Pedro shrugged. "I don' like those skinhead motherfuckers."
"Well, it's appreciated."
Pedro smiled. "I didn' figure you for no fighter, but you clocked that Nazi good."
"Lucky punch."
Pedro's smile widened. "Sucker punch."
They both laughed. Then Pedro's smile fell away abruptly and he wagged a warning finger at Daniel.
"You watch your back. Those are bad people. They gonna hurt you if they get the chance."
Daniel nodded. Then he climbed onto his upper bunk. As soon as he was certain that Pedro could not see him, he let go of his self-control and started to shake.
Chapter Twenty-Four.
Herb Cross, a slender African-American in his late thirties, led Amanda Jaffe up a narrow stairway to the second-floor office of Dr. April Fairweather. Fairweather worked over a hardware store in a low-rent building on Stark. The stairwell was dingy and poorly lit, as was the hall in front of the doctor's office.
Herb had briefed Amanda on what little he had discovered about the therapist during the ride from their law office. Fairweather did not have a criminal record. She had a single credit card and never let the charges get too high. Fairweather advertised herself as a consulting therapist and claimed to have a doctorate, but she was not licensed by any state agency. Then again she didn't have to be to practice her kind of New Age therapy. Fairweather lived in a cheap garden apartment in Beaverton, and Herb had talked to a few of her neighbors, but all he'd learned was that she never said more than an occasional hello.
The investigator opened a wooden door with a frosted-glass window. On the other side was a small reception room. As Amanda closed the door, a short, mousy woman in a frayed gray business suit walked out of the interior office. Amanda noticed that Dr. Fairweather had not done much with her light brown hair. She didn't see any jewelry, either. The lawyer concluded that the psychologist was not someone who gave a lot of thought to her looks.
"Can I help you?" Fairweather asked as she eyed the investigator warily. She seemed frightened, so Amanda stepped forward and smiled.
"I'm Amanda Jaffe, the attorney representing Daniel Ames. This is my associate, Herb Cross. If you have a few minutes we'd like to talk to you."
Fairweather grew rigid. "No, I can't do that."
"I'm going to have a chance to talk to you in court, Dr. Fairweather," Amanda pressed. "I might be able to save some time if we clear up a few things here."
"I'm not supposed to talk to you," Fairweather answered. Her shoulders hunched and her gaze drifted toward the floor.
"Did the district attorney tell you that? Because you have the right to talk to anyone you want to. Talking to me would be the right thing to do."
"I don't want to do that and I'd like you to go."
"Okay." Amanda held out her card and Fairweather took it reluctantly. "If you change your mind please call me."
"That is one uptight lady," Herb Cross said as soon as the door closed behind them.
"Yes, she is," Amanda mused, "and I'd love to know why."
On the way back to the office, Amanda and Cross brainstormed about ways to get through Fairweather's armor. When they walked into the firm's waiting room, the receptionist handed Amanda a small box wrapped in brown paper.FOR AMES BAIL HEARING was written on the paper in block letters with a Magic Marker. There was no return address.
"This isn't how the DA's office sends discovery," Amanda said as she stripped away the wrapping paper. "Who brought it over?"
"A messenger," the receptionist answered.
"Did he say who sent it?"
"No."
The box was cardboard without any markings. Amanda lifted the lid. There was no note inside, but there was a videocassette. Moments later Herb Cross and Amanda Jaffe were sitting in the conference room in front of a VCR. A title informed the lawyer and the private investigator that they were going to see a speech that Dr. April Fairweather had given at a conference devoted to abuse survivors three years before. On the screen, a distinguished gentleman stepped behind a podium and introduced Dr. Fairweather in glowing terms. After the introduction Dr. Fairweather took the man's place at the podium and began to speak. A few minutes into the tape, the investigator and the attorney turned to each other.
"Is this for real?" Cross asked.
"I certainly hope so," Amanda answered.
Chapter Twenty-five.
Daniel barely slept Thursday evening worrying about what would happen the next day in the rec room. Fortunately, his bail hearing was set for Friday and early the next morning he was placed in chains and transported two blocks to the Multnomah County Courthouse, where he was lodged in a large open cell in the courthouse jail with other prisoners awaiting court appearances. At 9:45, two sheriff's deputies gave Daniel a suit that Amanda's investigator had brought to the jail for the hearing. As soon as he was dressed the deputies escorted him from the seventh-floor holding area to the courtroom where his case was to be heard.
The Multnomah County Courthouse is a blunt, functional building constructed of gray concrete whose exterior makes no pretensions to art. The interiors are another matter. The Honorable Gerald Opton's fifth-floor courtroom had grand, high ceilings, ornate molding, marble Corinthian columns, and a polished wood dais. The spectator section consisted of several rows of hard wooden benches set back behind a low wooden fence that separated the public from those having business before the court. The benches were packed because of the publicity Daniel's case had received, but Daniel spotted Kate Ross easily. She smiled at him. Daniel was embarrassed to have her see him in chains and all he could manage was a restrained nod.
Several partners from Reed, Briggs occupied the front row of the courtroom. Daniel wondered if the DA was going to use them as witnesses. Seated behind the partners with two other associates was Joe Molinari. He gave Daniel a thumbs-up, which made Daniel smile. The other associates nodded at him and he was relieved to see that some of his friends from the firm were still standing by him. Susan Webster was conspicuously absent.
Daniel scanned the crowd for other familiar faces and was surprised to see a young black man in a charcoal-gray business suit, armed with a pen and a legal pad, whom he recognized as one of the associates Aaron Flynn had brought to Kurt Schroeder's deposition.
When his guards brought Daniel into the courtroom Amanda Jaffe was talking to Deputy District Attorney Mike Greene, a large man who looked like a football or basketball player. Looks were deceiving. Greene was a gentle soul who played competitive chess and the saxophone instead of sports. The defense attorney and the DA had faced each other in court several times and they had started dating after the violent resolution of the Cardoni case.
Amanda heard one of the deputies unlock Daniel's handcuffs and hurried to her client. With his suit on, Daniel looked like any other young attorney, but three days in jail had taken their toll. As soon as his manacles were removed, Amanda led him to the defense table, where they conferred in whispers.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
Daniel shook his head. "You've got to get me out of jail. I've been in a fight and the guy has friends. They're going to come after me as soon as I'm back at the Justice Center. What are my chances of making bail?"
Amanda was about to answer when the bailiff rapped his gavel. She touched Daniel on the forearm.
"You're going to be okay."
The Honorable Gerald Opton entered the courtroom and everyone stood. Jerry Opton was one of three judges in the homicide rotation. These judges heard murder cases exclusively for one or two years so they could develop an expertise in this area of law. Assignment to the homicide rotation was usually reserved for experienced judges. Opton had only been on the bench for five years, but he had been a homicide specialist in the Multnomah County District Attorney's Office for ten years. He was a stocky, balding man whose features bore a faint resemblance to the actor Jack Nicholson. Despite being a career prosecutor before his elevation to the bench, Opton was a favorite of defense attorneys and prosecutors alike. He was scrupulously fair, well versed in the law, and ran his court with a firm hand that was softened by a wry sense of humor.