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"Now lastly, Inspector, and still on the subject of Stuart's alleged flight to avoid arrest. Can you please tell the court how you came to learn of Stuart's presence at the Hollywood Motel in San Mateo?"

This was going to be bad, and Juhle knew it. "I traced a call made from a cell phone and made its location."

"And what was the nature of that call, Inspector?"

Juhle, hamstrung, couldn't bring himself to describe it. Behind Gina, she was aware that the entire courtroom was still, hanging on Juhle's response. But it wasn't forthcoming. After a long moment, Gina broke into the silence. "Isn't it true, Inspector," she asked in her gentlest voice, "that that call to you was made by Stuart Gorman's attorney, who had heard about the arrest warrant and wanted to arrange her client's surrender the next morning at ten o'clock? And that you agreed to accept such a surrender?"

Juhle's eyes kept flashing between Abrams and Gina. Finally, Judge Toynbee leaned over from the bench and addressed him directly. "We're going to need a yes or no, out loud, Inspector."

"All right, sorry, Your Honor." Juhle brought himself back to Gina. It still took him another few seconds until he finally mumbled it out, just audibly. "Yes. But you and I both know, Counselor, that a lawyer is supposed to surrender a wanted client immediately. And just because I told you I'd be around if your client decided to come in later didn't for a second mean that I was going to stop looking for him. This was a murder warrant, not an invitation to drop by the Hall of Justice."

Gina felt she could allow him the little rant. She ran through the notes she'd been balancing in her mind. Stuart's alleged consciousness of guilt was based on knowing that he was wanted and acting on that assumption by arming himself, carrying a concealed weapon, and his flight from prosecution. Satisfied that she'd touched all the bases, she now made a small bow to her witness. "Thank you, Inspector. No further questions."

The short recess was over almost before it had begun. Stuart didn't even leave the defense table, but asked Gina if he could borrow a pen and one of her yellow legal pads. When she got back from her bathroom break, he didn't look up immediately, but continued until he got to a good stopping place.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Writing a few notes. I got an idea."

"I'll take anything you've got."

"From where I'm sitting, you don't need any help. I'm almost starting to feel like we're going to beat this thing." He saw Gina try to hide the grimace. "You don't think so?"

"I hope so," Gina said. She half-turned to make sure no one was hovering near them, within listening distance behind the bar rail. Coming back to him, she spoke sotto voce. "I think we're all right up to now, but just about everything they've talked about so far, even Juhle, is just interpretation of facts, not the facts themselves."

"No. You beat him on that one."

"Not really, Stuart. Maybe I did get Toynbee to see another alternative and plausible explanation for the timing. And consciousness of guilt isn't flying too high either. That, unfortunately, leaves guilt itself. And that's where Bethany Robley comes in." But Gina didn't want to entirely deflate Stuart's newfound hopes. It was surely true that she'd stymied the prosecution's efforts up to now, and if Bethany Robley was like the other witnesses so far, then Gina might allow herself some hope about the results of this hearing, but not until then. Meanwhile, they had to get through Bethany. Gina put on a false face. "But I've got a plan that might do some good, so we'll see. Meanwhile"-she pointed to the legal pad in front of him-"what's your idea?"

He was covering the page with his hands. Casually, but definitely. "Nothing, really. It's not about this, anyway, I mean us here, what we're doing now. It's just a few random thoughts."

"Well, if you get so you'd let somebody read them, I'd be interested."

"You don't have to say that, you know." He indicated the pages. "This is just for me."

"Not for your readers?"

"Well, them, too." He paused. "I mean, there's the people who read me, but then there's the people who surround me in my life. And traditionally, those people aren't really into what I write. It's just not… it just wasn't that important." He broke a tentative grin. "Or relevant, as you lawyers would say. It wasn't that relevant to them."

Gina said, "You mean her. Caryn."

Stuart smiled, looked away, let out a breath. "I got used to it." She was silent for a beat. "How about if I really would like to read it? If I just like the way you write."

"Well." He drew another breath. "That might be nice."

Bethany Robley, looking terrified and sleep lagged from her days of insomnia, came up to the bar rail down the center aisle on her mother's arm, though her very large mother didn't seem a logical choice to be steadying her daughter, since she herself was walking with the aid of a cane. As she passed into the courtroom proper, Mrs. Robley let go of Bethany's arm, watched her walk on for a couple of steps, then suddenly lurched to her right, just behind Gina's back, and got ahold of Stuart's jumpsuit at the shoulder, pulling him back in his chair toward her. "How dare you threaten my daughter! How dare you!" She brought up the cane with her free hand and swung it overhand, Stuart taking the hit mostly on the arm as it glanced off the side of his head.

Immediately Toynbee was gaveling the courtroom to order, yelling for the bailiffs. Some of the media people in the front row were up and clearing out of the area, while Gina turned one way to see what was happening behind her then the other to get out of her chair and somehow try to restrain this crazy woman. Stuart, stunned as the rest of the people in the room, turned in shocked surprise. "Clair, wait!"

"Mom!" Bethany yelled. "Stop!"

But Clair Robley wasn't waiting or stopping. Swearing violently at Stuart now, in a mad rage, she pulled him off his chair and all the way back to the rail and repeatedly swung at his head with the cane as he tried to cover and defend himself. She was still swinging when the bailiff who'd been guarding the entrance got his arms around her and managed to hold her relatively still, which allowed the other two bailiffs time to get in range to restrain her further.

It was all over within thirty or forty seconds. Mrs. Robley still held by the three big guards, a crying, near-hysterical Bethany now back beyond the bar rail in the first row of the gallery, trying to get to her mother. Gina was helping Stuart get up from the floor. Once to his feet, he righted his chair himself, collapsing down into it. There was a lot of blood coming out of his forehead at the hairline.

The judge kept slamming his gavel. "Order," he kept saying. "Order. Order."

Thirty-two

There wasn't much choice. The bailiffs took Clair Robley into custody. Stuart had to get some medical attention for his bleeding head. Poor Bethany, rattled into hysteria, was in no condition to testify. Judge Toynbee recessed the hearing for the day.

With today's plan A, the hearing, suddenly scuttled, Gina's plan B, after only a little thought and all the success she'd had with Abrams' witnesses, was to return to her office to start organizing her notes for the eventual 1118.1 motion for a directed verdict of acquittal that she'd have to file when the prosecution rested after presenting its case in chief at the trial. True, this might still be most of a year away-although she was going to try to shorten that time if she could-but the morning had provided just too many opportunities to take this case apart board by board. And while her arguments were still fresh in her mind, she wanted to commit them to paper.

Of course, if they got to trial, Abrams would be a lot more careful to prepare Officer What's-His-Name from the Highway Patrol again. And Faro wouldn't try to be cute about the garbage.