“Let’s pick up where we left off,” she said. “Are the defendants now represented by counsel?”
“They are, your honor,” Rob said. “Robert James Langslow, attorney-at-law, appearing for Caleb Shiffley and Ronald Butler.”
Rob was wearing what we called his Lancelot expression—the male equivalent of Mother’s Joan of Arc look. Judge Jane regarded him dyspeptically.
“You represented many clients on potential death-penalty cases?” she said at last.
One of the defendants uttered a small squeak. I couldn’t tell which one.
The county prosecutor stepped forward. She was dressed in jeans and a red-and-white Rudolf the Red-nosed Reindeer sweater rather than her usual elegant pinstriped suit, but somehow it didn’t make her less imposing.
“The district attorney’s office is not asking for the death penalty, your honor. In fact, at present, we’re not filing any changes related to the death of Mr. Barliman Vess.”
“But you could be eventually,” the judge said. “What if in the course of his investigation the chief finds out these two little hooligans had it in for poor Mr. Vess? And you two decide the whole thing was not the unfortunate accidental consequence of a stupid prank but a deliberate, premeditated murder?”
More squeaking from at least one of the defendants.
“Your honor,” Rob said. “I’m only representing the defendants for the purposes of arraignment and, dare I hope, bail. They will be represented by experienced defense attorneys as soon as possible. Seems as if every other lawyer in the county is off spending the holiday in a warmer climate.”
“And every other judge,” Judge Jane growled. “Or I wouldn’t be hearing this.” She glared at Rob for a while. He stood, wearing the sort of innocent, trustworthy look he used to put on as a teenager when he was trying, against all odds, to talk Dad into letting him drive the car. His two clients looked anxiously from him to the judge and back again.
“Let’s get this over with, then,” Judge Jane said, with a few whacks from the gavel to underline her point.
In a matter of minutes, Ronnie and Caleb were arraigned on charges of trespassing, vandalism, statutory burglary, assault and battery, grand and petty larceny, arson, cruelty to animals, and illegal possession of a wild animal. And denied bail.
“But your honor!” Rob protested.
“I’m going to have to recuse myself from this case, so in the morning you—or your replacement—can ask my replacement to reconsider bail. It’ll probably be Judge Brodie, and he’ll probably give it to them, but I’m not going to have it said that those young rapscallions had it easy because one of them was my kin. So—bail denied.”
“Has your honor considered the effect on the community?” Rob went on. I had to admit, I was pleasantly surprised that he had the nerve to stand up to her.
Judge Jane looked surprised, too, though not necessarily pleasantly.
“To have these two boys torn from the arms of their loving and very large families this close to Christmas!” Rob went on. “A holiday that’s all about family, not to mention peace on earth and good will to all people. A holiday—”
“Chief,” Judge Jane snapped. “You got any of those electronic bracelets you can put on these two? The kind that will raise holy hell if either of them sticks his nose outside his parents’ door?”
“We do, your honor,” Chief Burke said. “The ones we have are actually anklets. We can program them to notify us the second they leave their houses.”
“Make it so,” the judge said. “Caleb Shiffley!”
“Ma’am?” Caleb jumped up, as if someone had run an electric charge through his hay bale, and stood bolt upright before the judge.
“Ronald Butler?”
“Your honor?” Ronnie yelped, following Caleb’s example.
“I’m releasing you two into your parents’ custody,” the judge said.
I heard sighs of relief from the hay bales where the parents were sitting.
“You’re under house arrest,” the judge went on. “I don’t want either one of you to set foot outside your parents’ houses without Chief Burke’s permission. And I want you both to do some long, hard thinking tonight. Do I make myself clear?”
The two murmured assent.
“Chief, fit them out with the anklets and then release them to their parents’ custody. Anything else?” Judge Jane looked around as if daring anyone to speak up.
“There’s that DUI,” the bailiff began.
“Tell that son of a gun he’s getting a continuance until after Christmas, and he should be glad of it,” she said. “Way I feel now … Anything else?”