Blossom - Andrew H. Vachss [42]
"I got another friend in here, Mr. Hightower. His name is Lloyd. He was here before. Just came in again yesterday. They won't let him into population until tomorrow. White kid, about your height, a little bit shorter. Slim build, black hair."
"I know him."
"Yeah. Any friend of mine is a friend of yours, understand? I never let anything happen to my friends. I know what to do if something does."
"You want me to look out for this white boy?" he sneered.
I leaned forward, close to his face. Dropped my voice to a whisper. "I want you to look out for yourself, okay? I went to see your mother—left her some cash. Anything happens to my friend, I figure maybe I made a mistake about you. Maybe you're not my friend like I thought. That happens, I'll go see your mother again."
His eyes were unvarnished hate. I held them. Let him see the truth. Right down to the deep spot where the blood–spill starts.
57
BOSTICK WAS RELAXED in the courtroom. Wearing one of those slouchy Italian suits over highly polished black boots. Not lazy, staying within himself. Like a good host at a party. Virgil and Rebecca were in the front row, dressed in their church clothes. I sat next to Bostick at the counsel table.
The judge was a youngish man, light brown hair carefully combed to one side, face already starting to pudge from the rewards of honest living. The ADA was the kind of guy who spends his life going through the motions and never gets good at it. The kind of guy who screws something up so many times they call him experienced.
The kind of fight you don't waste your time fixing.
A reporter from the Post–Tribune flipped open his pad. I caught his eye. Whoever he was, he wasn't there to go through the motions.
"Your Honor," Bostick began, voice low and controlled. Hounds in check. "The purpose of bail is to ensure the defendant's presence at trial. The so–called evidence against my client does not aggregate to the weight of good gossip. The court knows full well that the totality of the prosecutor's case would not survive a probable–cause hearing. The crimes…they are horrible. Shocking to the conscience of the community. And the perpetrator surely deserves our worst condemnation. But, Your Honor, I respectfully suggest that the people of our community are ill served by illusion. The killer is not in this courtroom! As long as the press treats this case as solved, our people will sleep peacefully. But it will be the peaceful sleep of sheep who do not sense the presence of the wolf. Leads will dry up. People will not come forward and communicate with the police. If the court keeps Lloyd in jail, that time will be forever lost to him. When the killer is apprehended, all this court will be able to offer this boy is an apology. That is not the way we treat our citizens, Judge. We have been ready for the probable–cause hearing for weeks. Indeed, we are ready right at this moment. But the prosecutor's office has made no such attempt. If the police are satisfied with their investigation, let's have a trial. Let's have a trial, so my client can go home, to be with his family."
The ADA got to his feet, already exhausted. "Your Honor, the defendant was on bail. He jumped bail, disappeared. How can we be sure he'll show up when his trial starts?"
"He didn't jump bail," Bostick said in a mild voice. "The prosecutor knows better than that, Judge. The boy panicked. He was scared. But he never left town. All that really happened was he didn't show for an appointment with his probation officer. That was wrong, and Lloyd knows it was wrong. But remember, Your Honor, the boy's family put up his bail. And it was the boy's family who found him. And brought him right back to the police station. The only reason Lloyd is in custody right this minute is because he surrendered himself."
The judge looked a question down from the bench. The prosecutor nodded. "I'm going to continue bail in the same amount,