Elam thanked Smolina and turned to the
assistant district attorney. She stood and began speaking without
needing to identify herself. She pointed out the defendant's track
record of four missed trials, one for armed robbery, one for arson.
She mentioned Craigie's blackened and cottony body, escalating the
expected indictments to felony/murder. She also mentioned codefendant
Harvey Weeks' suicide attempt upon hearing the police come knocking
at his door.
She felt $250,000, no cash equivalent, was more
appropriate. In the front row, Mother D'Amico began to whimper, none
too softly. Marco put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her
close to him, none too gently.
Judge Elam asked Smolina if he had anything to add.
"He's not a bad boy, your honor. And he's from a good fami1y,"
said lawyer, gesturing with a sweep of his hand that reluctantly
included Marco.
Judge Elam set bail at $250,000, no cash equivalent.
I wanted to speak briefly with the assistant district attorney, who
had in front of her three or four more manila files to deal with that
morning. I stayed seated and debated waiting for her to finish. The
D'Amicos, lawyer in lead, came down the middle aisle. Father D'Amico
was consoling his wife, Marco hanging back a bit. As Marco pulled
even with my row, he paused and leaned over to me. He muttered, "If
I was you, I'd have somebody else start my car for me," and then
continued on.
I decided I would wait to speak with the assistant
district attorney.
She was about 5-foot-8, slim in a two-piece,
skirt-and-jacket, gray suit. She had long black hair pulled into a
bun. From where I sat in the courtroom, I could see her face only in
partial profile. She handled two more bail disputes and a short
probable-cause hearing before the luncheon recess. Everyone stood as
Judge Elam left the bench. As she reached my row, I fell in beside
her.
"My name's John Cuddy," I said, "and
I'd like to buy you lunch."
She looked up at me, then down at her watch.
"Nancy Meagher. I've got twenty-five minutes and
I brought a sandwich."
"Can I have half? Or both?"
We stopped and she smiled. "You're the PI who
shot D'Amico, right?"
"That's right."
"Shame about your second bullet."
"You've been reading about me."
"Yes. And wondering how much pressure you had to
apply to pal Joey to get him to admit Weeks hired him."
"It was within constitutionally permissible
limits."
She glanced down at her wrist. "I now have
twenty-four minutes but still a whole sandwich. Halfsies still O.K.?"
"You bet," I said.
We sat in her shared cubicle. Her office mate was
out.
"Don't superior court prosecutors usually cover
bail hearings in heavy cases?" I asked.
"Usually," she replied, neatly tamping a
bit of errant tuna into a gap in the corner of her mouth. "But
I've been here nine months, and I'm good." She smiled without
showing her teeth. An open, Irish maiden face, with widely set, soft
blue eyes and a straight slim nose. A smattering of freckles that
would reach epidemic proportions with summer's sun. As a girl, she
must have been cute. As a woman, she was damned attractive. I felt a
little glow.
"Good tuna," I said.
She wiped her mouth with a patterned paper napkin
from home and pitched it into a wastebasket.
"What's on your mind, Mr. Cuddy?"
I had no napkin so I used my handkerchief.
"D'Amico. More precisely, brother Marco.
Syndicate?"
She shook her head. "Peripherally, at most. He's
a numb-nuts, maybe some high school friends who are approaching
'management level,' but no established contacts. Why?"
"A couple helped me out indirectly in busting
Joey. I don't want Marco to pick up their scent to square things, and
I wanted to know his likely troop strength."
"What makes you think Marco would do something?"
I reviewed his general appearance and repeated his
comment to me in the courtroom.
"Hmmm. I'd say the Coopers could be in trouble."
I lurched forward in my seat. "I never gave
their name to the investigating officer. How did you know
assistant district attorney. She stood and began speaking without
needing to identify herself. She pointed out the defendant's track
record of four missed trials, one for armed robbery, one for arson.
She mentioned Craigie's blackened and cottony body, escalating the
expected indictments to felony/murder. She also mentioned codefendant
Harvey Weeks' suicide attempt upon hearing the police come knocking
at his door.
She felt $250,000, no cash equivalent, was more
appropriate. In the front row, Mother D'Amico began to whimper, none
too softly. Marco put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her
close to him, none too gently.
Judge Elam asked Smolina if he had anything to add.
"He's not a bad boy, your honor. And he's from a good fami1y,"
said lawyer, gesturing with a sweep of his hand that reluctantly
included Marco.
Judge Elam set bail at $250,000, no cash equivalent.
I wanted to speak briefly with the assistant district attorney, who
had in front of her three or four more manila files to deal with that
morning. I stayed seated and debated waiting for her to finish. The
D'Amicos, lawyer in lead, came down the middle aisle. Father D'Amico
was consoling his wife, Marco hanging back a bit. As Marco pulled
even with my row, he paused and leaned over to me. He muttered, "If
I was you, I'd have somebody else start my car for me," and then
continued on.
I decided I would wait to speak with the assistant
district attorney.
She was about 5-foot-8, slim in a two-piece,
skirt-and-jacket, gray suit. She had long black hair pulled into a
bun. From where I sat in the courtroom, I could see her face only in
partial profile. She handled two more bail disputes and a short
probable-cause hearing before the luncheon recess. Everyone stood as
Judge Elam left the bench. As she reached my row, I fell in beside
her.
"My name's John Cuddy," I said, "and
I'd like to buy you lunch."
She looked up at me, then down at her watch.
"Nancy Meagher. I've got twenty-five minutes and
I brought a sandwich."
"Can I have half? Or both?"
We stopped and she smiled. "You're the PI who
shot D'Amico, right?"
"That's right."
"Shame about your second bullet."
"You've been reading about me."
"Yes. And wondering how much pressure you had to
apply to pal Joey to get him to admit Weeks hired him."
"It was within constitutionally permissible
limits."
She glanced down at her wrist. "I now have
twenty-four minutes but still a whole sandwich. Halfsies still O.K.?"
"You bet," I said.
We sat in her shared cubicle. Her office mate was
out.
"Don't superior court prosecutors usually cover
bail hearings in heavy cases?" I asked.
"Usually," she replied, neatly tamping a
bit of errant tuna into a gap in the corner of her mouth. "But
I've been here nine months, and I'm good." She smiled without
showing her teeth. An open, Irish maiden face, with widely set, soft
blue eyes and a straight slim nose. A smattering of freckles that
would reach epidemic proportions with summer's sun. As a girl, she
must have been cute. As a woman, she was damned attractive. I felt a
little glow.
"Good tuna," I said.
She wiped her mouth with a patterned paper napkin
from home and pitched it into a wastebasket.
"What's on your mind, Mr. Cuddy?"
I had no napkin so I used my handkerchief.
"D'Amico. More precisely, brother Marco.
Syndicate?"
She shook her head. "Peripherally, at most. He's
a numb-nuts, maybe some high school friends who are approaching
'management level,' but no established contacts. Why?"
"A couple helped me out indirectly in busting
Joey. I don't want Marco to pick up their scent to square things, and
I wanted to know his likely troop strength."
"What makes you think Marco would do something?"
I reviewed his general appearance and repeated his
comment to me in the courtroom.
"Hmmm. I'd say the Coopers could be in trouble."
I lurched forward in my seat. "I never gave
their name to the investigating officer. How did you know
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