The Fury - Jason Pinter [26]
thirty years. I think a little while without him will be
easier."
"How are you holding up?" she asked.
"Given the circumstances? Could be worse. I haven't
had the nervous breakdown I was sure was coming
when I saw her."
"Do you believe your father's story? About the gun?
The money?"
I sighed. "Guess I have to. You know what's funny?"
"What?"
"I've never felt closer to him. Guess not too many
sons and fathers can have being accused of murder as
a way to relate to each other."
10
Amanda and I sat in the first row of the Bend County
District Courthouse as my father was led into the room
in handcuffs. My mother sat next to us, her eyes distant
like she was viewing a movie, not watching her husband
accused of murder. He was seated at a small wooden
table next to a man in a natty suit, his temporary courtappointed lawyer, Douglas Aaronson. Once the case
was transferred to New York we'd have to find him new
representation. None of us could afford much of
anything, so the best we could hope for was someone
competent enough to either prove my father's inno
cence, or at least keeps things progressing until we could
prove it ourselves.
Judge Catherine Rawling entered the courtroom.
"All rise," the bailiff said. Everyone stood up. Aaronson
had to prompt my father. He stood up awkwardly.
Rawling was younger than I would have expected for
a judge, late thirties, with close-cropped blond hair. Her
face was emotionless as she took her chair. She looked
at my father for a moment.
"Be seated," she said, averting her gaze. Chairs and
The Fury
81
benches squeaked as we obeyed. "Counselor, I'm under
the impression that Mr. Parker has agreed to sign the
nonjudicial waiver. Is that correct?"
The lawyer next to my father stood up, hands at his
sides. "Yes, Your Honor."
"Do you have that document present?"
The bailiff, a hulking bald man, approached the table
and took the paper from Aaronson. He brought it up to
Judge Rawling, who put on a pair of reading glasses and
pored over the sheet. Once finished, she looked up.
"I now remand James Parker to the custody of the New
York Police Department, who have a warrant out for Mr.
Parker's arrest on the charge of murder in the first degree."
I shuddered as I heard those words. Though my
father and I had this terrible thing in common, I'd thank
fully never heard those words uttered. They seemed to
affect him too, as he turned to the lawyer, eyes open, as
though expecting the man to suddenly yell surprise and
remove the handcuffs.
Rawling continued.
"Mr. Aaronson, am I also correct in the information
that two deputies from the NYPD have arrived to take
Mr. Parker into custody pending a grand jury hearing?"
"That is correct, Your Honor." So far Aaronson was
doing a bang-up job.
"Bailiff," Rawling said, "please show them in."
The bailiff walked to the double doors at the front of
the courtroom. He pulled them open, and nodded at
whoever was waiting outside to follow him. When the
bailiff reentered, there were two men trailing him. One
was a young officer, couldn't have been more than
twenty-four or -five, but with muscles that stretched out
82
Jason Pinter
his blue uniform. And right behind him, wearing a
standard suit, to my surprise, was Detective Sevi Mak
houlian.
"Your Honor," the bailiff said. "Officer Clark and
Detective Makhoulian of the NYPD."
"Thank you, Bailiff. I hereby grant transfer of this
prisoner into custody of the NYPD for extradition to
New York City." She looked at the two cops as she
spoke. "From this point forward James Parker is under
your responsibility and jurisdiction, in accordance with
New York State. Gentlemen, thank you for your prompt
ness in coming out here. Mr. Parker," she said, "you are
remanded into the custody of these officers."
The bailiff approached. The three men took my
father by his cuffs and led him outside. As soon as they
did, Amanda and I got up and followed.
"Detective!" I shouted. Makhoulian turned around.
He looked slightly surprised to see me.