Fair Warning (Jack McEvoy #3)(36)

16

The courtroom was the crowded port of entry to the criminal justice system, a place where those swept up in the maw of the legal machinery stood before a judge for the first time for a reading of the charges against them. Then their initial court date would be scheduled, the first step in their long and twisting pathway through the morass that would leave them at least bowed and bloodied, if not convicted and incarcerated.

I saw Bill Marchand rise from a seat in the row running along the front rail of the courtroom and start making his way toward me. It had been a night without sleep, and every muscle in my body seemed to hurt from the hours I had spent clenched like a fist and fearful in the communal holding tank. I had been in jail before and knew that danger could come from any quarter. It was a place where men felt betrayed by their lives and the world, and that made them desperate and dangerous, ready to attack anybody and anything that appeared vulnerable.

When Marchand got to the slot through which we would be able to talk, I opened with the five most urgent words in the world to me.

“Get me out of here.”

The lawyer nodded.

“That’s the plan,” he said. “I already talked to the prosecutor and explained to her the hornet’s nest her detectives have kicked over, and she’s going to nolle pros this one. We’ll get you out of here in a couple hours tops.”

“The DA’s just going to drop the charge?” I asked.

“Actually, it’s the city attorney because it’s a misdemeanor charge. But they’ve got nothing to support it. You were doing your job with full First Amendment protections. Myron’s here and ready to go to war. I told the prosecutor, you arraign this reporter on that charge and that man over there will hold a press conference outside the courthouse within the hour. And it won’t be the kind of press her office wants.”

“Where’s Myron now?”

I scanned the crowded rows of the gallery. I didn’t see Myron but motion caught my eye and I thought I saw someone duck behind another person as though bending down to pick something up. When the man came back up, he looked at me and then shifted behind the person sitting in front of him. He was balding and wore glasses. It wasn’t Myron.

“He’s around somewhere,” Marchand said.

At that moment I heard my name as Judge Crower called my case. Marchand turned to the bench and identified himself as counsel for the defense. A woman stood up at the crowded prosecution table and identified herself as Deputy City Attorney Jocelyn Rose.

“Your Honor, we move to drop the charge against the defendant at this time,” she said.

“You are sure?” Crower asked.

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Very well. Case dismissed. Mr. McEvoy, you’re free to go.”

Only I wasn’t. I wasn’t free to go until after a two-hour wait to be bussed back to the county jail, where my property was returned and I was processed out. The morning was gone, I had missed both breakfast and lunch at the jail, and I had no transportation home.

But when I stepped through the jail exit I found Myron Levin waiting for me.

“Sorry, Myron. How long were you waiting?”

“It’s okay. I had my phone. You all right?”

“I am now.”

“You hungry? Or you want to go home?”

“Both. But I’m starving.”

“Let’s go eat.”

“Thanks for coming for me, Myron.”

To get to the food quicker we went just over to Chinatown and ordered po’boy sandwiches at Little Jewel. We grabbed a table and waited for them to be made.

“So, what are you going to do?” I asked.

“About what?” Myron asked.

“The LAPD’s flagrant violation of the First Amendment. Mattson can’t get away with this shit. You should hold a press conference anyway. I bet the Times will be all over this. The New York Times, I’m talking about.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It’s very simple. I was on a story, Mattson didn’t like it. So he falsely arrests me. It’s not only First Amendment, it’s the Fourth as well. They had no probable cause to detain me. I was doing my job.”

“I know all of that but the charges were dropped and you’re back on the story. No harm, no foul.”

“What? I spent a night in jail where I was backed into a corner with my eyes open all night.”

“But nothing happened. You’re okay.”

“No, I’m not okay, Myron. You try it sometime.”

“Look, I’m sorry for what happened, but I think we should roll with it, not inflame things any further, and get back on the story. Speaking of which, I got a text from Emily. She says she got some good stuff from UC–Irvine.”

I looked across the table at Myron for a long moment, trying to read him.

“Don’t deflect the conversation,” I said. “What is it really? The donors?”

“No, Jack, I told you before, the donors have nothing to do with this,” Myron said. “I would no sooner let donors dictate what we do and what we cover than I would let Big Tobacco or the auto industry dictate to us.”

“Then why are we sitting on our hands on this? That guy Mattson needs to be raked over the coals.”

“Okay, if you want to know the truth, I think if we make a stink about this it could come back on us.”