Nik Kane Alaska Mystery - 02 - Capitol Offense (15 page)

K
ane walked thoughtfully up the hill to the court building. He cleared security, sat, removed his ice grippers, and put them into his pocket.

All this putting them on and taking them off, he thought. I guess this isn’t a very practical solution to the ice problem.

He looked at the directory and found the courtroom. It was small, with only three rows of wooden benches for spectators. The benches were nearly full, and almost everyone on them looked like a reporter of some sort. The man Kane had shoved around the day before gave him a hard look. Kane responded with a big smile and took a seat in the back, squeezing between a pair of old-timers who looked like regulars. One of them was sitting on a padded seat she’d brought along, and the other had a yellow pad balanced on one knee and a pen in his hand. Every courthouse Kane had ever been in had its regulars, older people who used up their days watching the real-life dramas that played out in courtrooms.

“Courtroom always this full?” he asked the woman.

The woman shook her head.

“Nope,” she said. “Most days it’s just me and Herman there, maybe some family members or friends. But this is a big case. Murder, and it’s political, too.”

Doyle was sitting at a table inside the low railing that separated the spectators from the actors. A tall, dark-haired man and a short, stout woman with flyaway hair sat at the other table. The jury box was empty. A woman sat at a desk next to the judge’s dais, fiddling with paperwork. She looked up at the clock on the wall, then at the lawyers.

“Are we ready for the defendant?” she asked.

The lawyers nodded, and she pushed a button on her desk. Matthew Hope came through a side door, wearing handcuffs and an orange jumpsuit. The orange suit would make him stand out better if he made a break for it. He was accompanied by a state trooper wearing a flak vest. Camera shutters clicked. The trooper herded him into the seat next to Doyle. He leaned over and removed Hope’s handcuffs, then walked back to the door he’d come through and leaned against the wall.

The woman at the desk looked around, nodded to the lawyers, and pushed another button. The door behind her opened and a short, frizzy-headed guy in a black robe walked into the room. The woman and the lawyers and the spectators got to their feet.

“Superior court in and for the state of Alaska is now in session, the Honorable Gerald Sellers presiding,” the woman said.

“That’s funny,” the woman next to Kane whispered. “This is supposed to be old Judge Ritter’s courtroom.”

The judge mounted some steps and sat down on the dais.

“Please be seated,” he said, looking around the room.

“He’s a good one,” the woman whispered to Kane, “not one of these political hacks.”

The man on the other side of Kane was writing furiously on the legal pad in what looked like pictographs. He muttered quietly to himself as he wrote.

“The first case is
State of Alaska v. Hope,
a charge of murder in the second degree, petition for bail,” the clerk said.

“Mr. Doyle,” the judge said, looking at Oil Can, “how would the defense like to proceed?”

Doyle got to his feet.

“Your Honor,” he said, “my client is a member of the Alaska State Senate, a man without a criminal record, and the state has not seen fit to bring its case to a grand jury. We request release on his own recognizance.”

Doyle sat down.

The dark-haired man and the woman had been whispering furiously during Doyle’s remarks.

“Mr. Davies?” the judge said.

The pair continued whispering.

“Who are the other lawyers?” Kane asked the woman.

“The guy is Bob Davies,” she said. “He’s an assistant district attorney who tries lots of cases here. But I don’t know the woman.”

“Mr. Davies?” the judge said sharply.

The dark-haired man got slowly to his feet.

“Sorry, Your Honor,” he said. “We were expecting Judge Ritter.”

The judge nodded.

“Judge Ritter is ill and I’ve been assigned to take his cases today,” he said.

“Old sot’s probably got the brown bottle flu,” the woman whispered.

The dark-haired man shuffled some papers on the table in front of him.

“Your Honor,” he said, “the state has substantial evidence linking the defendant to this crime and expects DNA evidence that is being processed now to provide more. We anticipate going to the grand jury soon, and ask that he be held in custody until then.”

Doyle was on his feet like he’d been shot from a cannon. The judge held up his hand.

“I’ll hear from you in a moment, Mr. Doyle,” the judge said. “Now, then, did I hear you correctly, Mr. Davies? The state wants to keep Senator Hope here in jail because it might have more evidence that might result in an indictment?”

The dark-haired man shifted from one foot to the other and looked at the woman sitting next to him.

“Well, Your Honor, it’s more than that,” he said. “The defendant was found with the body and—”

The judge cut him off.

“I’ve read the file, Mr. Davies,” he said. You could have used the tone in his voice to cut diamonds. “Is that all you’ve got?”

The dark-haired man looked at the woman again.

“Mr. Davies,” the judge said, “are you in charge of this case or not?”

The dark-haired man looked at the judge.

“Well,” he said hesitantly, “yes, Your Honor, I am.”

“Then,” the judge said, “who is this woman who is so clearly giving you orders?”

“Your Honor,” the dark-haired man said.

“Don’t ‘Your Honor’ me,” the judge said. “Kindly identify your associate. I don’t like strangers in my court.”

The dark-haired man said, “This is Miss Talia Dufresne, Your Honor.”

“See?” the judge said. “That wasn’t so hard. Does Ms. Dufresne work for the district attorney’s office?”

The dark-haired man seemed to be squirming now.

“No, Your Honor,” he said.

There was a moment of silence.

“Well,” the judge said, “what’s she doing here, then?”

More silence.

“Mr. Davies,” the judge said, his voice heavy with warning.

“Ms. Dufresne works for the governor’s office,” the dark-haired man said. “She’s here observing.”

That set the spectators buzzing. Photographers tried to get a better angle on the woman, and the clicking of their cameras joined the hubbub.

“Your Honor,” Oil Can squeaked.

The judge held up his hand again.

“Not yet, Mr. Doyle,” he said, “I think I can handle this one. You spectators, please be quiet.”

The noise stopped.

“Is Ms. Dufresne a part of the prosecution team, then, Mr. Davies?” the judge asked.

The dark-haired man squirmed some more.

“Well, not exactly, Your Honor,” he said. “She’s more of an advisor.”

The judge nodded.

“If your presentation here is based on her advice, Mr. Davies, I’d tell you to get a new advisor,” the judge said. “You and I and everyone else in this courtroom know that Senator Hope is entitled to bail as a matter of settled constitutional law in Alaska, unless you can show the most unusual and exigent circumstances. Can you do that?”

The dark-haired man shook his head.

“No, Your Honor,” he said.

“Then sit down,” the judge snapped.

The dark-haired man sat. The judge turned to look at Oil Can.

“Mr. Doyle,” he said, “I am releasing your client on his own recognizance—”

The dark-haired jumped to his feet.

“Your Honor—” he began.

“One. More. Word. Mr. Davies,” the judge rapped, “and you will be taking Senator Hope’s place in jail on a contempt charge. You had your chance, and you blew it. Now. Sit. Down.”

The dark-haired man sank into his chair.

“As I was saying, Mr. Doyle,” the judge said, “I’m releasing your client OR, with the understanding that you will produce him for all pertinent court proceedings.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Oil Can squeaked.

“The bailiff will take the defendant to be processed for release,” the judge said. “Now, I want to see opposing council in my chambers. Mr. Davies, be sure to bring your advisor with you. Court is in recess for fifteen minutes.”

The judge dropped the gavel, got to his feet, and went through the door behind the bench. Oil Can, Davies, and the woman followed. The trooper came and took Hope out the side door.

“I’ve been watching the courts for a dozen years now,” the woman said, “and I’ve never seen nothing like that. I wouldn’t want to be Davies right now. I’ll bet the judge is chewing him a new one.”

“Got that right,” the man said, lowering his pencil. “When they say fifteen minutes, they mean at least a half hour. Let’s go get coffee, Emma.”

The three of them filed out of the courtroom behind the other spectators. The two court-watchers went off together, talking. Kane took a seat in the lobby. The reporters formed up near the door, the better to ambush the lawyers when they came out. After a few minutes, a young guy with wild hair detached himself from the group of reporters and walked over to sit next to him. He had a notebook and pen in his hands.

“I’m with the Anchorage paper,” he said, “and I understand that you’re working for the defense. Any comment on what happened in there?”

Kane shook his head.

“Nope,” he said. “You’ll have to wait for Oil Can.”

“How about your investigation?” the reporter said. “Found out anything new?”

Kane shook his head.

“Really,” he said, “you’re going to have to talk to either the senator or his lawyer. I’m not authorized to comment.”

The reporter nodded.

“Fair enough,” he said. “Here’s my card, in case you do want to talk to me.”

He got to his feet and started back, stopped, turned, and said, “I’m not some tabloid guy. I didn’t just parachute in. I cover the legislature full-time. If you ever have anything for me, I’ll play it straight.”

With that he returned to the group of reporters. Kane slid his card into a pocket and watched the reporter walk away. When he got back to the group, he shook his head.

Time passed. Doyle, the prosecutor, Davies, and the woman from the governor’s office came out of the courtroom in a clump. Davies and the woman brushed past the reporters, the prosecutor heading for the elevator and the woman going out the door and across the street to the Capitol. Oil Can stopped and said, “Here’s what I’ve got for you.”

The reporters gathered around.

“In nearly thirty years of practicing law in this state,” Oil Can said, the squeak somehow absent from his voice, “I have never seen such a blatantly political attempt to interfere in the criminal justice system. Governor Hiram Putnam has made a grave error, and I hope you make him answer for it. I’m sure you’ve all seen Sean here’s story in this morning’s Anchorage paper about the governor taking over the investigation and not questioning certain political allies. That and today’s charade raise serious questions about the state’s reasons for prosecuting Senator Hope, and I’m confident that he will be found innocent on all charges, because he is innocent. Thank you.”

The reporters spouted questions, but Oil Can walked away from them. Kane got up and followed him, catching up with the lawyer on the sidewalk when he stopped to button his topcoat.

“Well?” Kane said.

Doyle’s face was split by what looked like a genuine grin.

“Talk about your gifts from God,” the lawyer said, hopping from foot to foot with glee. “Ritter is half asleep most of the time, and the time he’s awake he’s a member of the old boys’ club who will put up with practically anything from the prosecution. So drawing Sellers instead was a great piece of luck.

“And I can’t imagine what the governor was thinking, although he’s such a dunce maybe he doesn’t think. But our client gets out of jail free, and the prosecution looks like it’s politically motivated. On top of the story about the investigation in this morning’s paper, the prosecution is looking very suspect. And I think Davies is going to need first aid for the tongue-lashing the judge gave him. All in all, a good day.”

“What about Hope?” Kane asked.

“What about him?” Doyle said.

“What’s he going to do now?” Kane asked.

“My understanding is that he’ll process out and go back to his job in the state Senate,” Doyle said, “although he’ll have to have the guts of a burglar to walk back into that place and try to get anything done.”

He looked at his watch.

“I’m scheduled to fly back to Anchorage this afternoon,” he said. “Nothing much happens here on the weekends, and I’ve got some matters that might keep me there until Tuesday or Wednesday. Why don’t we get together after lunch and talk about how we want to proceed?”

“Fine with me,” Kane said. “I’ve got one or two things to talk to you about anyway.”

The lawyer walked away. Kane stood on the sidewalk looking up at the mountainside above the town. It was steep and heavily wooded, the next thing to wilderness a short climb away. His “hangover” was mostly gone, but he felt logy and out of sorts. He walked back to the hotel and got directions to a gym from the doorman. Taking some workout gear from his room, he walked to the gym, paid a fee, changed clothes, and went into the exercise room. At midmorning most of the people using it were women in spandex.