The Sisterhood - Michael Palmer [77]
Reggie Lyons leaned over and whispered, “David, don’t you be scared now. Jes’ go in there an think about the beach or your favorite broad or somethin’. All the uniforms an’ robes is jes’ dress-up. A game they play to impress one another an’ scare the shit out of us.”
David turned and looked at Reggie’s aged, ageless face. “Thanks,” he said hoarsely. “Thanks a lot.”
The man stared at him curiously, then took one of David’s hands in both of his. His palms were thick with calluses. “Good luck, man,” he whispered. “Don’t give in to ’em.”
The paunchy bailiff snapped handcuffs on David as he stepped out of the tank. Moments later, he was seated in the prisoners’ dock. The three-foot-high, four-foot-square pen was a wooden island, separating him from the rest of the courtroom. Told to stand, he braced his legs against one low panel as new words, new voices and scenes worked their way into his nightmare.
The clerk who read the charges was a spinsterish woman who looked as if she had been born into the ornate old courtroom.
“As to complaint number three one nine four seven, your complainant, John Dockerty, respectfully represents that in the City of Boston in the County of Suffolk in behalf of said Commonwealth, David Edward Shelton of Boston in the County of Suffolk on the second day of October, in violation of the General Laws, chapter two six five, section one, did wrongfully murder one Charlotte Winthrop Thomas with intent to murder her by injecting into her body a quantity of morphine sulfate.
“The court has entered a plea for the defendant of not guilty.”
David leaned more heavily against the panel as the district attorney, a slick young man with two rings on each hand, briefly outlined the case against him. Disconnected words and phrases were all that registered. “… premeditated … unconscionable misuse of his skill and knowledge … clandestine injection … positively identified as … murder, as heinous as any committed in passion.… ”
“Dr. Shelton, do you understand the charges that have been brought against you?” the judge said mechanically. David nodded. “Speak up, please. Do you understand the charges?”
“Yes,” David managed.
“And do you have a lawyer?”
For several seconds there was total silence in the room. Then a voice called out from the last row of seats. “Yes, yes, he does, Your Honor.” A thin man, dressed in a three-piece pinstripe suit, rose and walked briskly down the aisle toward the judge.
“You’re representing this man, Mr. Glass?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Let the record show the defendant is represented by Mr. Benjamin Glass.”
David’s eyes narrowed as he studied the man who had come forward to champion him. Black hair … thinning … strands combed carefully across the top … scuffed brown leather briefcase … broad gold wedding band, intricately carved.
Glass walked to him and smiled encouragement. “You okay?” he asked softly. David managed a nod. “You’re white as a ghost. Do you need to see a doctor or anything?” This time a shake. The lawyer’s face was dark, nearly olive colored—unlined and youthful, yet at the same time seasoned and assured. Dark circles underscored the intensity in his eyes. “Sorry I’m late. Lauren didn’t connect with me until this morning. Let me get you out of here, then we’ll talk.”
Ben Glass approached the judge. “Your Honor, I would like to move for bail and petition for a probable-cause hearing.” He looked slight to David, almost frail. But his stance, the tilt of his head exuded confidence.
It was his world, David realized, his operating room. “Thank you, Lauren,” he whispered. For the first time the flicker of hope appeared in his nightmare.
“On what grounds?” the judge said.
“Your Honor, Dr. Shelton is a respected surgeon with no criminal record and no recent history that would suggest the need for psychiatric observation and evaluation. ”
“Very well. Fifty thousand dollars cash.”
“Your Honor,” Glass said with just the right incredulity,