Dying Declaration by Randy Singer Read Free Book Online Page B

if the parents made bond, she would ask that it be conditioned on foster care for the kids pending trial on the theory that the best interest of the children required caregivers who would seek appropriate medical help.
    She would pull the kids into her office and get some powerful videotaped statements before shipping them off to the foster home. She had cut her teeth on domestic-violence cases. She knew how to work the kids.
    She would alert the media and promise exclusive interviews. And she would handle everything herself.
    She thought about Sean’s comment, and the anger seeped in. This case wasn’t about her. Like every other case, it was about justice. She would be the voice for an innocent two-year-old kid who never had a chance. He died because of uncaring parents,
just as surely as if they had slit his tiny throat themselves. Sure, they would come to court and cry about how much they loved their baby. But Joshua was dead. And no amount of crying could change that. Rebecca believed he would never rest in peace until those responsible had been brought to justice.
    If doing her job on this case resulted in a promotion, so be it. It was about time Virginia Beach had someone heading up the commonwealth’s attorney’s office who cared about the victims. Career politicians had been running the place long enough.
    She had labored for twelve long years in this depressing office. She had patiently waited the last five for Commonwealth’s Attorney Harlan Fowler to retire or get a judicial appointment. It was not going to happen. She had to take matters into her own hands now.
    She was planning a run against her boss in November. She would make an announcement two months from now—in August. Sean had nearly perfect timing. She could indict the parents, demonize them in the press, and not have to worry about a trial until after the election.
    Finally, the break she needed. The one she deserved.
    She glanced at the clock and pulled into a 7-Eleven. She had a few extra minutes and was in the mood to celebrate. She grabbed some coffee with two creams and a glazed doughnut. She turned up her nose as she walked past the yogurt.

    They hauled Charles Arnold before the magistrate on Saturday morning. He was still sporting his orange jumpsuit. The commonwealth’s attorney never attended bond hearings on a misdemeanor. The arresting officers represented the interests of the state.
    “Case number 04-3417,” the clerk announced. “Commonwealth versus Charles Arnold.”
    Charles stepped up to the magistrate’s bench. Officer Thrasher, the beefy cop with the pockmarked face, stood to his left. The deputies who had escorted the prisoners from the holding cell stood casually behind him. Everyone in the courtroom looked bored.
    “You are charged with violating a noise ordinance and resisting arrest,” the magistrate said without looking up. “You’re entitled to a lawyer on the resisting-arrest charge. Can you afford your own lawyer, or do you want to see if you can qualify for the public defender?”
    “Excuse me, Your Honor,” Thrasher interrupted. “We’re dropping the resisting-arrest charge and have no objection to a PR bond.”
    Charles expected as much. They had no basis for resisting arrest. They just wanted him locked up for the night. Teach him a lesson. Respect the boys in blue.
    “I’m assuming the defendant has no objection?” The magistrate glanced up at Charles.
    “I suppose not,” Charles said. “But, Judge, they kept me locked up all night on a baseless charge, they processed me like a felon, and now they just waltz into court—”
    The magistrate held up his palm, and Charles stopped midsentence. “Look, buddy, even if all that were true, there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m here to set bond, and the captain has generously offered you a personal recognizance bond. You get to go free as long as you sign a statement promising to appear on the trial date. It doesn’t get any better than that,