Daniel Palmer - Helpless

Marvin had done his best to explain where Tom would be seated during the proceedings, but the reality was far worse than his lawyer had described. Tom found himself standing inside a box that looked out into the courtroom. One wall of the box was made from concrete brick, but the other three walls were built using floor-to-ceiling Plexiglas. Through the plastic walls Tom could see crowds of people jammed inside the tiny courtroom. He recognized many of the faces.

Marvin Pressman stood behind a long table that was barren, save for a single manila folder. One end of the table was pressed nearly flush against Tom’s holding cell wall. The Plexiglas had holes in it so that Tom could speak to his attorney. Marvin wore a well-pressed, nicely tailored suit. It was the first confidence booster of the day.

He’s dressed like a man ready to get me out on bail.

The dearth of documents displayed on the defense counsel’s table, however, didn’t engender much confidence.

Marvin moved his chair closer so he could speak to Tom through the cell’s tiny puncture holes. “Are you ready for this? You look good.”

Tom spoke in a low voice. “I look like crap and you know it. I haven’t bathed or shaved in days. My clothes stink, and I feel like a freak show on display in here.”

“Well, naturally you’re keyed up. Try to calm down. We have only one dog in this fight today. Bail. You got that?” Pressman gestured to the table across from his, pointing to a female attorney, actively organizing her stacks of folders, files, and case evidence.

“She looks more prepared,” said Tom.

“She’s not. Trust me. It’s all show. But she’s a mother who is very active in the community, her name’s Gina Glantz, and this judge likes her a lot. We’ll do what we can, but I need you to focus, and above all else, remain calm. Promise me that.”

“Yeah, I promise,” Tom said.

Tom allowed himself to think about Jill. He conjured up an image of Jill in better days, and that helped calm him. He’d come back to Shilo for her. Everything would eventually turn out all right.

Next, Tom cast a sweeping glance at all the spectators gathered inside the courtroom. He couldn’t see everybody in the sizable crowd, but he did happen to catch Rebecca’s eye. He didn’t wave to her, though she motioned to him. Tom saw Vern seated behind the front row of benches. His assistant coach gave Tom an encouraging thumbs-up sign. At least some had come to show their support.

The judge, midfifties, with a full head of dark hair, wearing wire-rimmed glasses, was seated at his bench. With a bang of the gavel, the courtroom chatter fell into silence.

The proceedings began. The charges against Tom were read aloud. A dozen counts of felonious sexual assault, along with the possession and distribution of more than three hundred images deemed to be lewd and lascivious depictions of minors.

“Do you understand the charges against you?” the judge said, directing his question to Tom. For somebody with “judge” in his job title, Tom felt the man had already passed sentence, just by the way he looked at him.

“Tell him you do,” Marvin whispered.

“I do.”

“And how do you plead?”

“Tell him not guilty,” Marvin said.

“Not guilty.”

The judge wrote something down. In answering the judge’s questions, Tom’s throat felt dry and his own voice rang weak and defeated in his ears.

The judge spoke again. “Is there a question of bail?”

“There is, Your Honor.” The D.A.’s prosecutor, Gina Glantz, rose from her seat.

“Proceed.”

“Your Honor, these are very serious charges levied against Mr. Hawkins. I would like to remind the court that before Mr. Hawkins’s recent move, he had not been a resident of the town for nine years.”

Marvin pounced. “Your Honor, I believe that’s irrelevant to the question of bail.”

“I think it’s quite relevant. It demonstrates the potential for a flight risk, no real ties to the community, especially given the gravity of the charges Mr. Hawkins is facing.”

“Your Honor, my client is an upstanding citizen. He’s a military veteran, a Navy SEAL at that, with no criminal history and strong ties to the community as both a guidance counselor and a soccer coach.”

“Which is precisely why the state is recommending that he be held without bail. Mr. Hawkins very well may be a threat to children. No bail, Your Honor, is the best way to ensure the public’s safety, especially given the preponderance of evidence against the accused.”

Held without bail. Tom let the words tumble about his head and rattle away all other worries.

Held without bail.

“This isn’t his trial, Gina,” Marvin countered. “There is precedent here for reasonable bail. The defense has yet to be provided with any of the evidence against my client. Bail should be based solely on risk or danger or flight and not any assumptions about my client’s guilt. He’s returned to Shilo to look after his daughter, of whom he now has full custody. I’d say he has strong ties to the community.”

The judge gave both attorneys a stern look.

“Picking up the defense’s argument, Your Honor, Mr. Hawkins also has many contacts throughout the world from his days in the military, justifying my flight risk concern. The defendant is trained to disappear. He has the skills and the resources to do just that.”

“I’m inclined to agree with the prosecution here,” the judge said.

Marvin rose to his feet. “Your Honor, in Dunlap v. the State of New Hampshire , a town-purchased computer was used by the accused to view child pornography. The bail for that case was set at twenty-five thousand dollars. I believe this sets a precedent for bail, given that both Dunlap and Mr. Hawkins are accused of similar crimes.”

“Mr. Dunlap was never charged with felonious sexual assault,” Glantz countered. “If Mr. Pressman requires adherence to this precedent, then the state recommends bail be set at two hundred thousand dollars.”

Somebody attending the proceedings clapped loudly.

The judge slammed down his gavel. “There will be no disrespect in my court!” he shouted. The room became uncomfortably silent.

“Your Honor, my client would execute a waiver of extradition to assure the court of his commitment to this trial,” Marvin said.

“Bail will be set at one hundred thousand dollars,” the judge decided. He banged the gavel again.

Tom gave Marvin a panicked look. “I can’t afford that, Marvin. Not even if I mortgaged the house. You know that,” he said. “Do something.”

“Tom, I’m sorry. The judge sets the bail. At least we have bail. You’ll have time to rally your supporters and raise the funds. Then we’ll have our day in court.”

“I’m going to lose Jill, Marvin. I need to be free so I can fight to clear my name.”

“Attorney Pressman, is your client in a position to post bail with the clerk’s office?”

“No, Your Honor. The bail set is too high.”

“In that case, I’m ordering Mr. Hawkins be remanded to state custody in the house of corrections for a period of—”

“Your Honor! Your Honor! Please…”

“Is somebody addressing the court?”

Tom turned around to see who had spoken. Everybody else inside the courtroom did the same. Adriana Boyd, dressed in a sharply tailored navy suit, with a glittering emerald brooch on the lapel, rose from her seat at the back of the courtroom.

“I will post bail for Mr. Hawkins.”

The room exploded in chatter, and the judge had to bang his gavel several times to regain order. “You understand you’ll be taking on the financial risk here?”

“I understand, Your Honor.”