The Dead Room by Robert Ellis Read Free Book Online

man heard in a week. Probably hundreds, he thought, working the room with grace and professionalism but thank God for weekends and holidays and any day he could get off.
    “Bail isn’t an issue,” the judge said, paging through his calendar. “How about next Tuesday? We’ll schedule the preliminary hearing for ten o’clock. Judge Reis is available. I think we’ll give this one to him.”
    The judge turned to Teddy with a practiced calm; they were in the eye of the storm tonight, not fighting the heavy winds and swirling sea that lay beyond. Teddy couldn’t help but wonder what Judge Reis may have done to deserve this one.
    “Thank you, Your Honor,” he said. “But I was hoping for a delay of a week or two in order to evaluate my client’s mental competence. I’ve just come from the crime scene. Given the circumstances, it would seem to be a relevant issue in the case.”
    “Maybe so,” the judge said with a twinkle in his eye. “Only it’s not an issue tonight.”
    Teddy cleared his throat. “Thank you, Your Honor.”
    He glanced over at Powell as she agreed on the date and everyone wrote it down. It was obvious from the look on her face that she hadn’t expected him to say anything at all. Because of the weight of the crime and his lack of experience, she seemed surprised by his attempt to stall.
    Powell got up from her chair, still eyeing Teddy as she gathered her papers. Then Judge Vandergast switched the TV off. Once the screen went blank, once the image of Holmes vanished into the night and they were safe, only then did the judge rise from the bench, claiming he and the court would require a brief, thirty-minute break.

 
     
     
     
    SIX
     
     
     
    The steel door swayed open. Teddy was escorted from the lobby into a small passageway by the assistant warden—a tall, surprisingly gentle-looking man by the name of J.S. Dean.
    “Welcome to the Curran-Fromhold Correctional Facility,” Dean said, slamming the heavy door shut with what Teddy considered an overly dramatic bang.
    They waited a moment for the electronic lock to engage. Then a second door clicked open and they started down a wide corridor to the holding area. Prisoners roamed freely here, pushing carts and carrying boxes in both directions. Teddy guessed that privileges were granted for good behavior and that the inmates he saw were on work duty even at this hour.
    Good behavior or not, Teddy kept his eyes on them.
    He’d made the ten mile drive up I-95 to Prison Row without needing directions. Curran-Fromhold was one of four city prisons set side by side on State Road just off the interstate. The sight of the prisons with their high walls, bright lights, and watchtowers could be seen from two miles away. Before leaving the city, he’d returned to the Wawa minimarket for another large coffee to go. He’d even tried calling Jim Barnett’s cell phone once he cleared the parking garage. The attempt had been unsuccessful, which struck Teddy as odd. Either Barnett needed to change batteries on his cell phone, or he’d deliberately switched it off. Given the circumstances, neither possibility made sense or did much for Teddy’s frayed nerves.
    The assistant warden pointed to the right and they started down a ramp into a second corridor. As they walked, J.S. Dean recounted the history of the prison and how the city chose its name.
    “It happened twenty-nine years ago,” Dean said, looking him over.
    Teddy was twenty-seven. That would make it 1973.
    “Not here, but at Holmesburg Prison,” Dean said. “Holmesburg’s closed now, but you can see it from the parking lot.”
    “Just on the other side of the interstate,” Teddy said.
    Dean nodded. “Two inmates had a grievance over religious services and scheduled a meeting with Deputy Warden Fromhold in his office. But when they showed up, it turned out they didn’t really want to talk about religion at all. Instead, one of them grabbed Fromhold and held him down while the other stabbed