Reggie nodded. She was in complete agreement. “So what do we do, Harry?”
“If the kid goes to New Orleans, I lose control of him. I’d rather keep him here. If I were you, I’d put him on the stand and advise him not to answer the crucial questions. At least not for now. He can always do it later. He can do it tomorrow, or the next day. I’d advise him to withstand the pressure from the judge, and keep his mouth shut, at least for now. He’ll go back to our Juvenile Detention Center, which is probably much safer than anything in New Orleans. By doing this, you protect the child from the New Orleans thugs, who scare even me, until the feds can arrange something better. And you buy yourself some time to see what Mr. Foltrigg will do in New Orleans.”
“You think he’s in great danger?”
“Yes, and even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t take chances. If he spills his guts now, he could get hurt. I’m not inclined to release him today, under any circumstances.”
“What if Mark refuses to talk, and Foltrigg presents him with a grand jury subpoena?”
“I won’t allow him to go.”
Reggie’s appetite was gone. She sipped her tea from the paper cup and closed her eyes. “This is so unfair to this boy, Harry. He deserves more from the system.”
“I agree. I’m open to suggestions.”
“What if I don’t put him on the stand?”
“I’m not going to release him, Reggie. At least not today. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the next day. This is happening awfully fast, and I suggest we take the safest route and see what happens in New Orleans.”
“You didn’t answer my question. What if I don’t put him on the stand?”
“Well, based on the proof I’ve heard, I’ll have no choice but to find him to be a delinquent, and I’ll send him back to Doreen. Of course, I could reverse myself tomorrow. Or the next day.”
“He’s not a delinquent.”
“Maybe not. But if he knows something, and he refuses to tell, then he’s obstructing justice.” There was a long pause. “How much does he know, Reggie? If you’ll tell me, I’ll be in a better position to help him.”
“I can’t tell you, Harry. It’s privileged.”
“Of course it is,” he said with a smile. “But it’s rather obvious he knows plenty.”
“Yes, I guess it is.”
He leaned forward, and touched her arm. “Listen to me, dear. Our little pal is in a world of trouble. So let’s get him out of it. I say we take it one day at a time, keep him in a safe place where we call the shots, and in the meantime start talking to the feds about their witness protection program. If that falls into place for the kid and his family, then he can tell these awful secrets and be protected.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
25
Under the stern supervision of the bailiff, a man named Grinder, they were reassembled and directed to their positions. Fink glanced about fearfully, uncertain whether to sit, stand, speak, or crawl under the table. Ord picked at the cuticle on a thumb. Baxter McLemore had moved his chair as far away from Fink as possible.
His honor sipped the remains of the tea and waited until all was still. “On the record,” he said in the general direction of the court reporter. “Ms. Love, I need to know if young Mark will testify.”
She was sitting a foot behind her client, and she looked at the side of his face. His eyes were still wet.
“Under the circumstances,” she said, “he doesn’t have much of a choice.”
“Is that a yes or a no?”
“I will allow him to testify,” she said, “but I will not tolerate abusive questioning by Mr. Fink.”
“Your Honor, please,” Fink said.
“Quiet, Mr. Fink. Remember rule number one? Don’t speak until spoken to.”
Fink glared at Reggie. “A cheap shot,” he snarled.
“Knock it off, Mr. Fink,” Harry said. All was quiet.
His honor was suddenly all warmth and smiles. “Mark, I want you to remain in your seat, next to your lawyer, while I ask you some questions.”
Fink winked at Ord. Finally, the kid would talk. This could be the moment.
“Raise your right hand, Mark,” his honor said, and Mark slowly obeyed. The right hand, as well as the left, was trembling.
The elderly lady stood in front of Mark and properly swore him. He did not stand, but inched closer to Reggie.
“Now, Mark, I’m going to ask you some questions. If you don’t understand anything I ask, please feel free to talk to your lawyer. Okay?”
“Yes sir.”
“I’ll try to keep the questions clear and simple. If you need a break to step outside and talk to Reggie, Ms. Love, just let me know. Okay?”
“Yes sir.”
Fink turned his chair to face Mark and sat like a hungry puppy awaiting his Alpo. Ord finished his nails, and was ready with his pen and legal pad.
Harry reviewed his notes for a second, then smiled down at the witness. “Now, Mark, I want you to explain to me exactly how you and your brother discovered Mr. Clifford on Monday.”
Mark gripped the arms of his chair and cleared his throat. This was not what he expected. He’d never seen a movie in which the judge asked the questions.
“We sneaked off into the woods behind the trailer park, to smoke a cigarette,” he began, and slowly led to the point where Romey stuck the water hose in the tail pipe the first time and got in the car.
“What’d you do then?” his honor asked anxiously.
“I took it out,” he said, and told the story about his trips through the weeds to remove Romey’s suicide device. Although he’d told this before, once or twice to his mother and Dr. Greenway, and once or twice to Reggie, it had never seemed amusing to him. But as he told it now, the judge’s eyes began to sparkle and his smile widened. He chuckled softly. The bailiff thought it was funny. The court reporter, always noncommittal, was enjoying it. Even the old woman at the clerk’s desk was listening with her first smile of the proceedings.
But the humor turned sour as Mr. Clifford grabbed him, slapped him around, and threw him in the car. Mark relived this with a straight face, staring at the brown pumps of the court reporter.
“So you were in the car with Mr. Clifford before he died?” his honor asked cautiously, very serious now.
“Yes sir.”
“And what did he do once he got you in the car?”
“He slapped me some more, yelled at me a few times, threatened me.” And Mark told all that he remembered about the gun, the whiskey bottle, the pills.
The small courtroom was deathly still, and the smiles were long gone. Mark’s words were deliberate. His eyes avoided all others. He spoke as if in a trance.
“Did he fire the gun?” Judge Roosevelt asked.
“Yes sir,” he answered, and told them all about it.
When he finished this part of the story, he waited for the next question. Harry thought about it for a long minute.
“Where was Ricky?”
“Hiding in the bushes. I saw him sneak through the weeds, and I sort of figured he’d removed the water hose again. He did, I found out later. Mr. Clifford kept saying he could feel the gas, and he asked me over and over if I could feel it. I said yes, twice I think, but I knew Ricky had come through.”
“And he didn’t know about Ricky?” It was a throwaway question, irrelevant, but asked because Harry couldn’t think of a better one at the moment.