The prosecutor sat back, relaxing just a little.
Grissom rose and moved to the door, Catherine and Detective Robinson falling in behind him.
The judge asked, 'Any redirect, Mr. Grant?'
'None, Your Honor.'
Pushing the door open, Grissom stepped into the corridor just as Culpepper was getting to his feet. Throwing on his overcoat, Grissom strode quickly down the hall, pulling the walkie-talkie from his pocket. He pushed the TALK button and spoke rapidly. 'It's going down now. Everybody inside. Second floor Judge's chambers.'
He turned a corner to the right and practically sprinted down the hall so he could be at that door when Hyde came out. Behind him, he heard Catherine and Robinson pounding along step for step.
Opening the door, stepping into the hall, was a marshal, maybe fifty years old with a crewcut on a bowling ball head, and a shabby brown suit jacket a size or two too small. Barry Hyde emerged next, wearing an expensive gray suit and a matching Kevlar vest. Behind Hyde came a second marshal, this one younger, probably in his early thirties, longish brown hair combed straight back, his charcoal suit a better fit than his partner's.
Grissom stepped in front of them, holding up the folded sheets of paper. All three men froze. The older marshal eyeballed Grissom, the younger one reflexively reaching under his jacket.
'Las Vegas Metropolitan Police-I have a warrant.'
'Mr. Grissom, isn't it?' Hyde asked, the pockmarked face splitting into a typically smug smile. 'How have you been? Couldn't you find a warmer place for your winter vacation?'
'Sir,' the older one said to Grissom, giving Hyde a quick glare to shut up, 'I'm afraid you've wandered off your beat. . . .'
'This warrant is legal, Marshal.' He held it up for the man to see.
But it was the younger marshal who leaned in for a look.
'Wrong guy,' he said. 'That's not our witness's name. . . . Now, if you'll excuse us.' His hand remained under his coat.
Catherine and Robinson formed a wall behind Grissom.
Then Culpepper's voice came from behind Grissom. 'Aw, what the hell is this nonsense?'
But the young marshal was curious, despite himself. 'What's the charge?'
'First-degree murder-three counts.'
The two marshals exchanged glances, and Hyde's smug grin seemed to be souring.
'You have no legal grounds, Grissom,' Culpepper said, moving into the midst of it, anger building to rage. 'No jurisdiction . . . This man is a federal witness granted immunity for his crimes.'
Warrick, Nick, Sara, and Brass all seemed to appear at once-in their heavy coats, they looked ominous, a small invading army.
Grissom was well-prepared for this assertion from Culpepper; and for all to hear, he said, 'This man has no immunity for murders he committed after making his agreement with the government-specifically, the murders of Philip Dingelmann and Marge Kostichek.'
The marshals exchanged frowning glances, and Hyde's smirk was long gone.
Brass slipped between Culpepper and the rest of the group.
Handing the warrant to the older marshal, Grissom said, 'Read it over, Marshal-I think you'll find everything in order.'
The older marshal pulled a pair of half-moon reading glasses from his inside suit-coat pocket, and read.
Steaming, Culpepper said to the marshals, 'If you two surrender my witness to this asshole, your careers are over.'
People down in the main corridor were clustered there now, watching the goings-on in this side hallway.
Robinson, his basso profundo voice resonating throughout the corridor, introduced himself to Culpepper, displaying his badge, and saying, 'If you do not surrender this prisoner to these officers, you will be accompanying me, them and the prisoner to the Locust Street Station.'
Brass added, 'After which, you can come home with us, to Las Vegas, where you'll be charged with obstruction of justice.'
Culpepper's lip curled in a sneer. 'Officer Robinson, this is a federal courthouse-and you're in way over your head.'
Ignoring this, Robinson moved in beside Grissom, his Kansas City cop's glare firmly in place as he stared at the younger marshal, to whom he also displayed his shield. 'And you, sir, would be well served to get that hand out from under your coat.'
The younger marshal looked over at his partner who nodded. Slowly, the empty hand came out of the coat and dropped to his side.
'Thank you, sir,' Robinson said.
Anger had turned Culpepper's face a purplish crimson; looking past Brass, at the marshals, he said, 'We need to get the witness out of here. March him the hell out.'
Robinson turned toward him, but Brass was closer, and held up a hand, as if to say,
Culpepper glared at him, but said nothing, his glibness failing him at last.
The older marshal said to Grissom, 'You really think this man,' he glanced at Hyde, 'killed Philip Dingelmann?'
'It's not an opinion,' Grissom said. 'I have the evidence to prove it.'
'I'll die of old age before you prove it,' Hyde said, blustering now, his smugness, his self-confidence a memory. 'You haven't got anything!'
'We have something,' Brass interjected. 'We have the death penalty.'
Hyde managed a derisive grin, but the bravado had bled out.
'You're almost right, Barry,' Grissom said to the object of the tug of war. 'We don't have much. Just you on casino videotape, bullets and shell casings matching your gun, with your fingerprints; then there's your footprints, matching DNA from the Fortunato and Kostichek murder scenes . . .'
Hyde's face drained of color.
'. . . but why spoil your attorney's fun? We should leave something for the discovery phase.'
'This time you may want to go to a different law firm,' Brass advised him, 'than Dingelmann's.'
Culpepper's hand dropped to his pistol and he said, 'This is my witness. This is an illegal attempt to hijack a protected government witness-all of you step aside.'
Culpepper didn't see the older marshal draw his weapon, but he certainly felt the cold snout of it in his neck. 'Put the gun away, Agent Culpepper-Jesus, didn't you assholes learn anything from Ruby Ridge?'
The FBI agent's face turned white and he was trembling as he moved his hand away. Brass moved toward Culpepper, fist poised to coldcock him; but Grissom stepped between them.
'Calm down, everybody,' Grissom said. Then he turned to the devastated FBI man.
The younger marshal holding on to his arm, Hyde said, 'You're in charge, Culpepper-remember, you're in charge!'
'Agent Culpepper,' Grissom said, 'either we're going to walk out of here with Hyde in our custody, or you can go downstairs with us and face the media. How do you think you're going to explain to the American people that you're aiding and abetting a murderer? Obstruction is nothing compared to accessory after the fact.'
Culpepper seemed to wilt there in front of them.
Hyde said, 'Goddamnit, Culpepper-they're bluffing!'
Time seemed to stop as the two men stared at each other, like gunfighters on a Western street; but Grissom had already won, without using any weapon but his wits.
'Fine,' the agent said to Grissom. 'Take him.'
Hyde, realizing he'd just been sold out, tried to make a break for it, yanking himself free from the younger marshal's grip, running toward the gathering crowd at the end of the hallway. But he didn't get six feet before Warrick and Nick grabbed him on either side. Before he could do more than wrestle around a little, Robinson had his hands cuffed behind him.
'Smart decision, Agent Culpepper,' Grissom said. 'It's just sad when a man of your capabilities goes tilting at windmills.'
