The rest of the interview wasn’t any more helpful than the start. Poles offered no real information related to any of the Lost Boys. He claimed ignorance, and part of me believed him. The other part, however, wondered whether he was really the one.
He fit the profile: loner, angry, narcissistic, and knowledgeable about police procedures and DNA. There was also something about his attitude. Although he was combative, he had this look in his eye. It was like he might’ve been enjoying himself.
Poles knew I wasn’t a cop. He knew he wasn’t in any real danger. So why not play with me?
Neither Poles nor the chili dog was sitting with me very well as I returned to my car. As I pulled out into the street, my telephone rang. I looked down at the tiny screen and saw that it was Emma.
“What’s going on?”
“Where are you?”
“Downtown.” I stopped for a red light and watched as a half dozen cars paraded by. “Just finished my meeting.”
“Good,” Emma said. “Stay down there. You’ve got court in an hour, and then I’ve got two more clients you need to meet at the jail and post bail for them.”
“Court?” The car behind me honked. The light had turned green. I acknowledged them with a wave and then jerked the car forward. “I didn’t think I had any appearances today.”
“Well now you do,” Emma said. “The crazy one.”
I paused, thinking. “Could you be a little more specific?”
“Bates.”
“Cecil?”
“That’s the one,” Emma said. “Emergency motion for a continuance.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Judge Saul Polansky called our case last. He wanted to make me wait. Punishment for clogging up his calendar.
The judge’s personality had changed since the last time we’d seen each other. He didn’t want to chitchat and gossip. He was irritated. He wanted to go home and didn’t appreciate an “emergency” motion being added to his calendar.
I sat in the back of the courtroom for two hours. The law factory processed a half dozen misdemeanors and a couple of gross misdemeanors as my cell phone buzzed. I knew better than to answer my phone. There was a clear “no cell phone” policy in the courts. The judge was already annoyed with Cecil Bates, and I didn’t want to give him another reason to yell at me or my client.
At four o’clock, Cecil Bates was led into the courtroom. He was thinner than when we had last seen each other. His face was drawn, and Cecil looked even smaller than usual as he stood next to the large bailiff sporting a bulletproof vest under his uniform.
The judge pointed at the prosecutor. “It’s your motion.”
The prosecutor nodded. “Yes.” Then she looked at me and my client. “As you know, Your Honor, Mr. Bates has refused to plead guilty.”
Bates bolted straight. “’Cuz I ain’t guilty.” He pointed at the judge. “And I ain’t pleading guilty to nothing I didn’t do.”
Judge Polansky’s face turned red. “Mr. Bates, you will remain quiet and not interrupt these proceedings, or I will find you in contempt.”
I put my hand on Cecil’s shoulder, trying to calm him down.
“Understood?” The judge cocked his head to the side.
The judge waited, and eventually Cecil nodded his head. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” The judge turned back to the prosecutor. “Go on.”
“Mr. Bates has asked for a speedy trial. The court has granted that speedy trial request and set a date. Unfortunately, Your Honor, our office learned recently that the arresting police officer will be on a family vacation and out of state during the scheduled trial.”
“And?” Judge Polansky was getting bored.
“And, we promptly asked counsel for Mr. Bates for a continuance, and he refused.”
The judge turned to me.
“That’s not exactly accurate, Your Honor.” As a lawyer-actor, I offered a dramatic sigh before continuing. “I agreed to the continuance if the State would agree to let my client out of jail pending trial. They refused that request, and so I refused to agree to the continuance.”
The muscles in the judge’s neck visibly tightened, and his hands balled into tight little fists. Then he closed his eyes. Judge Polansky asked, almost in a whisper, “What is wrong with you two?” When neither the prosecutor nor I responded, the judge continued. “Last time I checked, this case is about drinking alcohol in a park.” He opened his eyes and stared at the prosecutor. “Not exactly the crime of the century. You’d agree?”
The prosecutor stammered, mumbling something about Cecil Bates’s failure to appear at the last hearing and the quality of life in downtown Saint Louis.
“And you”—Judge Polansky turned to me—“you can’t negotiate a plea, can’t control your client, can’t find a resolution to a simple motion for a continuance.” He picked up his gavel and slammed it down on the bench.
The sound echoed throughout the courtroom. I thought, for a second, that the gavel may snap in half.
“I’m done with this.” Judge Polansky stood up. As he left the courtroom, he said, “Motion for continuance granted. The defendant is released pending trial. That’s it for me today. I’m going home.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
It took until mid-September for the sporadic shooting pain and tenderness to be completely gone. Life was busy but falling into a routine. A late-night phone call from Schmitty, however, changed the rhythm that Sammy and I had developed. I had to figure out how to balance everything, and I decided to wake her earlier than normal, holding off as long as possible. It wasn’t ideal, but there wasn’t much choice.
I opened the door to her room. “Sweetie.” I walked over to the window and lifted the shade. The sun was rising, but still low in the sky. Then I walked to the bed and kissed her on the forehead. “Daddy needs you to wake up now.”
Sammy rolled over but didn’t show many other signs of life.
I tried rubbing her back, which only elicited a groan. “Come on now.” I returned to the door and flipped the light switch. Sammy pulled the sheet over her head. “I need you up so we can talk.”
Then she stated the obvious. “I’m tired.”
“I am, too,” I said, “but I have to go. Are you listening?”
Another groan came from under the sheets.
I sat on the edge of the bed. “You know that case I’ve been working on? The case with the missing boys.” I paused, waiting for Sammy to say something in response or acknowledge that I was not simply talking to a lump of bedding. “They found something, and I have to go help them figure it out.”
This got Sammy’s attention. She slowly pulled the sheets down, so that I could see her face. With eyes half-closed, she asked, “Right now?”
I nodded. “Need you to be a big girl and get ready and take the bus this morning.” I thought about all our progress and that it was about to unravel, but I didn’t have a choice. “I can’t drive you today.”
Sammy looked away. She was calculating. “When are you coming back?”
“Tonight.” I reached out and found her hand. “You’ll do fine. You’ve been doing great.” It sounded more like I was trying to convince myself more than her. “Your mama would be proud of you.”
She nodded but didn’t say anything.
“I’ve already talked to Grandma. She’s going to have a big breakfast for you at the main house and make sure you get off OK. Understand?”