Code 61 - Donald Harstad [120]
Hester and I sat him back up in his chair. Physically, he seemed to be just fine. Hester got a wet paper towel and wiped his face, clearing away the tears, mucus, and spittle and that seemed to help. It at least made him easier to look at. I figured the ambulance would take about fifteen minutes.
And, of course, Attorney Junkel picked that moment to make an entrance.
“What's going on here?” asked a strident, courtroom voice. I didn't even have to turn around to know it was Junkel.
“Hi.”
“What have you done to my client?”
“Very little, actually.” I shrugged. “Basically, we arrested him,” I explained.
“How are you, son?” he asked.
“Toby is shitty,” said Toby. “And Toby thanks you for asking.”
Junkel looked at me. “Just what is going on here?”
It took about all I could muster not to answer him in third person. What I said was, “We arrested Toby for breaking in to the Freiberg Funeral Home, and driving a stake into the chest of the corpse of Edie Younger.”
You just don't get to see an attorney look like that every day. His eyes widened, and his jaw dropped perceptibly. Seeing his startled look, I had an inspiration.
“It's either a simple misdemeanor, or, if you consider it a hate crime, it becomes a serious misdemeanor. The statutory bond for the most serious one is fifty dollars. Cash.”
“Can he post?” asked Junkel.
I played my ace. “Nope. Looks like he's ours.”
It worked. Just to spite me, Junkel reached into his back pocket, pulled out his billfold, and removed a fifty-dollar bill. Why not? He'd probably received a call from Jessica Hunley, he was on retainer, and the bill would now include a fifty-dollar expense.
“The hell he is,” he said. “He's now in the care of his attorney!”
I looked down at the money, then up at Junkel. “I suppose you'll want a receipt?” I tried to sound disappointed.
He glared at me. “Of course I will.”
I thought for about two seconds about a possible aiding and abetting in a murder case as another charge for Toby. But to pop him on his statements, while in his current state, would just be asking for trouble. We didn't have any good evidence against him yet, and moving too soon would tip our hand. I rejected the notion.
“And you might as well also help him with his committal to the Mental Health Institute. We've started that. You might not have noticed, but your client is pretty well pharmaceutically enhanced,” I said.
Eventually, the mental health referee came up, pretty much took one look at Toby, and told Junkel that, “Your client's having a bad trip,” and offered to sign Toby into the MHI for detoxification and counseling. Translated, that was roughly a three-day involuntary commitment. I was very pleased with detox.
“Unless, of course, your client wished to commit himself,” said the referee. I could tell he was thinking about the paperwork. “If that's the case, all this would be unnecessary.”
Junkel leaped at the offer, so Toby obligingly agreed to commit himself. Cheap trip, as he could check out any time he wanted to, he would be guaranteed to be back out in three days, and his attorney was going to have to figure out how to haul him to the mental health facility at Independence. But at least he wasn't a drain on our meager resources.
Besides, with what we actually had on him, it would have been three and out, anyway.
About two hours after we had arrived at the office, Toby was on his way. As we helped pack him into Junkel's car,