by Tim Green
Marty opened the door. "We got it! Judge Royster told Zimmer to have Cody in his court before they shut down at noon. The bastard was trying to drag his feet."
"Cody, 1 called the team," Marty continued. "Dryer knows everything. It's no problem being late today. We'll get you right over to your meetings as soon as we get through with the arraignment. I told them, obviously, that you are completely innocent and that we'll get this whole thing worked out. Dryer said he's behind you all the way, and that he wasn't going to forget what you mean to the team. He told me you'd know what that meant."
Cody nodded but said nothing. He knew he was important to the Outlaws as long as Biggs couldn't run full speed and maybe even after he could, if they were fearful that the injury might be a recurring problem.
Judge Royster set bail at five hundred thousand dollars. That meant Cody had to come up with fifty thousand for a bail bondsman. If Cody was going to leave the state, the bond would be two million and a federal marshal would have to travel with him. Marty took care of the local bond and assured Cody that he would get the team to help with the federal bond and the marshal. Within the hour, walking between Marty and Madison, Cody Grey was set free. The only thing he hadn't anticipated was the storm of media waiting right outside the door.
Chapter Twenty
Marty dropped Madison off at home after they dropped Cody at the Outlaw facility. She spent the afternoon with Jo-Jo and his friends, making sweet tea and helping them find lizards underneath rocks by the pool. As she sat by the pool watching the boys swim, her mind kept returning to Cody Grey. She couldn't keep from turning the case over and over in her mind. She realized that it wasn't the case so much as the client who had captured her interest.
"Damn," she said out loud, setting her glass of tea down on the cocktail table beside her chair.
"What, Mom?" Jo-Jo popped his head out of the pool right beside her.
"Nothing, honey," she said with. A smile.
She was mad at herself, though. What was wrong with her? This man was married and probably had just murdered someone. He was a football player. He was another version of Joe Thurwood, a brawler, a spendthrift, and a drinker. Cody was a man she didn't want to like. But when she first laid eyes on him earlier today, she felt attracted by something she couldn't quite put her finger on.
It enraged her, and she wondered if there was something psychologically wrong with her. She knew women went back to the same type of man over and over again. She'd defended women who'd been repeatedly abused. Eventually those women either got killed or got so fed up they wound up killing their tormentors. This wasn't quite the same, was it? Could she be that way? She couldn't be. She wouldn't allow herself to be. She was strong enough and smart enough that it would not happen to her again, no matter what twisted wires in her mind brought on a physical attraction to a man who was so obviously wrong for her. He was married. He was a client. He might even end up in jail for the rest of his life, or on death row. She rose from her chair feeling somewhat unsettled. Madison lit the grill and asked Lucia to prepare some burgers. She was going to cook them for the boys and then take them to a movie. She wished Judge Iris DuBose could see her now: the perfect parent. With a mother like her, Jo-Jo really didn't need anyone else. While she stood there looking into the flames, the portable phone rang and she picked it up.
"Hello," she said.
"Honey," came Alice's voice, "1 won't tell you what a body buried in the spring and dug up in the summer smells like, but I'll say it isn't sweet."
"What did you find?" Madison said without bothering to acknowledge Alice's frivolity.
'Twenty-two-caliber bullet hole," Alice said cheerily, "right through the ear. Hell of a mess though, I almost can't blame the Ogre for overlooking it. There's no doubt there was another gun used in that old garage that night. Your boy may be right about someone else being there."
"It's all documented, right?" Madison asked.
"Honey," Alice responded, "do you really think I'd go through all this shit for you and screw it up by not dotting my i's?"
"Sorry," Madison said, realizing she had insulted her friend. "Alice, thanks, really. You may have saved that boy's life."
"Glad I could help, honey," Alice said, "especially when you put it like that. Call me for lunch. You owe me."
Madison hung up and shook her fist in silent celebration. If she won this case, it would be one of the hallmarks of her career, a seemingly hopeless pro- bono murder case where an innocent kid was headed for death row.
Suddenly she was struck with an idea. This was the second homicide she was dealing with in the same day where a .22 had been used. Hadn't Alice said that it was unusual for such a weapon to be used in a killing? But how could there be a connection between the two dead boys and an IRS agent who had been investigating Cody Grey? It was far-fetched, but she noted the coincidence. Lucia interrupted her thoughts with a plate of raw seasoned burgers. "Thank you, Lucia," she said, absently dropping the meat onto the hissing grill.
As the housekeeper walked away, Madison found herself wondering about Cody Grey and Yusef Williams.
"Van!"
Van Rawlins could hear his wife's scream from upstairs in the master bathroom. He was noticing the crow's feet in the comers of his eyes as he tied a knot in his tie. His wife was in the kitchen having a glass of bourbon and a cigarette.
"Van!" she shrieked again.
"Damn, that woman's got a mouth," he said to himself, going to the top of the stairs.
"What, dammit! I'm trying to get ready!"
"Well, you got a damn phone call!" his wife screamed at the top of her lungs.
"Why didn't you say so, you old bitch," Rawlins muttered to himself as he made his way back into the bedroom to pick up the phone by the bed.
"I heard that, you bastard!" his wife shrieked before he slammed the door shut.
"Hello," Rawlins said into the phone without any pleasantry whatsoever.
"Van? It's me, Kooch."
Dale Kooch was Van Rawlins's campaign manager. They were currently getting their asses handed to them by Susan Becker, a local attorney whose son had been killed in a gang-related drive-by shooting. The gang driver had been released from the county jail only the week before,- the assault charges against him were dismissed on a technicality. His office had botched the case, and Becker was out for blood, his blood. The polls showed that she was eleven points ahead with only eight weeks to go before the election.
"I'm on my way, dammit," Rawlins said. He was late for a pig-roast fundraiser that was being held at the Elks lodge in West Hills. He needed the money too. Kooch figured Rawlins had to double his television advertising if he was going to stand a prayer of winning. Van could go into private practice and do pretty well, he knew that. But it wasn't the money that motivated him. It was the power of the office and the thought of losing it.
"Did you see the news?" Kooch asked.
"I told you, I'm tryin' to get to your damned pig roast!" Rawlins said with disgust.
"Well, put on seven, right now," Kooch said, unflustered.
Rawlins picked up the remote and flipped the TV on to channel seven. Van's chin hit his shirtfront as he watched Cody Grey emerging from the police station amid a throng of cameras and reporters. He listened intently as the details of the murder were reported. He let out a4ow whistle. He knew instantly what Grey's conviction could mean for his campaign.
"You find out who's handling the case and get them to that pig roast tonight," he told Kooch. "I need to know how sound this case is. This could be exactly what we've been waiting for, Kooch."
"1 know," Kooch said. "That's exactly what I was thinking."
"The only problem is going to be getting this thing to trial by the election," Kooch said.
"There are ways," Rawlins said, thinking of all the markers he could call in to expedite things.
"Did you see who's representing him?" Kooch asked.
"I didn't even notice," Rawlins replied.
&nbs
p; "Madison McCall," he said.
"Well," Rawlins said, his mind spinning, "that may not be all bad, Kooch. That may not be all bad...."
Cody didn't know how to act, so he acted the way he always did. There had been times in his life when he wished he'd been a little more gregarious, but this was one time he was truly comfortable keeping his mouth shut. Part of him wanted to tell everyone that he didn't do it. Another part of him was angry and wanted to scream at everyone to stop looking at him the way they . Did. Instead he said nothing to his teammates, his coaches, the medical staff, or anyone. In a way, this made him feel guilty, but he was too upset and too tired to care. He needed to concentrate on playing football.
If Cody didn't end up punching out some cameraman's lights, he would be very surprised. He figured an assault charge on top of murder was like dust in a pig pen. The people were shameless. One TV station showed up outside his hotel room at eleven o'clock on Saturday night, knocking and saying that they had a special message for him. The others followed him everywhere. He had no doubt that they would have followed him right into the locker room had there been no security. Madison told him not to say anything to anyone. They would hound him for a while, but she assured him that they were like ticks,- and if they didn't get any blood from the host, they would soon move on.
After the game against the Patriots the next day, he left the locker room before the press was allowed in. Because of his medical condition and his need to ice down his drugged and drained knee immediately after the game, Cody simply dressed in the training room and used Jeny's private shower. It would have been a good game to talk to the press. The team had won, and Cody delivered another exceptional performance,- eleven tackles and an interception. It convinced him that the worse things got in his life, the better he played. At the rate he was going, he figured he might be able to last another season no matter what happened to his knee.
Marty promised to pick him up outside a gate different from the one used by the players. Cody snuck out the training room back door and wound his way through the maze of passages under the stands until he finally emerged into the bright Sunday afternoon sun. Marty's car was waiting for him. Cody was thankful to his agent for sticking by him when he really needed him, and he said so.
"We're friends," Marty replied.
"Yeah, but even some friends wouldn't be doing what you've already done."
"Well, then they're not real friends," Marty said with an easy smile.
Cody was relieved that Marty seemed to want to talk of nothing but the game. It made him feel almost as if the entire thing had never happened, and he was just on his way home like he was every Sunday during the season. The only difference was Jenny not being there.
"Want me to come in?" Marty asked when they'd pulled into Cody's driveway.
"No," Cody said, seeing that Jenny's car was in the garage, 'but thanks."
"Call me if you need anything," Marty said. 'The grand jury indictment will most likely come in tomorrow, so we'll probably have to show up again on Tuesday for another arraignment. It's just a formality."
Marty ran out of information and wondered if he'd said too much. He didn't want to ruin the guy's day any more than he needed to. He wasn't too good at all this, and he thanked God that tax law had been his calling.
'Thanks again," Cody told him as he patted Marty on the shoulder and climbed out of the car.
"Any time," Marty said. He watched Cody walk toward the house and through the open garage door. As he drove away, he couldn't help wondering what would go on inside the Grey house.
The first thing Cody did when he got inside was listen. He could hear water running but didn't know where it was coming from. He thought it was from the downstairs guest-room bathroom, and that was a bad sign. It meant that Jenny had set up quarters downstairs. He set his bag down on the kitchen table and went to the refrigerator for a cold beer. He hadn't seen or spoken to
"You find out who's handling the case and get them to that pig roast tonight," he told Kooch. "I need to know how sound this case is. This could be exactly what we've been waiting for, Kooch."
"I know," Kooch said. "That's exactly what I was thinking."
"The only problem is going to be getting this thing to trial by the election," Kooch said.
"There are ways," Rawlins said, thinking of all the markers he could call in to expedite things.
"Did you see who's representing him?" Kooch asked.
"I didn't even notice," Rawlins replied.
"Madison McCall," he said.
"Well," Rawlins said, his mind spinning, "that may not be all bad, Kooch. That may not be all bad...."
Cody didn't know how to act, so he acted the way he always did. There had been times in his life when he wished he'd been a little more gregarious, but this was one time he was truly comfortable keeping his mouth shut. Part of him wanted to tell everyone that he didn't do it. Another part of him was angry and wanted to scream at everyone to stop looking at him the way they did. Instead he said nothing to his teammates, his coaches, the medical staff, or anyone. In a way, this made him feel guilty, but he was too upset and too tired to care. He needed to concentrate on playing football.
If Cody didn't end up punching out some cameraman's lights, he would be very surprised. He figured an assault charge on top of murder was like dust in a pig pen. The people were shameless. One TV station showed up outside his hotel room at eleven o'clock on Saturday night, knocking and saying that they had a special message for him. The others followed him everywhere. He had no doubt that they would have followed him right into the locker room had there been no security. Madison told him not to say anything to anyone. They would hound him for a while, but she assured him that they were like ticks,- and if they didn't get any blood from the host, they would soon move on.
After the game against the Patriots the next day, he left the locker room before the press was allowed in. Because of his medical condition and his need to ice down his drugged and drained knee immediately after the game, Cody simply dressed in the training room and used Jerry's private shower. It would have been a good game to talk to the press. The team had won, and Cody delivered another exceptional performance,- eleven tackles and an interception. It convinced him that the worse things got in his life, the better he played. At the rate he was going, he figured he might be able to last another season no matter what happened to his knee.
Marty promised to pick him up outside a gate different from the one used by the players. Cody snuck out the training room back door and wound his way through the maze of passages under the stands until he finally emerged into the bright Sunday afternoon sun. Marty's car was waiting for him. Cody was thankful to his agent for sticking by him when he really needed him, and he said so.
"We're friends," Marty replied.
"Yeah, but even some friends wouldn't be doing what you've already done."
"Well, then they're not real friends," Marty said with an easy smile.
Cody was relieved that Marty seemed to want to talk of nothing but the game. It made him feel almost as if the entire thing had never happened, and he was just on his way home like he was every Sunday during the season. The only difference was Jenny not being there.
"Want me to come in?" Marty asked when they'd pulled into Cody's driveway.
"No," Cody said, seeing that Jenny's car was in the garage, "but thanks."
"Call me if you need anything," Marty said. 'The grand jury indictment will most likely come in tomorrow, so we'll probably have to show up again on Tuesday for another arraignment. It's just a formality."
Marty ran out of information and wondered if he'd said too much. He didn't want to ruin the guy's day any more than he needed to. He wasn't too good at all this, and he thanked God that tax law had been his calling.
"Thanks again," Cody told him as he patted Marty on the shoulder and climbed out of the car.
"Any time," Marty said. He watched Cody walk toward the house and through the open garage door. A
s he drove away, he couldn't help wondering what would go on inside the Grey house.
The first thing Cody did when he got inside was listen. He could hear water running but didn't know where it was coming from. He thought it was from the downstairs guest-room bathroom, and that was a bad sign. It meant that Jenny had set up quarters downstairs. He set his bag down on the kitchen table and went to the refrigerator for a cold beer. He hadn't seen or spoken to Jenny since he was arrested on Saturday morning. He wandered through the house until he found himself sitting on the guest-room bed with his bad knee propped up on a pillow, patiently waiting for the water to stop tunning. It did,- and ten minutes later, Jenny emerged in a towel. She saw him but acted like she didn't.
"Well," Cody said,' 'aren't you going to say something?"
"There's not much to say," Jenny replied.
"Do you think I did it?" he said.
Jenny stopped and looked at him. "I don't think anything," she said.
"So," he said, changing tactics, "where were you last night?"
Jenny huffed. "I don't think we're at the point right now where you need to be asking me where I am and what I do," she said.
Cody clenched his teeth. She was standing at the mirror now, brushing her hair.
"Were you with someone?" he said. He'd asked that question before, but never when he'd felt so certain that the answer was going to be affirmative. The only thing he wanted was for her to deny it one more time. That was all. That was the routine. He questioned her. She denied it. They had done it before. It worked. He was in trouble all the way around right now. He wanted her with him. He needed someone. Even if it was just pretend. He would gladly take her the way she had been for the past few months--distant, but more available than she'd ever been. He'd take her even at her worst right now, if she would only go along with the charade.