P Deutermann - The Cat Dancers

“Did the judge do something that was outside her judicial discretion?” Marlor asked.

The question surprised Cam. “No, sir,” he replied. “I’m not a lawyer, of course, but a judge can dismiss the charges if he or she decides there’s insufficient evidence to proceed. Normally, the judge would telegraph that opinion to the prosecutor, and then the prosecutor would pull the case and recharge it later.”

“But not once the charges are formally dismissed?” Marlor was looking right at Cam, like a man who was making sure he understood the ground rules before he did something. Definitely more than just a run-of-the-mill country forester here, Cam thought.

“No, sir,” he said. “Dismissed means it’s over.”

“The judge kept asking the DA about a no-lay, or something like that. Was that a hint for him to pull the case?”

“I think so, yes, sir,” Cam said. “The term is nolle prosequi. It’s actually something you enter in the court record, but, roughly, it means ‘I won’t prosecute now.’ Doesn’t mean he can’t prosecute later, with new charges.”

“Unless the underlying charges are dismissed, correct?”

He’s like a dog with a bone, Cam thought. “Not unless he can get this ruling overturned.”

“And you’re saying you don’t know if he’s going to do that?”

“That’s correct, sir.” Cam didn’t say what he was thinking-namely, that a successful appeal was unlikely. Kenny sat beside him, his bulky presence comforting. Kenny’s face was a study in anger, but he also seemed to be watching Marlor.

The exotic-looking young woman at the other end of the table raised her hand. Cam had been trying not to stare at her; she was really striking, with that long oval face, the prominent Southwest Asian nose, glistening jet black hair, and luminous dark eyes. She was dressed in a rather severe-looking business suit, and her elegant long hands were devoid of any jewelry.

“Yes, ma’am?” he said.

“If I understand this situation, Lieutenant, my uncle is dead-murdered, actually-and the two individuals who did this thing are

… free?”

To Cam’s surprise, she spoke with a subdued British accent, modulated by the rising and falling tones of the Indian subcontinent. Her posture was upright and she appeared totally composed. Compared to her, the older Indian women sitting next to her looked dumpy and plain, although just as angry.

“Yes, ma’ am,” he replied. “For the moment anyway.” He looked down at Kenny’s list. “You are Ms. Bawa?”

“‘For the moment’?” she said, ignoring his question. “In my uncle’s country,” she continued, “his family would see to it that appropriate justice was done for such a crime. We are Sikhs, you understand.” The other women seated with her nodded approvingly. Cam didn’t understand what she was getting at with the Sikh business, but he nodded, too. Marlor had a small spiral notebook in front of him on the table, and he was drawing a tight zigzag line on it again and again, pressing down hard. The Indian woman’s remark about retribution got Kenny’s attention, and he stared at her intently now.

“In this country,” Cam said as patiently as he could, “the victim’s family does not have the option of revenge, Ms. Bawa. If it’s any comfort, these men are career criminals. It’s my opinion that they’ll die in prison, eventually.”

She was not impressed. “‘Eventually’?” she spat out. “They should be dead. Now. Just like my uncle and this gentleman’s wife and daughter. They are animals. Crazed, drooling pariah dogs. They should be dragged by their genitals to the courthouse square and summarily beheaded.”

Cam detected a faint twitch in Kenny’s face, which meant he was in full agreement with this bloodthirsty woman. To tell the truth, Cam thought a beheading or two would do a world of good towards motivating their local criminals to seek the path of righteousness. “The Sheriff’s Office is going to go back over the facts of this case,” he said. “We’re going to comb the incident trail, see if we can put together a package of evidence that doesn’t depend on the one individual’s confession at the time of the arrest.”

“And then what?” James Marlor asked. His pencil was poised over the small notebook. The zigzag pattern was black and bold on the dented paper.

“And then we’ll sit down with the DA and see what can be done to resurrect the case or bring new charges.” Cam hesitated, but then he remembered he had promised himself he was going to tell them the truth. “In all honesty, I can’t promise much, because there will be an element of double jeopardy in anything we try to do now to these two. But I personally feel obligated to make the effort. Those two individuals are guilty and need to pay for it.”

“Especially after a police mistake,” Marlor said.

“Especially because of that, yes,” Cam said, facing him. “I’m truly sorry about that, but the police do make mistakes.”

“Did the judge have to dismiss the charges?” he asked.

“I don’t know, sir,” Cam replaced. “I don’t think the judge had to dismiss, but again, I’m not a lawyer. Most of the time, judges are constrained to make their decisions based on the law, not justice.”

“Where are they now?” Ms. Bawa asked.

“The two suspects? They’re still in police custody, but they’ll probably be released this afternoon.”

“Where will they go when they are released?” Marlor asked.

“I can’t say, sir. They aren’t on probation, so they can go wherever they please, I guess.”

“Will you follow them?” he asked.

Cam shook his head, although he fully intended to keep track of them at least. “Once they’re released, we can’t do anything that might be construed as harassment.”

There was a strained silence in the room. There were no answers for all of the other questions they desperately wanted to ask, and Cam was pretty sure they knew that. Finally, Marlor spoke up. “Thank you,” he said, looking first at Kenny and then at Cam. “For being honest with us. I expected-well, I don’t know what I expected.”

Cam nodded at him and asked if anyone else had further questions. No one did, so he closed the meeting. Kenny called a desk officer down to escort them back to the security lobby. James Marlor appeared to be lost in thought as he left, his sister holding on to one of his arms above the elbow. The older Indian women gave Cam and Kenny venomous looks before they walked out of the room. Cam couldn’t really blame them.

As they walked back to the MCAT offices, Kenny asked if they were really going to resurrect the case.

“I’m going to until someone specifically tells me to stop,” Cam said. “This is awful.”

“Fucking liberal-ass Communist judges-that’s what’s awful,” Kenny said.

They arrived at the double glass doors leading to the Major Crimes Division’s reception area and Kenny punched in the entry code. Cam asked him if he thought the husband, Marlor, might have some vigilante in him.

Kenny paused as the door buzzed open. “You know? He just might. I should probably pull the string on him. He didn’t come across as some country boy.”

“I hope that Indian woman was just venting,” Cam said,

“I don’t,” Kenny replied with a disgusted look.

A depressing and busy week later, Cam was going through the overtime logs when Tony Martinelli, one of the four MCAT detectives, stuck his head in and told him to come see who was on television. It was a Monday morning, and the whole MCAT squad was in the office for a change. The guys kept a small television going next to the coffeepot, and Cam found everyone watching newly famous K-Dog Simmonds, outfitted now in pseudo- Matrix black T-shirt, black pants, and a rumpled, draping black linen jacket, telling the hostess of the local sleazoid television talk show what it was like to be victimized by the “po-lice.” The hostess was a big-haired blonde, with round, eternally surprised blue eyes and a mouthful of artfully capped teeth. She was hanging breathlessly on this shitheel’s every word, and she was “shocked- shocked -” by how badly this heavily tattooed prison punk had been treated, so shocked that she could barely keep her shiny little knees together, to the point where Simmonds kept sliding his eyes sideways to look up her skirt. Their boy was fully on the strut, tossing off belligerent denials about any involvement in the minimart robbery but letting the smirk on his face declare that just the opposite was true and wasn’t he a really badass dude to have gotten away with it.