Judge Harrowsmith began our proceeding in the monotone of a seasoned professional, reciting my name and the charges against me, introducing both Richard and Coffin to the record, and asking the defense whether we’d received the Information and affidavit.
Richard stood, acknowledged receipt, went through his own automated routine of announcements and waivers, pleading not guilty on my behalf. He then asked the judge to release me on my own recognizance.
Harrowsmith addressed the prosecution, “Mr. Coffin, I’ll now hear the State on conditions of release.”
Turning slightly toward the cameras, the AG cleared his throat to better project his voice. “Your Honor, the affidavit before you is clear on the motivation and subsequent actions of this defendant. As the older, financially frustrated male companion of a wealthy woman-”
Richard was on his feet complaining, amid a small fluttering from the press. The judge, as sensitive as anyone to a photo-op, sat him down, with a warning to both parties.
Coffin resumed. “This man has obviously taken it upon himself to act utterly outside the law, not only daily conferring with fellow police officers, but also badgering and intimidating witnesses in the case pending against him.”
Again, Richard protested, with similar results.
“The State is therefore requesting,” Coffin continued, “the first three conditions, in addition to numbers five-reporting to the Vermont State Police barracks once daily-six-restricting Mr. Gunther to Windham County-fourteen-barring him from contact with any member of his department or anyone associated with this case-and seventeen-that in lieu of incarceration, he be issued an ankle monitor so he may be tracked at all times.”
“Your Honor,” Richard burst forth once more. “My client is one of the most highly regarded law enforcement officers in this entire state, with multiple commendations-worthy enough, in fact, to have recently been assigned as a temporary investigator to none other than the attorney general’s office. The case against him is extremely circumstantial and, as we will clearly establish at trial, totally fabricated. This man,” he said, pointing me out, yielding to a little grandstanding himself, “is totally innocent. The conditions put forth by the prosecution are so ludicrous I’m frankly surprised they didn’t tack on a diet of black bread and water just to round things out.”
The news hounds loved it, of course, but Harrowsmith squelched them by half rising out of his chair and glowering them into silence. He then announced his decision: I had to report to the state police once a day, not contact any colleagues, not leave the county, and sure as hell stay out of the case against me. Richard and I had l80 days to prepare for trial. The first three conditions Coffin had begun with were routine keep-your-nose-clean-and-show-up-for-court items and were not debated. The ankle bracelet wasn’t mentioned again, either.
That should have been it, except the judge had one last bit to deliver to the cameras. “Mr. Gunther,” he intoned, “whether guilty or not of the charges filed against you, you have recently demonstrated at least some pretty poor judgment. I do not argue your lawyer’s high opinion of you. In fact, I will invoke it myself as being the precise reason you had better heed the conditions you’ve just been given. If I hear of you stepping out of line again, I will deal with it to the utmost of my authority.”
With that, he sent us on our way-complete with noisy escort-having made me feel like the only mutt at a pedigree dog show. Given what Coffin had gained with his chicanery through the Woodstock trip and the leak to Sammie about Alonzo, I swore to never belittle his underhanded talents again.
I waited for Gail in the parking lot behind her office, sitting in my car, struggling to read a book, mostly trying not to think. She held long hours, pushed as much by her own drive as by the workload. I also knew her job to be a traditional haven from unhappiness. If she was feeling like I was, I might be waiting until midnight.
But it was only eight-thirty when I caught sight of her, which made me happy she wasn’t overdoing it. I got out and showed myself under a nearby streetlight. I hadn’t parked too near her car, allowing her to ignore me if she chose, and for the same reason I didn’t call out. I knew she’d see me. She never ventured outside without carefully looking about-a caution I wished she hadn’t learned so brutally.
To my relief, she didn’t hesitate but immediately headed my way. I met her at midpoint and we embraced without a word, clinging to each other with exhausted desperation.
Finally, we separated long enough for me to take the briefcase she’d dropped and escort her to her car, parked as always under a bright light.
“How’d it go today?” she asked.
“You’ll be reading all about it. They put a pretty tight leash on me.”
“Which you’ll be ignoring, no doubt.”
I squeezed her shoulder. “No comment, much as I’d like to. Things settled down at the office?”
She tilted her head and smiled sadly. “I shouldn’t complain. I’ve lost thirty percent of my caseload, and I sit undisturbed for hours on end. The whole place is as quiet as a library because everyone stops talking when I enter the room. Life’s become very peaceful.”
“I’m sorry, Gail.”
She kissed my cheek. “It’s not your fault. I forget that sometimes, but it’s true.”
“You doing okay at Susan’s?”
She pursed her lips and silently unlocked her car door. “That a veiled invitation to come back?” she finally asked.
I hesitated before answering. In many ways, she knew me as well as I knew myself, which meant we both were aware of my options-and of how I might address them. “I wish it were,” I said, “but given the restrictions on me, and Coffin’s appetite, it might not be a good idea.”
She relieved me of her briefcase and tossed it onto the passenger seat. “Joe, I know you can’t say anything-I don’t even want you to-but I also know you’re going to have to do something about this, probably illegally. I told you earlier to let other people do their jobs to get you out of this. That was wrong, I guess, and pretty naive. Seems like that’s a sure road to jail.”
She was crying softly as she said this, and I wrapped her in my arms again, half wondering when I’d next get the chance.
She continued speaking into my shoulder. “I wish I could help you somehow.”
“Just hang in there. This’ll all sort itself out.”
“I used to think that about a lot of things.”
I stroked her hair. “You want to move back in anyhow? I could bunk with someone else. It would at least give you the comfort of being on home turf.”
She shook her head. “I miss the company more than the surroundings. I don’t want to live there alone, anyhow.”
I pushed her away enough to look at her face. “Gail, we’ll get through this. Even if I can’t figure a way out and they throw the book at me, it won’t mean jail time. That’s just Coffin shooting his mouth off. Worst-case scenario, you’ll end up living with a TV junkie or a supermarket security guard. Think of all the crap we’ve been through already.”
She gave me a weak smile. “Yeah, I suppose.”
We kissed and she slid in behind the wheel. I closed the door, and she rolled the window down. “Don’t be a stranger, okay? Call me. I don’t care how many times. You’re going to need to hear a friendly voice.”
“I will. I promise.”
I watched her drive off into the gloom and stood there for several minutes, just listening to the town’s steady vital signs. I hadn’t the slightest idea when I’d be talking to her again. Whatever I did in the near future, it was almost a given it wouldn’t suit Fred Coffin or Judge Harrowsmith. The way things stood, as Gail had admitted, the only road to freedom for me lay outside the system-a road I was either going to have to explore, or forever wonder why I hadn’t.