He turns the corner with the escort and sees Shawn. His pace quickens as he walks toward him.
“I thought you were meeting me earlier,” Micah says, trying not to shiver.
“I’m so sorry,” Shawn answers. “There’s no public access to the twelfth floor here.”
“For protection from people like me, right?” Micah look down at his scrubs, his handcuffs.
“Hey look, it’s gonna be fine,” Shawn says, trying to maintain a positive tone. “This is all just temporary. Let’s do this.”
He motions for Micah to follow him, prison escort in tow. They reach the thick double-door entry of the arraignment room that reads “Criminal Court, City of New York.” Bronze Roman reliefs adorn each door panel, representing justice in the most antiquated of ways. Shawn forces them open.
They walk down the center aisle between two rows of pews filled with onlookers, fellow criminals, lawyers and law enforcement officials. Shawn and Micah take their places in the front row.
As he awaits his docket number, Micah begins to shake.
“It’s so fucking cold in here,” he whispers.
“Yeah, these people stand in here all day, so they crank the AC,” Shawn whispers back, as he pulls today’s paperwork from his briefcase.
Micah scans the room. He listens to the judge explain the various proceedings as he looks each remanded suspect in their eyes. He seems nice enough, Micah thinks. Policemen stand both to the judge’s extreme right and distant left. Large, white vintage cone fixtures with dark brown nipples hang from the ceiling, and long vertical windows light the top half of each wall to his right and left.
Micah looks out one of the windows, concentrating on a peak-a-boo glimpse of the distant Manhattan skyline. Some of the buildings are similar to his and Lennox’s view from the rooftop of their condo in Two Bridges, and he is lost again in memories.
The day they first met.
The last time he saw Lennox alive.
The pounding on Lennox’s chest.
((Pound pound pound.))
“Case #LS 454556-1471, the People versus Micah James Breuer, on for arraignment,” the courtroom deputy clerk exclaims.
Micah jumps back to the present; he and Shawn stand up. Shawn unhooks the rope that separates the waiting area from the court, invites Micah through, then places the rope back in the locked position. They approach the long, slender podium that separates them from the judge. Micah, having paid attention to the last four arraignments, stands to Shawn’s left. Shawn places his file on the tall slanted part of the podium, struggling to keep its contents from hitting the ground. He opens the file fully just to be safe.
The clerk continues. “Counsel, please state your name for the record.”
“Shawn Connelly, your Honor, representing the defendant.”
“And the defendant, please state, of your own accord, your name for the record.”
“My name is Micah Breuer, your Honor.”
“Mr. Breuer, your attorney has waived the reading of the charges against you.” The judge speaks to Micah with a soft yet stern undertone, like a concerned father addressing a teenage daughter. Micah smiles and nods.
“However, due to the magnitude and sheer number of charges,” the judge continues, “I’m going to indicate that you are being charged with second-degree murder, first- and second-degree manslaughter, and criminally negligent manslaughter. Now, these are merely allegations at this point, and they do not imply at all whatsoever that you are guilty of any of these charges. It will be up to a jury of your peers to decide guilt. Right now, everyone in this courtroom assumes that you’re innocent.”
A cough emanates across the room. Micah and Shawn turn to see the back of what looks to be Elaine Holcomb, a stout woman with short grey hair, making a swift but noisy exit. The door closes behind her.
“Now, you did get copies of the information that's been filed?” asks the judge.
“Judge, we acknowledge receipt of a copy of the criminal complaint,” Shawn says.
“Great.”
“A copy of the supporting affidavit, which is two pages,” Shawn continues. “Also a copy of the medical examiner’s death confirmation summary.”
“Yep. How does your client plead?”
“If it pleases the court, we enter a plea of not guilty.”
“Well, that went the way I expected. Very well.”
“May I be heard in terms of bail and scheduling, your Honor?”
“I will hear. Is there an ADA present?”
“Standing ADA Minerva Johnson here, sir, representing The People,” says the blonde-haired woman to their right.
Shawn notices the purposeful absence of Astrid Lerner. Turning lackadaisicalness into grandstanding. Awesome.
“Mr. Connelly, you may proceed,” says the judge, marking the record.
“Mr. Breuer has never been charged with any capital offense,” Shawn says. “He is a respected member of the community, especially in AA, where he has been clean and sober for over eight years. In addition, the litany of charges brought forth by the prosecution is both damaging and unwarranted. Evidence obtained has no bearing—”
“Save it for the trial, Mr. Connelly.”
“Yes, your Honor. My point is that Mr. Breuer should not be considered a flight risk, as he has fulfilled all obligations, cooperated with police, and has no prior convictions. Also, due to the severity of the ridiculous charges, we would ask the court for at least ninety days to prepare for trial.”
“Thank you, Mr. Connelly. Due to the severity of the charges, ridiculous or not, bail is denied. And your defendant has a right to a speedy trial, so date is set at October 15. Six weeks should give you ample time. I know your firm well.”
((Pound pound.))
Shawn grabs his file and takes Micah back through the rope and out the double doors. They find the nearest bench.
Micah turns to Shawn with defeated eyes.
“I know,” Shawn says. “But we knew this could happen.”
Shawn tucks his files away in his briefcase while Micah simply sits, staring straight ahead.
“Micah, you gotta bear with me. This is not going to get easier. Now, later I’m going to give you some information on applying for a corrections administration permit to attend the funeral.”
Micah says nothing.
“Did you hear me?” asks Shawn. “Elaine is
