He felt alone.
“So you weren’t present. Now, Mr. Moeller, how did you learn that the child refused to answer my questions about Barry Muldanno or Boyd Boyette?”
“I had a source.”
Grinder had never thought of himself as a source. He was just a low-paid courtroom bailiff with a uniform and a gun, and bills to pay. He was about to be sued by Sears for his wife’s credit card. He wanted to wipe the sweat from his forehead but was afraid to move.
“A source,” Harry repeated, mocking Slick. “Of course you had a source, Mr. Moeller. I assumed this. You weren’t here. Someone told you. This means you had a source. Now, who was your source?”
The lawyer with the grayest hair quickly stood to speak. He was dressed in standard big-firm attire— charcoal suit, white button-down, red tie but with a daring yellow stripe on it, and black shoes. His name was Alliphant. He was a partner who normally avoided courtrooms. “Your Honor, if I may.”
Harry grimaced, and he slowly turned from the witness. His mouth was open as if he were shocked at
this daring interruption. He scowled at Alliphant, wno repeated himself. “If I may, Your Honor.”
Harry let him hang there for an eternity, then said, “You haven’t been in my courtroom before, have you, Mr. Alliphant?”
“No sir,” he answered, still standing.
“I didn’t think so. Not one of your usual hangouts. How many lawyers are in your firm, Mr. Alliphant?”
“A hundred and seven, at last count.”
Harry whistled and shook his head. “That’s a buncha lawyers. Do any of them practice in Juvenile Court?”
“Well, I’m sure some do, Your Honor.”
“Which ones?”
Alliphant stuck one hand in one pocket while running a loose finger along the edge of his legal pad. He did not belong here. His legal world was one of boardrooms and thick documents, of fat retainers and fancy lunches. He was rich because he billed three hundred dollars an hour and had thirty partners doing the same. His firm prospered because it paid seventy associates fifty thousand a year and expected them to bill five times that. He was here ostensibly because he was chief counsel for the paper, but actually because no one in the firm’s litigation section could make the hearing on two hours’ notice.
Harry despised him, his firm, and their ilk. He did not trust the corporate types who came down from the tall buildings to mingle with the lower class only when necessary. They were arrogant and afraid to get their hands dirty.
“Sit down, Mr. Alliphant,” he said, pointing. “You do not stand in my courtroom. Sit.”
“Now what are you trying to say, Mr. Alliphant?”
“Well, Your Honor, we object to these questions, and we object to the court’s interrogation of Mr. Moeller on the grounds that his story is protected free speech under the First Amendment of the Constitution. Now—“
“Mr. Alliphant, have you read the applicable code section dealing with closed hearings in juvenile matters? Surely you have.”
“Yes sir, I have. And, frankly, Your Honor, I have some real problems with this section.”
“Oh you do? Go on.”
“Yes sir. It’s my opinion that this code section is unconstitutional as written. I have some cases here from other—“
“Unconstitutional?” Harry asked with raised eyebrows.
“Yes sir,” Alliphant answered firmly.
“Do you know who wrote the code section, Mr. Alliphant?”
Alliphant turned to his associate as if he knew everything. But he shook his head.
“I -wrote ‘it, Mr. Alliphant,” Harry said loudly. “Me. Moi. Yours truly. And if you knew anything about juvenile law in this state, you would know that I am the expert because I wrote the law. Now, what can you say about that?”
Slick slid down in his chair. He’d covered a thousand trials. He’d seen lawyers hammered by angry judges, and he knew their clients usually suffered.
“I contend it’s unconstitutional, Your Honor,” Alliphant said gallantly.
“And the last thing I intend to do, Mr. Alliphant,
is to get into a long, hot-air debate with you about tne First Amendment. If you don’t like the law, then take it up on appeal and get it changed. I honestly don’t care. But right now, while I’m missing lunch, I want your client to answer the question.” He turned back to Slick, who was waiting in terror. “Now, Mr. Moeller, who was your source?”
Grinder was about to vomit. He stuck his thumbs under his belt and pressed against his stomach. By reputation, Slick was a man of his word. He always protected his sources.
“I cannot reveal my source,” Slick said in an effort at