"Do you know who wrote the code section, Mr. Alliphant?" Alliphant turned to his associate as if he knew everything. But he shook his head.
"I - wrote 'it, Mr. Alliphant," Harry said loudly. "Me. Moi. Yours truly. And if you knew anything about juvenile law in this state, you would know that I am the expert because I wrote the law. Now, what can you say about that?" Slick slid down in his chair. He'd covered a thousand trials. He'd seen lawyers hammered by angry judges, and he knew their clients usually suffered.
"I contend it's unconstitutional, Your Honor," Alliphant said gallantly.
"And the last thing I intend to do, Mr. Alliphant, is to get into a long, hot-air debate with you about tne First Amendment. If you don't like the law, then take it up on appeal and get it changed. I honestly don't care. But right now, while I'm missing lunch, I want your client to answer the question." He turned back to Slick, who was waiting in terror. "Now, Mr. Moeller, who was your source?" Grinder was about to vomit. He stuck his thumbs under his belt and pressed against his stomach. By reputation, Slick was a man of his word. He always protected his sources.
"I cannot reveal my source," Slick said in an effort at great drama, the martyr willing to face death. Grinder took a deep breath. Such sweet words.
Harry immediately motioned for the two deputies. "I find you in contempt, Mr. Moeller, and order you to jail." The deputies stood beside Slick, who looked around wildly for help.
"Your Honor," Alliphant said, standing without thinking. "We object to this! You cannot-" Harry ignored Alliphant. He spoke to the deputies. "Take him to the city jail. No special treatment. No favors. I'll bring him back Monday for another try." They yanked Slick up and handcuffed him. "Do something!" he yelled at Alliphant, who was saying, "This is protected speech, Your Honor. You can't do this." "I'm doing it, Mr. Alliphant," Harry yelled. "And if you don't sit down, you'll be in the same cell with your client." Alliphant dropped into his chair.
They dragged Slick to the door, and as they opened it, Harry had one final thing to say. "Mr.
Moeller, if I read one word in your paper written by you while in jail, I'll let you sit there for a month before I bring you back. You understand." Slick couldn't speak. "We'll appeal, Slick," Alli-phant promised as they shoved him through and closed the door. "We'll appeal."
DIANNE SWAY SAT IN A HEAVY WOOD CHAIR, HOLDING HER oldest son and watching the sunlight filter through the dusty, broken blinds of Witness Room B. The tears were gone and words had failed them.
After five days and four nights of involuntary confinement in the psychiatric ward, she at first had been happy to leave it. But happiness these days came in tiny spurts, and she now longed to return to Ricky's bed. Now that she'd seen Mark, and held him and cried with him, she knew he was safe. Under the circumstances, that was all a mother could ask.
She didn't trust her instincts or judgment. Five days in a cave takes away any sense of reality. The endless series of shocks had left her drained and stunned. The drugs-pills to sleep and pills to wake up and pills to get through it-deadened the mind so that her life was a series of snapshots thrown on the table one at a time. The brain worked, but in slow motion.
"They want us to go to Portland," she said, rubbing his arm.
"Reggie talked to you about it." "Yes, we had a long talk yesterday. There's a good place for Ricky out there, and we can start over." "Sounds good, but it scares me." "Scares me too, Mark. I don't want to live the next forty years looking over my shoulder. I read a story one time in some magazine about a Mafia informant who helped the FBI and they agreed to hide him. Just like they want us to do. I think it took two years before the Mafia found him and blew him up in his car." "I think I saw the movie." "I can't live like that, Mark." "Can we get another trailer?" "I think so. I talked to Mr. Tucker this morning, and he says he had the trailer covered with plenty of insurance. He said he had another one for us. And I still have my job. In fact, they delivered my paycheck to the hospital this morning." Mark smiled at the thought of returning to the trailer park and hanging out with the kids. He even missed school.
"These people are deadly, Mark." "I know. I've met them." She thought for a second, then asked, "You what?" "I guess it's something else I forgot to tell you." "I'd like to hear it." "It happened a couple of days ago at the hospital. I don't know which day. They're all running together." He took a deep breath. He told her about his encounter with the man and the switchblade and their family portrait. Normally, she, or any mother, would have been shocked. But for Dianne, it was just another event in this horrible week.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked.
"Because I didn't want to worry you." "You know, we might not be in this trouble if you'd told me everything up front." "Don't fuss at me, Mom. I can't take it." She couldn't say it either, so she stopped it. Reggie knocked on the door and it opened. "We need to go," she said. "The judge is waiting." They followed her through the hall and around a corner. Two deputies trailed behind. "Are you nervous?" Dianne whispered.
"No. It's no big deal, Mom." Harry was munching on the sandwich and flipping through the file when they entered the courtroom. Fink, Ord, and Baxter McLemore, the Juvenile Court prosecutor-of-the-day, were all seated together at their table, all quiet and subdued, all bored and waiting for what would undoubtedly be a quick appearance by the kid. Fink and Ord were captivated by the court reporter's legs and skirt. Her figure was obscene-tiny waist, healthy breasts, slender legs. She was the only redeeming element in this rinky-dink courtroom, and Fink had to admit to himself that he'd thought about her on the flight to New Orleans yesterday. And he'd thought about her all the way back to Memphis. She was not disappointing him. The skirt was at mid-thigh and inching upward.
Harry looked at Dianne and gave his best smile. His large teeth were perfect and his eyes were warm. "Hello, Ms. Sway," he said sweetly. She nodded and tried to smile.
"It is a pleasure meeting you, and I'm sorry it has to be under these circumstances." "Thank you, Your Honor," she said softly to the man who'd ordered her son to jail.
Harry looked at Finkwith contempt. "I trust everyone has read this morning's Memphis Press. It has a fascinating story about our proceedings yesterday, and the man who •wrote the story is now in jail. I intend to investigate this matter further, and 1 am confident 1 will find the leak." Grinder, by the door, was suddenly ill again.
"And when I find it, I intend to fix it with a contempt order. So, ladies and gentlemen, keep your mouths shut. Not a word to anyone." He took the file. "Now, Mr. Fink, where's Mr. Foltrigg?" Sitting firmly in place, Fink answered, "He's in New Orleans, Your Honor. I have a copy of the court order you requested." "Fine. I'll take your word for it. Madam Clerk, swear the witness." Madam Clerk threw her hand in the air, and barked at Mark, "Raise your right hand." Mark stood awkwardly, and was sworn.
"You can remain in your seat," Harry said. Reggie was on his right, Dianne on the left.
"Mark, I'm going to ask you some questions, okay?" "Yes sir." "Prior to his death, did Mr. Clifford say anything to you about a Mr. Barry Muldanno?" "I'm not going to answer that." "Did Mr. Clifford mention the name of Boyd Boyette?" "I'm not going to answer that." "Did Mr. Clifford say anything about the murder of Boyd Boyette?" "I'm not going to answer that." "Did Mr. Clifford say anything about the present location of the body of Boyd Boyette?" "I'm not going to answer that." Harry paused and looked at his notes. Dianne had stopped breathing and was staring blankly at Mark. "It's okay, Mom," he whispered to her.