Crap. If the detective hadn’t been served, he couldn’t get in trouble for not showing up. So much for Tolya’s clever tactic.
However, I had drastically underestimated Judge Laurent. The temperature in the courtroom seemed to drop several degrees as he leveled a frown at Finley. “Couldn’t be located?”
“That’s correct, your honor.”
The judge pursed his lips. “Mr. Finley, I don’t believe I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with you in a courtroom before. Is that correct?”
“That’s correct, your honor,” Finley said. “I’m usually in Judge Zeller’s court.”
“Well, Mr. Finley, I’ve been on the bench twenty years.” Laurent pulled his glasses off and used them to point at the assistant DA. “It might surprise you, but I do know how the system works. I bet you someone in the sheriff’s department can get in touch with Detective O’Connor twenty-four seven.”
Finley didn’t look as smug anymore. “Your honor,” he began, but the judge gave him no chance to continue.
“Bailiff,” Laurent said and waited for the deputy to straighten. “Go down to the Sheriff’s administrative offices on the first floor. You tell the Sheriff that he or his designee has been summoned by instanter subpoena to explain to the court why this detective is not present.”
Holy shit. Describing Laurent as irascible was putting it mildly. The bailiff scurried out. Finley stared at the judge in disbelief then sank to sit, clearly trying to get his bearings in this new development. The “couldn’t be served” angle would have worked with most other judges, but apparently it was a hot button for Judge Laurent. Damn, I might end up owing Pellini a big favor.
Laurent sat back in his chair and slipped his glasses on, then proceeded to ignore everyone in the courtroom while he flipped through the papers on his desk. Nobody dared talk or move around since he hadn’t called a recess, and a bizarre silence reigned while we waited for the arrival of the Sheriff or his designee.
I shot a quick look at Tolya. He held an expression of mild interest, but I couldn’t shake the sense he was watching the performance of a play he’d written. Great, my lawyer was clever and manipulative, but I knew this whole scenario was a gamble that could easily backfire. The judge was pissed now, which might carry over into his rulings on my fate.
The butterflies crowded in. More of this stress and I’d be coughing up legs and wings.
Less than ten minutes later the doors opened, and a round-faced man about my height with a bad haircut and a weak chin scrambled in ahead of the bailiff. Not the sheriff, but his second in command—Chief Deputy Ron Pigeon.
Judge Laurent straightened and beckoned the baffled man forward. “Chief Deputy Pigeon, the District Attorney’s office informs me that Detective O’Connor could not be located to be served with the subpoena for a hearing in my courtroom this morning.”
“Er.” Pigeon threw a confused look to Finley—who could only give him a pained one in response. “I’m sorry, your honor,” he said, “but, well, I’m sure the detective—”
Laurent cut him off. “This woman is sitting in jail on serious charges,” he said, thrusting his hand in my direction. Pigeon cast a bewildered glance toward the bench full of prisoners, but it was obvious he had no idea what was going on, or whether the judge was gesturing to me or Angry Chick. “We’re not playing games here,” Laurent continued, warming to his topic. “A subpoena isn’t an invitation to a party. This is an order of the court—not a request—an order!”
“Yes, your honor.” Pigeon bobbed his head in a nod.
“I intend to hold a hearing, and I expect Detective O’Connor to testify,” Laurent said, color high in his cheeks. He was righteously pissed and enjoying it.
Pigeon shifted his feet. “I understand, your honor, but—”
“Chief Deputy Pigeon,” Laurent interrupted, “I know all the detectives have department-issued cell phones that they’re expected to answer. Ms. Gillian may not be in jail by the end of this, but someone else might be.” With that threat hanging in the air, the judge swung his ire to Finley. “As for you, I was once an ADA. I know you have O’Connor’s cell phone number. Do you want me to investigate the call records and determine whether you’ve talked to him since I issued that subpoena?”
Finley paled. “No, your honor!”
Shit. Yeah, it was fun to watch Finley get reamed, but his reaction told me O’Connor knew about the subpoena—which meant he had time to prepare to get on the stand. What if the detective showed up, gave compelling testimony, and the judge set an unaffordable bond? Or no bond?
Perspiration rolled down my sides. If I ever got out of this mess, I was burning this sweatshirt.