Hack by Kieran Crowley Read Free Book Online Page B

What’s going to happen?”
    With a smile and a shake of his white hair, Dunn explained how the prisoner would come in and plead not guilty and bail would be set or discussed. As he detailed the options, I heard a hubbub and a parade of people rushed in and surrounded me on the bench. The hot redhead who had chased me from the townhouse the night before plopped right next to me, her thigh pressing against mine. I didn’t move away. Again, they all asked questions at once but I could understand her this time and caught her name.
    “You’re a
Daily Press
reporter?” I asked her, making her face light up.
    It was a nice face and the rest was very nice, too.
    “Yes, I’m Ginny McElhone,” she beamed. “They call me ‘Ginny Mac.’ Are you a friend or family?”
    “Turn it off, Ginny,” Dunn interrupted. “He’s with me. He’s the new guy. Name’s Shepherd. He kicked all of your asses.”
    They all groaned. Ginny’s sweet look vanished and was instantly replaced with one of deep hatred. She withdrew her thigh.
    “That was you?” she demanded. “And I chased you? Motherfucker!”
    I thought she was going to hit me but I was saved by a court officer who banged on a wall and yelled, “All rise!” We all rose, as a middle-aged black judge in black robes entered and took a seat at the head of the court, behind a small placard that read H ON . J OSEPH B EAN , and told us to take our seats. As if on cue, a short round guy in a navy suit strode into the court. I recognized celebrity defense lawyer Roland Arbusto, who looked like a big silk bowling ball, with a purple tie and wavy black hair. Arbusto worked the room as if he were at a party, greeting the judge, shaking a court officer’s hand and waving to the press corps in the front row. For a few minutes nothing happened, until a clerk called out Aubrey’s name and he was led in handcuffs through a side door to one of two wooden tables in front of the judge and seated next to Arbusto. He was wearing the same clothes as the day before but the starch had gone out of them, and him. His eyes were red from crying. Arbusto slapped him on the back and whispered something in his ear.
    “Well,” said Dunn in his wrinkly voice. “If the trial took place on a see-saw, we know who’d win.”
    At the other table, two attractive women in power-dress suits were conferring over a file. One, with bright red hair and looking just as impressive as when I’d seen her on television, was the Manhattan DA, Krystal Ryan.
    The clerk read out the charge of First Degree Murder and Unlawfully Dealing with Human Remains.
    “How do you plead?”
    “Totally, completely, without a shadow of a doubt not guilty,” Arbusto bellowed.
    Dunn, Ginny and the other reporters were writing down what everybody said in their notebooks. I couldn’t write that fast, so I just listened.
    “Is that less guilty, say, than a simple ‘not guilty,’ or the same?” Judge Bean asked sarcastically.
    “My client is as innocent as it is possible to be,” Arbusto responded. “He has never been arrested before and I demand he be released on his own recognizance, Your Honor.”
    “On a First Degree Murder charge?” the judge asked, with a gentle smile. “Well, before I do that, Mr. Arbusto, if it’s alright with you, I would like to hear what our distinguished District Attorney has to add on the subject. Ms. Ryan?”
    Ryan stood. “Your Honor, Mr. Forsythe is charged with capital murder and one of the most repugnant acts human beings are capable of, a crime of a barbaric and inhuman nature. I would describe our case as very strong and to even suggest bail is obscene.”
    “What repugnant act are you referring to, Ms. Ryan? I notice you are charging him with First Degree Murder. On what grounds?”
    “I would rather not disclose our entire case at this juncture, Your Honor, but we have irrefutable forensic evidence and even videotape to prove our case. Mr. Forsythe is a danger to the community and