A Spark of Light(61)

“Hello, Beth,” he said. “I’m Assistant District Attorney Willie Cork. How are you doing?”

She looked from this man to the cop, and then her eyes settled on the stenographer, a woman. When she was little and had to go pee, her father used to ask a woman to take her into the ladies’ room. He used to say if she ever felt like she needed help, she should find someone who looked like a good mother.

Which, she realized with a shock, disqualified Beth herself.

Maybe he was her lawyer. She had asked for one. She wasn’t quite sure how that worked. “Hello,” Beth said softly, and at that moment, the door flew open again and a small tornado cycled in. She was tiny and Black and the air crackled around her.

“Your pasty manhood might get you a pass in just about everything in this country, Willie, but even you know better than this. You don’t get to talk to my client without representation present.”

“Such a warm welcome, Counselor,” the ADA drawled. “Guess you’ve missed me.”

“Willie, when it comes to you, a tiny bit goes a long way. Like arsenic. Or nuclear fallout.” She glanced down at the hospital bed. “My name is Mandy DuVille, I’m your public defender. You’re Beth, yes?”

Beth nodded.

“Okay, Beth. Do not talk to anyone unless I’m present, understand?” She faced the prosecutor. “Why are you even here? Don’t you have bigger things to do? Like passing a bogus voter ID law or gerrymandering the districts before your next election …”

“Officer Raymond here called me down to the scene, and rightly so,” Willie Cork said. “I have never seen anything so disturbing in all my years serving Lady Justice. We had an arrest warrant within the hour.”

Mandy slid a glance toward the cop at the door. “Nathan,” she greeted.

“Cuz,” he said.

The prosecutor handed Mandy a file. “Knock yourself out,” he said, and Beth’s lawyer opened the folder and began to read, her eyes flying back and forth.

“Self-abortion,” Mandy read. “Pills?” Her lawyer snapped the folder shut and focused her gaze on Beth’s handcuffed wrist, awkwardly balanced on the rail. “She’s a child. Maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet. Is that really necessary?” she asked Willie.

“This woman is a murderer,” the prosecutor said.

“Alleged murderer.”

Beth’s eyes darted from person to person. It was like they were playing tennis, and she was the ball being volleyed back and forth. She shifted, jingling the chain on her wrist. “I didn’t—”

“Stop talking,” Mandy interrupted loudly, holding up her palm. “Nathan,” she asked, “can I please lean over and whisper to my client for a moment of confidentiality?”

“That’s Officer Raymond to you,” Nathan said, “and no. You’ll stay two feet away from the defendant at all times.”

The public defender rolled her eyes. “Beth, I need you to tell me if you understand what the state is saying you did. Not whether or not you actually did it.”

Beth blinked at Mandy, utterly confused.

“Okay. I’m going to enter a not guilty plea on your behalf, and waive the bail argument until you’re released from here and transported to the prison.”

Beth’s jaw dropped. “Prison?”

Just then, the door to the room opened and a hospital security guard crammed himself inside, followed by a bailiff who was easily seventy and another man who changed the entire tone in the room. Immediately, both lawyers stood a little straighter. The cop put his hand on his weapon and wedged himself between Beth and the judge; the other security guard pushed Mandy further away from Beth to clear a path. “She’s not Charlie Manson,” Mandy murmured.

“All rise,” the bailiff announced, and Beth looked down at her legs in the hospital bed. “The Honorable Judge Pinot of the Third Circuit Judicial District Court.”

The prosecutor offered Pinot an oily smile. “Your Honor,” he said. “Did I hear that you shot under eighty last week at the country club?”

“None of your damn business, Cork,” the judge muttered. “I hate hospital arraignments.” He stared down at the only chair in the room, which was occupied by the stenographer. “Is there not another seat?”

“There isn’t much room in here,” the bailiff said.

“Maybe we make some by getting rid of what’s extraneous. Starting with you.”

“But, Your Honor,” the bailiff insisted. “I’m here to protect you.”

Beth wondered what they thought she was going to be able to do, chained to the hospital bed. The hospital security guard got a swivel chair from somewhere and crammed it into the room, which pushed Mandy even further away from Beth.

“For the love of all that’s holy,” Judge Pinot said, “are we ready?”

Beth wondered if anyone would be brave enough to point out that he was the cause of the delay. But no.

“Yes, we’re ready, Your Honor,” Mandy said.

“Indeed,” the prosecutor said.

The judge slipped on a pair of reading glasses and read the complaint out loud. Beth’s name wasn’t part of it, just her initials.

“Do you understand what’s going on here today?” the judge asked.