Page 15 of Two Kinds of Stranger (Eddie Flynn #9)

Eddie

There are a lot of things in this country that can kill you.

Guns. Drugs. Disease. Car accidents.

Add to that list being arrested and charged with a crime. The so-called justice system can rip you apart just as fast as an assault rifle or a bag of heroin.

The first thing it takes is your dignity. Sitting in a cage with thirty other people whose lives have had a catastrophic turn is not good for the soul. Those who think they’ve hit rock bottom don’t know that there’s a whole other subterranean level. Your dignity is continuously peeled away.

Sitting in an interview cell awaiting her bail hearing, with Kate beside me, Elly still had a lot of layers of dignity intact. She had washed her face. Tied up her hair. My hope was that she could cling on to that fight. The worst thing that can happen is to give in to the process.

‘This is Eddie. He and I will be representing you in this case. How are you feeling?’ asked Kate.

‘I still can’t eat. My throat and my stomach are just . . . not good. Thank you for helping me. I’d heard about you two on TikTok. I followed some of your cases. I really need your help . . . ’

I’d sat across from every kind of person in this situation.

It’s easy to spot the people who half expected to find themselves in handcuffs wearing jailhouse sweats.

They stand out. There’s a resignation to their demeanor, not acceptance exactly, but not far off.

The people who unexpectedly find themselves in the meat-grinder that is our legal system have the same expression.

Shock. Horror. Total fear. They don’t know what’s going to happen to them and they have no idea how they got there.

‘Did you find out any more about James and Harriet? I still don’t know what happened to them .

. . Jesus . . . their parents . . . You have to tell them I didn’t hurt them.

I’m not a violent person . . . Something fucking terrible has happened and I .

. . I . . . loved them . . . They hurt me so bad, but I loved them . . . ’

She collapsed into terrible, racking sobs, holding her sides in case they burst apart.

She was young, and obviously she had talents, intelligence, but more than that she had been through an inferno in the last few weeks.

The infidelity, her life blowing up for the world to see and now her husband and friend dead.

And she had only just survived an attempt on her life.

And yet here was Elly Parker . . . She wasn’t feeling sorry for herself, or firing a hundred questions at us about what happens next and how she can get out of here – she was mourning the loss of her husband and her friend.

And thinking of the howling pain that James’s and Harriet’s parents would be feeling.

I liked Elly Parker.

‘We haven’t heard anything more from the police,’ said Kate.

‘We’re trying to get more. And we’re looking into ways to verify your evidence about the guy with the suitcase – Logan.

Right now, we don’t know if that’s a real name, and if it is we don’t know if it’s his first name or a last name, which means there are thousands of potential Logans in the New York area alone.

We need a lot more if we’re going to find this man. ’

Elly’s face was soaked in tears, and yet she nodded at Kate, trying to listen through the pain.

‘Elly, the only way through this is to take one step at a time,’ I said.

‘The first step is we have to get you bail. You’ve given all your financial information to Kate.

You earn around one hundred and fifty thousand a year, some years more, some less.

You have sixty grand in savings, and you can cash out some securities to add to that total.

With bail, the judge usually sets a bond.

It’s basically a financial promise to return to court for trial.

If you don’t show, that money you made your promise with is gone.

Now, we think altogether we can come up with what, a hundred grand? ’

Elly nodded.

‘Okay, now that should be enough. You only have to pay a percentage of the bail bond the court sets. As long as we don’t get a crazy judge who sets bail at an extortionate amount then you are getting out of here, today.’

She covered her mouth as she cried. She was listening, understanding, but this was a young woman barely clinging on with both hands.

‘Elly, I need you to sign this. It’s a release for your hospital records. We need to try and find out what happened to you in that apartment.’

She got herself together a little, signed the form and pushed the pen and the paper back across the desk.

‘We’ll see you a little later this morning, in court. Don’t talk to any of the other detainees in your holding cell,’ I said, but this part, I thought she wasn’t taking seriously.

‘Elly, I know you’re going through hell, but you need to listen to Eddie,’ said Kate. ‘You can’t trust any other person around you except us right now. The DA, or the cops, will likely ask one of the detainees to talk to you, and get some kind of confession. Don’t. Talk. To. Anyone.’

She heard that. Wiped her eyes. Nodded.

‘Thank you. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I won’t talk to anyone . . . ’

Trembling, she rose and the door opened behind her.

The corrections officer towered over her.

She was in her mid- twenties, but she looked much younger.

Those jailhouse sweats were way too big, and she was small and frightened of this place.

In that moment, the look of fear on her face reminded me of my daughter, Amy.

I had caught the same look in Amy’s face when I picked her up from school.

I suddenly felt very protective of Elly Parker.

Amy had her family around her, and Bloch, Lake, Harry and me.

Elly’s parents were gone. Her husband murdered along with her best friend. She was alone in this nightmare.

But she wasn’t alone any more.

The CO led Elly out through the security door, and Kate and I made our way back to the court.

‘Kate, we’re going to save this kid,’ I said.

‘I just hope we get her out on bail,’ said Kate.

I nodded, but didn’t say anything. Kate was experienced enough and brilliant enough, and she had been through the wars of major trials, but she hadn’t yet had her heart ripped out by this system.

I hoped she never did, but in this line of work it happens.

Even the jaded lifers in criminal defense work, with hide as thick as a longshoreman’s hands, occasionally get their tickers punched by a client.

Elly was about Kate’s age. I guessed she saw herself in Elly, or part of herself.

That’s the thing about our legal system – doesn’t matter who you are, it can come for anyone, and when it does, the destruction is just the same.

In the hallway outside the arraignment court, people lined the benches set along the gray walls.

‘Any word from Bloch yet?’ I asked.

Kate shook her head.

We made our way to the court dockets pinned up on the wall and checked for Elly’s name.

She was on Judge Busken’s list. Not the worst judge we could’ve drawn.

The thing about a judge setting bail is that there are no hard and fast rules – there’s convention and rough guidelines, but bail can vary between ten dollars and three billion dollars – sometimes even higher.

It’s supposed to be related to the defendant’s earnings, and the seriousness of the crime they are charged with, and the amount is set to ensure that they don’t skip bail. If they do, it will hurt them.

Busken, with a double homicide – murder one for the husband and Elly’s best friend?

I could see Busken going as high as three million.

Maybe higher. We needed a plan B. A bail bondsman.

For a price, and security on the bond, bondsmen can help people get bail.

But there are limits on what they can offer.

Most bondsmen run a mile from murder trials – the price is just too damn risky – usually there is no security sufficient to cover the bond and, if the accused split, the bondsman can go out of business.

‘You okay to handle the hearing if it comes up? I want to see if I can find us a bail bondsman,’ I said.

‘Sure. Who are you going to speak to? A good bondsman, I hope?’

‘Oh no,’ I said, ‘I want the worst one possible.’

Kate looked at me strangely.

‘Is this an Eddie Flynn thing that I don’t understand and it’s best if I don’t know anything about it?’

‘Could be.’

‘Great.’

If you want to know what’s going on in a courthouse, you have two options.

You can get to know the security personnel or, if there’s a coffee shop in the courthouse, get to know the staff who work there.

There’s a tiny coffee shop in the back of 100 Center Street that sells sandwiches, donuts and, if you’re the right kind of customer – gossip.

‘Can I get a hot cup and a glazed, please, Renata?’

Renata had worked the shop for ten years.

Pouring cups of Joe and making sandwiches, occasionally cleaning the illuminated sign above the sandwich counter, which was so old that when the plastic and magnetic letters fell off the sign, and broke, they could not be replaced.

A sharpie had been used to make up the letter O in COFFEE.

They don’t take cards. Just cash. And you make sure it’s a silent tip that goes into the tip jar – any rattling of dimes that go in that jar is likely to provoke a mean gaze from Renata.

‘Eddie Flynn, you working with all the bad people today?’

‘I got no choice – there’s always a prosecutor involved.’

‘You’re a very bad man,’ she said, laughing.

‘I have my moments,’ I said, slipping a twenty into the tip jar, and making sure Renata saw me do it. ‘Say, I’m looking for a bad man right now.’

‘You’re in the right place.’

‘I don’t mean a defendant. I need a bondsman. Someone with a bad rep. I know a few, but I want somebody who is hot right now. You hear any stories lately?’