“C’mon, for one measly deer?”
“Multiple offender, unemployed, a dothen bear galth in pothethion, and he’th a flight rithk.”
“He’ll walk,” Tavolacci said.
“We’ll see,” the APA said.
Branch’s speech problem seemed to fade when she got down to business.
Tavolacci wanted fifteen minutes alone with his client.
Service and Branch went outside. He lit up. She looked longingly at his cigarette.
“You want one?” he asked, holding out the pack.
“Like life itthelf,” she said. “But I got kidth and they don’t buy it. You got kidth?”
“One,” he said, realizing he was getting used to the idea.
“Blow a little thmoke thith way,” she said, leaning toward him.
He did and she inhaled and laughed. “Blathted kidth.”
Tavolacci was somber when they went back into the room. “My client is pleading not guilty and he will not talk. We want bail.”
“Not a chance,” Branch said.
“The judge will decide,” Sandy countered.
Colliver was booked and taken to the courthouse for arraignment.
Service walked into the courtroom with the APA, who saw the judge and whispered to Service, “Thith will be innerething.”
The judge said, “Ms. Branch.”
“Defendant has multiple convictions and is accused of going over the state line to kill six bears over two years and we have evidence of a dozen more. You can see the other charges as well.”
No trace of a speech problem, Service noted.
“Mr. Tavolacci, it’s your turn,” the judge said.
“My client is a solid citizen, currently unemployed. He has not had a conviction in two years, he is not a risk for flight, and he did not kill any bears. Mr. Fahrenheit shot the animals.”
“Save your arguments for trial,” the judge said.
“This is a fuck job,” Tavolacci said.
“One more word and you are in contempt, Mister Tavolacci.”
“Holy cow,” the lawyer moaned.
The judge’s gavel hit the desk like a gunshot. “First offense is a fine. See the bailiff on the way out. The county doesn’t take checks. Second offense you spend the night inside, am I clear?”
“Yes, your Honor.”
She turned to look at the prisoner. “Are you employed, Mr. Colliver?”
“I work around my house,” he said.
“What sort of work do you do?”
“This and that.”
The judge raised an eyebrow. “Your annual income?”
“I don’t remember.”
“How long has it been since you had a paying job?”
“I don’t remember,” Colliver said.
“Bail denied,” she said. “Remand to county until trial. Conference in my chambers, tomorrow at 11 a.m. See you then, counselor.”
There was no sign of Fahrenheit.
“Did I miss something in there?” Service asked when they got outside.
“She’th Judge Marfug. She’th vegan, antivivithectionith, and a thufi master.”
“Sorry?” Service said.
“Soo-fee,” the APA said, forcing the word out. “She danth by thpinning. She hathe people who violate fith and game lawth.”
“What happens to Fahrenheit?”
“Got to get him a lawyer.”
“He opened the door for us.”
“It will be taken into account,” Branch said, touching his arm. “I won’t fight bail on him.”
Service visited Fahrenheit in the jail. “The court will appoint an attorney.”
“I don’t know if I can afford bail,” he said.
Service gave him his card. “If you help us find Hannah and the old man, things will go easier for you.”
“I told you everything,” he said.
“If you think of anything else, call me collect. You’re gonna have plenty of time to think.”
“Can you let my old lady know?”
“Sure.”
He swung by Fahrenheit’s house. No lights on. He continued into town to the Muskie Motel. Wayno’s truck was there. The feisty little warden had no judgment. Service went to the reception desk. “I’m looking for a man and a woman. The man’s driving that truck.” He pointed to the lot and held up his badge.
The man behind the desk looked through his register. “Room 28, ground floor on the end.”
Service knocked on the door and said softly, “Wayno.”
Ficorelli cracked open the door, peered out, his hair damp. “What?”
“Charley’s in the county jail. If his wife wants to hire a lawyer for him, now’s the time, otherwise they’ll appoint someone.”
“I heard,” Mary Ellen Fahrenheit called out. “Let him rot.”