'No, your honor,' Longo said.
'How many times has she been arrested?'
'This was the second time, your honor.'
Underman howled like a terrier. 'Your honor, my client's first arrest was two days ago. She has no proven criminal record of any kind.'
Burke removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Underman was getting on his nerves, the way good attorneys usually did.
'Is this so?' he asked the lieutenant.
'Yes, your honor.'
Burke fitted his glasses back on. Ninety-nine percent of the people who stood before him had lengthy arrest records. The fact that Nola Briggs had been a model citizen up until a few days ago was certainly worth considering. He paused to stare at the motley crew of hookers and crack dealers that filled his courtroom. Many of the faces were familiar, as were their attorneys. Someone in back was talking trash, and he banged his gavel forcefully, killing the noise.
'Detective Longo,' Burke said, 'unless you can show me good reason not to, I'm going to let the suspect walk.'
'I can, your honor.'
Longo approached the bench. Sensing disaster, Underman edged up beside him, his eyes glued to the lieutenant's face. Lowering his voice, Longo said, 'Nola Briggs has been identified as an accomplice of a known hustler.'
Burke scratched his chin. 'And who might that be?'
'Sonny Fontana.'
Burke looked at Underman. His friend appeared to be at a complete loss for words. Burke savored the moment, along with a sip of coffee, then proceeded.
'Wasn't Sonny Fontana banned from ever stepping foot in Las Vegas?' he asked.
'That's correct, your honor,' Longo replied. 'He got a face-lift and now goes by the name Frank Fontaine.'
'And how did you come by this information?'
'He was identified by a consultant hired by the casino.'
'This consultant is reliable?' the judge asked.
Longo turned and motioned to the gallery. Rising from his aisle seat, Valentine approached the bench. His heroics at the airport had not come without a price. On reaching the courthouse, he'd discovered his wallet missing from his back pocket. It had put him in the darkest of moods. The plastic, he could replace; the money, he didn't care about; but the honeymoon snapshot of him and Lois at the Steel Pier, it broke his heart to realize that another piece of her was gone.
'Your honor,' Longo said, 'allow me to introduce retired detective Tony Valentine from Atlantic City. Detective Valentine is an acknowledged expert in the field of casino cheating. He made the match.'
Burke motioned Valentine closer. 'You're certain Frank Fontaine is actually Sonny Fontana?'
'Yes, your honor. I'd stake my reputation on it.'
Burke rubbed his chin reflectively. 'I see. That does put a different spin on things. Felix, what's your take on this?'
If Underman had known how to tap-dance, he would have started doing so. His take on the situation was that Sonny Fontana was dead. He knew this for a fact. A client of his, a three-hundred-pound sociopath named Al 'Little Hands' Scarpi, had crushed Fontana's head in a door at the Cal-Neva Lodge in Tahoe, and half the casino owners in Vegas had thrown him a party. Everyone in Vegas had heard about it, only no one had talked publicly for fear of becoming an accessory to murder.
'I find this allegation hard to believe,' Underman mumbled.
Burke waited for him to continue.
'That's it?' Burke said after a lengthy pause.
Underman hesitated. He was in dangerous territory. He'd heard of Valentine and knew he wouldn't have made such a claim without some kind of proof. Stranger things had happened in a court of law than a dead man rising from the grave. He recalled Nola Briggs pushing the bag of money across his desk and realized how easily he had been seduced.
'My client passed a polygraph test,' Underman said, playing his last card. 'I used a recognized expert in the field.'
'We'd like to give Ms. Briggs a test of our own,' Longo said, facing the bench. 'Mr. Underman can be present, if he'd like.'
'Sounds fair to me,' the judge said. 'Felix, does that sound fair to you?'
Burke was making this as painless as possible. Underman appreciated the gesture. 'Yes, your honor.'
'Good. Give the defendant another polygraph test, and I'll review the results. Are we in agreement?'
The lieutenant and the defense attorney nodded simultaneously. Burke brought his gavel down with resounding force and all heads snapped in the courtroom.
'Next!' the bailiff sang out.
Valentine stood on the courthouse steps, awaiting his ride. Wily had promised to have a car waiting at curbside. After ten minutes, he realized a car wasn't coming. It didn't really surprise him. He'd been offered several jobs in Vegas over the years, mostly working surveillance and training security. The money was right on, but he'd always passed. It was the people that had ultimately turned him off. It was a rough-and-tumble town, with everyone out for him- or herself. Telling lies was a way of life here.
A familiar white Volvo pulled up to the curb. The driver's window rolled down and he saw Bill Higgins gripping the wheel. He was dressed in khakis and a faded Lacoste shirt and had not shaved. Valentine got in.
Higgins stared intently at the road as he drove. In profile, he looked one hundred percent American Indian, his proud features chiseled into his deeply tanned face. Valentine had always wanted to ask him about his ancestry but didn't know how to go about it without sounding racist or insensitive. He supposed being politically correct meant never having to say you're sorry.
'Heard you were a hero down at the airport,' Higgins said when they were on Maryland Parkway heading south. 'You never told me you were into the martial arts. Ever compete?'
'I was New Jersey state judo champ five years running.'
'Wow. You still practice?'
'There's a dojo within walking distance of my house. Sometimes when I'm in a bad mood I go down and throw the kids around.'
'That must make you feel good.'
They drove for a while in silence. Valentine touched the empty pocket where his wallet had once resided. He'd looked at that picture every day since the funeral. Maybe it was time for him to get on with his life, whatever that meant.
'What are you doing at the courthouse on a Sunday morning, anyway?' Valentine asked.
'Looking for you,' Higgins replied.
Valentine eyed his friend. Longo had not bothered to notify Bill when he'd decided to collar Nola. It was a childish thing to do, as Bill would quickly find out. But that didn't explain how Bill had known his whereabouts.
'Who told you where I was?' Valentine asked.
'A little bird,' Higgins said, hitting the signal arm as the exit appeared. 'Don't act so pissed off.'
'I'm curious-that's all.'
'I have a snitch on my payroll.'
'You want me to figure it out?'
'Go ahead.'
'How much?'
'How much what?'
'How much says I can't figure out who your snitch is?'
'Ten bucks,' Higgins said.
'Make it fifty.'
