“What’s your guess, were they—banging?”
“You think a powerful man like the senator is gonna let that nice stuff jiggle around him and let it go to waste, get real.”
“I know she doesn’t dress flashy, but I was told she’s a pushover.”
“Only in my dreams, man. You’ve seen her? Is she gravy or what?”
“Spectacular,” Ray said going along with it.
“Didn’t think of spectacular, that’s cool. So the dude’s looking for a get-out-of-jail-free card. Depends on the evidence don’t it? Depends on how it all shakes down. You can have many suspects, all of them with shitty alibis, and it don’t mean zip if the lab puts you at the crime scene. And that’s just what they did.”
“What?”
“Oh, wasn’t supposed to say nothing. But you’ll find out soon enough. They found something proves you pulled the trigger on the senator.”
No question about how serious this had become, much more than expected. He must get a lawyer, any lawyer right now. He sent Beau off to find a pad, pencil, and phone book.
Ray sat reading the Sunday paper. In the back pages, there were other pieces on the life and times of Senator Towson. Ray could see that the senator had lived a meaningful and important life. The editorial demanded justice on a scale befitting such an outstanding public figure.
Ray was all for justice himself, he was counting on it. He was rereading the editorial when he looked up and recognized Detective Goddard. The officer with him began unlocking the cell door.
“We’re making it official. We’re taking you up before the judge for arraignment. You’re under arrest for the murder of Albert Towson. You’ve the right to remain silent….” Goddard continued with the spiel. The weight of the words seemed impossible for Ray to bear. His whole body grew weak. The detective noticed the prisoner’s face turning pale and sweaty.
The uniformed officer ordered Ray to put his hands behind his back. His wrists were forced together and with the click of the handcuffs, his arms ached immediately. He could feel his heart thumping with an intense force. Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe. He made a choking sound and his knees melted. He collapsed forward. The officer tried to hold him up.
Goddard rushed into the cell just as the prisoner pitched forward and vomited wildly onto the wall and bunk. They lifted him onto the opposite bunk. Goddard quickly loosened the jumpsuit and motioned for the officer to remove the cuffs. “Let him relax then hook him up in front from now on, not in the back.”
Upon lying down, the color returned to Ray’s face, but he was still shaking. He gave the detective a meek smile. “Sorry, I’ve never been gagged like that before.”
“We didn’t gag you.”
“You didn’t gag me? Oh, I thought you did.”
“We would never gag you. Are you diabetic or taking any medications?”
Ray shook him head and slowly brought himself upright on the bunk.
“You okay now? Want to see a doctor?”
“Okay, now. This is all very disturbing. You definitely can’t arrest me. I definitely can’t remain in jail.”
The detective took Ray upstairs and completed the booking ritual, and then transported the prisoner across the boulevard to the Court House. The detective sat with him in a small room off the courtroom until his case was called. A brief Sunday morning arraignment for the Saturday night offenders was routine. Other cases were DUI and minor wrongdoings; Ray Reid was a big deal.
The judge asked Ray if he was financially able and desirous of employing counsel. He said he was, but hadn’t been able to locate a lawyer. Whereupon, the judge postponed the First Appearance for another twenty-four hours, and instructed the State Attorney’s Office to assist in finding suitable counsel for the defendant. The proceeding was short and dreadfully frightening.
They took him back to his jail cell. Last night, when they first put him in this cell it was frustrating to be misunderstood, but he could bear it thinking the situation would straighten out in the morning. This morning, however, the authorities’ massive power became clear to him. This time the metal clang of his cell door made him flinch and the echo would never leave his memory. His small window of hopefulness had closed.
Beau, showed up with the requested writing paper and a borrowed phone book. Ray had intended to search for a hot lawyer but now he’d wait and see who the Court came up with.
One name he did look up, but wasn’t eager to call, was his new boss. Maybe the boss would be sympathetic and offer some suggestions. He answered and coldly asked what happened, as though he was the one person in the country who hadn’t heard the news. Ray stretched it and said they might release him at any time, but he probably wouldn’t be in Monday morning. He’d definitely get back at work as soon as possible. The boss explained Ray hadn’t been there long enough for vacation or any special treatment. “I know you’re in a jam but a couple days, Ray, and that’s it. Can’t cover for you any longer.”
He began to hate his newly adopted town. He came here because this is where the job offer was, just a spot on the map. He wasn’t looking for any trouble. Would people here actually convict him? Surely, it wouldn’t go that far if he’s innocent.
He sat at the end of the bunk staring out between the bars at the gray cinderblock wall opposite his cell. The cold blanket of reality settled down around him like a fog. Need to find a lawyer, he kept saying, need to get out of custody.
Chapter 9
Early Monday morning, after Ray’s second night in jail, attorney Jerry Kagan appeared, sent over as ordered by the judge. This wasn’t a public defender; Ray would be paying for him. He could take him or leave him.
Ray didn’t know what to expect. Just give him someone who can get him out of there—someone between a youngster taking leftover court-assigned cases, and an oldster getting off his deathbed for his swan song. He got an oldster.
His first impression of the man wasn’t favorable. He shuffled in carrying a well-worn briefcase that appeared to be empty. Not exactly a ball of fire. Hard to imagine him in front of a jury. No doubt tall and good-looking at one time, now the old man was stooped-shouldered and a bit shriveled. His suit was acceptable but the tie would need a decade to get back in style. Well past retirement age, his dynamic practice days, if they ever existed, had to be behind him.
He sat down out of breath, muttering about Florida heat in November. Said he was Jeremiah Kagan—please call him Jerry. Said he was eighty plus but not to let that be a bother. Said he knows the law, just doesn’t move around so fast anymore. “Stop talking to that bail bondsman, Beau Cobb,” he scolded. The lawyer took out a large yellow pad. “What happened to your hand?”
“Well, that’s part of a long and incredible story. I was at Al Towson’s apartment by mistake, and he rather lost it when I asked about Tammy Jerrold. Do you know these names?”
“Yes, go on.”
“I didn’t know he was a state senator, didn’t know anything about him. Anyway, he thought I was trying to pull something. He yelled. I dropped the hot coffee and burned my hand and ankle. Naturally, the detective was interested in the bandage. They tested for gunshot residue upstairs. I overheard a cop say there wouldn’t be any residue left because I had rubbed ointment on the burn.”
“Did anyone else see you wearing that bandage?”
“Yes, Tammy saw it at the restaurant around one o’clock.”