CHAPTER FORTY
TWO DAYS LATER I was discharged and taken immediately by police car, courtesy of Officer Cheadle, to the Hinton Courthouse. There I was marched before a familiar face, Judge Armand Abovian. Only this time I was a defendant in a serious criminal case. And Sylvia Plotzske, my former adversary, was now my prosecutor.
Abovian looked at me from the bench and shook his head. “I must tell you, Mr. Denney, this is a sad day for the law.”
I nodded. What could I say? He was absolutely right.
“How do you plead?” he asked.
“Your Honor,” I said, “I think if you give me a moment to discuss this with the prosecutor, perhaps a disposition can be reached.”
Looking at Sylvia, Abovian said, “Is that all right with you, Ms. Plotzske?”
She shrugged. To me it looked like a practiced shrug, not entirely natural. “I can’t promise anything,” she said.
“Well, see what you can do. I’ll call the case again in a few minutes.”
I sat down at Sylvia’s table. “So,” I said, “how about I plead out to a misdemeanor and take my medicine? I want to enter a program. I know I need it.”
She shuffled some papers on the table. “I’m afraid not.”
“You’re going to push this as a felony?”
“Yes.” She did not look at me.
“But the guy was just observed and released,” I said, hitting on the main issue. Prosecutors have the discretion to charge drunk driving with injury as a misdemeanor and usually will if the victim’s injury is not too severe. “I was hurt worse than he was.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t deal on this one.”
That was more of an admission than she may have realized. “Is that the word from Tolletson?”
Once more, Sylvia busied herself with papers, file folders, and rubber bands.
“Sylvia!”
She jumped slightly and turned to me with a look of anger. “Don’t yell at me, Mr. Denney.”
“I just wanted to get your attention.” I also wanted to look her in the eye. Behind her thick lenses, the eyes were trying to avoid my gaze.
“I can’t do anything for you,” she said.
“You can, but you won’t.”
“I can’t.”
“You looked at me after the verdict,” I said quickly, holding steady on her face, watching for any kind of reaction. I got one surprise, but the sort of surprise when someone is caught in a lie.
Sylvia didn’t say anything, so I added, “After the guilty verdict, you looked at me in the courtroom. I remember it clearly. I could tell something. I could tell you weren’t comfortable about it.”
Trying to keep to her busywork, Sylvia said, “I have a bunch of cases to—”
“It’s true, isn’t it?” I was closing in like a good cross-examiner, sensing a crack in the barrier. “What aren’t you telling me, Sylvia?”
“Nothing.”
“I don’t believe that. We’re talking about a man’s life. Not just Howie Patino’s, but mine too.”
“I have to get back.”
“Sylvia, please!”
For a brief moment, I thought she would tell me. I thought, in my Perry Mason fantasy way, that she would gush forth with some dark truth. Just as quickly, the moment passed.
“I have nothing more to say to you,” Sylvia said as she stood up. She walked toward the side door where a beefy bailiff stood like a statue of Hercules.
I turned toward the gallery and saw Lindsay. I was surprised to see her and ashamed. But she just smiled and nodded at me. I went to the rail, and she came to meet me.
“What are you doing here?” I said.
“I heard you were being arraigned.”
“You came for that?”
“I had to check up on you. I gave you an assignment, remember?”
“Don’t you have to be at work?”
“We’re on break this week. Now, did you read the book, or didn’t you?”
“Sort of.”
“And?”
“I think you’re very clever.”
“Me?”
“Putting Pascal on my case.”
“He convince you yet?”
“Let’s just say he’s a worthy adversary.”
Lindsay smiled, and a warmth filled me. Then I heard my name called by Judge Abovian. I turned around. “Has the case been resolved?”
“No, Your Honor,” I said. “Miss Plotzske is being told to charge this as a felony.”
Sylvia immediately shot back, “Your Honor, I haven’t been told . . . I have the discretion here, and we are proceeding with a 23153 felony. Mr. Denney is free to plead guilty to that.”
“Mr. Denney?” Abovian said.
“Not guilty,” I said. “Let’s set it for trial.”
“Very well,” the judge answered and gave us a date to do our dance in court.
“Why did you plead not guilty?” Lindsay asked.
We were in the outer court of McDonald’s, where I had generously sprung for coffee.
“Because I’m not guilty,” I said, “of a felony.”
“But that’s what they’re charging you with.”
“It’s what they call a wobbler. Certain offenses can be charged as either a felony or a misdemeanor, depending on the circumstances and the discretion of the prosecutor. Usually if a victim goes to the hospital with a severe injury, they’ll go felony.”
“Didn’t that happen?”
“To
me
it did. But the guy I hit wasn’t hurt that bad. I think there’s something more going on here.”
Lindsay lifted her coffee cup with two hands. They looked soft yet strong. The bright, morning sun hit her red hair and made it shine. “Thank you for coming,” I said. “I didn’t expect it.”
“You know something? I didn’t expect it either.”
We looked at each other for a beat, and I almost reached out for her. But I held back, as if I didn’t have the right to touch her.
“Would you mind telling me something?” I asked.
“Sure.”
“Why the effort with me?”
A faint blush came to her cheeks, turning soft white to pink. “For Howie, for his appeal. You’ll handle that, won’t you?”
To that point I hadn’t planned on it. I said, “Of course. Is that all?”
“I do care about you, Jake. And maybe I can help in all this.”
“How?”
“You know I believe Howie’s case has had spiritual overtones from the start. You don’t see it. You resist it. Now Howie’s in jail for something he didn’t do.”
That was like a blow to the stomach. She hadn’t meant to accuse me of incompetence, but it felt like the same thing.
“What I want to do is help you see,” she said. “There is more to this, and whoever killed Rae is still out there.”
“What do you mean by
more?”
“What I’ve always told you. Dark power. I’m sure of it.”
For a moment I paused, a part of me still resisting her. But it was a weaker resistance than before, and I overcame it by sheer force of will. I no longer wanted to resist. I wanted Lindsay.
Suddenly she reached out and took my hand. It was warm, soft, and comforting. “Let’s work on this together,” she said.
A feeling of peace filled me then. I felt myself falling into a place I had never been, but wanting to fall.Before I made a fool out of myself with some sort of starry look, Lindsay said, “Do you want to hear my plan?”