why can’t I say that me and old Romey talked about suicide and going to heaven and hell, you know, stuff like that.”
“Tell lies?”
“Yeah. It’ll work, you know. Nobody knows the truth but Romey, me, and you. Right? And Romey, bless his heart, ain’t talking.”
“You can’t lie in court, Mark.” She said this with all the sincerity she could muster. Hours of sleep had been lost trying to formulate the answer to this inevitable question. She wanted so badly to say “Yes! That’s it! Lie, Mark, lie!”
Her stomach ached and her hands almost shook, but she held firm. “I cannot allow you to lie to the court. You’ll be under oath, so you must tell the truth.”
“Then it was a mistake to hire you, wasn’t it?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Sure it was. You’re making me tell the truth, and in this case the truth might get me killed. If you weren’t around, I’d march in there and lie my little butt off and me and Mom and Ricky would all be safe.”
“You can fire me if you like. The court will appoint another lawyer.”
He stood and walked to the darkest corner of the room, and began crying. She watched his head sink and his shoulders sag. He covered his eyes with the back of his right hand, and sobbed loudly.
Though she’d seen it many times, the sight of a child scared and suffering was unbearable. She couldn’t keep from crying too.
24
Two deputies escorted him into the courtroom from a side door, away from the main hallway where the curious were known to lurk, but Slick Moeller anticipated this little maneuver and watched it all from behind a newspaper just a few feet away.
Reggie followed her client and the deputies. Clint waited outside. It was almost a quarter after noon, and the jungle of Juvenile Court had quieted a bit for lunch.
The courtroom was of a shape and design Mark had never seen on television. It was so small! And empty. There were no benches or seats for spectators. The judge sat behind an elevated structure between two flags with the wall just behind him. Two tables were in the center of the room, facing the judge, and one was already occupied with men in dark suits. To the judge’s right was a tiny table where an older woman was flipping through a stack of papers, very bored with it all, it seemed, until he entered the room. A gorgeous young lady sat ready with a stenographic machine directly in front of the judge’s bench. She wore a short skirt and her legs were attracting a lot of attention. She couldn’t be older than sixteen, he thought as he followed Reggie to their table. A bailiff with a gun on his hip was the final actor in the play.
Mark took his seat, very much aware that everyone was staring at him. His two deputies left the room, and when the door closed behind them the judge picked up the file again and flipped through it. They had been waiting for the juvenile and his lawyer, and now it was time for everyone to wait for the judge again. Rules of courtroom etiquette must be followed.
Reggie pulled a single legal pad from her briefcase and began writing notes. She held a tissue in one hand, and dabbed her eyes with it. Mark stared at the table, eyes still wet but determined to suck it up and be tough through this ordeal. People were watching.
Fink and Ord stared at the court reporter’s legs. The skirt was halfway between knee and hip. It was tight and seemed to slide upward just a fraction of an inch every minute or so. The tripod holding her recording machine sat firmly between her knees. In the coziness of Harry’s courtroom, she was fewer than ten feet away, and the last thing they needed was a distraction. But they kept staring. There! It slipped upward another quarter of an inch.
Baxter L. McLemore, a young attorney fresh from law school, sat nervously at the table with Mr. Fink and Mr. Ord. He was a lowly assistant with the county attorney general’s office, and it had fallen to his lot to prosecute on this day in Juvenile Court. This was certainly not the glamorous end of prosecution, but sitting next to George Ord was quite a thrill. He knew nothing about the Sway case, and Mr. Ord had explained in the hallway just minutes earlier that Mr. Fink would handle the hearing. With the court’s permission, of course. Baxter was expected to sit there and look nice, and keep his mouth shut.
“Is the door locked?” the judge finally asked in the general direction of the bailiff.
“Yes sir.”
“Very well. I have reviewed the petition, and I am ready to proceed. For the record, I note the child is present along with counsel, and that the child’s mother, who is alleged to be his custodial parent, was served with a copy of the petition and a summons this morning. However, the child’s mother is not present in the courtroom, and this concerns me.” Harry paused for a moment and seemed to read from the file.
Fink decided this was the appropriate time to establish himself in this matter, and he stood slowly, buttoning his jacket, and addressed the court. “Your Honor, if I may, for the record, I’m Thomas Fink, Assistant U.S. Attorney for the Southern District of Louisiana.”
Harry’s gaze slowly left the file and settled on Fink, who was standing stiff-backed, very formal, frowning intelligently as he spoke, still fiddling with the top button of his jacket.
Fink continued. “I am one of the petitioners in this matter, and, if I may, I would like to address the issue of the presence of the child’s mother.” Harry said nothing, just stared as if in disbelief. Reggie couldn’t help but smile. She winked at Baxter McLemore.
Harry leaned forward, and rested on his elbows as if intrigued by these great words of wisdom flowing from this gifted legal mind.
Fink had found an audience. “Your Honor, it’s our position, the position of the petitioners, that this matter is of a nature so urgent that this hearing must take place immediately. The child is represented by counsel, quite competent counsel I might add, and none of the child’s legal rights will be prejudiced by the absence of his mother. From what we understand, the mother’s presence is required by the bedside of her youngest son, and so, well, who knows when she might be able to attend a hearing. We just think it’s important, Your Honor, to proceed immediately with this hearing.”
“You don’t say?” Harry asked.
“Yes sir. This is our position.”
“Your position, Mr. Fink,” Harry said very slowly and very loudly with a pointed finger, “is in that chair right there. Please sit, and listen to me very carefully, because I will say this only once. And if I have to say it again, I will do so as they are putting the handcuffs on you and taking you away for a night in our splendid jail.”