Perri O'Shaughnessy - Presumption Of Death

Funny, Nina thought, two societies so close and so separate. She didn’t agree with the Cat Lady that there were only two classes, the exploiters and the exploitees, but the enormous difference in wealth did seem at the heart of the social schism.

Her mind returned to the Twelve Points. Who can say what is a successful life? Ruth Frost had expressed her opinions in the newspaper, no doubt influencing some people. She had saved the lives of some animals. She had been free and she had done some good. Nina wondered what would happen to the cats.

The bailiff called Number Thirty-Five on the docket, People v. Whitefeather, the big case for today, the homicide. As Wish was brought to the counsel table shuffling in his leg shackles, lurid with his shaved head and the orange jumpsuit that made the defendants resemble Halloween janitors, the reporters in the second row woke up.

Wish would not be going home today, not with bail set at a million five. Nina pulled out the chair for him and helped him sit down.

Judge Salas, like everybody else, observed them; he stared at Wish, the star today, if not the hero. Wish wasn’t a head-hanger; he paid attention, his eyes jumping back and forth.

Nina glanced down at the official charges Jaime had just handed her, conscious of the mundane sounds and sights of the courtroom around her, the bailiff lounging against the wall by the defendants in the jury box, the clerk shuffling her papers, somebody reading a newspaper in his lap in the back, the yellow light, the clock on the wall.

Salas read the charges out loud. Daniel Cervantes had died on or about June 9, a Tuesday.

“In the county of Monterey, California… How do you plead?”

How do you plead? Do you get down on your knees and beg?

They were standing. In the moment before Wish had his first chance to say a word, Nina and Wish looked at each other. Nina felt flustered, as if something had jerked in her reality, as if her mother had reached down from heaven to tap her on the shoulder. Wish, standing next to her with his forehead furrowed and his hands clenched together in front of him, gave Nina the same look her mother used to give her, the one that said, Nina-pinta, they won’t get us down. We can survive anything.

Not just his expression, but the way his eyebrows drew together, the way he put his chin up and firmed up his mouth, moved her. Nina thought with a pang, He trusts me completely. He thinks there’s no danger.

Passing her fingers lightly over her forehead, she pulled herself together.

“How do you plead?” Salas repeated.

Nina nudged Wish. “Not guilty.” His voice didn’t waver.

Nina couldn’t say a word about Ruth Frost. Now was not a time to raise a defense, unfortunately. The rest of the arraignment ritual commenced.

Jaime asked her again for a waiver of time, this time in front of Salas. He had been flabbergasted when Nina had explained several days before that she would not waive the ten-day rule. Wish had a right under the Penal Code to have a judge examine the charges in a court hearing, even in a murder case, within ten court days.

But no defense counsel in a murder case ever refused to waive time. The information passed on to the defense was usually overwhelming, and the defense attorney wouldn’t want to miss anything. Even in the Robert Blake Hollywood murder case, the defense was still complaining bitterly about the volume of information and asking for more time before the prelim, eight months after the arraignment.

Nina had her own ideas about the conventional defense-counsel wisdom, however. She had noticed that if she worked very hard during those ten court days, she could master everything the prosecution had and still mount a defense of sorts. California district-attorney’s offices had gotten lazy about prelims, which they liked to process like widgets on the factory line. The deputy D.A. couldn’t put the time in that she could. The evidence was much more fluid, the witness statements more subject to attack, than at a later trial.

So she would refuse to waive time, attack at the prelim, be well prepared, and cut no slack. This caused unpleasantness with the D.A.’s along the lines of, don’t come asking us for any favors. Like a good deal for the client.

So it was usually a trade-off. Jaime would give her a hard time if she needed a plea bargain. But a plea bargain would never happen in this case, because Wish was as innocent of evil as Jimmy Carter.

They set the prelim for June 30, a Monday, Salas shaking his head, giving her a hard look, and asking her how long she had been practicing law. The clerk wrote the date down and gave the lawyers their copies.

The bailiff grabbed Wish by the elbow. Hauled up like a dolphin in a tuna net, Wish lost whatever dignity he had left. Nina decided to complain to Jaime about showing more respect handling the defendants.

The next defendant stood up, ready to get started, and Nina looked over at Wish once more, saying with her eyes, just a few more days, hang on.

With recess finally announced, Nina went out into the hall.

“Ms. Reilly!” Salas’s clerk called to her. She had followed her out. “Judge received a phone call.”

“Yes?”

“For you. Apparently this person didn’t know how to reach you and called the court instead.” She handed Nina a note.

“Thanks.” Nina walked outside, reading.

The almost-incoherent message had apparently been transcribed verbatim from an after-hours tape.

For Miss Nina Reilly. He makes me eat bad things. Maybe you could come get me. Liar liar pants on fire and choir singing in tire. His hands are bloody but you can’t see it he hides them in the forest and silver things aren’t his. Thieves do that. And he said one more the big one it will be done. So please set me free, yours truly, my mother said always to say that at the end.

She knew immediately who it was. She called Paul on her cell phone. “Busy?”

“I have the autopsy report and some news. Are you finished at court?”

“Yes. Nate called.”

“Coyote’s little brother?”

“I think he needs help.”

“I’ll meet you at the condo. We’ll talk there. How did it go with Wish?”

“As expected. I’m going to call a psychiatrist about Nate and read him this note the minute I get back.”

N INA HUNG UP THE PHONE IN the living room and reported, “Dr. Cervenka says it’s typical schizophrenic speech, but he can’t tell whether there is actually an external problem. Nate may be unhappy, he may be in danger, or he might just be expressing some inner reality.”

Paul pushed back in his chair, crossed his legs, and put his hands behind his head. “I don’t think we should interfere,” he said.

“You think that boy is adequately cared for in that tent he lives in? By that hostile man he lives with?”

“Coyote’s his brother,” Paul reminded her. “Kept him alive this long. You could call the county and ask for a Child Welfare check.”

“That might take weeks. They’re so far out in the country. I’ve been thinking about Nate, about what you called his nest.”

“And he hadn’t seen a kind woman for a long time, I bet,” Paul said. “So he’s been thinking about you ever since too.”

“Think how hard it must have been for Nate to find a phone number that might reach me-he has to be desperate! He obviously has no one else. We have to do something,” she said. “I don’t want to read in the paper that something happened to him.” She pulled her jeans out of the suitcase.

“He’s not your problem or responsibility. Wish is. And, Nina, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but things are falling apart around here. We need a couple of hours to do chores and get things in shape. And I have the autopsy report on Ruth Frost. We need to talk about it.”