Finn hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair. He looked over at Lissa, who had overheard his half of the conversation. “What was that all about?” she asked.
“That was about Eddie Ballick. He was murdered last night. Apparently he b-”
Lissa raised her hand to stop Finn. “Hold on,” she said. “No point in going through this twice.” She stood up and walked to the door at the back of the office, which led out to both a back door and to Kozlowski’s office. “Koz!” she yelled. “You need to get in here.” She walked back and sat down at her desk again.
A moment later, Kozlowski emerged. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“That was Detective Stone on the phone.”
“Stone? What did he want?”
“Ballick was murdered last night.”
Kozlowski stopped. He turned and looked at Finn. “That can’t be good.”
“No, I wouldn’t think. They found him early this morning. Four of his boys, too. Stone didn’t give me all the details, but from the sound of it, it wasn’t pretty.”
Kozlowski sat on the chair in front of Finn’s desk. “What are you going to do?”
“I put them off; told them I was too busy today, and that I’d get back to them as soon as I could. Devon ’s being arraigned this morning.”
“You think he’s caught up in all this?”
“If not, it seems like one hell of a coincidence. Either way, I want to have a long talk with Devon before I deal with the police. And that talk will be a lot easier to have once he’s out on bail.”
The courthouse was a twenty-story slab of gray concrete in Center Square, downtown. It was cut in an unadorned, utilitarian style that seemed calculated to betray the mechanical nature of the judicial system.
Finn parked in a nearby underground garage and entered the building, flashing his bar card at the door to bypass the line of civilians waiting to pass through the metal detectors. He went straight to the courtroom and inquired about Devon ’s whereabouts from the clerk. She told him his client was in transit, and that he wouldn’t have time to meet before the hearing. That was frustrating; he had much to discuss with Devon.
Finn took a seat at the back and watched the courtroom. It was packed with lawyers milling around, hustling in and out, shuffling stacks of court files. Clients dragged their feet and looked about with angry, distrustful eyes. Police officers strutted in and out through the swinging doors at the back. Justice was a messy process.
Arraignments are short affairs. They’re designed to advise defendants of all the charges against them, ensure that they have legal assistance, obtain initial pleas, and set bail if appropriate. In a few misdemeanor cases, plea agreements will have been worked out even before the arraignment, but in most serious matters an initial plea of not guilty is entered, and plea arrangements are reached through negotiations afterward.
On that day, the Honorable Myron Platt was presiding over the arraignments. Platt was in his mid-fifties, with a slight paunch and a receding hairline. He had been appointed a few years before in the final days of an outgoing gubernatorial administration as a reward to a loyal political hack. The bench was not the dream job he’d hoped for, and he let his boredom show. In most other respects, however, he was reasonable-even if that reason was primarily a by-product of disinterest.
Two assistant district attorneys sat at the prosecutors’ table, alternating on cases as they were brought up for preliminary dispositions. One was a young man Finn didn’t recognize who was probably less than two years out of law school. The other was a woman in her forties whose name was Kristin Kelley, against whom Finn had tried a number of cases in the past.
It was a virtually automated process; the prosecutors had only a few minutes with any given file, and they treated each according to established guidelines. Finn had to sit through six arraignments before Devon ’s case was called. The court clerk read out the case caption, “Case number 08-CR-2677, Commonwealth versus Devon Malley! Come forward and be heard!”
Finn stood up. “Scott Finn for the defense,” he announced as he moved forward to defense counsel’s table.
Kristin Kelley stood up. “Attorney Kelley for the Commonwealth,” she said. She looked over at Finn as he put his briefcase down on the table. It was not a friendly look. Finn had beaten her every time they’d gone head to head, and nothing annoyed prosecutors more than being beaten. It probably would have been better for Devon if she hadn’t pulled the case, but there was no helping that now.
Devon was led in from the front of the courtroom, still in his jailhouse fatigues. He was shackled at both his wrists and ankles, but otherwise he seemed relaxed. “Your Honor, if I may confer with my client for a minute?” Finn said.
“Thirty seconds, counsel.” Judge Platt yawned. “All we need right now is an initial plea-guilty or not. Anything more complicated than that you can deal with once we’re done. I don’t want to hold the others here up.”
Devon duckwalked in his shackles behind the desk. He put his fingers to his lips and made a zipping motion. “I’m keeping quiet,” he said, winking. “This is your show.”
“Good,” Finn said. “But we need to talk seriously once you’re out.”
“I know,” Devon said. “I swear, though, you’re gonna get your money. I’m not gonna leave you hangin’ out to dry on this.”
“It’s not about the money, Devon,” Finn said. “Ballick was killed last night. That makes you two for two-Ballick and Murphy. The cops want to talk to me, and I don’t know what to tell them. All I know is that I don’t like being connected to murders through one client. It means you’re either really bad luck, or you’re not telling me everything I need to know. Either way, it pisses me off.”
Finn watched as the blood drained from Devon ’s face. “Ballick?” he said. His voice had gone hoarse. “Murdered?”
“Yeah,” Finn said. “Murdered.”
Judge Platt shifted in his chair on the bench. “Time’s up, counsel,” he said. “Do you waive reading?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Finn said, turning to look at the judge.
Any sense of confidence that Devon had exuded when he walked into the courtroom was gone. His eyes were wheeling. “Wait, Finn, I need to think,” he whispered.
“How does your client wish to plead?” the judge asked.
“Not guilty,” Finn said.
“Finn!” Devon was hissing now, and even Judge Platt was forced to take notice.
“Counsel, please instruct your client that I will not tolerate outbursts.”
“Yes, Your Honor.” Finn turned to Devon and put his hand up, making clear that it was time for him to be quiet.
“I assume you’re looking for bail, Mr. Finn?” Judge Platt continued.
“Your Honor, we would ask that the defendant be released on his own recognizance.”
“Mr. Finn has an excellent sense of humor, Your Honor,” Kelley interrupted.
“That’s true, Judge,” Finn replied, “but I don’t happen to be exercising it at the moment. My client has been a resident of this community for his entire life. He has a daughter who resides with him. This is the kind of case where no bail is required.”
“We’ve got to talk!” Devon said, louder this time, drawing another look from the judge.
Kelley used Finn’s distraction with his client to butt in and try to control the argument on bail. “Your Honor, the defendant was caught with over a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of stolen merchandise that he was loading onto a truck. To release him on O.R. would virtually guarantee that he would never be seen again. He is well known to the law enforcement community as an accomplished thief-”
“Mr. Malley has not been convicted of theft in more than twenty years,” Finn interjected.
“It’s true, it’s been a while since he was convicted of a crime,” Kelley conceded. “He has been arrested seven times in the past decade, though.”