City Dark(26)

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Do you feel like you’re dangerous?”

“Dangerous? I don’t go nowhere.”

“Mr. Bolds’s entire life revolves around his mother, who is in a nursing home, Your Honor,” Ben said. “He lives nearby, and he’s lived quietly for almost two years on probation without major incident. Other than visiting his mother, going to work, and shopping in the neighborhood, he doesn’t go anywhere.”

“Without major incident, yes,” Joe said. “But Mr. Bolds’s behavior around public libraries and parks near where he lives in Brooklyn has sparked—”

“No arrests,” Ben interrupted.

“Don’t speak over each other!” the court reporter barked.

“I apologize,” Ben said. “But, Your Honor, the AG’s office really can’t point to much outside of speculation.”

“He owns a panel van,” Joe said. “He says he uses it for his job, making deliveries for some dry cleaners in Brooklyn. He was detained outside of a public library branch in Flatbush two years ago on a citizen’s complaint. He was in the van, and it was found to have duct tape and various kinds of rope in the back.”

“Mr. Bolds explained to police at the scene how those things were related to his job and various other tasks he does around his home. He was not arrested. There have been no probation violations either.”

“I can read the file, Mr. Yang,” the judge said. “And I understand your argument, but the probation officer himself has expressed concerns about Mr. Bolds. The PO believes he’s got strange ideas about women and sex.”

“My client tends to say unfortunate things, Your Honor,” Ben said, as if accepting responsibility for a bad recipe. “But there’s no evidence it’s anything but fantasy. Anyway, the PO isn’t a psychologist.”

“Which is exactly why he’s a candidate for this process,” Joe said, seizing on the point with a sonorous pitch. “The Office of Mental Health has made an initial determination that Evan Bolds might have a mental abnormality. If Mr. Yang is right that he doesn’t, then this process will clarify that.”

“Oy gevalt!” Feldman said, raising his hands. He shifted his eyes to the sedentary, composed man at the table. “Mr. Bolds, did you understand my question before? Do you believe you’re a danger to reoffend, sexually or otherwise?”

“Dangerous? Like would I hurt another lady?”

“Well, yes. Or anyone.”

“Oh. No, I’m too old for that now. That’s for the young guys.”

“That’s comforting,” the judge said, frowning. He turned his attention to Joe. “Mr. DeSantos, Mr. Bolds seems . . . less than fully repentant, maybe. But he was released after nearly thirty-three years in custody, and they were mostly quiet years. He’s done a couple more years on probation without a violation. Is he really a good candidate for this . . . civil confinement?”

“Well, it’s civil management, Your Honor,” Joe said. “We don’t anticipate that Mr. Bolds will be confined again. But he’s fifty-three, which is relatively young. He’s demonstrated serious deficits in empathy and understanding regarding what he did, both back in the ’80s and recently. The Office of Mental Health believes he’s a good candidate for strict probation. We filed based on that.”

There was more discussion and ruminating on Feldman’s part, but at the end of the day this was a probable cause hearing, and he was bound to rule that the AG’s office had made its case. Bolds would stand trial again, this time not for being a criminal but for having an identified “mental abnormality” and considered dangerous.

“Mr. Bolds, I find that the state has met its low burden for the purposes of this hearing. You’ll stand trial for civil management on a date to be determined. In the meantime, I’ll allow you to remain unconfined, but you’ll be assigned to a new pretrial officer for checkups. Good day, sir. Next case.”





CHAPTER 23


2:48 p.m.

“Really, Joe?” Ben asked as the two left the courtroom with Bolds a few feet behind them. Ben was a short, neat-looking guy of Chinese descent with black hair and dark eyes. Joe liked him. He was a straight shooter and a good litigator. “This guy? For civil management?”

“OMH gives my office permission to file. In real terms, that means we’d better file. Either that or the AG takes the blame if this guy snaps again in an elevator. I’m a soldier, and those are my orders. You know that.”

“I get the politics, but this guy isn’t Aaron Hathorne. Far from it.”

“No one is Aaron Hathorne,” Joe said. “I know this case sucks. It’s a dog, and I’ve gotta walk it.”

Ben shrugged and nodded. It was a sentiment all trial lawyers understood. He asked about some additional records on Bolds that Joe was supposed to bring, and Joe led them over to a bench outside the courtroom.

“Mr. Bolds, sit for a second, okay?” Ben asked. Bolds sat silently, his hands moving to his lap like it was a trained response. He stared downward.

Joe set out a couple of thick accordion files and thumbed through them while Ben looked at some messages on his phone. Joe produced the documents and then heard a loud crash. Across the hall, another courtroom door had flown open and struck the wall.