unexpected twitch in his eyes. This was obviously supposed to have been a slam- dunk lockdown of O’Shea with little objection by the overworked and uninvolved public defender.
“Mr. Cornheiser?” the judge said, maybe even enjoying the elevated banter in his otherwise dull morning.
“I, uh, again, Your Honor,” the prosecutor stumbled. “This was, sir, a brutal attack and the hospitalized victim, sir…”
“You’re repeating yourself, Mr. Cornheiser. Bail in the amount of ten thousand cash or bond,” the judge said, interrupting. He had been around long enough to know that when an attorney only had one leg to stand on, his only resort was to hop up and down on it.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Billy said, gathering his things.
“Thank you, Mr. Manchester,” the judge responded. “And I apologize, sir, for my earlier assumption, counselor.”
Billy bowed his head gracefully and walked across to where O’Shea was now sitting.
“We sh-shall have you out by noon,” he said, and I heard O’Shea thank him. As Billy turned to go the big man cuffed to O’Shea stopped him with his voice.
“You got a card, Mr. Attorney?” he said, holding out a hand the size of a dinner plate.
Billy looked down into the man’s face.
“I don’t do this kind of work,” he said dismissively and walked on.
Richards was waiting outside. She’d left after the judge announced bail. Her companion was gone. Her arms were crossed, lips pressed together. She was looking at the floor as we walked up and Billy excused himself before we reached her.
“I’m going to p-post O’Shea’s bail,” he said, heading for the lines. I went to face Richards alone.
“So, Max,” she said when I got within hearing distance. Her eyes were the color of steel.
“I really didn’t expect the two of you to double-team me in there. You must have done an exceptional sales job to convince Billy to stand up in front of a judge in person.”
She and Billy had been friendly when we were dating. She shared his love of sailing. She respected his genius and had never asked me once about his stutter. She was pissed. Still, I knew that my explanation was weak. How do you tell someone you think they’re wrong based on a gut feeling, a half-assed dealer theory and maybe a misplaced loyalty to a fellow cop?
“I hope you two can guarantee that he’s not going to put another woman at risk while he’s out roaming free,” she said.
I looked away from her eyes, then back.
“Look, Sherry. I respect what you’re doing,” I said. “I just think you’re wrong on this one.”
“No shit.”
I let her anger sit a few silent moments and maybe my own, too.
“Sherry,” I tried again. “You’ve shot and killed two men in the last couple of years, men who were abusing women. You were fully justified in both.”
“And saved your ass in one, Freeman,” she said, her arms still crossed.
“And saved my ass,” I agreed. “You’re also a solid investigator and I know you haven’t forgotten the rule to keep an open mind and consider all possibilities.”
She looked down and I could see she was holding her tongue, taking my words like an unwanted and condescending lecture. I took my chance and pressed on.
“Can you honestly say this mission you’re on hasn’t gotten in the way of your eye for other suspects?”
I’d meant to appeal to her professionalism and now I was questioning it.
“Freeman, I’ve been working this for months. I’ve dealt out the other possibilities. Christ, I even posed as a bartender to run a living, breathing lineup past myself every night. Your friend is the one that sticks out. He fits the profile, and yeah, it’s the profile I put together, but he’s right there. If he hadn’t made me as undercover, I might have gotten him to make a move or give up a piece of evidence. That didn’t happen, but I saw him in action.”
“OK,” I said. “How about someone you never saw in action? Someone who might fit your profile, but who would have bailed at the first sign or recognition of a cop?”
She finally looked me in the eyes.
“What the hell are you talking about, Max?”
“Suppose you’ve got over-the-counter drug dealing going on in a bar? The supplier is smart, he recruits the girls working as bartenders.”
I saw the head tilt start, the draw of exasperated breath.
“Just hear me out. OK?” I said. She relented and chewed on a corner of her lip.
“Suppose the supplier is smart enough to move these girls around, to different cities