didn't know whether he could keep.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
On Wednesday morning Leonard Campbell swept into Judge Pistone's courtroom for the start of the preliminary hearing as if it were the Oscars, stopping every few feet so that the press could take his picture, giving each reporter and photographer a hearty smile and a thumbs-up. He plopped his briefcase on the prosecutor's counsel table, pulled out an empty legal pad, and surveyed the courtroom like a commanding general, shooting his cuffs and snapping off a crisp nod to the press corps.
Patrick Ortiz arrived a few moments later, along with two assistants, one of whom pushed a two-wheel handcart loaded with bankers' boxes. The other assistant carried two-foot-by-three-foot enlargements of photographs of the murder scene and the victim, the autopsy report, and the results of the tests conducted by the forensics lab. They ignored Campbell and the media, emptying their boxes and setting up the files and exhibits they would use throughout the preliminary hearing.
Court was scheduled to begin at nine o'clock. Mason spent the previous hour locked in a cramped, windowless witness room, little bigger than a walk-in closet, telling Blues about Tony Manzerio, Ed Fiora, and his New Year's Eve swim. Blues was wearing the one suit he owned. Brown, worn at the elbows, and too tight across his shoulders, it was still a step up from a jailhouse jumpsuit.
'I should have told you about Fiora sooner, but I was afraid you'd try and break out of jail just so you could kick his ass,' Mason told him.
'I might have done that. I think you were more worried that I'd take the deal to save your bony white butt.'
Mason scribbled a bad sketch of the prow of the Dream Casino and laughed. 'Yeah, I suppose that's right.'
'Well, guess what? I'm not taking a fall for you or anybody else, and you know that. So why are you telling me now?'
'You understand street-war strategy better than I do. That's what this is. The trial may only be a side skirmish. I need your help tying all this together. I can't do my job if I keep you in the dark.'
'In that case, get me bailed out of here. I can't do either one of us any good inside.'
Mason said, 'Pistone is going to bind you over and deny bail again. Our best chance is with the circuit court judge we draw for the trial. In the meantime, I'll try to find you a new suit.'
Mason opened the door, and two beefy deputies on the Dunkin' Donuts diet plan approached Blues to escort him to the courtroom. Blues dropped his right shoulder and gave them a head fake like a running back looking for a seam, cackling when they grabbed for their guns and then blushed like schoolkids when they realized he was pimping them.
'Careful, now, boys. I'm a dangerous man,' Blues said, sticking the needle in a little deeper.
One deputy cursed under his breath and the other nodded in vigorous agreement. A third officer joined them, and the three of them huddled outside the room while Mason and Blues waited. The largest of the three deputies stepped into the room, flanked by his comrades.
'We're gonna let your little joke go this time, big man. Don't fuck with us again or it's gonna be a rough ride back up in the elevator. Got me?'
'Lighten up, Deputy,' Mason said. 'He was yanking your chain and you just threatened him in front of his lawyer. That elevator gets stuck and you'll be on the other end of a civil rights charge faster than you can sing 'We Shall Overcome.' Got me?'
The deputy turned on Mason, his hand on his nightstick. 'You tell your client we don't play games here.'
Mason looked at Blues. 'No games or they'll put you in time-out.'
The deputies shepherded Blues through a side door into the courtroom. Mason followed, glad to have avoided the press. Blues took a seat at the defendant's table, the deputies occupying the row of chairs directly behind him.
Mason sat next to Blues, his chair covered in worn vinyl and thin padding. It swiveled and rocked, but Mason couldn't get comfortable.
The judge's bailiff, a stern-faced, middle-aged black woman, entered the courtroom through the door to the judge's chambers.
'Judge Pistone says that if he sees a camera in the courtroom, he'll add it to his collection. Pregame festivities are over. All rise! Hear ye, hear ye, hear ye! The Associate Circuit Court of the Sixteenth Judicial District is now in session before the Honorable Joseph Pistone. All persons having business before this court draw nigh and pay attention. Court is now in session.'
Everyone stood as Judge Pistone shuffled up the two steps to his seat behind the bench, elevated above the masses to remind them of the power of the court. They all waited for his permission to sit down. Without looking up, he offered a dismissive wave.
'Be seated.'
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Mason glanced around the courtroom as the door opened from the hallway. Harry Ryman and Carl Zimmerman slipped inside and leaned against the rear wall. Harry and Lou looked at each other, both trying not to reveal anything. Harry tipped his head at Lou, who responded with the same sparse gesture.
Mason found Rachel standing in the corner on the opposite side of the back wall from Harry and Zimmerman. They exchanged winks and smiles, comforting gestures, while the judge recited the name of the case and his instruction for the attorneys to state their appearances.
Leonard Campbell rose from his chair, buttoned his suit coat, and stepped to the podium in the center of the courtroom.
'The people of the state of Missouri are represented by Leonard Campbell, prosecuting attorney, and Patrick Ortiz, deputy chief prosecuting attorney. We are ready to proceed at the court's pleasure, Your Honor.'
Campbell turned on one heel, struck a confident, serious pose for the crowd, and resumed his seat. Patrick Ortiz hated showboats and adopted Judge Pistone's head-down posture, pleased that the next time Campbell got up it would be to go to the bathroom.
Judge Pistone raised his eyes at Mason, who stood.
'Lou Mason for the defendant. We're ready. I've got a preliminary matter that I'd like to take up before we get started.'
'Proceed.'
'There are a lot of people in the courtroom, Your Honor. Some of them may be witnesses. I recognize Detectives Ryman and Zimmerman, who investigated this murder, and there may be some others. I'd like to invoke the rule that prohibits a witness from being in the courtroom prior to testifying.'
'Mr. Campbell?' Judge Pistone asked.
Patrick Ortiz rose in Campbell's place. 'We've got all our witnesses sequestered except for Detective Zimmerman. He's our first witness, and I guess he's just a little anxious to get started.'
Ortiz's explanation drew soft laughter from the packed house, establishing his usual easygoing connection to his audience. There was no jury in a preliminary hearing. Only the judge would make the decision whether to bind Blues over for trial. Ortiz didn't need all the boxes or the blowups to make his case for Judge Pistone. He understood that the reporters in the courtroom would tell everyone who read a paper, listened to the radio, or watched television how overwhelming the state's evidence was. That message would reverberate with the people who would become the jurors who would decide this case. He also knew that Mason would pay close attention, gauging the gamble between trial and plea bargain, between a crapshoot for freedom and a date with a deadly needle.
