Little Deadly Things (16 page)

“Thank you, Judge. In that case, the People call William Stevens.” Stevens was one of the two police officers who witnessed Coogan’s attack on Rozen and Ecco’s subsequent assault. Eyes turned to a door at the rear of the courtroom, expecting to see the officer appear. The door stayed closed.

The bailiff reappeared and told the judge. “Mr. Coogan did not arrive. The defense witnesses are outside but none of the prosecution witnesses are here.”

Doyle’s ruddy cheeks drained of color. He looked up at Judge McClincy and spoke, “Judge, all of my witnesses are supposed to be here. There must be a minor mix-up. May I have a brief recess to get this straightened out?”

“Five minutes. Please have your witnesses when we reconvene. The jury will remain.”

McClincy gaveled the session to a halt and then returned to his chamber, but not before offering a dark look at the prosecutor whose temerity interfered with His Honor’s schedule. Three hundred seconds later Judge McClincy returned. The bailiff called the session back to order. McClincy turned to the prosecutor and asked, “Are you ready to continue, Mr. Doyle?”

“Your Honor, may I approach?”

Permission granted. Doyle and the public defender rose and approached the bench. Doyle was subdued. “Judge, the witnesses appear to have been sent to a different court. Somehow a change of venue order was entered in error and my witnesses were sent to Franklin County.”

“Not good, Mr. Doyle. How did a Suffolk County prosecutor manage to send three witnesses to a court ninety-one miles from here?”

“I don’t know, Judge. We’re still looking into the matter. May I ask for a continuance?”

“Do you at least have statements from the witnesses?” asked the judge.

“Of course. May I present those?”

“If you don’t, I’m guessing that the defense here will ask for a dismissal.”

Doyle walked to the prosecutor’s table and conferred with the second chair, his assistant. Doyle’s demeanor changed from confident to frantic as he subvocalized commands to his datasleeve. He checked an index of documents and blanched.

Doyle’s pinstriped suit pulled the reluctant prosecutor to face the bench. The perfect Windsor knot was askew. Once again he asked permission to approach, and once again the public defender accompanied Doyle to speak with His Honor.

“Judge, it appears that the witness statements are not available.”

“Not available now...or not available ever?”

“The written statements were destroyed in error, Your Honor, and the backup is gone. If I could have a postponement...”

The public defender showed his first signs of life. He was overmatched, but understood the most basic tenet of criminal defense. No evidence? No victim? No witness? No case. He called for a dismissal.

“I’m inclined to grant the defense motion,”

“Your Honor! The defense request is outrageous. The People have spent days preparing for this case. If you can give us a continuance, we can reassemble the testimony and get the witnesses into court.”

McClincy glared at Doyle. “As I recall, you refused a plea bargain offer from the defense. No counteroffer, either. Do I remember correctly?”

“Yes, Judge.”

“I don’t like trials. They interfere with justice. Too inefficient. And now you want a continuance? You reap what you sow, Mr. Doyle.”

“Your Honor. Mr. Coogan deserves justice.”

“Chambers, both of you,” McClincy snapped. He looked up and addressed the court. “We’re going to take a recess here for, let’s say, fifteen minutes. Bailiff, please escort the jury out. Ladies and gentlemen, remember not to discuss the case. We’ll call you back when we’re ready to reconvene.” The jury turned a piteous glance on Doyle, their fallen hero. They rent their garments, covered themselves in ash, and wailed in grief.

McClincy turned to the defense. “Mr. Ecco, I’m going to have a little chat with your attorney and Mr. Doyle. Would you be kind enough to join us?”

Without waiting for an answer, McClincy walked behind his bench and through a door leading to his chambers. Dark wood-paneled shelves accommodated photographs of His Honor’s family. The walls were papered in a
trompe I’oeil
image of books—codes, statutes, ordinances, decisions—an artist’s notion of a jurist’s sanctuary during the gaudy age of paper. Maroon pile carpet finished the effect, a gentlemen’s club. McClincy gestured to a pair of adjoining leather chairs for the attorneys. Jim looked around for a chair. There wasn’t one. He stood. A court police officer stood at his elbow, ready to pounce, ready to protect the assembled officials of the court.

“Mr. Ecco, there are a few details that puzzle me. Help me make sense of them.”

“Your Honor?”

“Mr. Ecco, our SETS system is about ten years old. That’s the Safe Evidence and Testimony Storage system. Evidence is stockpiled electronically. It removes the delays in handling evidence and documents. That ensures that you get a speedy trial. SETS hasn’t lost one byte of data in all of the years it’s been in existence, at least that I know of. Mr. Doyle, have you lost any evidence before today?”

“None, Your Honor.”

“Mr. Goodrich, are you aware of any lapses in SETS?” McClincy asked the public defender. “No, Judge.”

“So, Mr. Ecco, the likelihood that the People’s electronic and hard copy statements were destroyed
and
the witnesses were sent elsewhere is a bit lower than the likelihood that Mr. Doyle here will show up in Bermuda shorts instead of his usual pinstripes. Add the fact that the defense evidence is intact and your witnesses are here. Would you care to speculate on the odds?”

“If you think I had anything to do with it, you’re wrong. There are smarter people accused of bigger crimes who have more ability to tamper with evidence.”

“I agree, or we would be having a different conversation. Still there are just too many coincidences, and that bothers me. Mr. Doyle, has your office figured out what happened?”

“Judge, it appears that there was a similar case and a defendant with almost the same name, Jaime Eccles. He was charged with assault and battery with a deadly weapon, same as Mr. Ecco. That case was dismissed. Because of the dismissal, the witness statements were to be deleted. But that order was applied to this case in error.”

“What about your witnesses? The policemen? The victim?” asked the judge.

“I don’t know why they were sent to Franklin County. There was no change of venue in the Eccles case.”

“Can you at least tell me how it happened?”

“As far as I can tell, the instructions were issued by the datapillar. That’s all I know.”

Jim’s eyes widened at the mention of the datapillar. The attorneys were silent, pensive, waiting. The judge looked around his chambers as if the solution would be found on the fanciful walls. He fixed his gaze on Jim and drummed the fingers of his right hand on his desk, slow and light at first. The cadence moved from andante to moderato to a vigorous presto. Finally, agitato, and crescendo. Then silence.

“Mr. Ecco, every night, I review the next day’s docket. Your case was straightforward. The victim attacked your friend and you defended her. Fine. But when her assailant was immobilized, you kicked him. That’s the assault, which was witnessed by two policemen. I was prepared to sentence you to two and a half years in the House of Corrections. The sentence is severe, but you’ve been in court before, haven’t you?”

“I have a clean record, Your Honor.”

“Mr. Ecco, that was a ‘yes’ or ‘no ‘question. Again. You have appeared in court on three occasions, including this one, correct? And each of your visits came about because you have a bit of a temper, yes?”

“Uh, yes, sir.”

“And, in each case, you...how shall I put this? You
whaled
on your adversary. I believe that’s the term I’m looking for. Is that right Sean? Whaled?” Doyle nodded. Whatever His Honor proposed was right.

“Your Honor, I defended myself.”

McClincy took in a deep breath. His cheeks puffed as he exhaled through pursed lips. He spoke slowly, as if addressing a child. “Mr. Ecco, you have a temper. It is out of control. You have a habit of breaking bones. If any of the People’s evidence were intact, you would be the County’s guest for the next few years. I will not let you off because of a mix-up.

“Here is your choice. I can grant Mr. Doyle’s request for a continuance, or I will allow your attorney and Mr. Doyle to reach an agreement. Mr. Doyle, how about disorderly conduct? Keep your nice conviction rate intact?”

“The People would accept that, Judge.”

“Defense?”

“We would accept disorderly, Your Honor, and request probation.”

“Mr. Doyle?”

“No, Your Honor, Mr. Ecco committed a grievous crime. He—”

“Oh, knock it off, Sean. This isn’t the courtroom and I’m not a jury. You wanted a conviction. Now you’ve got one. I want him on probation so I can force some changes on him.”

“Community service, Judge?” requested Doyle.

“My thoughts exactly.”

The magistrate turned to the defendant. “Mr. Ecco, if you plead guilty to disorderly, you’ll have a misdemeanor criminal record. You’ll be on probation, which means you’ll be under the court’s supervision. But it also means that you’ll walk out of here today.”

“I understand, your Honor.”

“I’m also going to order you to perform 120 hours of community service.”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Jim exhaled a deep sigh of relief.

“Mr. Ecco, we’re not quite done. As part of the plea deal, I am ordering you to take mood blocks or to enroll in anger management counseling. I am serious and I do not lose track of witnesses or defendents. Do I make myself eminently clear?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“I’m placing you under the court’s supervision for the next two years. If I see you in my court or hear that you are visiting any of my colleagues, you will serve time. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Good. Mr. Ecco, please make some arrangements with a physician or a mental health worker. You have ten days to present a treatment plan to this court. Do you have any questions?”

Ecco thought for a moment. His lips parted to reveal a slight smile. “Yes, Your Honor.”

“What is it?” McClincy asked, annoyed.

Ecco drew in a breath. “Your Honor, will you marry me?”

“What!”

“I said, ‘Will you marry me?’”

McClincy stared, disbelief painted across his face. Doyle winced, and then smirked. McClincy spoke with quiet menace. “Do you think you’re funny? Are you a comedian now?”

“No, Your Honor, I’m sorry.” Jim raised both hands in a stop gesture. The bailiff grabbed the back of Jim’s shirt and pulled him back a step. He continued, “I didn’t mean, ‘Will you marry me’ as in, ‘Will you be my spouse.’ Please. My girlfriend is sitting outside the courtroom. She’s pregnant with our child. We put off getting married because we thought I’d be in prison. I want to do the right thing for her and for our baby. That’s what I meant. I should have said, ‘will you marry us.’ My trial was supposed to last the morning, and now it’s over. So, there’s time. We’ve got a friend here for a witness, and, well, you’re a judge.”

“Do you have a wedding license?” asked McClincy.

“Not yet, sir, but the clerk’s office is just down the hall. I’m serious, Your Honor. This trial has been hanging over our heads for months, and every day I’ve thought about what I did and regretted hurting Mr. Coogan. I’m turning my life around and I want to be there for my family. Please, help me.”

McClincy shook his head slowly. “Well, I have managed to dispose of two-hour trial in less than thirty minutes, so if your lady wants to be married in a criminal courtroom, then be back here with a license and I’ll marry you after the next case.”

Outside the courtroom, the three friends celebrated. Marta threw her arms around Jim as far as her gravid belly would allow and then winced. Impending motherhood buoyed her spirits but burdened her legs. Eva appeared indifferent.

Jim hugged each of the women who had supported him during his ordeal. To Eva, he whispered, “Neat trick. Thank you.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Only you could have done it. How can I ever thank you?”

“Take me with you the next time you go hunting.”

“Eva, there won’t be a next time,” and he explained what the judge ordered. “There is one other thing,” said Jim. He turned to Eva. She saw a look of entreaty in his eyes. “Marta and I need to stay here for another hour or so. There’s one more legal matter and I need your help.”

“What’s going on?” asked Marta.

Jim’s knelt before her and took both of her hands in his. She colored. There was a small cluster of people in the hallway, attorneys hammering out deals, fates being cast. Their voices grew quiet as their attention was drawn to the scene unfolding nearby.

“Marta, you’ve been my rock for eight years. We have a future in front of us now and I want the best life for our baby. The judge agreed to marry us. To each other, that is.”

No one spoke. No one breathed.

“I’m asking you to marry me,” Jim said.

The hallway was as silent as a library at midnight.