A Map of the World - Jane Hamilton [64]
“Yes, well, they always do when the charge is a felony.”
“A felony,” I repeated. “She hasn’t done anything.”
“If the police acted lawfully,” he said, “then the arrest is valid. That’s the question to grapple with right now.” I remembered then, that night years before when Alice and I went to the county fair. Everything on the grounds was caked with grit. There was no escape from the intoxicating smell of corn dogs and horse manure and axle grease. We had laughed at the sight of Mr. Finn, “Judge Finn,” Alice had called him. We laughed watching him hand up the envelope at the end of the Miss Dairyland Contest.
“Was there a warrant?” he asked.
“Ah, yes,” I said. “I saw it for just a second.”
“I suspect what happened here is the police felt they had reasonably trustworthy information, sufficient, as the law reads, to make ‘a reasonable man’ think it more likely than not that the proposed arrest is justified. We call that ‘probable cause.’ In arrests with a warrant, the determination of probable cause is made by a judge up at the courthouse.”
“Alice knows Rafferty personally. She would really like him on this.”
“I’m sure you know, Mr. Goodwin, that it is essential she have counsel immediately. They’ll set bail sometime today. Mr. Rafferty isn’t in until Thursday—”
“I understand,” I said.
“There are two things you can do right now. You can retain a lawyer, which I strongly advise you to do without delay, and you can pay the bond when it’s posted.”
Although he had clearly given me specific instructions, I was still waiting for him to tell me simply how we could get her out. I understood the workings of the court system well enough, but it is fair to say that I was stupefied at the beginning. I guess the process seemed obscure because we were in the middle of it. A person doesn’t ever think much about being in that kind of trouble, or plan for it. I thought that Alice would be exempt from the rules because her arrest was a blatant mistake.
“If you’d like me to represent her until Thursday—”
“Thank you, thanks for the information. I appreciate—”
“Look,” he said, “Mr. Rafferty isn’t in until Thursday. She should have someone, a public defender, anyone until then. Does she understand that she should remain silent until—”
“Thank you,” I blared. “We’ll do that. Thank you very much. I’ll be in t-touch.”
Alice has sometimes told people, I guess in a way I find objectionable, as if I’m a show animal, that one of my strong points is my ability to stay calm. She had been excessively calm on the telephone, all things considered. I already felt the need to make up somehow for what she had lacked. I careened from the paper-towel dispenser to the refrigerator to the cupboard. I went around the room a couple of times trying to make something other than Marshmallow Fluff sandwiches for my daughters. All the drawers were wide open and I kept bumping them. I called the jail and was told that they did not give out information about inmates over the telephone. I got through to the public defender’s office only to learn that the person handling Alice’s case was in court. When the secretary put me on hold it occurred to me for the first time that I might be powerless to get Alice out before morning. I needed to tell her not to breathe a word, not to open her mouth. I gripped the sink, queasy for a minute, afraid that she was going to blurt to anyone who’d listen, that business about the “sexed house.” I pulled out the clutter of pans and appliances and pots that we always threw down below in the cupboards. We hadn’t had time or energy or the talent for organization. The cupboards were proof of our deficiencies. The slippery bread pans had been stacked and stored without being washed. The ice-cube trays were filled with spider webs and insect skeletons. There were three large plastic bags stuffed with lids and no jars anywhere in sight. Ordinarily such a mess wouldn’t have mattered to me. Emma and Claire examined the things with enthusiasm until they realized that the black specks on the contact paper were