car as I drove back to St. Monica’s, taking Topanga all the way, trying to sort through what Fayette would mean to the trial, if anything. The marital-trouble angle would support Eric’s story about being with another woman, but wouldn’t do anything to establish time or place for an alibi.
Besides, the jury probably wouldn’t like her, and you don’t want them disliking your wits. Bad for the overall case.
I thought about Eric’s marriage. Why had it gone sour? Was it inevitable?
I wondered what I’d be like right now if everything had gone according to plan, and I’d married Jacqueline. I’d still be at Gunther, McDonough pulling down hefty bucks. I’d be a different person, too.
So who was I now? Somebody who’d gotten knocked around by some bad people. I knew I was not going to let that happen again. I would strike first and ask questions later. I liked my head in one piece.
Would I keep it that way up at St. Monica’s?
Something told me I wasn’t going to last up there much longer.
55
THURSDAY MORNING, ERIC Richess was arraigned in Division 30, the felony arraignment court, fifth floor of the Foltz Building downtown. Sister Mary and I arrived at 8:35 and I showed her around the place.
It used to be called the Criminal Courts Building, or CCB, and many of the lawyers who practice down here still call it that. The city had renamed it for Clara Shortridge Foltz, the first woman admitted to the practice of law in California.
I wondered what Clara would have thought of Kimberly Pincus.
Then we went up to Division 30 for the festivities.
Kate Richess was waiting on a wood bench outside the courtroom. She looked like the rest of the multi-cultured family members scattered around the hall. Tense. Uncertain. Half suspecting the wheels of justice to be more like the Jaws of Life—cutting, crushing, grinding.
She stood and greeted us each with an embrace. Sister Mary took her by the arm and sat down with her. It looked like they were going to pray.
So I went inside to wait.
I knew the courtroom well. I had been arraigned myself here once. I knew what it was like to be stuck in the box where Eric now sat in his prison jumper.
They knew me here, too. The same commissioner was on the bench. Commissioner K, as he was known. Kenneth Khachatoorian. He still looked like he should be playing second clarinet in the high school band.
Kate and Sister Mary came in and sat in the back row. I nodded at them and waited as the arraignment calendar meandered along.
When K finally called Eric’s case and I stated my appearance, he smiled. “Well, well, well,” he said. “If it isn’t the celebrity.”
Of course, when he said that, all the other activity stopped at the DA and PD tables, where the churning of files was going on.
“Nice to see you again, Commissioner,” I said. “Under better circumstances.”
“How right you are. You’re doing criminal now?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“I guess you can relate to your clients, huh?”
Some chuckles from the DA side.
“Right you are,” I said. “Speaking of which, my client is right over there, Mr. Eric Richess. We waive a reading of the complaint and statement of rights. Ready to plead.”
Commissioner K looked at Eric, who was standing in the box. “Mr. Richess, has your lawyer explained the charges against you?”
“Yeah,” Eric said.
“Do you understand your constitutional rights?”
“I think so.”
“Did your lawyer explain them to you?”
“I think so.”
I winced. Commissioner K winced, too. We were like synchronized swimmers.
“Let’s not think so, shall we?” Commissioner K said. “You are presumed to be innocent until proven guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. Do you understand that?”
“Yeah.”
“You have the right to a speedy trial. You have the right to a preliminary hearing ten court days from now. If you are held to answer, any information must be filed within fifteen days, and a trial sixty days after it is so filed, unless you agree to waive time. Do you understand those rights?”
“Sure.”
“Are you ready to enter a plea?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re charged with violation of Penal Code Section 187, one count of murder. How do you plead?”
“Not guilty,” Eric said.
“All right, let’s set this for preliminary hearing.”
I looked at the arraignment deputy for the DA’s office. He was looking at his PDA.
“We are not going to waive time,” I said, and watched the DDA’s face go into spasm.
“Well then,” Commissioner K said, “since I just told your client about his rights, we’ve got ten court days. Bail is five