“And if you can’t?”
“Well, I, uh, we, feel sure that—”
“You realize, Mr. Fink, that if I hear the proof in this case and find you’re playing games, I can hold you in contempt. And, knowing Ms. Love the way I do, I’m sure there will be retribution from the child.”
“We intend to file suit first thing in the morning, Your Honor,” Reggie added helpfully. “Against both Mr. Fink and Roy Foltrigg. They’re abusing this court and the juvenile laws of the state of Tennessee. My staff is working on the lawsuit right now.”
Her staff was sitting outside in the hallway eating a Snickers bar and sipping a diet cola. But the threat sounded ominous in the courtroom.
Fink glanced at George Ord, his co-counsel, who was sitting next to him making a list of things to do that afternoon, and nothing on the list had anything to do with Mark Sway or Roy Foltrigg. Ord supervised twenty-eight lawyers working thousands of cases, and he just didn’t care about Barry Muldanno and the body of Boyd Boyette. It wasn’t in his jurisdiction. Ord was a busy man, too busy to waste valuable time playing gofer for Roy Foltrigg.
But Fink was no featherweight. He’d seen his share of nasty trials and hostile judges and skeptical juries. He was rallying quite nicely. “Your Honor, the petition is much like an indictment. Its truth cannot be ascertained without a hearing, and if we can get on with it we can prove our allegations.”
Harry turned to Reggie. “I’ll take this motion to dismiss under advisement, and I’ll hear the petitioners’ proof. If it falls short, then I’ll grant the motion and we’ll go from there.”
Reggie shrugged as if she expected this.
“Anything else, Ms. Love?”
“Not at this time.”
“Call your first witness, Mr. Fink,” Harry said. “And make it brief. Get right to the point. If you waste time, I’ll jump in with both feet and speed things along.”
“Yes sir. Sergeant Milo Hardy of the Memphis police is our first witness.”
Mark had not moved during these preliminary skirmishes. He wasn’t sure if Reggie had won them all, or lost them all, and for some reason he didn’t care. There was something unfair about a system in which a little kid was brought into a courtroom and surrounded by lawyers arguing and sniping at each other under the scornful eye of a judge, the referee, and somehow in the midst of this barrage of laws and code sections and motions and legal talk the kid was supposed to know what was happening to him. It was hopelessly unfair.
And so he just sat and stared at the floor near the court reporter. His eyes were still wet and he couldn’t make them stay dry.
The courtroom was silent as Sergeant Hardy was fetched. His honor relaxed in his chair and removed his reading glasses. “I want this on the record,” he said. He glared at Fink again. “This is a private and confidential matter. This hearing is closed for a reason. I defy anyone to repeat any word uttered in this room today, or to discuss any aspect of this proceeding. Now, Mr. Fink, I realize you must report to the U.S. attorney in New Orleans, and I realize Mr. Foltrigg is a petitioner and has a right to know what happens here. And when you talk to him, please explain that I am very upset by his absence. He signed the petition, and he should be here. You may explain these proceedings to him, and only to him. No one else. And you are to tell him to keep his big mouth shut, do you understand, Mr. Fink?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Will you explain to Mr. Foltrigg that if I get wind of any breach in the confidentiality of these proceedings that I will issue a contempt order and attempt to have him jailed?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
He was suddenly staring at McThune and K. O. Lewis. They were seated immediately behind Fink and Ord.
“Mr. McThune and Mr. Lewis, you may now leave the courtroom,” Harry said abruptly. They grabbed the armrests as their feet hit the floor. Fink turned and stared at them, then looked at the judge.
“Uh, Your Honor, would it be possible for these gentlemen to remain in the—”
“I told them to leave, Mr. Fink,” Harry said loudly. “If they’re gonna be witnesses, we’ll call them later. If they’re not witnesses, they have no business here and they can wait in the hall with the rest of the herd. Now, move along, gentlemen.”
McThune was practically jogging for the door without the slightest hint of wounded pride, but K. O. Lewis was pissed. He buttoned his jacket and stared at his honor, but only for a second. No one had ever won a staring contest with Harry Roosevelt, and K. O. Lewis was not about to try. He strutted for the door, which was already open as McThune dashed through it.
Seconds later, Sergeant Hardy entered and sat in the witness chair. He was in full uniform. He shifted his wide ass in the padded seat, and waited. Fink was frozen, afraid to begin without being told to do so.
Judge Roosevelt rolled his chair to the end of the bench and peered down at Hardy. Something had caught his attention, and Hardy sat like a fat toad on a stool until he realized his honor was just inches away.
“Why are you wearing the gun?” Harry asked.
Hardy looked up, startled, then jerked his head to his right hip as if the gun were a complete surprise to him also. He stared at it as if the damned thing had somehow stuck itself to his body.
“Well, I—”
“Are you on duty or off, Sergeant Hardy?”
“Well, off.”
“Then why are you wearing a uniform, and why in the world are you wearing a gun in my courtroom?”
Mark smiled for the first time in hours.
The bailiff had caught on and was rapidly approaching the witness stand as Hardy jerked at his belt and removed the holster. The bailiff carried it away as if it were a murder weapon.
“Have you ever testified in court?” Harry asked.
Hardy smiled like a child and said, “Yes sir, many times.”
“You have?”
“Yes sir. Many times.”
“And how many times have you testified while wearing your gun?”
“Sorry, Your Honor.”
Harry relaxed, looked at Fink, and waved at Hardy as if it were now permissible to get on with it. Fink had spent many hours in courtrooms during the past twenty years, and took great pride in his trial skills. His record was impressive. He was glib and smooth, quick on his feet.
But he was slow on his ass, and this sitting while interrogating a witness was such a radical way of finding truth. He almost stood again, caught himself again, and grabbed his legal pad. His frustration was apparent.
“Would you state your name for the record?” he asked in a short, rapid burst.
“Sergeant Milo Hardy, Memphis Police Department.”
“And what is your address?”
Harry held up a hand to cut off Hardy. “Mr. Fink, why do you need to know where this man lives?”
Fink stared in disbelief. “I guess, Your Honor, it’s just a routine question.”
“Do you know how much I hate routine questions, Mr. Fink?”
“I’m beginning to understand.”
“Routine questions lead us nowhere, Mr. Fink. Routine questions waste hours and hours of valuable time. I do not want to hear another routine question. Please.”
“Yes, Your Honor. I’ll try.”
“I know it’s hard.”
Fink looked at Hardy and tried desperately to think of a brilliantly original question. “Last Monday, Sergeant, were you dispatched to the scene of a shooting?”
Harry held up his hand again, and Fink slumped in his seat. “Mr. Fink, I don’t know how you folks do things in New Orleans, but here in Memphis we make our witnesses swear to tell the truth before they start testifying. It’s called ‘Placing them under oath.’ Does that sound familiar?”