Desperate Measures (24 page)

Larry Ralston, the assistant district attorney, read the charges, murder one, and Forry asked if Alex understood the charges.

Then Ralston recommended that Alex be held in the county jail pending trial, and now Barbara spoke for the first time.

“Your Honor, at this time I would like to argue two compelling reasons for not incarcerating Mr. Feldman. As you can see, he cannot possibly run away and hide. Where could he go? I have here his medical record, and the assessment of his doctor, the surgeon who performed reconstructive surgery on Mr. Feldman many times. Any blow on the head could prove fatal for Mr. Feldman; a shove against a wall could be fatal. It is well known that persons accused of child endangerment and/or murder are often targeted by other inmates and, unfortunately, sometimes by those charged with their well-being. To place Mr. Feldman in a situation where his life is endangered would be a miscarriage of justice. He is presumed innocent and must not be made to suffer needlessly while awaiting trial.”

“He's accused of murder,” Ralston snapped. “Premeditated murder! We don't let murderers roam about for a year or longer while they're waiting for trial.”

“There are many precedents,” Barbara said calmly. “Before I cite them, let me add that there are three responsible citizens who will pledge Mr. Feldman's presence for trial. Dr. Graham Minick worked with the New York City juvenile courts for many years as a crisis-intervention specialist. He has written textbooks that are considered classics and are taught worldwide. He will guarantee Mr. Feldman's presence. Mr. William Thaxton, an attorney with the firm Mallory, Heinz and Workman, will make the same pledge, as will I. And, of course, Mr. Feldman will post bail bond.

“Further,” she said before Ralston could respond, “since Mr. Feldman has never received a citation or even a warning for any alleged infringement of the law, he is not to be considered a habitual criminal or recidivist who might flee at the first opportunity. The state's case is purely circumstantial with no direct evidence tying Mr. Feldman to the crime, no forensic evidence, no eyewitnesses, and no motive, nothing in fact except proximity—he lives in the neighboring house. There are many precedents for allowing him his freedom until trial.” She turned to the young man with the books and took the top one. “Here,
Oregon
v. Mullens
….”

Watching and listening, Frank bit his cheek to keep from grinning. Forry would implode if he glanced up and caught Frank smiling. But, by God, he thought in wonder, Barbara planned to cite a dozen or more cases if Forry didn't stop her. He could almost feel sorry for the young assistant D.A., who had not been prepared for this and was out of his depth. Arraignments were supposed to be cut-and-dried. In. Out. Next.

Forry's face was set in grim lines as he listened to Barbara go on to the next cite. He looked from her to the stack of books, back to her. When she reached for another book, he held up his hand. “Ms. Holloway, you've made your point. Can we move on?”

“Yes, Your Honor. My next item is the matter of a trial. At this time defense asks for a speedy trial, not after a year or longer as Mr. Ralston mentioned earlier. And my client waives his right to a trial by jury and requests a bench trial.”

Frank caught his breath. By God, she was right. A judge would bend over backward to keep his revulsion out of the case.

Ralston was a bit upset, he thought then, watching the young man struggle with this idea. “The state demands a jury trial, Your Honor,” he said.

He didn't have a thing to back that up, Frank knew. The state prosecutors had tried to get an initiative passed that would have required trial by jury if either side demanded it, but since the accused already had that right by constitutional law, the initiative had really been for the benefit of the prosecution. He watched Forry, who also had been caught off guard by this request.

“Mr. Feldman, is that your wish? To have a bench trial?” he asked. His face went blank again when he turned his attention to Alex Feldman.

“Yes, sir.”

He shrugged. “That's your right. So be it. Ms. Holloway, Mr. Ralston, if you will.” He beckoned them to approach the bench. In a moment Barbara turned back to pick up her briefcase, then withdrew a folder and handed it to the judge. He nodded and both attorneys returned to their places. “The court will recess for ten minutes or so. Don't leave the courtroom. It will be a short intermission.

But ten minutes or so could be very long, Frank thought then, watching Barbara and her client sit down and put their heads close together as she no doubt told him what the judge had said at the bench. Alex nodded. Light reflected eerily off his head, and Frank had to stop watching.

Then he was considering the several moves that Barbara had made, and he had to admit she had played a bad hand extremely well. And she had not needed him for her cites. Pride and regret mingled then; he tried to banish both. It was anyone's guess how Forry would come down with his decision; usually the judge was like an echo of the prosecutor. If he said jail time, the judge rarely disagreed, but he could.

Ralston had gone to the rear of the courtroom, where he was speaking on a cell phone. Asking for advice, reporting? Frank hoped waiting was as hard for him as for Barbara and Alex Feldman, but he knew it wasn't. To him a job, to Alex a life, and by now Barbara's life and that of her client were commingled. That made the difference.

The minutes dragged, but finally, after fourteen minutes, the judge returned. He cleared his throat. “It is customary for the court to heed the advice of the district attorney regarding the restraint of the accused, as you all know. However, it is not mandatory that the court do so. In the present case, the court has decided that restraining Mr. Feldman while awaiting trial is unnecessary. Not for both of your reasons, Ms. Holloway, but for the first argument. The verdict in the state's case will be up to the trial judge to determine. I make no judgment concerning that. However, Mr. Feldman should not be endangered while he waits. Now, let us discuss bail.”

“Hats off, Bobby,” Frank said under his breath. He slipped out of the courtroom as the new discussion began. Outside, in the corridor, he dawdled at the bulletin board, and presently he spied a familiar face, a reporter for a television station, accompanied by a videographer and a still photographer. The D.A.'s call no longer was a mystery. Word was out that a monster was at large in the courthouse. Now the circus would start.

In his mind there was an image of Quasimodo, rocks flying through the air, villagers with pitchforks. He shook it away as the small group emerged from the courtroom; Alex was wearing his beret and sunglasses, and he held a file folder in front of his face. Martin charged straight ahead, Moses parting the Red Sea, and Shelley dropped out of the parade and approached the reporter. Frank continued to watch; Shelley dimpled prettily at the reporter; the others headed down the stairs; the videographer and photographer followed them. Frank left for home.

That afternoon Barbara and Dr. Minick held a joint press conference, something she detested and tried to avoid whenever possible, but this time, she had explained to Alex and Dr. Minick, they had to air their side. On Monday she would learn who their judge would be and they would set a trial date, and it was likely that the trial judge would issue a gag order. Most judges hated it when cases were tried in the media, but there were always exceptions; some of them relished the recurring fifteen minutes of fame and welcomed every opportunity to preen for the cameras.

At the press conference, held in her office, she passed out copies of some of the hate posters and tabloids depicting Alex as devil spawn, a monster. Then very soberly she told a little about his congenital birth defects and about the beating he had sustained that had persuaded his parents to send him away from the big city, to live in peace in the countryside with his mentor, Dr. Minick.

Dr. Minick took it from there, and he was very good, very accomplished with the reporters, answering questions candidly when possible, dodging with finesse and grace when it wasn't. On the whole, Barbara thought when it was over, it had been a success. They had started the arduous task of establishing sympathy for Alex, humanizing him.

“His folks are flying in tomorrow,” Dr. Minick said before he left. “I talked to Dolly, and she became hysterical thinking they might have him in a cell.”

“Don't let them upset him if you can stop them,” Barbara said. “He doesn't need that on top of everything else.”

“If they're true to form, they will stay for two days, then leave again. They're like migratory birds, programmed when to stop, when to start, how long to rest. He can handle it.” He stood up. “They'll want to meet you. Will you come out to the house on Sunday afternoon for a short visit? A drink, or coffee, something, around four?”

She nodded. She might need his parents later; no point in alienating them now. Besides, she would like to see him with his mother and father.

“Now, I'd best get home,” Dr. Minick said. “He'll be on the computer for a while, we'll eat something, and call it a day. What a day!”

Barbara was carrying her stack of books when Frank opened the door to admit her. He eyed the books. Some of them were his. She dropped them on the table in the foyer. “I'll put them away in a few minutes,” she said.

Frank touched the top book. “Good job today,” he said.

“Thanks. I always told you I could cite if I had to.”

“True. Well proven. Were you really going to read from each one?” He counted the books. Eleven.

“Nope. The top five. All I could find to back me up. But it looked better with more than five books.”

He stared at her, awed. “Forry would have had your head if you'd gone beyond your five.”

“Well, I didn't have to, did I?”

“Barbara—”

She held up her hand, laughing. “Don't you dare. You tape everything in court and always have done it, and you know very well what various judges would do to you if they found out.”

“That's different.”

“Right. I want—no, strike that—I need a glass of wine. Like now.” On her way to the kitchen, she suddenly stopped, sniffing suspiciously. “Where's Herbert?” She realized that his disgusting truck had not been in the driveway when she pulled in.

“Gone,” Frank said. “Finished painting and took off.”

“You sent him packing?”

“Let's leave it at that, he's gone.”

“You shot him and buried him under the roses!”

“Might have wanted to from time to time, but my better nature prevailed. About that wine, and then dinner. You up for grilled sausage and new little potatoes? Walla Wallas are ready. No sauce.”

She grinned, but she also felt an uneasy flutter stir in her chest.

Whoever had attacked Frank was still out there. Mr. Wonderful was still out there. She had planned to call Isaac Wrigley as soon as she could claim a legitimate reason, but it had become late, the press conference had to be done, and she had put off the call until Monday.

Now she headed for the kitchen phone. She dug out her notebook, looked up his home number, and placed the call. An answering machine came on and she said, “Dr. Wrigley, my name is Barbara Holloway. I'm an attorney in town. I would like very much to have a talk with you concerning Hilde Franz at your earliest convenience.” She left her office number and said she would be there the coming week, and then she gave Frank's number. “I'll be at this number most of the weekend, and all this evening.” She turned to see Frank regarding her with a hard-eyed look.

“He should know sooner rather than later that you're not alone,” she said.

After a moment he nodded. “Well, you took care of that. I'm going out to dig some potatoes.”

Wrigley called back at eight-thirty. She picked up as soon as he said his name. “Isaac Wrigley, returning Ms. Holloway's call.” ‘'I'm Barbara Holloway. Thanks for calling back.”

“I don't know what I can tell you,” he said. His voice was deep and pleasant, with the slight drawl of someone who had lived in the South at one time. “Hilde Franz served on a committee I was also on. That's the extent of my relationship with her.”

“Perhaps we can talk about it,” Barbara said. “It seems that your fingerprints were found in her house.”

There was a pause, then he said, “I'll be at my clinic all afternoon tomorrow. I could see you at three.”

“That's fine,” she said. “I know where the clinic is. I'll see you then.” She hung up.

“Why didn't you tell him the rest, that you suspect him of murder?” Frank said caustically.

“I had to let him know that we've been looking into him,” she said. “And it worked. Tomorrow at three.” Insurance, she thought. She had just bought a little insurance. Insurance was like that; you hoped you would never need it, but if you did, it was good to have some tucked away.

22

Over the years
much of Willamette Street had turned into a strip mall: fast food, shoes, electronics, big-box superstores, the inevitable Chinese restaurant, and a medical complex. It was a two-story, chic U-shaped building with a courtyard fountain splashing on smooth river rocks, a variety of ferns, broad shallow stairs, and colorful awnings over the walkways. Barbara stopped at the directory. Orthodontists, allergists, neurologists, and on the upper level the Brighter Future Research Group. She bypassed the elevator and started up the stairs, and hated them instantly. A ramp would have been better, or regularly spaced risers; as it was, the steps were too shallow, yet too deep to take two steps at a time, pretty but awkward. She felt as if she had to shuffle her way up.

It was very quiet in the complex, doors closed on all sides, the floor covered with a purple deep-pile carpet. She walked past the door to the Brighter Future Group, on to the end of the corridor where she had spotted an EXIT sign. As she suspected, the door at that end led to a regular staircase down to the back parking lot. She went back. The logo at the Brighter Future Group was of sunrise over a skyline of mountains and forests. The door was locked. She pushed the buzzer and waited.