older man, Oscar Valenti, and the short African-American woman, Elsie Evers, who had worked the part last week-were leaning against the door to the defendant’s holding pen, also watching Lem perform.
“I am all for the underdog, ladies and gentlemen, do not mistake that fact.” Lem gestured with his forefinger. “But when you are taking food out of the mouths of our hungry children-how much money did he say, Artie?”
“Twenty-one million large, Mr. Howell.”
“When you are using money that could be better spent on a pension fund for Ms. Cooper or a fine new robe for the judge or membership at a gym for Artie Tramm”-Lem patted Artie’s paunch as the officer passed behind him-“and instead, you are correcting, you are fueling, you are-hell, Ms. Cooper, you’re the expert here, what’s going on? You, my dear taxpayers, and the United States government, have just declared an end to erectile dysfunction, is that it? Whose lobby is this? Erectile dysfunction is unfair for sex offenders. Watch the ACLU jump in on their side. It’s mind-boggling.”
“I’ll tell you right up front,” Artie said, “I keep waitin’ for one of those four-hour jobs that I’d have to call my doctor and complain about. Four minutes I’m lucky. I see that ad one more time on TV I’m gonna throw something at the set.”
Fred Gertz swept into the courtroom from his robing room. “Who’s complaining about what? I must say, you’re a happy-looking bunch this morning. How many jurors missing now, Artie?”
“I just checked. We need two regulars and one alternate. Nobody’s called with a problem, so we should be fine by nine fifteen.”
“Anything to discuss? Any housekeeping?”
Lem and I looked at each other, and I said, “No.”
“Shall we bring the prisoner in?” Gertz asked.
Lem walked to the bench for his daily bonding with the judge. “You have to hear this one, Fred. Special Victims Unit locks up a serial rapist last night-a guy on parole for a bunch of attacks Alex got him on years ago. You know what you bought him?”
“Me?” Gertz didn’t get it at first. “What did I buy who?”
“We’ve been paying for his Viagra, Fred. You and I. We’ve been helping to set him up in business in the hood. Helping him get his groove back.”
The two court officers, Oscar and Elsie, had left the room to bring Brendan Quillian in, so that he could take his place before the press, the public, and the jurors were allowed to enter.
“That’s expensive stuff,” Gertz said with a chuckle. “What does one have to do to get the government to pay?”
More than I needed to know about the usually sober jurist.
I walked to the wall phone that was mounted behind Jonetta’s desk. Cell phones were not allowed in court, and this was an internal unit that could only be used to reach extensions within the DA’s Office system.
“Rose? Would you tell the boss that Ryan Blackmer will besending up an urgent notice any minute now? Paul has to pay attention to it and I’m not available till the end of the day. The police commissioner will be trying to get lots of press on this one, and Battaglia needs to know the numbers.” I thanked her and hung up the phone.
Oscar Valenti held open the door for Quillian, and I could hear the distinctive jangling of the metal cuffs as Oscar’s partner, Elsie, unlocked the prisoner’s hands as they paused at the entrance to the court.
“I’ll look into it for you, Fred,” Lem said.
“That’s what they call a stiff dose of medicine,” Artie called across the room, the only one of us laughing at his joke.
The levity would be over the minute Gertz banged his gavel and called for the stenographer and jury to be brought in. But the bizarre news of the Medicaid outrage had broken the tension for all of us before the day’s serious work began.
It had also put us all off guard.
I heard the gunshot before I saw the weapon in Brendan Quillian’s hand. I watched as the petite court officer fell to the floor, shot in the head with her own service revolver.
29
Quillian took a few steps forward, his head sweeping the room so his only good eye could scope the territory. He’d been present enough times to know that the door to the main hallway stayed locked until the prisoner was seated. His only way out was the exit in back that had brought him from the Tombs to the holding pen.
Jonetta Purvis was standing still, frozen in place, screaming at the bloody sight of the woman whose brains had been blown out before us. I watched helplessly as Brendan Quillian struck Oscar Valenti on the head with Elsie’s gun, after the older man instinctively kneeled to look at his partner’s wound at the same time he tried to unholster his own weapon.
Then Quillian swung the barrel of the gun in Jonetta’s direction. I tackled her to the ground and we both went down behind the desk. There was a huge noise in the high-ceilinged room as he fired again, a bullet striking the wall above our heads.
As I fell on top of Jonetta, I saw Lem Howell vault over the side of the jury box, taking cover behind it. “Give it up, Brendan. Give it up, you damn fool.”
The judge must have ducked beneath the bench the minute the first shot rang out. I neither saw him nor heard his voice.
Artie Tramm had drawn his gun and was trying to jog to the rear of the room to unlock the hallway door-or to run out. Quillian moved faster than Tramm. Before the officer was halfway down the aisle, Quillian fired three times at Artie’s broad back.
I couldn’t see my old friend, but I heard him grunt as at least one bullet struck its mark, and I recoiled as his body hit the floor with a dull thud.
From beneath the kneehole of Jonetta’s desk, I saw the defendant turn and go back to Oscar’s side.
I had one hand over Jonetta’s mouth, trying to stifle her sobs while I propped myself up with the other. I could see Quillian take the man’s gun from its leather case and disappear back into the top of the landing beside the holding pen from which he had emerged. After all these months, he knew the enormity of the building as well as I did-a maze of hallways, staircases, and elevator shafts. He’d had scores of opportunities to make note of its labyrinthine passages, and he was undoubtedly scrambling down the one adjacent to the prisoners’ elevator as we stayed frozen in place.
The slaughter and turmoil that Brendan Quillian had begun so abruptly ended just as fast.
I pushed myself up as Lem called out the judge’s name. I got onto my knees, barefoot, the skirt of my dress ripped at the seam from the tumble with Jonetta.
There was still no sound from the bench, no sign of Fred Gertz.
Oscar was stirring, rolling onto his back and stroking his head.
I started crawling toward Elsie’s body.
“Get the hell back, Alex,” Lem said. “Fred, are you alive, man?”
Lem ran toward Elsie and crouched beside her. I stood up, thinking I could help him if there was any chance of keeping her alive. “Forget it. She’s gone, Alex. Get back with Jonetta.”
Judge Gertz clutched the top of the bench with both hands. “Is it safe?”
Everything seemed to be happening at once. I could hear Artie Tramm moan and Lem ran in his direction. “Stay down, Fred. He could be back any minute.”
I dashed to the door through which Quillian had entered and slammed it shut, turning the lock. If he encountered other armed officers in the stairwell, he was just as likely to try to get back here and take us all hostage.
“I told you to stay put, Alex,” Lem shouted. “That one’s not like the front door. Most officers have a key to open that lock-it’s useless.”
Lem had spent far more time outside those holding pens than any prosecutor had.
“Is Artie-?”
“I got his gun, Alex. Everybody stay calm with me. That door opens again, I got Artie’s gun and we’ll be fine.”
