forbidden, for more reasons than I could count.
We lay still on the bed, and slowly the dark gave way to a pale and ghostly gray. Saved by the dawn. It was five- thirty: the Rigbys would be getting up for the new day. I patted her shoulder and rolled out of bed, moving to the window for a look at the house. It was peaceful and ordinary in the rainy morning, nothing like the den of tears I had blundered into last night. I turned and looked at Eleanor. Her face was a white blur in the half-light: her eyes, I thought, were open. We didn’t say anything. I hit the John, and when I came out, she had not moved from her spot on the bed. I looked out the window. Someone in the house had turned on a light, the same one I had seen earlier. I knew then what I was going to do.
“Listen,” I said, still looking out the window. “I’ve got to tell you something.” But I never got the words out. A car came out of the misty woods and up the road toward the house. I felt heartsick watching it come. Only when it had pulled in behind my rental and stopped did the cop behind the wheel turn on his flasher.
It filled the room and colored us a flickery red and blue. Eleanor lay still as death. Down in the yard, two county cops had stepped out in the rain. One walked up the steps, meeting the Rigbys as they came out on the porch. The other came up the path to the printshop.
“Judgment day,” Eleanor said. “I had a feeling it would be today.”
10
Next case.“
”The matter of Eleanor Jane Rigby, Your Honor. Filing number one three seven five nine six.“
“Is this the prisoner?…are you Eleanor Jane Rigby?” “Yes, ma’am.”
“Do you understand the nature of this proceeding?”
“I think so.”
“Let’s be sure. This is an extradition hearing, to determine whether you will be returned to the state of New Mexico to face criminal charges outstanding there. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You may contest the extradition or waive that right. Do you have an attorney?”
“A public defender, in Taos.”
“But here, in Seattle?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Would you like to consult with an attorney here?”
“I don’t see any point in it.”
“You wish to waive that right?”
“Sure…might as well.”
“Do you understand, Miss Rigby, that commencing any legal proceeding without an attorney is a risky and unwise decision?”
“It won’t matter.”
“So you wish to go ahead.”
“Sure. I just want to get it over with.”
“Very well. Mr. Wallace?”
“Yes, Your Honor. All we want to do is get her out of here.”
“I can understand that. Do you have the extradition waiver form?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Thank you. For the record, I am now handing to the prisoner, Eleanor Jane Rigby, the consent form as required by Revised Code of Washington, title ten dash…uh, eighty-nine dash…”
“Uh, oh three oh, Your Honor.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wallace. Will the prisoner please sign where the bailiff indicates?”
“What happens if I don’t sign this?”
“We will hold you here for up to sixty days, New Mexico will make a formal filing of its demand, and there will be a full hearing.”
“And in the end I’ll go back anyway.”
“The court cannot advise you of that, Miss Rigby. That’s what an attorney would do.”
“Where do I sign?…Here?”
“Let the record show that the prisoner is signing the waiver consent form in the presence of the court.”
“And at this time I am tending the document to the court for your signature, Your Honor.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wallace. The prisoner will be remanded to the King County jail, until such time as the New Mexico authorities send someone to escort her back.”
“Your Honor?”
“Was there something else, Mr. Wallace?”
