“Yes, your honor. That’s correct.”
“And...” Smulders shrugged. “Anything else we need to do?”
“I’ve filed a motion for bail, your honor. The defendant has no priors.”
“As far as we know,” Jazlyn cut in. “The defendant has been off the grid for the past fourteen years—assuming he’s Ossie Coleman. No one knows what he did during that time. We’re not even sure what his name is.”
“His name is Ossie Coleman, and there’s a pending civil case that will prove it.”
“If I give you what you want...” Smulders’ eyes turned downward, staring at the papers. “...this guy gets out of jail.”
“Yes, your honor, that would be the point of a bail motion.” Stay cool. Don’t get snarky. “He can wear a monitoring device so his location can be ascertained at all times.”
“Gee, I dunno...”
“Your honor,” Jazlyn said, “though not completely unprecedented, I can tell you as someone who has been in the prosecutor’s office for more than a decade that granting bail in a capital murder case is highly uncommon. And here we have a crime that is...grotesque in the extreme.”
“You’re assuming he’s guilty. Your honor, please don’t be influenced by speculation. My client has no record. He’s living in a foster home. He will gladly submit to wearing a tracking device.”
Jazlyn frowned. “So we’ll know where he is the next time he decides to melt someone in a bathtub.”
“So he will be highly unlikely to do anything remotely improper. Not that there’s any proof he ever did. He’s a victim who was abducted as a child and—”
“Stop. You’re talking too fast. I can’t follow it.” Smulders’ eyes were like balloons. He thought he detected beads of sweat running down the left side of the judge’s face. “This is all so serious...”
“Your honor, I will personally vouch for my client’s behavior.”
“Which won’t stop him from doing anything,” Jazlyn rejoined.
Judge Smulders squirmed. “This is very hard. Do I have to make a decision?”
Technically no, the judge could delay ruling forever. But that wouldn’t help Ossie. “My client has already been behind bars, subject to the cruelty of the system and the barbaric behavior of some of the inmates. He’s extremely high profile—practically a public figure. Incarceration poses a threat. In the name of mercy and common decency, please grant our bail motion.”
Smulders fumbled with his papers. His eyes darted to the left—toward Bertha, the court clerk seated below him. The older woman offered a tiny shake of the head. “I think I’m going to have to say no to this one.”
Jazlyn allowed a small smile. “Thank you, your honor.”
“Sorry about that, Mr. Pike. I owe you one.”
That was something he’d never heard from a judge before. Of course, most judges didn’t act as if they were still on training wheels, or let their nanny make their decisions. He texted Jimmy, asking him to dig up anything he could on this new judge. And his clerk.
But since the man apparently thought he owed him something... “Your honor, I’d like to ask for the earliest possible trial setting.”
Smulders pressed a hand against his forehead. “Oh, man. Like you want to go to trial today? I’m totally not ready...” He glanced at his clerk. “Am I?”
“I’m not asking for today, your honor. But as soon as you can fit it in. As I mentioned, there’s a concurrent civil trial that I can’t get postponed. We need to get these criminal charges out of the way before that proceeds. And frankly, I’m concerned about the possibility of...outside influences tainting the judicial process.”
Smulders looked tongue-tied. “You—You—” He took a deep breath. “You’re not accusing...our pretty lady prosecutor of being a crook, are you?”
Jazlyn looked as if she were about to explode.
“No,” he said hastily. “She’s as clean as they come. And I’m hoping she’ll soon be elected DA so she can give the office the clean sweep it needs.”
Jazlyn arched an eyebrow. “May I consider that an official endorsement? For the pretty lady prosecutor?”
The judge cleared his throat. “Does the prosecution object to this early setting?”
“As long as it’s within reason, no.”
“Okay, swell. I’ll have my clerk set it down as soon as we can get our act together and throw a good trial. Probably need to call juries and all that stuff.”
“Yes, probably so, your honor.” Where did they find this guy? Gymboree?
The judge tugged at his collar. “Well then. If there’s nothing else...”
They rose. His clerk followed behind him, still shaking her head. It was almost as if Bertha was embarrassed to be in the same courtroom with him.
But this Andy Hardy in a black robe would be making critical decisions affecting Ossie’s future. Or his clerk would.
“Sorry about that,” he told Ossie. “But it was almost inevitable. We’ll get to trial soon.”
“How soon?”
“Not as fast as you’d like. But we still have much investigating to do.”
“I don’t think the judge likes me.”
“I don’t think the judge likes making decisions. Which is sad, since that’s like the whole description of what judges do.”
“Any chance of getting a different judge?”
“Unless he commits gross malpractice or displays gross incompetence—no.”
“Have you ever seen a judge removed from a case?”
“No.”
“Does this mean we’re sunk?”
He thought for a long moment before answering. “No. It just means we have to make this case as easy as possible for the judge. And the jury.” He smiled. “I know you’re innocent. Now we have to convince everyone else.”
Chapter 16
Outside the courtroom, Dan spotted an elderly man in a wheelchair. He approached slowly, extending his hand. “Sir.”
The elderly man raised a weak arm. Bolo tie. Patches of gray hair on a mostly bald head. Missed a button on his shirt. Blanket over knees. Tremble in his voice. “Mr. Pike, I’m Zachary Coleman. Hoped to catch you here. Could I have a word?”
“Of course. Do your attorneys know we’re talking? I’m not supposed to interact with—”
“They know all about it. They didn’t like it and frankly I don’t care.” He wheeled to the far end of the corridor where they might have a tiny bit of privacy.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Coleman. Losing a son—”
The elderly man waved a dismissive hand. “Not the first time I’ve had to deal with that. This family has been cursed, and it’s probably my fault.”
“I don’t know what you—”
“I’m concerned about this boy you’re representing.”
“How so?”
“I want him to have the best possible defense.”
“You don’t think he’s guilty?”
“I—” His head drooped. “I hope not. But I want to make sure he isn’t railroaded. Cops don’t like people who come in our color.”
“I’m sure that’s not true of all police officers.”
“No.” He made a grumbling sound. “But a hell of a lot of them. And probably the DA as well.”
“Have you been in contact with DA Belasco?”
“Tried. Offered a campaign contribution. He turned me down. Can you believe it? Turned me down flat.”
No, actually, he couldn’t believe it. A candidate turning down money? “You have no need to worry, sir. My team is one hundred percent behind Ossie, and we will do everything imaginable to make sure he isn’t railroaded. I don't believe he committed this grisly murder. I don’t think he has that kind of cruelty in him.”
“That’s good to know.” Coleman’s voice cracked.
“Forgive me for saying so, sir, but I had the impression your family had...mixed feelings about Ossie. The way he suddenly appeared and staked a claim to the family fortune.”
His eyes watered as he spoke. He seemed genuinely moved. Dan supposed this could all be an act. This man could be a master thespian—but he doubted it.
“Does the rest of your family share your feelings?”
He laughed bitterly. “No.”
“Do you have any insights about what happened?”
“You mean who killed Harrison? No idea.”
“Any enemies?”
“Harrison? I doubt it. Mild-mannered to a fault. A little too nice, if you take my meaning. Preferred to read plays and hang out with swishy theater folk. Didn’t want to be involved in the family business. He removed himself from all positions of influence.”
“There’s a lot of money at stake here.”
“Don’t I know that. I made every penny of it. By working like the devil every single day of my life.” He fussed with his hands, tugged at his blanket. “I never believed Ossie was dead. Even when the cops told me he must be. I never believed it.”
“You had faith. That’s a good thing.”
“That is what matters most.” Zachary inhaled deeply. His breath seemed forced, labored. “You know I loved Ossie’s daddy. Carl. My oldest son. Didn’t approve of his marriage but—how could I? No one was good enough for my boy. Cheap uneducated thing from the poor part of town, no family, no sense—but that’s all water under the bridge now. Carl died and she died and Ossie disappeared and my whole world shattered. Just burst apart like a big piñata. I went from king of the world to a broken man.”
“You have a keenly successful business.”
“Yeah. And you know what that’s worth? Not a damn thing. All this money, and what did it get me? Did it heal the family? No. We split apart. They all hate me. They’re just sitting around hoping I’ll die so they can get their hands on my money.”
“I’m sure that isn’t true.” Against all odds, Dan felt himself actually feeling sorry for the man.
“It is. And you know what? I deserve every bit of it.”
“You’re being too hard on yourself. If nothing else, you’ve ensured no one in your family will ever have to worry about paying the bills, and that’s no small thing.”
“Money. That’s where losers always go, because they have nothing of actual value to brag about. It’s true, I amassed a fortune. Not for me. I never spent much. Didn’t need much. Preferred to invest in the future. Watch the money grow. I did all this for them, not me.”
“I’m sure they understand that.”
He laughed, so abruptly it was startling. “They understand nothing. Why should they? They’ll get what they want soon enough. I’m sick, Mr. Pike. Very sick. Payback for all those cigarettes I inhaled when I was younger. I’ll be gone, and they’ll be rich. And I—” His voice choked. “I don’t want my legacy to be...wrong. I don’t want anyone cheated.”
“I’ll make sure Ossie is treated fairly.”
“Just make sure he isn’t locked away for a crime he didn’t commit. He seems like he has a decent heart, whether he’s Ossie or not.” He reached out and grabbed Dan’s hand. “Don’t let the bastards lock him away. Or execute him. We’ve had enough pain in this family. We don’t need any more.”
Chapter 17
Conrad Sweeney sat behind his large antique mahogany desk, hands folded calmly before him. His executive officer would arrive soon. She had many fine qualities—strength, determination, fierce loyalty. But the greatest of them might be punctuality.
Prudence Hancock strode into the office and glanced at the painting hanging on the wall behind him, illuminated by a spot lamp. “New Van Gogh?”
He raised a finger to his lips.
“Sorry. Acquired through the usual channels?”
He nodded, smiling slightly.
“Does it seem a pity that so few people have the opportunity to admire the vast array of art you’ve acquired? Seriously, this is the best collection of Impressionist and Post-Impressionist paintings in the United States. MOMA looks thin and spotty compared to what you have.”
“When the time comes,” he replied placidly, “when the trails are cold and my museum is built, I will share my beauties with the public. But that will come later. Much later. When the trivial questions of provenance are far less problematic.”
“Because you’re constantly covering and re-covering your tracks.”
“Indeed. Do you have a report on the Harrison Coleman matter?”
She did not sit, though there were two chairs opposite his desk. Instead, she stood at his side, hands behind her back, like a dutiful lieutenant in the presence of a commanding officer. “As you predicted, Pike turned us down.”
“Pious fool.”
“May I ask what the point was? You knew he would refuse.”
“One goal was to tell Pike he’s on my radar. You see, he thinks he’s winning. With the Valdéz woman. With the mayor, who he saved first and bedded second. He can’t see the big picture. Yet. I wanted him to know that the chess game is still in progress. And I will be watching every move he makes.”
“He probably already knew that.”
“Perhaps. But you know, Prudence—no one is completely predictable. Especially a loose cannon like Pike. There was always a remote possibility he would agree to our proposition and accept our assistance.”
“And then?”
“Then he would work for me. But it will work out, in the end. You’ll see. The bounty of the mysterious Mr. K has made Pike somewhat immune to the usual inducements. If money is not the best persuader...then we’ll go in a different direction.”
“You have enough dirt to lock Pike away. Revoke his license. Put him completely out of commission.”
“Perhaps. But he and his team are not amateurs. Mr. K would spare no expense to defend Pike. No, better to keep weaving the web and wait for the proper moment.”
“You heard about the comments Pike made at the courthouse today? Practically accused the DA of being corrupt. That’s not going to help Belasco’s mayoral run.”
“Yes, my little spies reported it almost immediately. And there were reporters in that room.”
“I think you need to be...more aggressive with Pike.”
“And you’d like to be in charge of that, wouldn’t you?” He smiled. “I will. When the time is right.”
“Belasco has been a good friend to you. And he’s likely to be the next mayor, if Pérez goes for the Senate seat.”
“And she will.”
“Because you’re filling her campaign coffers. In secret. Through your holding companies.”
“How well you know me.”
“And once she’s out of the mayor’s office?”
“Then we destroy her.”
“Jazlyn Prentice will go after the DA spot.”
“I have no problem with her, beyond her inexplicable fondness for a certain defense lawyer. I predict she’ll shake that off in time. And if not...well, we can take her out of office as easily as we put her predecessor in.”
Prudence removed a manila envelope from her briefcase. She pulled several black and white photos out of it. “I have a man surveilling Pike at all times.”
“Because...?”
“Because I know how much you hate him. And I know eventually you’ll make your move. I will make sure we’re ready.”
For once a bit of softness crept into his face. “You are a very good soldier, Prudence. A very good...person.”
“I try to be.”
“You make my work so much simpler. I appreciate it.”
“It’s a pleasure to work for you, sir. Forgive me for saying so, but there are a lot of people ru
nning around patting themselves on the back, preening about their good works. Politicians like Pérez. Blowhards like Pike. But you do your work in the shadows. Fame finds you, not the other way around. What you do matters. What you do lasts.”
“You flatter me, Prudence.”
“You deserve it, sir.” She turned again to peer at the Van Gogh. “Am I the only one who thinks this Dutch master is overrated?”
He pursed his lips. “Thick lines. Globs of paint. You can tell he never had much formal training. Draws like a kindergartner.”
“And yet...”
“The alleged drama of his life overwhelms artistic judgment. As far as I’m concerned, he only managed one good painting in his understandably troubled life. And now I have that painting, thanks to Octave Durham. Even the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam couldn’t find this one. Because I have it. And now that Durham is safely in Dubai where he can’t be extradited—they never will.”
“You get everything you want, don’t you, Dr. Sweeney?”
“In time.” He smiled and reached for her hand. “Yes. In time.”
Chapter 18
Dan pulled the “company car”—the Jag—in front of the “office”—the mansion. Maria slid into the passenger seat, gripping her cellphone tightly in her right hand.
“I assume you’ve had a horrible accident and just haven’t mentioned it,” he said, as he pulled away from the curb.
She looked stricken. “Why? Do I look bad?”
“No. But you’re letting me drive.”
“Oh, that. I need to do some work on my phone. But I look okay?”
“You look fabulous, as always.”
“Thanks. You look sharp too, if massively overdressed.”
Now it was his turn to look stricken. “You don’t like my outfit?”
“Correct me if I’m wrong. That’s a bespoke Zegna suit, refined wool fiber, probably around 2500 bucks.”
“You don’t like it.”
“It’s terrific. But you might stand out in a strip joint.”
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