Dead Man's Thoughts

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Book: Read Dead Man's Thoughts for Free Online
Authors: Carolyn Wheat
out onto the sixth floor, and headed for AP4.
    I was already late. The Iceman was a stickler. He didn’t even waste time chewing me out, just glared at me over the tops of his rimless glasses and went on with the calendar.
    The case before the bench was People of the State of New York v. Gaylord Squires, a.k.a. Maverick Kent, a.k.a. Junior Butts. The defendant looked like every other black street kid you ever saw. Skinny. Jeans. White T-shirt. Felony Flyers. But there was something in him that wasn’t dead yet. You could see it in his outrageous aliases. Gaylord Squires , for God’s sake. As if he owned a country seat and rode to hounds in an impeccable hunting jacket.
    But the future was clear. Someday the system would burn him out too. Someday he’d come through and give his name as Junior Butts, and it would be all over from then on. He’d be as dead, as defeated, as most of my clients.
    Digna Gonzalez’s case was up next. The Iceman didn’t even bother bringing her down from the pens. He denied my bail application pro forma , which means as a matter of course. For him it was a matter of course to keep people in jail, no matter what the circumstances. I was angry but not surprised. How many headlines do you read that say “Frightened Girl Denied Bail Hangs Self in Jail,” compared with those that read, “Judge Frees Killer”?
    Boynton was out. His boss had put the bail up for him. I was trying to explain to him why he had to come back to court even though his wife didn’t show up, when Judge Di Anci wandered into the courtroom. He was looking for a D.A. attached to the Sex Crimes Unit.
    â€œMust be important,” Mario Richetti remarked. “Di Anci the Lazy actually left the bench to do his own D.A. hunting.”
    â€œMaybe he wanted the exercise,” I said.
    â€œMaybe it’s that female D.A. with the big tits,” Mario answered.
    Paculo, Vinci, and Dennehy were up next. The two defendants who had been released stepped out of the audience, freshly dressed and looking sheepish. Dennehy, still dirty and truculent, still wearing the clothes he’d been arrested in, was brought out of the pen.
    The case was put aside to be called again. Dennehy’s lawyer was in another courtroom and would be there later. I told Vinci and Paculo to sit down and wait. As they turned to go back to the audience, I noticed a dark-haired woman at the railing. Paculo’s mother. She asked me if I could talk to her about her son’s case.
    I nodded to Mario to handle the calendar and turned to walk out with Mrs. Paculo. Then the pen doors opened, and Nathan’s defrocked cop was led out.
    I hadn’t heard his name. It wouldn’t have mattered if I had. For some reason, I didn’t have any of Nathan’s files. As traffic cop I was supposed to cover everyone’s cases, which meant I needed all the files. Without them, I was at a disadvantage. Everyone in the courtroom knew more about the cases than I did. It was unusual, since conscientious Nathan never made mistakes like that.
    The D.A. was talking. “Your Honor, this is a narcotics case. There has been a voted and filed indictment.” He gave me the number. I wrote it down. I cooled down at Nathan; that had been nice and simple.
    It didn’t stay that way. The client kept plucking my sleeve the way he had when Nathan arraigned him. His face was pasty, and his mouth worked nervously. I whispered impatiently that I’d see him in the pen; the Paculo family was still waiting for me in the front row. The defendant shook his head. Stammering, he babbled something about administrative segregation and having to be protected from his enemies. I asked the judge if we could approach.
    â€œIs it necessary, Counselor?” Judge Whalen tapped his fingers on the bench. His querulous voice went on, “You have your indictment number. This case has been transferred to the Supreme Court. This court no

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