Page 22

TWENTY-TWO

I DON’T WANT THE last words Judge Kane heard from Ahearn to hang in the air for a moment longer. So I come in hot, making my voice louder than it needs to be.

“Opposing counsel makes it sound as if my client is being charged, in front of this court, with six homicides. Only he’s not. My client stands accused—falsely, I might point out—of three murders, for which he will eventually be acquitted and for the best possible reason: Rob Jacobson didn’t kill any of these people, because he’s never killed anybody in his life.”

I take it down a notch now, reminding myself to slow down, not get ahead of myself, not sound as if I’m trying my whole case in the next few minutes.

“I don’t need to remind Mr. Ahearn, as painful as such a reminder might be to him, that Rob Jacobson was acquitted by a jury of his peers in that first trial. Lo and behold, he wasn’t guilty until proven innocent, as Mr. Ahearn wanted him to be, when all the facts came to light.”

I’m pretty sure I hear Ahearn say, “What facts were those?” to Maggie Florescu, but the judge doesn’t hear him. Or doesn’t care, maybe because she likes him better than she likes me. Wouldn’t be the first time. Probably won’t be the last.

As long as I last.

“Judge,” I say, “it would not only be unfair to force my client to remain in custody, it would be cruel in light of the time he has already spent behind bars for previous crimes he absolutely did not commit.”

I move back to our table and point to Rob Jacobson.

“Mr. Ahearn says this man, this innocent man, is a flight risk. No, he is not. On the contrary, he isn’t going anywhere, because he is going to stay right here and fight to clear his name. Again. And I’m going to fight right along with him.”

I’m walking back to the table, talking to Judge Kane over my shoulder, surprising myself with what next comes out of my mouth before I can stop it.

“Like we’re both fighting for our lives here.”

Judge Kane says we will have her decision shortly, and that no one should leave the courtroom. She’s not lying. She’s back in less than ten minutes. A jury of one coming back.

“I’ll make this short and sweet,” she says. “Bail is set at five million dollars.”

I see Jacobson lean forward, feel the steam come off him, know him well enough by now to know that he’s about to say something stupid, react like this is a restaurant and he’s shocked at the amount of the bill.

I stop him with a grip on his arm strong enough to quickly cut off circulation.

“Shut up,” I say into his ear. “And pay up.”

Judge Kane then begins to explain the conditions of Jacobson’s bail apart from the money, including his wearing an ankle monitor, and how he will be released from the jail in East Meadow as soon as he has paid the $5 million either by check or wire transfer. And that any violation, of any kind, will land him back in East Meadow, with absolutely no chance at supervised release until the trial begins.

“Do you understand these terms as I’ve explained them to you, Mr. Jacobson?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have any questions?”

“No, Your Honor, I do not.”

“Then we’re done here, at least for now,” Judge Alicia Kane says, before heading for her chambers as if being chased, the click of her heels sounding like gunfire.

When the door shuts behind her, I turn to Rob Jacobson.

“You’re welcome,” I say.

Then he’s the one putting a hand on my arm and telling me we need to find a conference room because there’s something important he needs to tell me.

“It’s about Brigid.”