“Doesn’t say too much for us or for the Big Cheese in the sky,” Marge noted. “Any police chief who ran a major city with a 25 percent homicide rate would get his ass canned in an eye blink.”
The man called into the witness box was Hispanic.
No surprise there.
The entire afternoon had been a parade of Hispanics from the plaintiff—a beefy guy with tattoos—to the defendant—another beefy guy with tattoos. Rina could sum up the assortment of alleged assaults and batteries in one word.
Alcohol.
All the participants had been drunk at the time, both the ladies as well as the gents. Normally the melee would have been forgotten about the next day, but the police happened to be cruising by when the slugfest had been in full force. The cops managed to arrest whoever didn’t scatter fast with the unlucky remaining souls blaming each one for starting the incident. Witnesses had suddenly come down with bad memories caused by cold feet.
The current participant in the witness box proved to be no exception.
At least, the jury finally figured out who Smiling Tom Cruise was.
When the first witness was called to the stand—a Hispanic woman in her fifties wearing a red miniskirt and with permanently inked eyebrows and a mane of long black hair—Smiling Tom, who had been sitting in the gallery, whipped out an electronic device. Walking slowing toward his destination, Tom held a small PDA in his hand, listening intently to something through an ear pod. When he reached the witness box, Tom turned off the radio and pulled out the earphone, stowing both in his front pocket.
The group exchanged glances and shrugged.
He sat himself directly behind the witness, his head leaning over the hoochie mama’s shoulder. The witness seemed to enjoy his presence, turning to him and gracing Mr. Sunglasses with a wide, white smile. For once, Tom didn’t smile back.
The case continued and Tom’s purpose became clear.
He was a translator.
To call him a translator was an understatement.
What Tom did was act out the testimony. He was a one-man stage show, his voice rising and falling, imparting each phrase with the exact amount of emotion required. If there was an Oscar for translators, Sunglasses Tom would have won it hands down.
As the afternoon hours passed, the witnesses’ recollections got more faint and indistinct and Arturo Gutierrez, now being grilled mercilessly by a hard-driving prosecutor in a red power suit, was more of the same. Although he did remember punches being thrown, he couldn’t tell who threw the punches. Maybe the plaintiff hit the defendant, but maybe the defendant hit the plaintiff. The witnesses were tentative on the stand, and the only one having a good time seemed to be Tom.
By the time the prosecution rested and the defense was due up, it was time to go home. After receiving their orders not to talk or discuss the case with anyone, the jury slowly and silently filed out of the courtroom as the bailiff looked them over one by one by one. Rina was reminded of the metaphor used on the holiday of Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year’s. God judges all his people as they pass under him one by one—as if he were counting a flock of sheep.
Once in the hallway, the group made a break for the elevators.
Joy turned to Rina. “We’re going out for drinks. Wanna come?”
“My daughter has a choir recital.”
“When?” Kate asked.
“Around seven-thirty.”
“We’re only going out for about an hour.”
“Maybe tomorrow,” Rina said. “It’s going to take me a little time to get home, and I want to pack dinner for my husband. I’m meeting him at the recital.”
Joy said, “Well, aren’t you the nice wife!”
“Sometimes when he’s working big homicides and he’s been up for about twenty hours, he forgets to eat.”
No one spoke and the elevator doors opened and the group got out.
Ally said, “What do you think Smiling Tom was doing with his PDA?”
“I thought about that, too,” Rina said. “Maybe going over testimony before he translated it. Whatever he was listening to, it had to have been sanctioned by the court. No one would be that brazen to approach the witness box listening to music.”
“Good call,” Ryan told her.
Joy said, “He looks pretty damn brazen to me.”
“Yes, he was rather theatrical.” Rina opened the double glass doors to freedom. “I’m on for lunch tomorrow.”
“Great,” Kate said. “We’ll see you then. Wish your husband good luck.”
“Yeah, pump him for some juicy details,” Joy interjected.
“He’s pretty tight-lipped, but I’ll do what I can.”
Joy was pleased with Rina’s answer. She added, “And as long as you’re packing something for him, pack something for me. Whatever you ate this afternoon looked a hell of a lot better than the swill I had.”
Although Rina was early, Peter was earlier. While all the other parents were crowded toward the front, Peter had chosen a seat in an empty back row, sitting straight up with his head back, his eyes closed, and his mouth slightly open. She climbed over the folding chairs and gently shook his shoulder. He gave a snort at the same time his eyes popped open. “What?”
Rina took out a sandwich. “Here.”
Decker rubbed his eyes and stretched. “Hi, darlin’.” He leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Do you have something to drink? My mouth feels like cotton.”
“Caffeinated or decaf?”
“Doesn’t matter. I won’t have any trouble sleeping tonight.”
She handed him a can of Coke Zero. “It’s turkey and pastrami on a baguette.”
“I’m starved.” Decker took a bite. “It’s delicious. Thank you.”
“You haven’t eaten?”
“No.” He popped open the Coke Zero and downed the entire can, and immediately Rina handed him a caffeine-free Diet Coke. “I think I’m dehydrated.”
“I also have water if you want.”
“A little later, thanks.” He finished half the can. “How was your day in criminal justice?”
“Fine. How was yours?”
“Awful.”
“The murders are all over the news.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Some guards were killed as well?” Rina asked.
Decker nodded and finished the Coke. “I must thank Hannah for getting me out of the squad room. I left in a hurry. Things are a mess.”
“Are you going back?”
“Probably. I’d like to finish some of my paperwork and strategize.”
Rina knew from experience that multiple murders mean multiple, multiple suspects. “Are you awake enough to drive, Peter?”
“I’m fine.” He smiled to prove the point. “Really, I’m fine. I was probably out for around twenty minutes. I feel remarkably refreshed.”
“One of my fellow jurors wants to know all the juicy details of the Kaffey homicides.”
“Tell