phone rang just seconds after Ben’s Honda pulled out of the parking lot.
“Hello,” Spud said. And a few seconds after that, “Yeah, Kincaid, that was his name. Why?”
Spud glided into the chair behind his station. His brow creased. “Sure, I told him. What, should I have clammed up?”
A burst of static from the phone. “Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t know. If that’s the way you want it, from now on, that’s the way it’ll be. Promise.”
The tension in his face intensified. “Sure, whatever you want. No, he didn’t say where he was going. Oh, wait, he did say he was going back to the police station later on. No, he doesn’t know anything. Well, I don’t see any cause for that. Yeah, I know, you’re in charge, not me. Of course I will. You can count on it. I’ll call you first thing. Right.”
Spud wanted to hang up, but the voice on the other end would not release him. Another burst of staccato noise, finally followed by an abrupt disconnection.
Spud hung up the phone.
8
I T TOOK BEN OVER half an hour to return to his office. Most of Tulsa’s law firms, courthouses, government facilities, and business offices were in the central downtown area. The outer border of downtown was First Street, and north of First Street, there was nothing. Nothing reputable, anyway. Bars, junkyards, strip joints. And Ben’s office. Conveniently wedged between Ernie’s Pool Hall and the B & J Pawn Shop, Ben’s office was still within walking distance of the courthouses. It was just in a neighborhood through which no rational person would ever walk.
When Ben finally made it to his office, he found the front doors and windows splattered with dried egg yolks. Enough is enough, he swore silently. First T.P.’d, now egged. It was like high school all over again. He was going to have to put an end to this.
Jones was sitting at his card table in the small front lobby.
“I see you haven’t gotten rid of the chickens yet,” Ben noted. They seemed to be in constant motion, skittering frenetically from one side of the lobby to the other.
“What did you expect me to do?” Jones asked. “Sell them to the Colonel?”
“Not a bad idea, actually. I thought they were only supposed to run around like this when their heads were cut off.”
Jones smiled. “I can tell you’re a city boy.”
“Yeah. Hey, guess what?”
“You’re representing Christina on that murder rap.”
Spoil sport. “How did you know?”
“My friend Didi called. You know, the court clerk. Must’ve gotten your name and phone number off your entry of appearance. Your client’s preliminary hearing has been set for Friday.”
“Friday? Why not sooner?”
“Didi was a little vague on that. Perhaps the magistrate has other plans.”
“That’s unacceptable. The magistrate has already denied bail. Draft an emergency appeal to the district court, Jones, pending the preliminary hearing. I don’t want Christina spending any longer than necessary with the hookers and drug addicts.”
“Derek won’t like it.”
“All the more reason. Call the U.S. Attorney’s Office and get them to consent to the motion. Christina was arrested without a warrant. Under the Riverside County case, if the preliminary hearing isn’t held within forty-eight hours, the burden shifts to the government to prove the delay wasn’t unreasonable. Moltke won’t want to risk having his case dismissed on a due process violation. Tell him I won’t challenge the preliminary hearing date if he won’t oppose an emergency bail appeal. He’ll play along. Then Derek won’t have any choice.”
Jones searched the file cabinet beneath his table. “Application for emergency appeal,” he repeated. “Do we have a form for that?”
Ben removed the proper file folder. “Just fill in the blanks. I’ll review it later and make any necessary changes or additions. I want me hearing tomorrow morning.”
Jones scribbled a note on his desk calendar. “Got it.”
“While
“Hello,” Spud said. And a few seconds after that, “Yeah, Kincaid, that was his name. Why?”
Spud glided into the chair behind his station. His brow creased. “Sure, I told him. What, should I have clammed up?”
A burst of static from the phone. “Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t know. If that’s the way you want it, from now on, that’s the way it’ll be. Promise.”
The tension in his face intensified. “Sure, whatever you want. No, he didn’t say where he was going. Oh, wait, he did say he was going back to the police station later on. No, he doesn’t know anything. Well, I don’t see any cause for that. Yeah, I know, you’re in charge, not me. Of course I will. You can count on it. I’ll call you first thing. Right.”
Spud wanted to hang up, but the voice on the other end would not release him. Another burst of staccato noise, finally followed by an abrupt disconnection.
Spud hung up the phone.
8
I T TOOK BEN OVER half an hour to return to his office. Most of Tulsa’s law firms, courthouses, government facilities, and business offices were in the central downtown area. The outer border of downtown was First Street, and north of First Street, there was nothing. Nothing reputable, anyway. Bars, junkyards, strip joints. And Ben’s office. Conveniently wedged between Ernie’s Pool Hall and the B & J Pawn Shop, Ben’s office was still within walking distance of the courthouses. It was just in a neighborhood through which no rational person would ever walk.
When Ben finally made it to his office, he found the front doors and windows splattered with dried egg yolks. Enough is enough, he swore silently. First T.P.’d, now egged. It was like high school all over again. He was going to have to put an end to this.
Jones was sitting at his card table in the small front lobby.
“I see you haven’t gotten rid of the chickens yet,” Ben noted. They seemed to be in constant motion, skittering frenetically from one side of the lobby to the other.
“What did you expect me to do?” Jones asked. “Sell them to the Colonel?”
“Not a bad idea, actually. I thought they were only supposed to run around like this when their heads were cut off.”
Jones smiled. “I can tell you’re a city boy.”
“Yeah. Hey, guess what?”
“You’re representing Christina on that murder rap.”
Spoil sport. “How did you know?”
“My friend Didi called. You know, the court clerk. Must’ve gotten your name and phone number off your entry of appearance. Your client’s preliminary hearing has been set for Friday.”
“Friday? Why not sooner?”
“Didi was a little vague on that. Perhaps the magistrate has other plans.”
“That’s unacceptable. The magistrate has already denied bail. Draft an emergency appeal to the district court, Jones, pending the preliminary hearing. I don’t want Christina spending any longer than necessary with the hookers and drug addicts.”
“Derek won’t like it.”
“All the more reason. Call the U.S. Attorney’s Office and get them to consent to the motion. Christina was arrested without a warrant. Under the Riverside County case, if the preliminary hearing isn’t held within forty-eight hours, the burden shifts to the government to prove the delay wasn’t unreasonable. Moltke won’t want to risk having his case dismissed on a due process violation. Tell him I won’t challenge the preliminary hearing date if he won’t oppose an emergency bail appeal. He’ll play along. Then Derek won’t have any choice.”
Jones searched the file cabinet beneath his table. “Application for emergency appeal,” he repeated. “Do we have a form for that?”
Ben removed the proper file folder. “Just fill in the blanks. I’ll review it later and make any necessary changes or additions. I want me hearing tomorrow morning.”
Jones scribbled a note on his desk calendar. “Got it.”
“While
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