"We would never gag you. Are you diabetic or taking any medications?"

Ray shook him head and slowly brought himself upright on the bunk.

"You okay now? Want to see a doctor?"

"Okay, now. This is all very disturbing. You definitely can't arrest me. I definitely can't remain in jail."

The detective took Ray upstairs and completed the booking ritual, and then transported the prisoner across the boulevard to the Court House. The detective sat with him in a small room off the courtroom until his case was called. A brief Sunday morning arraignment for the Sat.u.r.day night offenders was routine. Other cases were DUI and minor wrongdoings; Ray Reid was a big deal.

The judge asked Ray if he was financially able and desirous of employing counsel. He said he was, but hadn't been able to locate a lawyer. Whereupon, the judge postponed the First Appearance for another twenty-four hours, and instructed the State Attorney's Office to a.s.sist in finding suitable counsel for the defendant. The proceeding was short and dreadfully frightening.

They took him back to his jail cell. Last night, when they first put him in this cell it was frustrating to be misunderstood, but he could bear it thinking the situation would straighten out in the morning. This morning, however, the authorities' ma.s.sive power became clear to him. This time the metal clang of his cell door made him flinch and the echo would never leave his memory. His small window of hopefulness had closed.

Beau, showed up with the requested writing paper and a borrowed phone book. Ray had intended to search for a hot lawyer but now he'd wait and see who the Court came up with.

One name he did look up, but wasn't eager to call, was his new boss. Maybe the boss would be sympathetic and offer some suggestions. He answered and coldly asked what happened, as though he was the one person in the country who hadn't heard the news. Ray stretched it and said they might release him at any time, but he probably wouldn't be in Monday morning. He'd definitely get back at work as soon as possible. The boss explained Ray hadn't been there long enough for vacation or any special treatment. "I know you're in a jam but a couple days, Ray, and that's it. Can't cover for you any longer."

He began to hate his newly adopted town. He came here because this is where the job offer was, just a spot on the map. He wasn't looking for any trouble. Would people here actually convict him? Surely, it wouldn't go that far if he's innocent.

He sat at the end of the bunk staring out between the bars at the gray cinderblock wall opposite his cell. The cold blanket of reality settled down around him like a fog. Need to find a lawyer, he kept saying, need to get out of custody.

Chapter 9.

Early Monday morning, after Ray's second night in jail, attorney Jerry Kagan appeared, sent over as ordered by the judge. This wasn't a public defender; Ray would be paying for him. He could take him or leave him.

Ray didn't know what to expect. Just give him someone who can get him out of there-someone between a youngster taking leftover court-a.s.signed cases, and an oldster getting off his deathbed for his swan song. He got an oldster.

His first impression of the man wasn't favorable. He shuffled in carrying a well-worn briefcase that appeared to be empty. Not exactly a ball of fire. Hard to imagine him in front of a jury. No doubt tall and good-looking at one time, now the old man was stooped-shouldered and a bit shriveled. His suit was acceptable but the tie would need a decade to get back in style. Well past retirement age, his dynamic practice days, if they ever existed, had to be behind him.

He sat down out of breath, muttering about Florida heat in November. Said he was Jeremiah Kagan-please call him Jerry. Said he was eighty plus but not to let that be a bother. Said he knows the law, just doesn't move around so fast anymore. "Stop talking to that bail bondsman, Beau Cobb," he scolded. The lawyer took out a large yellow pad. "What happened to your hand?"

"Well, that's part of a long and incredible story. I was at Al Towson's apartment by mistake, and he rather lost it when I asked about Tammy Jerrold. Do you know these names?"

"Yes, go on."

"I didn't know he was a state senator, didn't know anything about him. Anyway, he thought I was trying to pull something. He yelled. I dropped the hot coffee and burned my hand and ankle. Naturally, the detective was interested in the bandage. They tested for gunshot residue upstairs. I overheard a cop say there wouldn't be any residue left because I had rubbed ointment on the burn."

"Did anyone else see you wearing that bandage?"

"Yes, Tammy saw it at the restaurant around one o'clock."

"Then the police got it backwards. The ointment and bandage went on about noon and he was shot later that day. Any GSR from the shot would be on top of the bandage, not under it. You see how evidence can get screwed up?" Kagan slowly wrote himself a note.

Ray liked that. The old-timer knew what he was doing. "You're hired." They shook hands on the engagement. Would the guy survive to the end of the case was an additional question.

Ray went on and related the whole episode. The lawyer squinted down at the pad, slowly creating his notes. He occasionally pointed to his ear to request a louder repeat. He kept writing for several minutes after Ray had stopped. He thumbed forward and backward through the pad's pages. "Why would Loraine Dellin make up such a fairy-tale? Two murders out there and you're connected to both, plus a rape."

"She connects me to Barner because we discussed him, and Tammy Jerrold knows I saw Towson because I told her."

"What do the police know? Did you tell them this story?"

"No, not yet." Ray tried to remember what he had said to Detective G.o.ddard. "I gave him all the background info he asked for. He asked how I knew Towson and where I was that afternoon. I said I met him at the party last week, but I didn't answer his question on where I was the afternoon of the shooting."

"At least you stopped talking." Kagan spoke slowly. "What evidence do you think they have to justify an arrest? Any prior arrests? Do you own a gun?"

"Nothing."

"Not nothing, for one thing your burned hand is evidence of an argument. Any previous arguments, perhaps at the party or such as that?"

"Didn't talk to him at the party. And he was alive when I left him Sat.u.r.day." Ray was warming up to Kagan and feeling better. Maybe there's hope.

"Indeed, as far as we know, their total case right now is you happened to meet him on the day he was shot. Let's hope someone saw him or talked to him after you left, someone other than the murderer."

"I thought he was going to phone Tammy and warn her about me. That would show he was alive after I left, but she said he didn't. Also, can we get the police to check out who sent me that text message with Towson's address? It's on my cell they took."

"We need to hire our own investigator." He drew a dollar sign in the corner of his yellow pad and pointed to it. Ray saw it and understood. Kagan continued, "Okay, here's what we do. They have you scheduled for a First Appearance in front of the judge at two. Before that happens, I want you to tell your story to Larry Moran. He's the state attorney for this jurisdiction. He has absolute power over your incarceration."

"That doesn't sound good."

"He has a.s.sistant state attorneys but he handles high-profile cases personally. He's a real cutthroat. Don't expect any pleasantries. Even so, your statement can't hurt. You've nothing to hide. I'll go see him right now to set it up. They should be eager to get your statement, and perhaps we'll get an idea of the evidence they have. They won't drop the charges, but we might do enough good to get you bonded out of here." Kagan stood to leave. "Okay, before I go, is there anything I can handle for you personally?"

"Not really."

"Contact a relative, collect your mail, put a dog in a kennel?"

"No, thanks anyway."

"No relative for me to call?"

"No."

"You travel light, don't you?"

"Yeah, I'm beginning to realize that."

Attorney Jeremiah Kagan left and made the short walk across the boulevard to the office of State Attorney Lawrence Moran, located in the courthouse. Moran was indeed eager for a statement from the suspect. "Bring him on." Moran and Police Chief, William Oehlert, were already feeling pressure from the public.

The chief was personally troubled about the crime for another reason. He didn't want any crime of consequence to happen in the city for the next 173 days. That was when he'd retire. Twenty years ago, the town was smaller and simpler, and he was one of only a handful of officers. Something was fudged back then because he was unmistakably below the minimum height to join any police force. He was the shortest one on the force. Some continued to call him "Shorty Oehlert" even after the City Council appointed him chief. "Hey Shorty, be careful some crook doesn't step on you." "Hey, I hear your wife calls you Shorty." In another 173 days, he'd tell them where they could shove their dumba.s.s nickname.

His office closet held a half-packed cardboard box standing ready for the day he'd clean out his desk. Retirement was close enough he didn't bother hiding his gardening books and catalogs. He wasn't happy having the new homicide to deal with; he just wanted to get out while still healthy.

The chief a.s.signed the homicide to Detective G.o.ddard, for two reasons. He was better than the other detectives, and he was a self-starter who most likely wouldn't bother the chief very much.

Best or not, not everyone liked G.o.ddard. Some in the department believed he had progressed too fast. Other officers also had a degree in Criminal Justice and some had more time on the street. Seniority, as they well knew, wasn't enough to qualify them for promotion to detective; it merely qualified them to take the detective exam. G.o.ddard had aced the exam. Some officers were watching and waiting for him to screw up.

Sat.u.r.day evening they had called G.o.ddard at home and told him to report to the homicide scene. He was there when the report came in about Tammy Jerrold's 911 call. He went immediately to her office. He took suspect Reid into custody that night. He began the interrogation in a casual, non-threatening manner to keep the suspect responsive. Reid, however, had asked about a lawyer, and the questioning couldn't legally continue.

Sunday morning, G.o.ddard had met with Chief Oehlert and State Attorney Moran who then made the decision to arrest Reid. "It appears I'll be facing Jerry Kagan in court again." Moran smiled.

"I can see you're trembling in your boots," the chief said. "How did you finagle that?"

Moran chuckled. "The judge instructed our office to a.s.sist Reid in finding suitable counsel, so I helpfully suggested Kagan. Reid didn't know any better and accepted him."

G.o.ddard was surprised the judge went for it. Somehow, he felt guilty about the underhanded setup, but it wasn't up to him to suggest counsel for the defense.

He recalled that old Jerry Kagan had dropped out of sight two years ago after facing Moran and losing a dramatic case. Kagan had defended an abused woman against the charge of murdering her violent husband. Kagan lost on a technicality when Moran was able to keep incriminating details of the husband's evil past out of the trial.

The woman was convicted. Each Christmas, they say, she sends Kagan a pleasant card from prison, blessing him, holding him blameless, and thanking him for helping her. He hates the holiday season that foreshadows the arrival of the unwanted reminder.

G.o.ddard always found Kagan straight, a gentleman who just never really made it. Anybody's guess how sharp he was now. Shouldn't be much of a challenge. G.o.ddard felt sorry for him having to face the ruthless state attorney again. No one liked to interact with Little Bonaparte. That's what some called him, not only for the physical similarities-baby faced, short, and stocky-but for his imperious personality as well. G.o.ddard certainly didn't care for him.

At the requested meeting, Reid gave his statement relating the motel rendezvous with Loraine Dellin, the text message directing him to Al Towson's apartment, the encounter with Towson, and the meeting with Tammy Jerrold. G.o.ddard studied the suspect's face and decided he didn't believe his own words. G.o.ddard knew, considering the town's mood, even the most logical statement wasn't going to get Reid released, and his statement was far from logical. Moran wasn't about to buy some half-baked, innocent bystander tale.

Kagan concluded by saying he hoped after hearing the explanation of why his client was at the victim's apartment, Moran might permit bail while they checked out Reid's story. G.o.ddard quickly protested, but it was unnecessary. No way was Moran going to let this guy out of jail.

After returning the suspect to his cell, G.o.ddard reported to the chief, who asked, "What's he look like, Chip?"

"Ordinary, I guess kind of nerdy. He's seems a little out of it. Made a strange statement, Moran is sending over a copy. Some townies were named."

"For example?"

"He claims Loraine Dellin shot Sonny Barner who had raped Tammy Jerrold. Can you believe that?"

"Are we talking about this town? Say it again."

"And Loraine was wearing a thong at a motel pool."

"You just ruined my day, Chip. You should never mention senior citizens in thongs."

"All pretty wild, isn't it? He does admit to being in Towson's apartment. You'll see when you get the statement. He mentioned Norma Martin as well. Do we have anything on her?"

"Not that I remember," the chief said. "Where are all these names coming from? d.a.m.n it, we have to keep a lid on this. If any of this gets out-the names, another shooting and a rape rumor-this town will go bonkers.

At two p.m., G.o.ddard escorted Reid back to the courthouse for the First Appearance.

Ray Reid stood before the judge and entered a plea of Not Guilty. Kagan immediately requested Pretrial Release. State Attorney Moran objected stating that they have a witness who can place him at the apartment on the day of the murder, that the suspect's prints were on cup shards found in the victim's apartment, that they have evidence he had argued with the victim, and that he was the last person to see the victim alive.

Kagan retorted that in a statement just given to the prosecution, his client voluntarily admitted he was at the apartment on that day and had explained the broken cup. Furthermore, the police couldn't possibly have determined with any certainty at that early stage who indeed was the last person to see the victim alive and, in summary, the state's proof of guilt wasn't sufficiently evident to deny bail.

Moran informed the court that the defendant was new in town and had insufficient ties to the community to a.s.sure future court appearances.

The judge remanded the accused to police custody.

As G.o.ddard escorted Ray from the courtroom, Kagan asked him, "Did you have a chance to dump the calls on my client's phone and get the source of that text? Someone directed him to Towson's apartment mere hours before the killing."

G.o.ddard moved closer before answering, "Off-the-record, Jerry, that text originated from an Internet connection at the InnTowner Motel."

Reid jumped in, "Yes! That's where we were, the InnTowner! That proves what I told you. It was Loraine. She wouldn't use her own phone it could be traced. She knew I was eager to get in touch with Tammy."

The detective was willing to continue the subject since Kagan wasn't objecting. "Or did you send yourself the text from the motel before you left?"

Ray had no immediate answer for that theory. Then he remembered. "What about this? Loraine gave me Tammy's home phone number that is unlisted. I wrote it on a motel pad. The police took it from me when I was booked, so you have it. It proves Loraine gave me Tammy's number."

"Yes, we have the note, but it doesn't prove where you got the number."

"But I was in a motel room. How else could I obtain an unlisted number?"

"Realtors don't have unlisted numbers. You guys are going to have to do better than that." G.o.ddard knew Kagan would attempt the standard maneuvers. But in the end, Reid would remain essentially helpless in jail while the State Attorney's Office used their considerable resources to prepare a case against him.

Later that evening, Ray snapped out of his miserable mood when the jail officer brought his supper tray and told him some woman came in to see him that afternoon. Exciting news for a lonely guy facing his third night in the lockup.

"Too bad it was after visiting hours," the officer said.

"Visitors, I can have visitors?"

"Yeah, you'll be cuffed while you're out of the cell, but sure, we take you up to the visiting room."

A visitor would be comforting and he could use some of that. But, the visitor most likely would be some official with a form to fill out or the bearer of more bad news. "Well, who was it? What did she look like?"

"Don't know, wasn't there, but some guy upstairs said she was a looker."

"A young looker or an old looker?"

"Didn't say."

His first visitor. Who would want to visit the town pariah? What he needed was a magical visitor, young or old, that could get him out of there. A young looker described Tammy who thought he was a nut, so it wouldn't be her. An old looker would be Loraine. He'd love to confront her, but she wouldn't dare show up.

Who else is there?

Chapter 10.

It was Tuesday morning, three days after the murder, and Ray woke up wondering about the woman turned away after visiting hours yesterday. Would she come back? He skipped the breakfast tray except for the coffee and eagerly awaited the jailer. At last, visiting hours. The jailer secured the handcuffs, and escorted him to the visiting room.

She sat on one side of a long steel table in the spa.r.s.ely furnished room. Against the wall, an officer sat on a high stool and a sergeant was at a small desk positioned at the main door. Of course, Ray recognized her: the friendly stockbroker from the office, the party hostess, the one with short blond hair, Meg-what was her last name?

"Great that you came to see me. So, you bring greetings from the office, I guess." He was smiling for the first time since being jailed.