Silent Son (25 page)

She could feel the throb of his heart as she pressed her ear into his chest. The pulse was rapid.

“It’s just beginning,” he said softly, nuzzling her hair with his lips.

She held him tight.

“Tomorrow the gloves come off…”

Jennifer kept gripping, and listening to his pounding heart.The easy part was over, and tomorrow the real struggle would begin.
Bond hearings. Motions. Discovery. The labyrinth they had to traverse before they could convict. One psycho defense attorney
was in town, and another was on his way. And their case was as weak as a cobweb.

“We’ll get through,” Jennifer whispered.

“Yeah,” Gardner mumbled sleepily. “We’ll get through.”

And soon they were both asleep.

It was 8:45
A.M
., and bond hearings for Roscoe Miller and IV Starke had been added to the morning docket at the courthouse.
But there was no sitting judge available to hear them. Two civil cases had carried over from yesterday, and the juries were
waiting to resume deliberations. That left only the chambers judge, Carla Hanks, to preside over the hearings. It was to be
Her Honor’s first appearance in court.

Gardner and Jennifer marched into courtroom three and took their places behind the counsel table. Gardner sported the trademark
navy blue pinstripe suit and red tie he always wore on the first day of a big trial. His face was fresh, but his eyes showed
fatigue.

Jennifer was also wearing her number one court outfit: a red linen blazer flared neatly at the waist, and a black cotton skirt.
Her hair was pulled back, and her eyes were alert behind her spectacles.

The defense attorneys were already in the room when the prosecutors entered. Kent King and Joel Jacobs sat side by side like
Roman Centurions. As Gardner passed, King whispered in Jacobs’s ear, and the New York lawyer shifted his gaze to the State’s
Attorney. This was the flip side of the prosecutor-police alliance. Defense attorneys had their own secret society. In the
presence of a prosecutor, it was us versus them, and they conspired constantly against the state.

Gardner put down his file, and Jacobs walked over to the prosecution table. “Mr. Lawson?” He extended his hand. “Joel Jacobs.”
He was nattily turned out in a gray double-breasted suit.

“Glad to meet you,” Gardner said, crushing his adversary’s hand as tightly as he could. “This is Jennifer Munday, my assistant.”

Jacobs released Gardner’s hand with a strong snap of his wrist and extended his hand to Jennifer. “It’s a pleasure,” he said
with a twinkle in his eye. King had obviously told him the attractive female was more than an “assistant.”

Jennifer exchanged pleasantries with the lawyer, and allowed Jacobs to refocus on Gardner.

“I hear we had a conversation yesterday,” the lawyer said.

Gardner knit his brow, but didn’t answer.

“Tell me, was I that cooperative?” Jacobs continued. The sarcasm was thick.

Gardner glimpsed King smirking over his shoulder. These two were going to make quite a pair. “Yeah,” the prosecutor said flippantly.
“You were real cooperative.”

Jacobs smiled. “I’m not always that way. Sometimes, I can be downright uncooperative.”

“All rise!” The clerk’s announcement interrupted the face-off. “Her Honor’s court is now in session. The Honorable Carla Hanks
presiding.”

Jacobs nodded to Jennifer and bowed to Gardner before joining King at the other table. King whispered in his ear, and both
men smiled.

“Be seated!” Judge Hanks declared, giving the gavel stand a tentative whack with her mallet. She then settled into the high-backed
leather chair and looked out from behind the bench. “Call the case, Mr. State’s Attorney,” she barked to Gardner.

The prosecutor stood up. “We call State v. Miller, and State v. Starke for bond hearings, Your Honor.”

Judge Hanks shifted her attention to King and Jacobs at the defense table. They immediately stood up.

“Please identify yourselves for the record,” Her Honor said.

“Kent King for Roscoe Miller.”

“Joel Jacobs, 215 Park Avenue South, New York City, appearing on behalf of Mr. Wellington Starke the fourth.”

“Uh, are we ready to proceed, gentlemen?” the judge asked.

The defense attorneys nodded, and the judge turned to Gardner. “Any preliminary remarks, Mr. Lawson?”

“Yes, Judge,” Gardner replied. “As soon as the defendants get here…”

“Where are they?” Judge Hanks asked.

“On their way up from detention,” the clerk answered.

In a moment, the defendants entered. Miller was first and Starke followed. They were dressed in blue denim detention center
uniforms, their hands and feet cuffed, chained together at the waist. Even with those encumbrances, Roscoe still managed a
foot-dragging saunter down the aisle.

In contrast, Starke walked with a preppy’s gait. Next to Miller he seemed out of place. Their facial features showed a resemblance.
But that was as far as it went.

“The defendants are present in court,” Gardner said loudly as the two prisoners sat down. It was time to get his own show
on the road. “May I be heard, Your Honor?”

Judge Hanks nodded.

“Thank you, Your Honor. Mr. Joel Jacobs entered his appearance on behalf of defendant Starke and listed his address as New
York. May we then assume that he is not a member of the Maryland bar?”

Judge Hanks had still been digging through paperwork when she got the call to sit on this case. No one had said anything about
qualifying out-of-state attorneys to practice. She looked at Jacobs.

He stood up. “I’m a member of five state bars, Your Honor, but Maryland is not one of them.”

“Object to his appearance in this case, Judge,” Gardner argued. “He’s not a member of our bar, and he’s therefore unqualified
to practice here.”

King rose to his feet. “I’ll sponsor him, Judge. An out-of-state attorney can practice on a per-case basis if a member of
the bar sponsors him and moves his admittance for that particular case.”

“Conflict of interest,” Gardner interjected. “This is a two-defendant murder case. For the attorneys to have any formal relationship
with each other is improper, according to the Canons of Ethics.”

Judge Hanks was sinking into confusion. “Does anyone have any specific law on this point?”

Joel Jacobs stood up. He’d been listening, but it was now time to cut in. “That won’t be necessary, Your Honor.” He pulled
a piece of paper from his briefcase and showed it to King.

“Withdraw my offer of sponsorship,” King said with a grin.

Jacobs approached the bench and handed the document to Judge Hanks.

She perused it and waved Gardner up. “I believe this resolves any question you may have as to Mr. Jacobs’s qualifications.”
Her voice was mildly sarcastic.

Gardner took the paper from her hand. The letterhead said “Maryland Court of Appeals.” And below it: “VIA TELEFAX.” He read
the text.

To whom it may concern:

Please accord Mr. Joel Jacobs of the State of New York, and member of the New York bar, all of the privileges and rights of
a Maryland attorney. He is hereby duly admitted to practice in all proceedings, criminal and otherwise, involving Mr. Wellington
Starke IV. He is granted this admission without reservation, and without the need for individual sponsorship.

Signed: John J. Biddington, Chief Judge, Maryland Court of Appeals.

Gardner whistled inwardly. Jacobs was connected. Big time. Here was a personal endorsement by the highest ranking judge in
the state. The case had barely begun and already strings were being pulled. Gardner dropped the paper on the bench. “Objection
withdrawn,” he said. And on the way back to the counsel table he wondered just how deep Jacobs’s connections actually ran.

While the bond hearing was going on, Brownie was hard at work in the crime lab. He had been up late the previous night, processing
IV Starke and getting him bedded down at the detention center. Then he’d gone back to the police department and checked the
return on the search warrant. That was the document that listed the items that had been seized in the search. The contents
of the safe were grouped together under the headings “Personal Papers,” “Receipts,” and “Tattoos.” Unfortunately, the items
themselves were locked in the evidence vault, and the custodian had gone home. Brownie had to wait until morning to get his
hands on the actual items.

Brownie opened the top envelope and pulled out a sheaf of papers. The first was a photocopy of IV Starke’s birth certificate.
Brownie scanned it and locked in on the date. “Huh?” he said aloud, making a quick calculation in his head.

According to the date of birth, IV Starke was twenty years old, still in high school, and not even graduated! The kid seemed
bright. There had to be a reason why he was taking so long to get his diploma. Maybe it had something to do with the case.

Brownie put down the paper and moved to the next several documents. More birth certificates. One for Wellington Starke III,
IV’s father. Born 1946. Another for the grandfather, Wellington Starke, Jr. Born 1910. Beneath that was a certificate of death,
certifying the grandfather’s demise in 1978. A copy of his will was attached.

Brownie ran through the wherefors and the whereases and got to the meat of the bequests. “Whew!” he whistled. Millions and
millions and millions. He’d never seen so many zeros behind a dollar sign. Grandfather was loaded to the hilt!

Brownie read on to the bottom line. A substantial part of the family fortune had been left in trust to Wellington Starke IV.
And when he turned twenty-five years of age the trust was due to terminate, and he was entitled to draw the proceeds.

Brownie whistled again. In a few years, IV Starke was going to be the richest man in his cell block. Hell, he was going to
be one of the richest men on earth!

Brownie shook off his surprise and moved to the next set of documents. They were school records, yellowed and creased, obviously
quite old. They belonged to IV Starke’s father: Wellington Starke III.

Brownie stared at the school logo on the father’s records: Prentice Academy. This was a new revelation, but no shock. Families
often trod the same academic turf. Brownie scratched his chin. Maybe this accounted for the headmaster’s nervous attitude
and the hiring of Kent King. The Starkes were deeply invested in the school. Not just one generation, but two. No wonder Charles
was acting up. He had a major investment to protect.

Brownie sifted through the evidence pile until he came to the tattoos. Of all the things in the safe, these were the most
puzzling. Temporary tattoos. Inked images that adhered to the skin. Kids wore them to look cool, but they were just playing.
The things washed off without a trace.

Brownie laid the four sheets out on his table. Each contained three flesh decals. Daggers. Sexy sirens. Screaming eagles.
The same pictures that Roscoe liked. But there was no death’s-head.

Brownie studied the tattoos. IV Starke obviously idolized Miller. He was a rich kid who wanted to play tough, but not go all
the way. That’s what it had to be. He was trying to emulate Miller’s wildness. The aristocrat had a secret fantasy, and he
was acting it out. IV Starke had no reason to kill anyone. He had all the money in the world. He certainly didn’t need Henry’s
stash. But maybe in his misguided fervor to mimic Roscoe’s lifestyle, he had gone along for the ride. And gotten in way over
his head.

Carla Hanks was still presiding over the bond hearing. After the qualification of Jacobs to appear in her court, she read
the defendants the charges against them. Now it was time to cut to the chase.

“What is the state’s bond recommendation as to defendant Miller?” the judge asked Gardner.

Gardner stood up. “No bond, Your Honor.”

“No bond?” Hanks looked confused, as if she didn’t know such a category existed.

“That is correct, Judge,” Gardner replied. “Under the Maryland code, you have the authority to deny bond in certain cases.”

Hanks nodded.

“Here we have a person of no fixed address,” Gardner continued. “He ran when police attempted to arrest him, and he has been
charged with not one, but three murders.” The prosecutor glanced at King. “And that’s grounds in itself to deny bond.”

King stood up. “That’s assuming they can prove the case,” he said, “but they have no evidence. Absolutely nothing that places
my client at the scene of the crime.”

Gardner crossed his arms. “Evidentiary matters are not relevant in a bond hearing, Your Honor. That’s the law.”

“Okay, okay,” Judge Hanks answered. “I understand your positions. Mr. King, what amount of bond would you recommend?”

“Under ten thousand with ten percent acceptable,” King replied.

Gardner grimaced. That figure was absurd. It meant that Miller could walk by posting a mere thousand dollars. “On a triple
murder?” he said aloud. His expression warned Judge Hanks not to set such a ridiculously low bond.

“All right,” Her Honor replied. “I have the recommendations. No bond on one side, and ten thousand on the other…” She leaned
back in her chair and closed her eyes. A decision was about to be made.

Jennifer suddenly stood up. “May I be heard, Your Honor?”

Judge Hanks opened her eyes and leaned forward.

“Objection!” Kingsneered. “They’ve already had theirsay…”

“Two against two seems fair, Judge,” Jennifer answered softly.

Hanks gave King an annoyed look. “Are you afraid of what she might have to say, Mr. King?”

King was speechless.

“I’m going to allow her to speak,” Hanks said.

“Thank you, Judge,” Jennifer replied. “I only wanted to point out that Mr. Miller has, in fact, failed to appear in court
before.” She unfolded a sheet of paper. “On six occasions he has neglected to answer summonses.”

Jennifer showed the paper to King, and then walked up to the bench.

“His driving record,” King snorted. “That’s hardly relevant here.”

“It shows his propensity to be irresponsible,” Jennifer said.