Vanishing Acts by Jodi Picoult

for a case of this magnitude. Not for a case where I have a personal stake in the outcome.
Beside me, Andrew touches my arm. “Make them take the chains off. I don't want her to see me like this.”
“It's inmate policy in the courtroom,” I answer. “I can't do anything about it.” The judge is a woman relatively new to the bench. She comes from a public defender's background, which is a plus for Andrew, but she is also the mother of three small children. “I have before me a complaint alleging that you are a fugitive from justice with kidnapping contrary to the laws of Arizona. I see that you have an attorney with you, so I'll address my remarks to him. You have two options today. One is to waive extradition and go to Arizona to meet the charge. The other option is to contest extradition and require the State to seek a Governor's Warrant.”
“My client chooses to waive extradition, Your Honor,” I say. “He's looking forward to dealing with this charge quickly.”
The judge nods. “Then bail won't be an issue. I assume you're going to allow us to incarcerate Mr. Hopkins until he can be transferred to Arizona.”
“Actually, Judge, we'd like bail to be set,” I say. The prosecutor is out of his seat like a shot. “Absolutely not, Your Honor!” The judge turns toward him. “Mr. Floritz? Is there something you'd like to add?”
“Your Honor, the two primary considerations for bail are the safety of the community and risk of flight. The defendant is just about the biggest flight risk you could ask for-look at what already happened.”
“Allegedly happened,” I interject. “Mr. Hopkins is a valuable member of the Wexton community. He has served for five years as a town councilman. He's almost single-handedly responsible for the creation of the current senior center, and he has been nothing less than an exemplary parent and grandparent. This isn't a man who's a menace to society, Your Honor. I urge the Court to consider the admirable citizen he has been before rushing to any hasty judgment.” Too late, I realize what I've done wrong. You never, never, ever infer that a judge might be hasty in his or her decision-making; it is like pointing out to a wolf that it has bad breath while it is considering ripping out your carotid. The judge looks coolly at me. “I believe that I have more than adequate information to make a legitimate ruling here ... swift though it may be,.Counselor. I'm setting a one-million-dollar cash-only bail.” She bangs her gavel. “Next case?” The bailiffs haul Andrew out of the courtroom before he even has a chance to ask me what happens next. The seniors erupt in a slow-motion flurry of activity, crying foul and then being shuffled by another bailiff into the hallway. The prosecutor gets up from his seat and walks toward me. “Eric,” he says, “you sure you're ready to get involved in something like this?”
He isn't questioning my legal abilities but my tolerance for stress. Although he's been dry for twenty years, I'm a neophyte. I give him a tight smile. “I've got it under control,” I lie. Recovering alcoholics are good at that, too. I relinquish my table to a public defender who is getting ready for the next arraignment. I'm not looking forward to Delia's disappointment, now that she knows Andrew will have to stay overnight in jail again, that I have already failed. Resigned, I turn to the spot where we were sitting, but she's disappeared. Six years ago I drove my car off the road while I was trying to open a bottle of Stoli and steer with my knees. By some miracle the only casualty was a sugar maple. I walked to a bar, where I had to consume a few drinks before I felt calm enough to call Delia and tell her what had happened. The next week, I found myself waking up in places I had no recollection of going to: the living room of a fraternity on the Dartmouth campus; the kitchen of a Chinese restaurant; the cement divider of the Wilder Dam. It was after one of these benders