Стюарт Вудс - Contraband

Herb stood up, taking Robbie with him. “Here, Your Honor,” he called out and half-led, half-dragged Robbie to the well of the court.

“Roberta Hedger, two counts of murder!” the bailiff shouted.

“Are you Roberta Hedger?” the judge asked her.

“I most certainly am not!” Robbie retorted. “I never took that beast’s name.”

“Your Honor,” Herb said. “This is Roberta Calder who was married to Randall Hedger, one of the victims. She retained her maiden name.” He hoped to God there was paperwork supporting that.

“All right, Ms. Calder,” the judge said. “Let the record show that the defendant is Roberta Calder. How do you plead?”

“Not guilty, Your Honor,” Herb said.

“ Definitely not guilty!” Roberta shouted.

“Your Honor, the defendant is an upstanding member of her community, with a national reputation as a designer, and is without a record of arrest or conviction. She operates a successful custom-clothing business from the basement of her home and employs approximately two dozen people in this endeavor. The business requires her constant presence in order to operate, and we request that she be released on her own recognizance.”

The prosecutor, a woman who appeared to be so young she couldn’t vote, was on her feet. “Objection, Your Honor. The people have in its possession a pistol identified by ballistic science to be the murder weapon.”

“Your Honor,” Herb said. “Counsel’s assertion is incorrect. Police ballistics have now confirmed that the weapon found in a dumpster two blocks from one of the murder scenes was not employed in either murder. This news has, apparently, not yet reached the prosecution.”

An assistant tugged at the sleeve of the prosecutor and whispered something in her ear. “Your Honor,” she said, “the prosecution withdraws the assertion regarding the possible murder weapon, but can confirm that a search of the defendant’s home produced another weapon of identical caliber and manufacture.”

“And how is ballistics coming along with that one?” Herb asked.

“We expect to have a new ballistics report momentarily,” she replied, “and we also note that the police found four of the six rounds held in the weapon as having been fired.”

“Your Honor,” Herb said. “Those rounds were fired by Randall Hedger at my client and, presumably, still rest in the wall of her living room. The police search, which incidentally was not conducted under a search warrant or with permission from my client, did not include a search for the spent rounds.”

“Ms. Spence?” the judge asked, his eyebrows going up.

Ms. Spence was flustered. “Judge, our request for a search warrant did not include spent rounds.”

“Did you get the warrant?”

“Not yet, Your Honor.”

“Did the police have permission to search?”

“That is their contention,” she replied.

Herb pounced. “My client did not give her permission for a search, Your Honor. Move for dismissal.”

“Objection!” Spence cried.

“Grounds?”

“Ah...”

“Charges are dismissed, without prejudice,” the judge said, banging his gavel. “Next case?”

“What just happened?” Robbie asked.

Herb hooked an arm around her waist and hustled her from the courtroom.

“What happened?” Robbie asked again.

“I persuaded the judge to dismiss the charges against you. You are free to go and find a cab at this hour, if you can.”

“Why is he prejudiced against me?”

“‘Without prejudice’ means the prosecutor can re-file the charges against you, as soon as she gets her act together.”

“Oh.”

“Come on, I’ll find us a cab.” Amazingly, he was able to do so.

“Oh, Herbert,” she said as she climbed in.

“Yes?”

“You’re fired.” She slammed the door in his face.

“Thank you so much!” he yelled as the cab pulled away. He started searching for another cab.

Joan buzzed Stone. “Herbie on one.”

Stone picked up. “Hey, Herb, how did the arraignment go?”

“I got the charges dropped, without prejudice. I explained to her what that meant.”

“How the hell did you get that done?”

“The prosecution was surprised when I told the judge that the ballistics on the dumpster .38 were not a match for either murder, and they did not yet have a ballistics report on the second gun. In fact, they appeared to not be aware of the snub-nosed .38 found in her underwear drawer, which she says belonged to her late spouse. Four rounds in the cylinder had been fired. Roberta says that Randy did that, shooting at her. Presumably, they’re still in her living room wall.”

“I can get a private crime-scene team from Strategic Services over there to dig them out.”

“Why bother? Either the gun will be a match or not. Let the slugs rest in peace for the cops to find and save the money.”

“What’s your next step?”

“I don’t have a next step,” Herb said. “She fired me while getting into a cab.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Don’t worry, I am vastly relieved, though I’ll bet she stiffs me on my bill.”

“I’ll cover it, if she does.”

“Thanks, pal.”

“I’m sorry she turned out to be such a pain in the ass.”

“I think she was probably born that way. See ya.” Herb hung up.

Stone hung up and thought about what was going on.

Joan buzzed. “Dino on one.”

Stone picked up. “Hey.”

“You ready? The .38 snub-nosed the cops found in Robbie’s underwear drawer is not the murder weapon, either.”

“That’s very interesting. When did you hear from ballistics?”

“Let’s see, about forty seconds ago.”

“So Robbie couldn’t know about the report?”

“Nope.”

“And yet, she fired Herbie Fisher without knowing about the report. The judge had dismissed her charges without prejudice, and she knew what that meant.”

“So, you’re thinking she knew that the gun in her underwear drawer wouldn’t be a match?”

“She may be crazy, but she isn’t stupid. She would know she’d need a lawyer if the underwear drawer .38 was a match.”

“And she didn’t know that it wasn’t, yet,” Dino said.

“Nope.”

“You want dinner?”

“Sure.”

“Seven at P.J.’s?”

“See you then.” They both hung up

Joan buzzed. “I’ve got Robbie, holding on two.”

Stone picked up. “Congratulations, Robbie,” he said. “You’re lucky you had Herb Fisher for an attorney.”

“Why is that?”

“You’d be in a cell at Rikers Island right now, if not for him.”

“I didn’t like him. I fired him.”

“Robbie, we’re still waiting for the ballistics report on the gun found in your underwear drawer. If it’s a match, you’ll be arrested again, and you won’t get bail.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. They can’t arrest me again.”

“Why do you think that?”

She was silent for a moment, and Stone could hear the wheels turning in her head. “Because,” she said finally. “Now I want you for my lawyer.”

“I’m far too busy to take you on at this time,” Stone replied. “And if you were stupid enough to fire Herb, I wouldn’t want you for a client, in any case.”

“I’m telling you, the gun in my house won’t be a match.”

“Then why would you need a lawyer?” Stone asked. “Goodbye, Robbie.” He hung up and buzzed Joan.

“Yes, sir?”

“If Roberta Calder calls again — for any reason — I’m not available.”

“Gotcha,” Joan said.

P. J. Clarke’s was jammed, as usual. Stone grabbed a seat at the bar when someone got up. The bartender set down a Knob Creek on the rocks.