“He’s fired lawyers before.” I leaned against the crumbling faux stone wall that Alvin had thoughtfully painted as part of his Tuscan decorating theme. The walls were somewhat at odds with the sleek stainless appliances in the modern kitchen, but congruity has never been Alvin’s strength.
“He has?”
“Sure. Why do you think this case has been dragging on for so long?”
“I really don’t know. Can you fire your lawyer?”
“Happens all the time.”
“But why does that hold up the case?”
“Because you are entitled to representation.”
“Yeah but…”
“And you are also entitled to be represented by someone you believe has your best interests at heart.”
“You think that’s a good thing?” Alvin magically produced a glass of ice tea. “There’s mint in this. Give it a try.”
“Some accused misuse this right. They fire perfectly competent counsel, just to stall.”
“But what does it get them?”
“It gets them a delay. In Brugel’s case, it has gotten him two delays before this latest setback.”
“Why would anybody want a delay? Don’t they want to get the whole thing over with?”
“Not if they know they’re guilty and they’re pretty sure they’re going to be convicted and be stuck behind bars for a damn long time. There are two solid reasons for delaying, Alvin. The first one is that if the person has been in custody during the trial, they might get two for one credit for that time served.”
“What does that mean anyway?”
“Two days taken off his sentence for every one served.”
“Really? Do you think that’s—”
“It’s the way it is in our system, Alvin. Although the current government is trying to change that. And the other point is, and this is much more important, the longer the trial drags on, the harder it will be for the Crown to control or even locate key witnesses.”
“What do you mean, control? You mean the Crown tries to control witnesses? That’s just plain wrong.”
“I mean they encourage them to stick to their stories. And remember them. They get them to show up. They get them to stay clean and sober if they can.”
“Oh, that’s all right. I guess.”
“And they don’t want them recanting their testimony either. It goes without saying.”
“They do that?”
“Sure. Often, in criminal cases, some of the witnesses are going to be criminals too. Or they’re going to be connected with the accused in some way—relatives, neighbours. But the most important thing is to keep them from leaving town or worse, disappearing.”
Alvin’s eyes bugged out. “Disappearing?”
“Sure. Some of them will just drift away. A couple will get arrested here or somewhere else. Some might be discredited. Others will die from disease or even lifestyle. And a few will take off in the hope that they won’t have to testify.”
“Why?”
“Lots of reasons, Alvin. But the main one is that they’re scared. A guy like Brugel needs time to make the kind of threats that can drive a witness away. The longer he waits, the more time his associates have to intimidate key witnesses. Or worse.”
“You don’t think they’d actually kill anyone, would they?”
I rolled my eyes. “Alvin! We’re discussing Lloyd Brugel. He’s on trial for murder. This is the first time they’ve actually had a chance at getting a conviction. And as far as killing someone, remember Laurie Roulay—she died because of the incredible stress she faced from this. She had threats from people. She knew they were watching her. It was bad enough that she’d lost her husband and one of her children, but she knew they could still get into her apartment. She knew they watched the schools where her remaining children went. She got notes too. That’s the kind of thing the notes hinted at.”
“That must have been a nightmare.”
I nodded. “No one should have to go through anything like that. Even behind bars, Brugel is very dangerous.”
“But didn’t this Rollie Thorsten have a chance of getting him off?”
“Rollie’s strategies were working well. Even so, I have to ask myself if Rollie wasn’t worth more dead than alive, in terms of delaying Brugel’s trial that little bit more.”
The blanket of humidity actually seemed to lift when the thunderstorm broke at around ten that evening. Lightning lit up the sky, rain slashed down in sheets, thunder boomed. I counted, one two three seconds. Not so very far away. It finally occurred to me that some of the booms were coming from the front door.
Gussie, the purely temporary dog in my household, lay snoring on the sofa. He managed to continue sleeping through thunderstorm and banging.
When I whipped open the door, preparing to snarl, Bunny Mayhew stood there, shivering. Tonight the golden burglar boy had lost his lustre. His sandy hair was dark and stringy.
He glanced over his shoulder, then turned those puppy dog eyes on me. “Aren’t you going to let me in, Camilla? It’s horrible out here.”
I stood back. “I thought you were going to wait for me outside the courthouse. How did you find out where I live?”
A look of hurt flickered across his movie star features. Even rivulets of rain and hair hanging in damp strands can’t take anything away from our Bunny. “I’m a burglar, not an idiot.”
“In that case, there’s no keeping you out, I suppose.” I gestured for him to follow me.
“It’s a terrible thing,” he said, as he stood and shook in the hallway. “I don’t know what to do. Or what to think. It’s like a nightmare.”
I rubbed my temple. “I’m beginning to get the nightmare part.”
“What do you mean?”
“Forget that. Just tell me what exactly the terrible thing is, and we can all get on with our lives.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“You’re dripping wet and you’re shivering. Let me get you a cup of tea.” I always end up feeling sorry for Bunny, even though it took me a while to let him come in out of the pouring rain. “While I’m getting it, just tell me what the problem is. Succinctly.”
Alvin took that moment to stick his beaky nose around the corner. “What’s going on? Oh, hello, Bunny. Do you need a towel?”
“Hey, Alvin.” Bunny’s smile, the one that Elaine refers to as “the beatific burglar”, spread across his face.
Damn. I hoped they wouldn’t get into a long chinwag. Between Bunny and Alvin, the world could grind to a halt.
Alvin was already halfway up the stairs.. There was no point in hanging around waiting for him to come down. He could get distracted in an infinite number of ways. I headed toward the kitchen. Bunny followed, dripping water in small well-formed puddles.
“What is the terrible situation you need to talk about, Bunny?” I said as I reached for the kettle.
From the covered bird cage in the corner, Lester, or possibly Pierre, gave a disgruntled chirp.
“You know, the thing with Rollie Thorsten.”