John Cameron was a prudent man, and as well as a home in Seattle that not even Quinn knew about, he had provided for himself four packages in different locations in the county that contained the necessary items for a quick trip to safer grounds and a permanent exile from his home city.
Cameron looked around the waiting room: this was the smallest number of locked doors and armed personnel he’d had between himself and freedom in weeks. Once he was in court, there would be even fewer. He was not armed himself, but that was really not an issue: once he had decided on a course of action, there would be little that could stop him.
Nathan Quinn had hardly slept. He felt Cameron’s restless energy as if he could see him, and he knew that he had this one chance at making things work his way. If he didn’t—Quinn couldn’t bear to think about the consequences.
Conrad Locke had advised simplicity. He had suggested that Quinn should find one single, inescapable truth and use it to pierce the prosecution’s case. In his heart he knew he had found it, and it was the same truth he had found twenty years ago. Today the Honorable Claire Martin would decide whether he had been right.
The side door opened, and John Cameron was escorted into the court. He stood next to Quinn as if it was the most natural place for him to be.
“All rise,” the usher announced.
Judge Martin took her seat at the bench. Her hair was up in its customary bun, and her bifocals sat on the tip of her nose. She wore an Hermès silk scarf under the gown, her rulings were never, ever, overturned, and any attorney underestimated her at his peril.
Judge Martin looked around her. “Mr. Newton,” she said.
Scott Newton nodded. “Your Honor.”
“Mr. Quinn.”
“Your Honor.”
“We’re here to talk about Mr. Cameron’s bail, gentlemen.”
“Your Honor?” Quinn said.
“Go ahead, Counselor.”
“In view of the new circumstances, recent events, and the present state of the prosecution’s case, I move to file a motion for the immediate dismissal of all the charges against my client.”
“What the—” Newton was on his feet.
“Keep your hat on, Mr. Newton. You’ve thought this through, Mr. Quinn? You do know how much I hate the intentional waste of docket time.”
“I do know that, Your Honor.”
The judge sighed and stood up. “In my chambers.”
Quinn turned to Cameron. “I will see you in a few minutes,” he said.
Cameron held his friend whole in his amber eyes.
“What are we dealing with, Counselor?” Judge Martin sat at her desk.
“The charges against my client are totally spurious. The prosecution does not have even the beginning of a case, and the continuous incarceration of Mr. Cameron as a result of the denial of bail has led to an attempt on his life.”
“One thing at a time. Your client has been charged with attempted murder; hence, the denial of bail. What are the new circumstances?”
“Your Honor, the prosecution does not have a case for attempted murder; they don’t have a case for assault or reckless endangerment or even jaywalking against my client. They cannot prove intent, and they don’t have a weapon.”
“Mr. Newton, where’s your lethal weapon?”
Scott Newton had experienced numerous degrees of unhappiness on the job, but he knew when he walked into court this morning that this day was going to take the cake.
“We don’t have one, Your Honor.”
“You’ve been looking since December, Counselor.”
“I’m aware of that, Your Honor.”
“How is the defendant supposed to have accomplished his attempted murder, Mr. Newton?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“I sense I’m going to hear a lot of that today from your side of the room, Scott. What about intent?” The judge turned to Quinn, and he hoped she had not yet seen the photos of Salinger’s injuries.
“The injuries sustained were dreadful, but they were entirely consistent with trying to restrain a man who had just admitted to four murders and the kidnapping and murder of a little boy. Harry Salinger has just been found legally insane and has pleaded guilty to four counts of murder, one of kidnapping of a minor in the first degree, and two counts of attempted murder. He confessed at the time in the presence of my client, Detective Madison, and myself. All my client did was try to stop this man before he fled, and, given the clearly proven violent and irrational nature of Mr. Salinger, he found himself struggling for his own life in the process.”
“You’re calling it a citizen’s arrest?” Newton’s voice cracked.
“My client waited for the authorities to arrive and gave himself up without question. He has no felony record and has been a model prisoner while on remand. Mr. Salinger has a previous assault record and has never denied any of the charges brought against him. He’s a dangerous man, and had my client not stopped him when he did, we have no idea what other horrors he might have committed.”