Harry wanted to adjourn by four, but it looked doubtful. His two sons waited in the back row. Outside, the Jeep was packed, and when the gavel finally rapped for the last time, they would rush his honor from the building and whisk him away to the Buffalo River. That was the plan anyway. They were bored, but they had been there before many times.
In spite of the chaos in the front of the courtroom -clerks hauling bundles of files in and out, lawyers whispering as they waited, deputies standing by, defendants being shuffled to the bench then out the doorHarry's assembly line moved with determined efficiency. He glared at each deadbeat, scolded a bit, sometimes a quick lecture, then he signed an order and moved on to the next one.
Reggie eased into the courtroom and made her way to the clerk seated next to the bench. They whispered for a minute with Reggie pointing to a document she'd brought with her. She laughed at something that was probably not that funny, but Harry heard her and motioned her to the bench.
"Something wrong?" he asked with his hand over the microphone.
"No. Mark's fine, I guess. I need a quick favor. It's another case." Harry smiled and turned off the mike. Typical Reggie. Her cases were always the most important and needed immediate attention. "What is it?" he asked.
The clerk handed Harry the file while Reggie handed him an order. "It's another snatch-and-run by the Welfare Department," she said in a low voice. No one was listening. No one cared.
"Who's the kid?" he asked, flipping through the file.
"Ronald Allan Thomas the Third. Also known as Trip Thomas. He was taken into custody last night by Welfare and placed in a foster home. His mother hired me an hour ago." "Says here he's been abandoned and neglected." "Not true, Harry. It's a long story, but I assure you this kid has good parents and a clean home." "And you want the kid released?" "Immediately. I'll pick him up myself, and take him home to Momma Love if I have to." "And feed him lasagna." "Of course." Harry scanned the order and signed his name at the bottom. "I'll have to trust you, Reggie." "You always do. I saw Damon and Al back there. They look rather bored." Harry handed the order to the clerk, who stamped it. "So am I. When I get this riffraff cleared from my courtroom, we're going fishing." "Good luck. I'll see you Monday." "Have a nice weekend, Reggie. You'll check on Mark, won't you?" "Of course." "Try and talk some sense into his mother. The more I think about it, the more I'm convinced these people must cooperate with the feds and enter the witness program. Hell, they have nothing to lose by starting over. Convince her they'll be protected." "I'll try. I'll spend some time with her this weekend. Maybe we can wrap it up Monday." "I'll see you then." Reggie winked at him, and backed away from the bench. The clerk handed her a copy of the order, and she left the courtroom.
Chapter 31
1 HOMAS FINK, FRESH FROM ANOTHER EXCITING FLIGHT from. Memphis, entered Foltrigg's office at four-thirty Friday afternoon. Wally Boxx sat like a faithful lapdog on the sofa, writing what Fink presumed to be another speech for their boss, or perhaps a press release for upcoming indictments. Roy's shoeless feet were on his desk and the phone was cradled on his shoulder. He was listening with his eyes closed. The day had been a disaster. Lamond had embarrassed him in a crowded courtroom. Roosevelt had failed to make the kid talk. He'd had it with judges.
Fink removed his jacket and sat down. Foltrigg ended his phone chat and hung up. "Where are the grand jury subpoenas?" he asked.
"I hand - delivered them to the U. S. marshal in Memphis, and gave him strict instructions not to serve them until he heard from you." Boxx left the sofa and sat next to Fink. It would be a shame if he were excluded from a conversation.
Roy rubbed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair. Frustrating, very frustrating. "So what's the kid gonna do, Thomas? You were there. You saw the kid's mother. You heard her voice. What's gonna happen?" "I don't know. It's obvious the kid has no plans to talk anytime soon. He and his mother are terrified. They've watched too much television, seen too many Mafia informants blown to bits. She's convinced they won't be safe in witness protection. She's really scared. The woman's been through hell this week." "That's real touching," Boxx mumbled.
"I have no choice but to use the subpoenas," Fol-trigg said gravely, pretending to be troubled by this thought. "They leave me no choice. We were fair and reasonable. We asked the youth court in Memphis to help us with the kid, and it simply has not worked. It's time we got these people down here, on our turf, in our courtroom, in front of our people, and made them talk. Don't you agree, Thomas?" Fink was not in full agreement. "Jurisdiction worries me. The kid is under the jurisdiction of the Juvenile Court up there, and I'm not sure what'll happen when he gets the subpoena." Roy was smiling. "That's right, but the court is closed for the weekend. We've done some research, and I think federal law supersedes state law on this one, don't you, Wally?" "I think so. Yes," said Wally.
"And I've talked to the marshal's office here. I've told them I want the boys in Memphis to pick the kid up tomorrow and bring him here so he can face the grand jury Monday. I don't think the locals in Memphis will interfere with the U. S. marshal's office. We've made arrangements to house him here in the juvenile wing at city jail. Should be a piece of cake." "What about the lawyer?" asked hmk. "You can't make her testify. If she knows anything, she learned it in the course of her representation of the kid. It's privileged." "Pure harassment," Foltrigg admitted with a smile. "She and the kid will be scared to death on Monday. We'll be calling the shots, Thomas." "Speaking of Monday. Judge Roosevelt wants us in his courtroom at noon." Roy and Wally had a good laugh at this. "He'll be a. lonely judge, won't he," Foltrigg said with a chuckle. "You, me, the kid, and the kid's lawyer will all be down here. What a fool." Fink did not join their laughter.
AT FIVE, DOREEN KNOCKED ON THE DOOR, AND RATTLED keys until it opened. Mark was on the floor playing checkers against himself, and immediately became a zombie. He sat on his feet, and stared at the checkerboard as if in a trance.
"Are you okay, Mark?" Mark didn't answer.
"Mark, honey, I'm really worried about you. I think I'll call the doctor. You might be going into shock, just like your little brother." He shook his head slowly, and looked at her -with mournful eyes. "No, I'm okay. I just need some rest." "Could you eat something?" "Maybe some pizza." "Sure, baby. I'll get one ordered. Look, honey, I get off duty in five minutes, but I'll tell Telda to watch you real close, okay. Will you be all right till I get back in the morning?" "Maybe," he moaned.
"Poor child. You got no business in here. ' "Ill make it."
TELDA WAS MUCH LESS CONCERNED THAN DOREEN. SHE checked on Mark twice. On her third visit to his room, around eight o'clock, she brought visitors. She knocked and opened the door slowly, and Mark was about to do his trance routine when he saw the two large men in suits.
"Mark, these men are U. S. marshals," Telda said nervously. Mark stood near the toilet. The room was suddenly tiny.
"Hi, Mark," said the first one. "I'm Vern Duboski, deputy U. S. marshal." His words were crisp and precise. A Yankee. But that was all Mark noticed. He was holding some papers.