The problem with setting up one of these things was that there were so many moving parts, it was hard to get them all into place at once. That was something Agatha Christie and Rex Stout never thought of.
When they got to the courtroom, Tibor was already sitting at the defense table, and Russ and Petrak and Sophie were sitting in the spectators’ seats. Russ looked better than he had since Tibor had been arrested, as if he were finally interested in something again. Petrak Maldovanian looked sullen and resentful. Sophie Maldovanian just looked confused.
“I’ve got to go sit up with Father Kasparian,” Edelson said. “I’m the attorney of record. I hope I’m not stepping on toes, Mr. Donahue. If it makes you feel any better, he didn’t want me any more than he didn’t want you.”
“No,” Russ said. “No, no. I’m just glad we’re finally getting him out of this.”
George Edelson went to the front. The doors opened at the back, and Bennis came in, toting Hannah Krekorian, two of the Ohanian girls, Sheila Kashinian, and the Very Old Ladies. She pulled in behind Gregor, Russ, Petrak, and Sophie and said, “Just made it. Everybody wanted to come. I had to talk Lida out of bringing Tommy. Mrs. Vespasian is offering to help with the walking stick, but I thought that might be pushing it. She gets away with hitting people with that thing, but I bet I wouldn’t. Are you sure you have this straightened out? And Tibor won’t go to jail?”
“There’s the ‘accessory after the fact’ business,” Gregor said, “but we’ll deal with it when we get there.”
“All rise,” the bailiff said from the front of the court.
Gregor turned toward the front of the court and stood up.
Roger Maris Oldham looked one step away from sentencing everybody in front of him to at least forty years, and Tibor Kasparian to 176. Gregor was very happy that they had set this up in advance, because if they hadn’t, he wasn’t sure Oldham would have been willing to set bail.
Everybody else sat down. The bailiff read off a series of letters and numbers and case file names and whatever else had to go first before they could get to the serious part. Gregor didn’t listen.
When the bailiff was done, Judge Oldham leaned across his desk and looked at Tibor. “Father Kasparian,” he said, “before we get started, I want to make a few things absolutely clear.”
“Excuse me, Your Honor,” George Edelson said, standing up again. “I am appearing for Father Kasparian.”
“So I’ve heard,” Oldham said. “Am I to understand that you have Father Kasparian’s permission to appear for him?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” George Edelson said.
“Father Kasparian?” Judge Oldham said.
“Yes, Your Honor,” Tibor said. Tibor seemed to be contemplating standing up. He didn’t.
“Very good,” Judge Oldham said. “But now let me get these things very clear. I have been told that this is an emergency, and that everything needs to be done in haste in order to prevent an injustice and possible harm to innocent persons. I am willing to bend the usual formality of the procedure under those conditions. I am aware that under certain conditions such things are necessary. I am told that bail has been arranged and will be made available at the end of this hearing so that there may be no delay. And all of this, as I said, is acceptable to me. What is not acceptable to me is another performance like the one you put on the last time I saw you, Father Kasparian. I expect you to plead to these charges, Father Kasparian. A real plea. Not nonsense. Is Father Kasparian ready to plead?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” George Edelson said.
“And how does Father Kasparian plead?”
“Not guilty, Your Honor,” George Edelson said.
Judge Oldham turned to look at Tibor again. “Is that acceptable to you, Father Kasparian? Do you in fact want to plead not guilty? I’m not going to wake up tomorrow morning and read in the paper that you were coerced into pleading and you don’t want to plead anything and you’re back to standing on your right to remain silent?”
“No,” Tibor said, looking thoroughly miserable.
The judge sat back. “Good,” he said. “Because if your answers had been different in any respect, Father Kasparian, I would have taken a great deal of pleasure in locking you up for contempt of court. I have never—and I mean never—had to deal with such idiocy in all my life, and I have presided at the trials of some truly magnificent idiots. Bail is set at fifty thousand dollars. Go get that straightened out and get out of here. This is a gift, and as far as I’m concerned, you don’t deserve it.”