Mr. Hall Takes a Bride

by Marie Ferrarella

  She gestured toward the cheap clock on the back wall. “It’s almost ten-thirty. The agreement was for you to show up for three weeks, not one.”

  He didn’t need this. He was still trying to hang on to his temper from his encounter with the judge. She was in the direct line of fire and if she wasn’t careful, he would give her both barrels. “I am aware of the terms of the agreement, Sarajane. And for your information, I was in court.”

  “Pleading or being arraigned?” she shot back, angry not because he was late, but because she cared that he was late. And nowhere in that small scenario did the people who were waiting to see him figure in. What was the matter with her? One stupid kiss, one almost-encounter, and she was forgetting what she was all about? “And what were you doing in court, anyway?” she wanted to know. “One of your old cases come up for air?”

  “No,” he countered tersely. He was not in the mood to be cornered and interrogated, especially not when it was being played out on a mini stage before strangers who made no effort to look as if they weren’t listening. “One of yours. I was trying to get Joe Juarez’s case postponed.”

  She immediately jumped to what she felt was the logical conclusion. “Why, don’t you want to handle it?”

  “You know—” he leaned in, his voice steely “—for a woman who’s busy dispensing hope and optimism to the masses, you certainly have a negative way of looking at things.”

  “You bring that out in me,” she answered without missing a beat. And then, curiosity got the better of her. “Why were you trying to get it postponed?”

  Failure of any kind did not sit well with him. He wasn’t used to it and he didn’t like it, even when it was only the small matter of getting a judge to privately rule in his favor in his chambers.

  He also didn’t care for explaining himself, but she was obviously like a dog with a bone. She wasn’t about to let go until he told her everything.

  “So that I could spend more time working up some sort of defense.” He held up the file he’d taken with him on Friday. The one that had almost no pages inside of it. “This thing is anemic.”

  Sarajane caught her lower lip between her teeth. She couldn’t exactly fault him for not being here if he was away doing a good thing. Damn him. “So when is the new trial date?”

  His expression was positively black as he answered. “Tomorrow.”

  She looked at him, confused. “That’s the old trial date.”

  “Yeah, I know.” There was a touch of bitterness in his voice. Was he actually getting involved in these cases? With these people? She was still rather skeptical. People from his side of the silver spoon rarely leaped over to hers. “The judge wouldn’t grant the postponement.”

  That didn’t make any sense to her. “Why? According to Jenny, you have judges eating out of your hand all the time.”

  He laughed dryly, but there was no humor in the sound. “This one’s liable to eat my hand. The Honorable Judge Karl Rhinehardt thinks that people should get the death penalty for jaywalking. And don’t get him started on littering.”

  She stifled a shiver, thinking of what that would mean to Joe. “Can’t we get another judge?”

  Jordan shook his head. “Doesn’t work that way. The only way to get another judge is either to have the judge recuse him-or herself, or find a reason to make them step down, such as citing something in their past that would show a prejudicial connection to the case. Being an ornery son of a bitch doesn’t count.”

  That didn’t sound very heartening. “So what do we do?”

  He shrugged, draping his coat over the back of his chair. He noticed one of the people waiting eyeing the apparel. He was too annoyed to worry about someone making off with his coat. “Go in with guns blazing and use what we have.”

  She picked up on his tone. It was missing its positive verve. “Is that enough?”

  No, he thought. But it did no good to talk about that. “It’s going to have to be.” At least there was one positive note. “I called in a favor and asked Rusty to nose around.”

  She cocked her head. The name meant nothing to her. “Rusty?”

  Jordan realized that she wasn’t familiar with his life, didn’t know the people he dealt with in the firm, and why should she? They would have lived out their entire lives, their spheres never touching, if it hadn’t been for Jenny.

  “Rusty O’Hara,” he told her. “He’s Morrison and Treherne’s private investigator.”

  Theirs, but not Advocate Aid’s, she thought. “You can do that?”

  It was a technicality. “Rusty’s doing it after hours. Maybe he can help fill in the blanks.” At least he hoped so.

  “Blanks? There’re blanks?” She wanted to ask what kind, but waited for him to tell her.

  “I’m hoping there are. Otherwise, the way things look right now, your boy’s guilty.”

  Feeling vulnerable and hating it, she didn’t like what she thought he was implying. “He’s not my boy, he’s my friend’s brother.”

  Jordan shrugged. “Figure of speech.” He glanced over to the people lined up along the far wall, some seated, some standing, all waiting. Harry and Sheldon, who’d finally returned from his family emergency, were juggling the case load. Slowly. “Have I got time for coffee?”

  Her impulse was to say no—that if he really wanted coffee, she would bring it to him; that he needed to get started. But he was late because he’d been working on Joe’s case and she had to give him points for that.

  So she nodded. “Sure. If it’ll help get you on track.”

  He blew out a breath as he went to the supply room. It was going to take more than coffee, in this case lethal and black, to kill the frustration he was dealing with. “What’ll help get me on track is something to sink my teeth into.”

  She hesitated for a second. “You mean food? We probably have—”

  “No, I mean something to sink my teeth into regarding the case.” Picking up the mug he distinctly remembered leaving on his desk but that had somehow found its way in here, he brought it over to the coffeemaker. Steam floated up to him as he poured. “Right now, everything points to Joe having taken the plans and the engine.”

  She didn’t care about the obvious. She believed in Alicia who believed in Joe. It was as simple as that.

  “But nobody found anything,” she insisted. “The police couldn’t find the missing engine or the plans—because Joe doesn’t have them.”

  Jordan shook his head. “All that means is that Joe found somewhere safe to hide them until he rode this thing out.”

  “Or that someone else did,” she countered with feeling. “But the police wouldn’t know that because they stopped looking when Joe’s boss’s son pointed a finger at him.”

  She caught his attention. Mug in hand, he leaned his back against the counter and took a sip. The tip of his tongue got burned, but he ignored it. “Why would he do that?” he wanted to know. “Is there bad blood between them?”

  Sarajane nodded. “Alicia told me that Joe put Matt Lawrence in his place after he tried to rough up some girl at a local bar. Things got ugly and Joe had to defend himself.”

  “Do we know this woman’s name?” The altercation would point to motive, he thought. Maybe the son was trying to get back at Joe by framing him. But he needed details, confirmation of the incident.

  Sarajane shook her head.

  Jordan stared down at the top of his mug, watching the way the overhead light danced along the black liquid. By his count, this was his fifth cup today. He still felt tired. That’s what he got for putting in long hours at home, trying to find an angle to work on a case with only one angle—the one incriminating his client.

  He thought about the report he’d gotten forwarded to his computer. More favors being called in. Who would have ever thought he’d be using up his supply on a case that would ultimately yield nothing more than a sense of satisfaction.

  “You know,” he began slowly, “Joe’s not quite the knight in shining armor that you
make him out to be.”

  Sarajane didn’t like the sound of that. “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning he ran with a gang when he was younger.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief. She was aware of that story. “Alicia said that was so he could survive in the neighborhood. But all that’s behind him.”

  “Maybe so, but he was still arrested for joyriding in a stolen vehicle.”

  Alicia had made it a point to tell her everything about her brother so that there would be no surprises. “He was fourteen and he didn’t know it was stolen.”

  “I’m not the one you have to convince,” he reminded her. “These are all things the A.D.A. will parade around before the jury, most likely on the first day.” His frustration level flared again. “Hell, there’s not enough to drag the case out to the end of the week if we don’t come up with something and soon.”

  She looked at him pointedly. “So, come up with something. You’re the famous lawyer who’s never lost a case, remember?”

  He was surprised that she knew that. And that the information was followed up with a wisecrack. He didn’t bother asking her where she got her information. Suffice to say that it was true.

  And that it was in jeopardy of becoming history. His history.

  “I’m doing my best, Sarajane,” he told her as he began to head back into the communal room. “I’m doing my best.”

  Jordan felt numb.

  More than that, he felt frustrated.

  Numb because it looked as if his winning streak was about to come to an abrupt and untimely end. And frustrated because it really didn’t have to be that way if only he had a little more time to do his job.

  But Judge Rhinehardt refused even to entertain his request for a recess, much less any of his objections to the things that the assistant district attorney was saying. The latter’s statements were clearly prejudicial from where Jordan was sitting. He could see the jury drifting away from his client, taken for that ride by cleverly worded innuendoes.

  Rhinehardt overruled every one of his objections.

  Sarajane was growing more agitated by the moment. Since Alicia was to be a character witness, she wasn’t allowed to be in the courtroom for the rest of the proceedings, so Sarajane served as Joe Juarez’s only cheering section.

  Sitting in the first row behind the defendant’s table, she leaned forward and urgently whispered, “Can’t you do something?” to Jordan. “That witch is driving nails into Joe’s coffin.” The “witch” she was referring to was the A.D.A.

  Jordan glanced at Sarajane. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her what she’d have him do since every objection he’d posed so far had been summarily overruled. And then it came to him.

  Jordan suddenly rose to his feet and cried, “I object.”

  Rhinehardt, his broad features partially hidden behind the white whiskers he’d been sporting for the last ten years, looked momentarily confused. He stopped his gavel from making contact in midswing. “To what, Mr. Hall? The assistant district attorney hasn’t said anything.”

  Jordan drew himself up to his full six feet. He’d never been afraid to speak his mind. He hadn’t been raised to back down out of fear or concern that speaking might hurt his career. Standing his ground, he looked Rhinehardt squarely in the eyes.

  “I object to this whole process. And to you, Your Honor.”

  Taken aback, Rhinehardt recovered almost instantly. He banged his gavel loudly, his eyes narrowing into dark slits.

  “Take care, Mr. Hall, I am only cutting you a little leeway because of your father. But know that you are skating on very thin ice right now.”

  Sarajane fully expected Jordan to apologize and sit down. She couldn’t believe it when he remained standing, like a warrior determined to fight to the death.

  “Better than being thin-skinned. Or pea-brained,” Jordan added, his inference clear.

  The face beneath the white whiskers was turning red. “You, sir, are in contempt.”

  Jordan took the judge’s statement and ran with it. Coming around the defense table, he began to walk toward the judge without asking for the customary permission to approach.

  “You bet I am,” Jordan declared. “I’m in contempt of you and this entire sham of a proceeding. You’re so blinded by what you deem to be your own light, that you’re refusing to listen to reason.”

  The judge blustered. No one else in the courtroom spoke. To Sarajane, it sounded like no one else was even breathing. She certainly wasn’t. “One more word, and I’m sending you to jail.”

  “Just one more word?” Jordan asked, feigning surprise. “How about a lot more words, Judge?” He was at the judge’s bench now, looking up at the man. “All of them about you. And none of them flattering.”

  Jordan had to raise his voice in order to have the last part of his sentence heard. Rhinehardt was banging down his gavel and the sound triggered a response in kind from the people in the courtroom. Suddenly, everyone was talking at once.

  The judge’s voice rose above the rest. “I am fining you two thousand dollars. Mr. Hall! Say one more word and it’ll be three.” He twisted around in his seat, scanning the courtroom for help. “Bailiff, take Mr. Hall to the holding cell!” he roared.

  Sarajane watched, horrified, as two large, official-looking men with guns strapped to their sides appeared to flank Jordan. Between them, they escorted the attorney from the courtroom, leaving behind a very befuddled looking Joe in their wake.

  “What the hell was all that about?”

  Jordan looked up from the seat he’d taken in the prison cell. Sarajane was standing on the other side of the bars. She had her hands wrapped around them, looking at him intently.

  Jordan noted several of the men in the cell with him, brought there by a variety of charges, were all united in the way they were leering at Sarajane. He rose, crossing over to her, attempting to block her body from view with his own. He could do at least that much for her, he reasoned.

  “Venting my anger,” he answered her. “And, more importantly, buying Joe some valuable time.”

  She caught on immediately and looked at him, stunned. “You mean to tell me that all that was just to get the trial postponed until tomorrow?” which was when the judge had announced that they would reconvene.

  “Not all,” Jordan admitted, then added, “but most.”

  He would have never given in to the anger on his own, but he wasn’t in this for himself, he was trying to get Joe acquitted. Getting himself thrown into jail brought the trial to a grinding halt since he was Joe’s only attorney on record and every man was still entitled to representation before a judge.

  She looked at him with new respect. “Jordan, I’m impressed. You’re devious.”

  He laughed shortly. “I’m a lawyer,” he reminded her. “Devious goes with the territory. Listen—” he shifted slightly, sensing that one of the men was doing his damnedest to get a better look at her “—I appreciate you stopping by, but I should be out by morning, so why don’t you go—”

  “You’ll be out now,” she contradicted him, turning toward the entrance. A bailiff was approaching with the keys. He unlocked the door.

  Jordan looked at Sarajane. “What’s this?”

  “The smell of freedom, Jordan,” she answered flippantly. “You’re free to go. Your fine’s been paid.”

  Jordan picked up his jacket from the seat where he’d left it and quickly vacated the cell. “Advocate Aid has that kind of money?” He wanted to know as he slipped the jacket back on.

  Wouldn’t that be lovely? Sarajane thought. So much more could be done if they had more funding. She shook her head. “No.”

  They walked through the door, leaving the cells behind. “Then how—”

  Eric was waiting for them on the other side of the door. Leaning against the wall, he straightened now and grinned at his brother-in-law.

  “She called me. Or rather, she called Jenny. Who, if she wasn’t bedridden right now, would have been knocked for a l
oop and on the floor.” Eric looked at him as if he had never seen him before. “Just exactly when did this little epiphany of yours strike?” he wanted to know.

  “No epiphany,” Jordan informed him. He took a breath. Freedom definitely had better air, he thought. “It was just that, with the way Rhinehardt seemed bent on railroading Joe Juarez, it seemed like the only way I could buy him a little extra time. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that he’s being used as a scapegoat.”

  “Then you do believe him.” Sarajane’s tone told him that she was relieved and happy about this turn of events.

  “It’s not a question of believing him, it’s a question of getting him the defense he’s entitled to. But yes, if it makes a difference to you, I believe him. But whether I do or not isn’t what’s going to get him off.”

  “You also didn’t manage to buy him much time,” Eric pointed out as they walked out of the building and down the stone steps to the parking lot. “Court’s reconvening tomorrow morning.”

  Something was better than nothing, Jordan thought. “That only gives Rusty tonight to see what he can find out, maybe get a bead on that kid Joe got into a fight with. Since we’re dealing with circumstantial evidence, we need to find out who really took the plans.”

  “Can Rusty do that in such a short amount of time?” Eric wanted to know.

  Jordan shook his head. “I have no idea.” He could only cross his fingers and pray.

  “Well, I’ve got an office to get back to.” Eric clapped him on the back. “You might give Jenny a call later, tell her you survived the Big House, let her gush a little over you. She thinks you’ve come over to her way of thinking. Me, I need more convincing.” He laughed, shaking his head before walking off to his car. “My brother-in-law, the jailbird.”

  “Crusader’s more like it.” It wasn’t until the two men turned to look at her that Sarajane realized she’d said the words out loud.