“What about your client’s friends, Ms. Jackson. Is he willing to adhere to a no-contact order?”
“Judge Whitaker, the two young men in question have taken care of Nikolaj since he was eight years old. Furthermore, the prosecution’s characterization of two federal witnesses seems unduly harsh, seeing as how they have no criminal records after the age of twelve, and both Pyotr Dyachenko and Daniel Corozzo were set to testify against Nikolai Dyachencko before his demise.”
Oh, Christ. Peter was like an onion of lying layers.
“His demise?” Will sent a wide-eyed glare of incredulity at Angelica. “What Ms. Jackson fails to mention, Judge Whitaker, is that her client is the person responsible for Nikolai Dyachenko’s demise—which was accomplished with a gunshot to the head.”
“Nikolaj is not charged in that case, your honor,” Angelica said with a serene smile. “Mr. Schoemacher is well aware of that fact.”
“This is a bond hearing, not a preliminary trial, counselors, save your arguments. I’ve heard enough. FBI agents, US Marshals and a detective vouching for the boy and taking him into his home is enough to convince me that he isn’t a flight risk. Wait,” Judge Whitaker chuckled when the prosecutor took a breath as if ready to speak, “The defendant will surrender his passport if he owns one, and he will wear a monitoring bracelet that confines him to Detective Glass’s home. Bond is set at one million dollars. That should be enough to ensure everyone gets Nikolaj to court.”
A million dollars. Shit. The bang of Judge Whitaker’s gavel was like pressing a button on the toilet, with my money resting in the bowl.
I left the courtroom before finding out the preliminary hearing date, and called to arrange a money withdrawal from my private banker. Due to the hefty balance in my account, getting the money wired wasn’t going to be an issue—even after hours.
Revenge is Best Served Using an Albanian Woman and the Sociopath She Calls Son
“Neat trick having the courtroom cleared,” I said to Angelica. “How’d you get Will to agree to that?” The fact that we weren’t surrounded by reporters was no longer shocking.
“I threatened to petition a gag order, and he knew Judge Morris would issue it.”
“Bought time to avoid the press.”
“That was the idea.”
We were standing outside the courthouse awaiting the completion of Cai’s paperwork so we could take his mother to my home. Rosafa had insisted on staying as close to Cai as possible, but after an hour inside, Angelica and I ventured outdoors into the evening sun until all were ready.
“No coincidence that my father and the feds were questioning Peter and Darryl while that hearing was in progress?”
“No, it wasn’t a coincidence,” she agreed. “Desmond and I made the appointment specifically. Cai asked me to keep Peter out. This seemed the best method.”
“Clever,” I said. “You know the feds aren’t going to go after an eight-year-old case where an eight-year-old was the shooter.”
“It’s doubtful,” she concurred.
“Then why pursue an affirmative defense? He can’t be innocent, Angel, at the same time as declaring he did it in self-defense.”
“I can’t talk to you about the case. And don’t badger Cai about it, either, while I’m not there. His Miranda rights are in effect.”
I gave her a two fingered salute and shot off a frustrated puff of air. “What’s the mother like?”
She truly grinned then, and my immediate thought was, ‘Something wicked this way comes.’ “Oh, Austin,” she laughed delicately, “I quite possibly have revenge without even intending it.”
Whatever my response was, something akin to a parachute fail mid-fall, it made her laugh harder. “What does that mean? Because from where I’m standing, hounding me into allowing a killer in my house was fair enough revenge.”
“I did not hound,” she hedged.
“Angel?” My voice sounded desperate to my own ears, but she took no pity on me. Before she could answer, Rosafa exited the building with a contingent of black-suited men close behind.
Cai’s mother held no judgment in her appraisal of me, but she turned to Angelica immediately after the once over. “Thank you, Miss Jackson.”
“You’re quite welcome,” Angelica replied with an outstretched hand which the older woman took. Angelica laid a hand atop their clasped palms and inclined her head my way. “This is detective Glass.”
“Austin,” I said, holding out my hand.
Rosafa’s grip was as firm as her nod. “You paid the bond, Detective Glass?”