Fighting Chance(35)

Tibor got up and did as he was told. He found all these things they did to be—hyperbolic? He couldn’t think of the English word. The American justice system, at least in Philadelphia, seemed to treat all prisoners as if they were dangerous animals.

The handcuffs went on. They bit him, as always. Tibor stepped away from the door and turned to face it just as the policewoman was giving him those same instructions.

The policewoman put her key in the lock and opened up. “You’re due in court, Father Kasparian. We need to get you ready.”

“Ready?”

“The van is already waiting,” the policewoman said. “You’ll be going outside, so you’ll need leg irons. We’ve been told you won’t need a jacket. We’re having a very warm fall.”

Tibor had no idea what to say to that. He moved along the corridor at the policewoman’s side. Prisoners came to the doors of the cells along the way and looked out at them.

Everybody was bored. Everybody was mind-numbingly, intransigently bored. Maybe this was true everywhere in the system. Maybe the prisoners on death row did not have their minds wonderfully concentrated, but were only bored.

“If you’ll kneel with your back to me on the bench, Father Kasparian. I’m told they’ve got a lawyer waiting for you at the court. You want a lawyer, Father Kasparian, even if you think you don’t.”

Tibor knelt on the bench and stared at the beige-painted concrete wall. The leg irons did not bite the way the handcuffs did, because he was wearing socks, and the socks kept the metal away from his skin.

That was the hardest thing to get used to.

The metal against his skin.





SIX

1

It was George Edelson who took Gregor across town in a city car, bumping through traffic with a speed and unpredictability that would have been terrifying if the streets had been entirely clear.

“The idea is that I’m already in as much trouble as it’s possible for me to get into, so you might as well be seen with me as with anybody,” George Edelson said. “And this is convenient. The juvenile court is only about a block away from where your Father Kasparian is going to be arraigned, and we assumed you’d want to be on hand for that.”

“I definitely want to be on hand for that,” Gregor said.

Privately, he thought the arraignment would be a good place to jump the gates and throttle Tibor where he stood. Tibor needed to be throttled. Even if he was guilty. Especially if he was guilty.

George Edelson was pulling into a tiny parking lot behind an enormous granite building.

“We’re going to talk to a man named Sam Scalafini. He runs the security operations for all the court buildings in Philadelphia. At the moment, he’s going to be lucky if he doesn’t get fired. So I’m assuming he’s going to cooperate.”

“Security,” Gregor said.

“Think security cameras,” George Edelson said. “In the courts, as in practically every other place these days, there are security cameras.”

They got out of the car and went to a small back door.

A tiny Latina policewoman was standing just inside it. When she saw George Edelson, she nodded and opened up. “Good morning, Mr. Edelson.”

“Good morning, Betta. Is the court still closed?”

“For one more day, yes, sir. We tried to find some way we could open it partially, but there just isn’t any way to secure all the possible entries to the crime scene.”

“What about the cameras?”

Betta snorted. “I think they’re working on it.”

“They’d better be,” George Edelson said.

He took Gregor down a corridor, around a corner, and then to a door that led to a staircase.

“Operations in the basement,” he said. “We’ve had to retrofit all these old buildings. You wouldn’t want to give them up. We’ll never get architecture like this again. Watch your step. The public doesn’t come down here, and neither do the judges. Well, except Martha Handling. She came down here often enough. Anyway, it’s the last place to get repaired.”

The stairs seemed to be in perfectly good repair, but the basement to which they led was a little … dank. It wasn’t so bad that the walls were sweating, but it smelled rank, and it felt oppressive.

There were halls down here, too, but they were made of pasteboard and stood on rollers. George Edelson crashed around them as if they weren’t likely to fall over or skitter into the distance at any slight tap.

Gregor saw the big bank of screens before he saw or heard a person. A moment later, a head popped up and a thick man with dark hair waved at them.

“Sam!” George Edelson said, sounding sarcastic.