One False Move Read Free

He was simply making a business trip. This trip has been on his calendar for months. I have his appointment calendar and phone logs available for Your Honor.” He waved a hand at the pile on the defense table but made no effort to get them. “Jonathon Richey,” he went on, “not only owns a local business here in Omaha, but he’s a city councilman. He’s a deacon at his church and president of the downtown Rotary Club. His wife, two of his three children and all five of his grandchildren live within this community. Mr. Richey certainly does not pose a flight risk. Taking all this into consideration, Your Honor, I’m sure you’ll agree that Mr. Richey should be released on his own recognizance.”
    Grace watched Judge Fielding nod and start flipping through the papers again. This was ridiculous. He couldn’t possibly be buying any of this crap. Not unless he was looking for an excuse. She glanced over at Richey. Was there some under-the-table deal already set up? He still looked too calm, too cool for this sauna. Grace rubbed her neck again and was disappointed to find it damp.
    “Your Honor.” She waited until she had his attention, then she pulled out an envelope from her file folders and stepped out from behind the prosecution table. “If I understand correctly, Mr. Richey owns a business that specializes in commercial and residential computerized heating units.” She looked over at Warren Penn, waiting for his nod of confirmation. “I have his United airline ticket that was confiscated at the time of his arrest.” She made her way forward to hand over the envelope with the ticket inside. “I’m just wondering, Your Honor, what kind of heating business Mr. Richey might have in the Cayman Islands.”
    She heard the crowd behind her hum and whisper and shift in their seats.
    “Mr. Penn?” Judge Fielding was now looking over his glasses and down his nose at the defense attorney. To Grace’s disappointment, Warren Penn didn’t flinch.
    “Mr. Richey meets with his clients, often in a designated place that the client requests.”
    Grace wanted to roll her eyes. That Fielding was even considering this was crazy. But here he was again, flipping over papers as if he had missed something in the documents he had already examined.
    She turned back to her table and noticed Detective Tommy Pakula sitting two rows down, shifting in his seat, impatient and ready. He was dressed for court, a collared shirt and tie, jacket and trousers, just in case she needed to call him today. Instead of calling him, she reached down behind her chair and pulled up the duffel bag.
    “Your Honor,” she said, bringing the bag out in full view of Judge Fielding, but more importantly in full view of the courtroom, “there is one more thing Mr. Richey had in his possession when Detectives Pakula and Hertz arrested him at Eppley Airport. He had this travel bag with him. If he was not fleeing the country, perhaps Mr. Penn might explain this.” Grace unzipped the bag and turned it upside down, allowing the stacks of hundred-dollar bills to fall out onto the table.
    This time the room erupted. Several reporters clamored out the door. Warren Penn shook his head as if, of course, he had an explanation for this, too. Grace scanned the room, and now she noticed that Jonathon Richey’s smug look was gone.
    “Okay, okay,” Judge Fielding yelled, ignoring the gavel. He seemed pleased that his voice could still silence a room.
    “Your Honor,” Warren Penn began, but was interrupted when Fielding put up a hand.
    “Bail denied.” He stood even as he added, “Court is adjourned,” and then escaped, not giving Warren Penn the opportunity to explain or argue.
    Grace ignored the defense table as she repacked the duffel bag. The crowd had already turned into a crescendo of voices, shuffling feet and creaking chairs. She wouldn’t need to worry about being accosted by reporters. They’d spend their energies on Richey, the price of being such an