were no words adequate to describe it. She had viewed the crime scene photos and the videotape. The images haunted her.
The children’s foster mother had been raped, sodomized, tortured, her body sliced open from throat to groin. The coroner had determined that the woman had died first, though there was no way of knowing what might have taken place before her very eyes prior to her death. She might have been made to watch while unspeakable acts were committed on the children. The children might have been made to watch while unspeakable acts were committed on her. Either way, a nightmare from the darkest, most primal, fear-filled corner of the human mind.
But as a judge, Carey couldn’t attach those atrocities to the defendant on trial before her. Her decision on the matter before her now couldn’t be swayed by her own fears or disgust. She couldn’t worry how people would react to her ruling. A criminal trial was not a popularity contest.
A fine theory, at least.
She took a breath and sighed, the weight of the matter pressing down on her. The attorneys watched her. Kenny Scott looked like he was waiting for her to pronounce sentence on him. Logan ’s impatience was palpable. He stared at her as if he believed he could influence her mind by sheer dint of will.
Carey quelled the sick feeling in her stomach.
“I’ve read your briefs, gentlemen,” she said. “And I’m well aware of the impact my decision will have on this case. I can guarantee neither of you would want to be sitting in this chair right now.”
Logan would have argued that, she knew. Bias was a way of life for him. “Right with might” was his motto. If he believed something, then it was so-no arguments. But he held his tongue, held his breath, poised to leap out of his chair. Carey met his gaze full-on.
“I don’t see an exception here,” she said.
Logan opened his mouth, ready to rebut.
“You’ll allow me to finish, Mr. Logan.”
His face was flushed red with anger. He looked at the wall.
“Mr. Dahl’s prior acts may point in a particular direction, suggesting a possible path of future criminal behavior,” she said. “However, he has no history of violent crimes, and this court can’t foresee what Mr. Dahl might do in months or years to come. At any rate, we aren’t allowed to try people for crimes they have yet to commit.”
“Your Honor,” Logan said, his voice tight from holding back the need to shout. “Violent criminals are made over time. Mr. Dahl’s record-”
“Is inadmissible,” Carey said.
If people could have been put away for crimes they had yet to commit, Chris Logan would have been led away in handcuffs. The fury in his eyes was murderous.
Kenny Scott barely contained himself from leaping out of his chair and doing a victory dance. Carey stared at him, and he slouched back down and swallowed the joy of his victory. He wouldn’t think it was such a good thing after the news hit the press, Carey thought.
People generally demonstrated less loathing for public defenders than headline defense attorneys. They were, after all, civil servants toiling away for low wages, devoting their lives to helping the unfortunate. But as soon as her ruling was made public, Kenny Scott would suddenly become an enemy of the state. Defending the indigent was one thing. Getting an accused murderer off was quite another.
“Your Honor,” Scott said, ready to strike while the iron was hot. “In view of your ruling, I don’t see that the prosecution has enough evidence to support the indictment-”
Logan came out of his chair.
Eyes popping, Scott looked at the man looming over him. “I move that the charges be dismissed,” he said, talking as fast as he could, trying to get all the words out of his mouth before Logan could grab him by the throat and crush his larynx.
“Motion denied,” Carey said with a calm that belied her inner tension. “Sit down, Mr. Logan, or I’ll have you removed.”
Logan glared at her, defiant. He didn’t sit, but he moved away from Kenny Scott and went over by the wall, his hands jammed at his waist, nostrils flaring as he tried to gather himself.
“But Your Honor,” Scott argued, “the state has no direct evidence linking my client to the crimes. No fingerprints on the murder weapons-”
“He wiped them clean,” Logan growled.
“No blood evidence on his clothes-”
“So he ditched the clothes.”
“No DNA evidence-”
“He used a condom-”
“Not so much as a hair-”
“The guy doesn’t have any,” Logan snapped. “He shaves his body clean so he won’t leave any hairs behind. What does that tell you?”
“He does it for hygiene reasons,” Scott said. “The guy’s a transient. He doesn’t want to pick up lice.”
Logan made a rude sound and rolled his eyes dramatically.
Carey turned to him. “Well, Mr. Logan? What
“I’m supposed to lay out my entire case in front of
“Do you have a case to lay out?”
“He’s got conjecture, supposition, and coincidence,” Scott said.
“I’ve got a grand jury indictment,” Logan said.
“And the Cracker Jack box it came in?”
“It’s good to know you have so much respect for our criminal justice system, Mr. Scott,” Carey said without humor.
Scott stammered, tripping backward, trying to cover his mistake. Carey held up a hand to forestall the attempt. She wished the earth would open and swallow Kenny Scott and Chris Logan and this entire nightmare case.
“The indictment stands,” she said. “A jury can decide if the state has a case strong enough to convict your client, Mr. Scott.”
She gave Logan a look she knew he recognized from their years together on the same side of the bar. “And if you don’t, Mr. Logan… God help you.”
She rose behind her desk and nodded toward the door. “Gentlemen…”
Kenny Scott bounced up from his seat. “But Your Honor, shouldn’t we revisit the idea of bail?”
“No.”
“But my client-”
“Should consider himself damned lucky to have a guarded building between himself and the public,” she said. “Considering the climate of the community, bail would not be in your client’s best interest. Quit while you’re ahead, Mr. Scott.”
Scott bobbed and nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t call me ma’am.”
“No. I’m sorry, Your Honor. I meant no disrespect.”
“Please leave.”
“Yes, ma- Of course.”
He held up his hands as if to concede his stupidity, then fumbled to grab his briefcase and nearly tripped himself on his way out the door.
Logan remained for a moment but didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. Carey knew exactly what was going through his mind. Then he huffed a sigh and walked out like a man with a purpose.
The bottle of scotch in his bottom right-hand desk drawer.
“Have one for me,” she muttered.
