Lisa Scottoline - Moment Of Truth

'Yes, Your Honor,' Jack answered, his voice mechanical through the microphones.

'Mr Newlin, this is your arraignment,' the commissioner said needlessly. 'You are arraigned on a general charge of murder in the death of Honor Newlin.'

Mary saw Jack wince, the tiny gesture plain on the large TV screen.

'Murder, that is, homicide, is the most serious crime one human being can commit against another. Your preliminary hearing is scheduled for January thirteenth in the Criminal Justice Center. You will be brought down at nine o'clock and taken in turn. Do you understand?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Very well. I see you have a private attorney present, so I will not appoint a public defender. Now we come to the question of bail in this matter.' The commissioner turned to the D.A. On the screen his miniature face turned, too. 'Mr Davis, I expect you have something to say on the bail issue.'

'We do, Your Honor.' Davis stood straight as a pencil. 'As you know, murder is, as a general rule, not a bailable offense in Philadelphia County. The Commonwealth feels very strongly that the commissioner should follow custom and practice in this matter, for in this case, bail is not in order.'

Mary bristled. 'Your Honor, bail should be granted. There is precedent for bail in murder cases, as you know. The law is simply that bail isn't automatic, as it is for other offenses. Bail is routinely granted where the defendant is an upstanding member of the community.' She had been up all night studying the law. 'That is the case with Mr Newlin. He is a partner at the Tribe firm, a member of the Red Cross Board, and of several charitable trusts. It

goes without saying he has no criminal convictions. He is a superb candidate for bail.'

'You make a nice point, Ms DiNunzio.' The commissioner mulled it over, rubbing his chin like a miniseries jurist. 'It is true, the defendant is well known in the community. Mr Davis, what say you?'

'Your Honor, in my view, the defendant's prominence cuts both ways. First, he should not be treated better than other defendants merely because of his social status. Secondly, as a wealthy partner in a major law firm, the defendant possesses financial resources far beyond the average person and has a significant family fortune. All of this argues that he poses a significant risk of flight. This individual can use his resources to flee not only the jurisdiction, but the country.'

Mary shook her head. 'Your Honor, Mr Newlin poses no flight risk. He has a number of ties to the community and in fact has immediate family here. His daughter, Paige, lives and works in Philadelphia.'

Jack flinched at the sound of her name, Mary saw it; his forehead creased in a frisson of fear. He didn't want Paige brought into it, and it conflicted Mary. She had to make the right argument, whether he wanted it or not. She caught the ghost of her own reflection in the glass of the TV, and she looked almost as stressed as Jack.

Davis stifled a laugh. 'Your Honor, I find it difficult to understand that defense counsel can argue Mr Newlin's devotion to his daughter. He is, after all, charged with the murder of her mother.'

The bail commissioner looked into the camera lens, as if for a close-up. 'Mr Newlin, I've heard your attorney's arguments, but I must rule against you. There will be no bail in this matter and you are remanded to county jail until your next court date.' The bail commissioner closed one pleadings folder and opened another. 'That concludes your arraignment, Mr Newlin. Please sign the subpoena in front of you and the sheriff will escort you back to your cell.'

Jack vanished as abruptly as if someone had grabbed the remote and changed the channel, and Mary watched with dismay as the screen returned to its four boxes. She knew, more than she could rightly justify, that he was innocent. All she had to do was prove it.

But her client was her worst enemy, and the first round had gone to him.

On the way back to the office, Mary took a detour through the young and hip floor at Bonner's Department Store, which was downtown near the Criminal Justice Center. The floor was actually named Young amp; Hip, which told Mary instantly that she wasn't allowed to be there. Growing up, she had only been Guilty amp; Sinful, and as a lawyer had segued right into Guilty amp; Billable.

She wandered through racks of shirts that looked too small to cover even a single breast and skirts you wouldn't have to roll to shorten. Now what fun was that? And how would you achieve that bumpy effect at the hem? She considered asking where the real clothes were, as opposed to the joke clothes, but she was on a mission. She searched for a salesperson.

'Can you help me?' Mary asked, locating a skinny young woman with about three hundred plastic clips in her hair. Each clip was shaped like a baby butterfly that had landed, quite by magic, on its own clump of hair. Mary addressed the woman without reference to her hair, pretending that a headful of insects was not only normal, but desirable. 'I need some information about a photo shoot that took place here Sunday. It was for the store. For a newspaper layout, I think.'

'Wait.' The saleswoman put a green fingernail to her cheek, and, again, Mary acted as if emerald were a naturally occurring shade in nongangrenous tissue. One couldn't question the Young amp; Hip. 'You have to ask the manager. She's over there.' She pointed, and Mary followed her green fingernail like a traffic light that said Go!

The manager turned out to be the youngest and hippest of all, which Mary should have anticipated; short, canary-colored hair that looked greasy on purpose, no discernible shame about her black roots, and a tongue pierce that created a speech impediment. The manager was otherwise tall and slender, with contacts, blue eyes and a name tag that read TORI!

'Excuse me, were you at the photo shoot at the store this weekend?' Mary asked.

'Sure.' Tori! leaned on a chrome rack of Capri pants, NEW FOR SPRING despite the fact it was midwinter. 'I'm at all the shoots. They have 'em at the store 'cause it's cheap. Swingin' in the racks, you know.'

Mary nodded. 'There was a model at the shoot named Paige Newlin. A redhead. Do you remember her?'

'Oh-my-God, her mom was just murdered, right?' Tori! squealed like they used to for Elvis, and Mary looked nervously around. The department was mercifully empty, Philly evidently not being Young amp; Hip enough. You had to go to New York for that. Mary leaned closer to Tori!

'I'd prefer you keep this confidential. I'm a lawyer working on the case, and I need to know if you saw Paige Newlin at the shoot.'

'But that is so weird, that her mom got killed and all. I saw her name in the paper. Newlin. That is sooo random.'

'Yes. Now, did you see a redhead? Long ponytail?'

'A redhead?' Tori! swirled her tongue around her barbell, which Mary gathered was helping her think. 'Uh, no. There were a lot of girls. I didn't think they were so hot.'

'Did you happen to meet any of their managers?'

'No, none of the managers come to the shoots.'

Mary considered it. Paige had said her mother was there. 'What about mothers who are managers? Like Paige's mother, Mrs Newlin.'

'I don't know. I don't remember. I was kinda busy, you know, getting the stock we needed.'

Mary sighed. 'So you didn't see Paige and her mother?'

'Nope. Can't help you out there.' Tori! clicked again, then started waving. 'Maybe Fontana can, though. She's our tailor. Fontana!' she called out, and Mary turned to see whom the manager was hailing. Coming at them with ladylike steps was a very short woman, Mary's mother's height. She wore a navy blue suit, a white shirt with a floppy bow tie, and brown shoes with sensible heels. Her glasses looked old and her smile sweet, and Mary knew instantly that they were both Little amp; Italian. She fought the impulse to run into her arms.