of a minor child under the age of twelve, battery of a law enforcement officer and attempted escape.”
Although they had endured the earlier exchanges without reaction, the rest of the arrested men all leaned forward or back to catch a look at Oglethorpe like rubberneckers at a car wreck along the road. O’Shea maintained his stoic composure, though I could see the muscle rippling in his jaw at the effort.
The judge had removed his reading glasses and looked out, no doubt, at the two men.
“Do you understand these charges against you, Mr. Oglethorpe?”
“Yes, sir,” the big man said. “Public defender please, sir.”
The judge looked over at the left table.
“Have at it, Mr. Marsh.”
The lawyer spoke briefly with Oglethorpe while O’Shea stood alongside, looking back to me. He picked up on someone behind me and for the first time he let a look of hatred slip momentarily into his eyes. I did not turn. I knew the target of that look.
The public defender returned to his table and made a monotone and professionally required request of bail for Oglethorpe. The prosecutor stood, shrugged his shoulders and the judge ordered the suspect remanded to jail without bond until a future court date without discussion.
O’Shea and his cuffmate sat for sixty seconds until the clerk called: “O’Shea, Colin.”
“The charge, Mr. O’Shea, is aggravated assault,” the judge said, looking down at the paperwork.
I watched Billy as he stood and buttoned his suit coat. Professional. Back straight. Chin up. Only I would notice the twitch in his Adam’s apple, the flaw that I knew he was fighting, the voice that both he and I knew would fail him.
“William Manchester r-representing M-Mr. O’Shea,” Billy said.
The judge again looked up over his glasses at Billy, taking him in.
“Yes, well. Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Manchester. Welcome to magistrate’s court,” the judge said. “No need to be nervous, son.
Billy did not move his eyes from the judge’s face. The twitch in his neck went quiet.
“With all due r-respect, Your Honor,” he said, “I am not nervous.”
They both paused; something was being said between their eyes. Then Billy continued.
“Your Honor, we are requesting that M-Mr. O’Shea be released on his own recognizance at th-this time.
“Mr. O’Shea is employed, Your Honor, as a s-security officer for the Navarro Group, sir. A steady job he has held for nearly three years. He is n-not a flight risk.”
Billy was fighting the stutter, commendably, I thought. But my ear was as a friend.
“Mr. Cornheiser?” the judge said, looking to the prosecutor.
“Your Honor, uh, the suspect’s victim, Mr. Robert Hix, sir, was brutally beaten. He is still hospitalized with several broken ribs and as yet undetermined internal injuries. He has identified Mr. O’Shea in a photo array as his attacker. The victim’s blood, Your Honor, was found on the suspect’s boots, which were confiscated at the defendant’s apartment during the execution of a search warrant signed by Judge Lewis, sir.”
Both lawyers were playing the game, dropping names in an attempt to influence. Navarro was a respected former sheriff who ran a large security firm. Judge Lewis was probably a golfing partner of the sitting judge.
“The state asks that the suspect be held in remand, Your Honor,” the prosecutor said, stealing a glance toward the back of the room.
“Evidence of a capital crime involving Mr. O’Shea is continuing to be collected by detectives, Your Honor, and the state is convinced that he may be an extreme danger to the public.”
Billy jumped on the prosecutor’s move.
“Your honor, I see n-no reference to another, m-more serious charge in this arrest document. Mr. O’Shea in fact has n-never been arrested. In Florida nor in any other j-jurisdiction,” he said. “In addition, the st-state knows that the mere possibility of an additional charge has n-no bearing on this proceeding and has no legal justification in even being raised.”
The judge nodded, as if saying “I knew that,” and looked over to the prosecutor, who was stalling by shuffling through paper.
“Furthermore, sir,” Billy continued, “I have in court this m- morning a witness to the assault charge now in question, a licensed private investigator, Your Honor, whose presence at the time of the alleged c-crime is documented by police reports and who has signed an affidavit stating that both he and Mr. O’Shea were the ones attacked by the alleged victim and his brother and thus forced to defend themselves.”
The prosecutor followed the direction of Billy’s pointed hand and when he looked at me I could see the flicker of an