States of Grace by Mandy Miller (great novels of all time .TXT) 📗

sensitive information. But Ms. Locke is, in fact, correct. The nature of the information you wish to present is protected from unauthorized publication by Federal law. And the last time I checked, I’m a state court judge. Decisions that could potentially violate such lofty dictates are not what”—he pauses for a nanosecond—“the great State of Florida pays me to do.”

I lower my head to hide the fact that I’m smiling.

“Accordingly, I am going to order this hearing sealed. When the courtroom has been vacated by the public and all other non-concerned parties, you two can have at each other with whatever evidence you have. I will give such evidence whatever weight I deem appropriate in deciding if Ms. Slim stays in custody.”

Twietmeyer claps his hands. “Counsel, stand back. And Bailiff, please clear the public and the other defendants from the courtroom. The only people remaining should be Ms. Slim, her parents, and whatever witnesses either side wishes to testify. And of course, the attorneys can stay. We couldn’t do without them now, could we?”

Chapter 15

Here comes Hightower. Smug grin, report flapping.

I sneak a peek at the report.

Dr. Kesey’s evaluation from Lauderdale East. How’d he get that?

The Slims would rather drink box wine in public than have it known their only child is anything less than the perfect specimen of orphandom, the poor soul rescued from a life of gruel and hard labor in Russia by the most magnanimous couple on the planet.

Fine, it’s not them. But who gave Hightower the damn report?

Hightower leans in and dangles the report in front of my face. “I think you might want to take a look at this, Counsel.”

I snatch the report out of his hand.

“It’s not exactly much of a mystery is it, Ms. Locke? From what I hear, you used to work for the good guys. Surely you know all the tricks? Or maybe you’ve forgotten how things work around here.”

I’d like nothing better than to put him in his place, but his galling remark flips a switch in my head.

Under a weird quirk of the Baker Act, a civil statute, the State Attorney represents the psychiatric facility where the patient is taken by the cops, meaning Hightower got Kesey’s report from the ASA that was at Zoe’s initial hearing at Lauderdale West when she was admitted.

I skim the ten-page, single-spaced evaluation—Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Oppositional Defiant Disorder, rule out Bipolar Disorder. To make things worse, the report details Zoe’s history of drug and alcohol abuse, as well as her aggressive behavior at school. A prior suicide attempt. Her self-mutilation. The last line reads “Zoe’s condition can be managed with medication and appropriate therapies.”

I resist the urge to bang my fist on the table. Twietmeyer can’t set eyes on this thing. He’ll say Zoe can get treatment in jail and, if he ends up sentencing her in the future, it’ll color his view of her as violent and volatile, no matter how impartial he’s supposed to be.

I turn around, burst through the gate, and corner Reilly in the back row of the gallery.

“What are you here for, Detective?”

Reilly holds up his hands. “Back off, Counselor. The ASA subpoenaed me.”

“It’s the gun, right? You figured there’s no time like the present to make a good first impression on His Honor? An indelible, incriminating one?”

Reilly stretches his arms along the back of the bench. “Calm down, why don’t you, Grace? Your pal Sonny told you about all of this, didn’t he?”

I clench my fists at my sides. “It’s Ms. Locke to you, Detective.”

“Oh, dear. I think you haven’t quite got used to losing yet, but you’d better do so and quick. And I’d advise you not to be like every other defense hack in this building and stop yourself from going down the road of actually feeling sorry for your clients. It’s not a good look. Especially not on a former hard-ass such as yourself, Ms. Used-to-be-ASA Locke.”

“Speaking of asses, I’ve got your number. What I did tell your partner was that if you even dare to try screwing with me on this case, I’ll make sure you go down for good this time.” Reilly’s whiskers twitch.

I take a step closer. “And, by the way, you’re the last ass I’d ever ask for advice. You wouldn’t know the law if it smacked you in the ass.”

I stride over to the jury box and drop into a seat beside Zoe, who is rocking back and forth, eyes closed. “Okay, here’s the plan.”

No response. More rocking.

I bump her arm with my elbow. “Earth to Zoe. I need you here and now. Zoe, pay attention.”

Her eyes spring open, wild and searching, like an animal in a leg trap deciding whether to chew off the limb or wait to die.

“See that guy over there?”

“The asswipe who arrested me?”

“On that we can agree. Well, that asswipe is going to tell the judge that the gun that killed Sinclair was found in your locker, had your fingerprints on it, and belonged to your dad.”

“That’s all old news,” she says, in the bratty way teenagers have of implying anything uttered by anyone over twenty is crap.

“When the ASA says it had your fingerprints on it, I need you to freak out.”

She scrunches up her face.

“You know how to freak out, don’t you?”

“What?”

“Come on, I know you know how. Dr. Kesey’s report confirms you’ve freaked out a time or two.”

Zoe wets her lips.

“We need to buy time, Zoe. You don’t want to go back to jail, do you?”

A slight nod of the head.

“You know what crazy looks like, don’t you?”

A more decisive nod this time.

“Do it, Zoe. Make them believe you’re totally off the chain.”

Twietmeyer reappears. “Counsel, let’s proceed. I don’t have all day.”

“Let the show begin.”

***

“The State calls Detective Reilly to the stand,” Hightower says.

Reilly heaves his girth onto the stand, pulling the microphone towards his mouth, eyes fixed on me.

Since it’s the State’s motion, it’s up to Hightower to justify his request to revoke Zoe’s bail with evidence.