Black Water Rising

Charlie clears his throat, his voice coming back as flat as a Midwestern plains state. “Defense requests no bail, Your Honor. We ask that the defendant be released on her own recognizance. We believe she has shown her intention to cooperate fully with both the police and the D.A.’s office in this matter.”

“The court does not treat that lightly, Counselor.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.”

The bull terrier at the prosecution’s table huffs under her breath several times. “Your Honor, the state asks the court to consider the heinous nature of this crime. The defendant is charged with shooting a man, not once, but twice, in cold blood. She left her victim to die, alone, on a—”

“You’ll have plenty of time to lay out your case before a jury.”

“We would also like to remind the court that Ms. Linsey has an extensive criminal history.”

“Which is of no relevance here, Your Honor,” Charlie says firmly.

“Its relevance won’t be decided here, that’s for sure,” the judge says, picking up an ink pen on her desk. “In regard to the issue of bail, the court appreciates Ms. Linsey’s show of cooperation with the police detectives and D.A.s involved in this case, but the court appreciates more the seriousness of the criminal charges against the defendant. Bail is set in the amount of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

“Your Honor,” Charlie says quickly. “I’d like to make a motion for a pretrial hearing.”

“On what basis, Counselor?”

“Defense counsel would like to make a motion to suppress evidence seized during the search of the defendant’s residence.”

The slightly panicked look on the D.A.’s face tells Jay that the state’s case against Elise Linsey must rely heavily on whatever it is the cops took from her west side town house. He can’t imagine what that might be. He would lay money that the gun used to shoot Dwight Sweeney is floating somewhere at the bottom of Buffalo Bayou. It’s his gun he’s not so sure about.

Jay turns his head toward the back of the room, catching a glimpse of the back rows out of the corner of his eye. He sees two men he takes for reporters and an older Mexican man in a plaid shirt. The man from the black Ford is gone.

“Pretrial hearing is set for Thursday, August twentieth,” Judge Vroland says, nodding at her court clerk and making a note on the docket papers on her desk. “Bailiffs will escort Ms. Linsey downstairs for processing.”

“Your Honor,” Charlie says. “I don’t think the cuffs are neces­ sary.”

“I do.” It’s her final word on the subject.

The armed bailiffs treat Elise gently. They ask her politely to please turn around, to please place her hands behind her back. “It’s okay. I’ll meet you downstairs,” Charlie says. Finally, Elise relents, pulling her thin arms behind her and turning her back­ side to the two bailiffs. She looks into the gallery and sees Jay for the first time. Their eyes lock. Jay feels a jolt in his chest. He is her one true witness, the only one here who knows what hap­ pened that night. At the sight of him, her posture stiffens. But it’s the only out ward ack nowledgment that he is more than a stranger to her. Her face is impassive, almost stony. She doesn’t utter a single word as the bailiffs lead her, handcuffed, out of the room.

Jay is up and out of the courtroom in a matter of seconds. He ducks into the hallway, thinking if he moves quickly enough, he can get to Elise downstairs before her lawyer does. He’s half­ way to the elevators when he feels a cold grip on the back of his neck. The muscles in Jay’s back seize up, his body suddenly taken hostage. Behind him, the man from the black Ford guides Jay roughly down the hall, shoving him behind a nearby door before Jay can adequately defend himself. On the other side of the door, there’s a narrow stairwell. Jay falls down several steps, his body rolling onto a landing below. Above him, he hears the door slam and the echo of the man’s footsteps in the stairwell. Jay tries to get to his feet. But the man is on him before Jay is even upright. The first blow comes up under his chin. He feels his teeth knock against each other inside his mouth, feels a shot of pain through his skull. He tries to speak. “Wait.”

The man lifts him by the collar and tosses him down the next flight of stairs. Jay feels a burn along the right side of his face as he skids across the linoleum. He hears the footsteps again, com­ ing toward him on the stairs.

“I’m not going to have a problem with you, am I, Mr. Porter?” Jay is on his side, trying to get on his feet.

The man hovers over him, taking his weakened position for

obedience.

“Good.” He slaps a hand on Jay’s shoulder, patting him in a

rough, friendly manner, as if Jay were a dog, a thick-headed ani­

mal. “Good boy.”

It’s the word boy that does it, launching Jay onto his feet. He

charges the guy, butting his head into the man’s abdomen. The

force of the blow sends them both tumbling down the stairwell.

Jay lands on top of him. He pins his knees to the man’s chest

and punches him twice across the face, knuckles hitting bone.

The man from the black Ford pushes himself up at the waist and,

using his head as a weapon, bashes Jay across the forehead, knock­

ing him back. Then he socks him good in the stomach. Jay feels

his breath leave him. He collapses onto the linoleum floor. When

he looks up, the man from the black Ford is standing over him.

He lifts his right boot and kicks Jay across the face.

This time, Jay tastes blood.