“Here’s what your pillar of the community did last night. So I don’t really care what he did before. I’m just going to make sure he doesn’t get out to do this again.”

The photo was an 8 X 10 close-up of a woman’s face. The swelling around the right eye was so extensive that the eye was completely and tightly closed. The nose was broken and pushed off center. Blood-soaked gauze protruded from each nostril. There was a deep gash over the right eyebrow that had been closed with nine butterfly stitches. The lower lip was cut and had a marble-size swelling as well. The worst thing about the photo was the eye that was undamaged. The woman looked at the camera with fear, pain and humiliation undeniably expressed in that one tearful eye.

“If he did it,” I said, because that is what I would be expected to say.

“Right,” Maggie said. “Sure, if he did it. He was only arrested in her home with her blood on him, but you’re right, that’s a valid question.”

“I like it when you’re sarcastic. Do you have the arrest report there? I’d like to get a copy of it.”

“You can get it from whoever takes the case over from me. No favors, Haller. Not this time.”

I waited, expecting more banter, more indignation, maybe another shot across the bow, but that was all she said. I decided that getting more out of her on the case was a lost cause. I changed the subject.

“So,” I said. “How is she?”

“She’s scared shitless and hurting like hell. How else would she be?”

She looked up at me and I saw the immediate recognition and then judgment in her eyes.

“You weren’t even asking about the victim, were you?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to lie to her.

“Your daughter is doing fine,” she said perfunctorily. “She likes the things you send her but she would rather you show up a little more often.”

That wasn’t a shot across the bow. That was a direct hit and it was deserved. It seemed as though I was always chasing cases, even on weekends. Deep down inside I knew I needed to start chasing my daughter around the backyard more often. The time to do it was going by.

“I will,” I said. “Starting right now. What about this weekend?”

“Fine. You want me to tell her tonight?”

“Uh, maybe wait until tomorrow so I know for sure.”

She gave me one of those knowing nods. We had been through this before.

“Great. Let me know tomorrow.”

This time I didn’t enjoy the sarcasm.

“What does she need?” I asked, trying to stumble back to just being even.

“I just told you what she needs. More of you in her life.”

“Okay, I promise. I will do that.”

She didn’t respond.

“I really mean that, Maggie. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

She looked up at me and was ready to hit me with both barrels. She had done it before, saying I was all talk and no action when it came to fatherhood. But I was saved by the start of the court session. The judge came out of chambers and bounded up the steps to the bench. The bailiff called the courtroom to order. Without another word to Maggie I left the prosecution table and went back to one of the seats along the bar.

The judge asked his clerk if there was any business to be discussed before the custodies were brought out. There was none, so the judge ordered the first group out. As with the courtroom in Lancaster, there was a large holding area for in-custody defendants. I got up and moved to the opening in the glass. When I saw Roulet come through the door I signaled him over.

“You’re going first,” I told him. “I asked the judge to take you out of order as a favor. I want to try to get you out of here.”

This was not the truth. I hadn’t asked the judge anything, and even if I had, the judge would do no such thing for me as a favor. Roulet was going first because of the media presence in the courtroom. It was a general practice to deal with the media cases first. This was a courtesy to the cameramen who supposedly had other assignments to get to. But it also made for less tension in the courtroom when lawyers, defendants and even the judge could operate without a television camera on them.

“Why’s that camera here?” Roulet asked in a panicked whisper. “Is that for me?”

“Yes, it’s for you. Somebody tipped him to the case. If you don’t want to be filmed, try to use me as a shield.”

Roulet shifted his position so I was blocking the view of him from the camera across the courtroom. This lowered the chances that the cameraman would be able to sell the story and film to a local news program. That was good. It also meant that if he was able to sell the story, I would be the focal point of the images that went with it. This was also good.

The Roulet case was called, his name mispronounced by the clerk, and Maggie announced her presence for the prosecution and then I announced mine. Maggie had upped the charges, as was her usual MO as Maggie McFierce. Roulet now faced attempted murder along with the attempted rape count. It would make it easier for her to argue for a no-bail hold.

The judge informed Roulet of his constitutional rights and set an arraignment date for March 21. Speaking for Roulet, I asked to address the no-bail hold. This set off a spirited back-and-forth between Maggie and me, all of which was refereed by the judge, who knew we were formerly married because he had attended our wedding. While Maggie listed the atrocities committed upon the victim, I in turn listed Roulet’s ties to the community and charitable efforts and pointed to C. C. Dobbs in the gallery and offered to put him on the stand to further discuss Roulet’s good standing. Dobbs was my ace in the hole. His stature in the legal community would supersede Roulet’s standing and certainly be influential with the judge, who held his position on the bench at the behest of the voters-and campaign contributors.

“The bottom line, Judge, is that the state cannot make a case for this man being a flight risk or a danger to the community,” I said in closing. “Mr. Roulet is anchored in this community and intends to do nothing other than vigorously attack the false charges that have been leveled against him.”

I used the word attack purposely in case the statement got on the air and happened to be watched by the woman who had leveled the charges.

“Your Honor,” Maggie responded, “all grandstanding aside, what should not be forgotten is that the victim in this case was brutally -”

“Ms. McPherson,” the judge interrupted. “I think we have gone back and forth on this enough. I am aware of the victim’s injuries as well as Mr. Roulet’s standing. I also have a busy calendar today. I am going to set bail at one million dollars. I am also going to require Mr. Roulet to be supervised by the court with weekly check-ins. If he misses one, he forfeits his freedom.”

I quickly glanced out into the gallery, where Dobbs was sitting next to Fernando Valenzuela. Dobbs was a thin man who shaved his head to hide male-pattern balding. His thinness was exaggerated by Valenzuela’s girth. I waited for a signal as to whether I should take the judge’s bail order or try to argue for a lower amount. Sometimes, when a judge thinks he is giving you a gift, it can backfire to press for more-or in this case less.

Dobbs was sitting in the first seat in the first row. He simply got up and started to walk out of the courtroom, leaving Valenzuela behind. I took that to mean that I should leave well enough alone, that the Roulet family could handle the million. I turned back to the bench.

“Thank you, Your Honor,” I said.

The clerk immediately called the next case. I glanced at Maggie as she was closing the file on the case she would no longer prosecute. She then stood up and walked out through the bar and down the center aisle of the courtroom. She spoke to no one and she did not look back at me.

“Mr. Haller?”

I turned to my client. Behind him I saw a deputy coming to take him back into holding. He’d be bused the half block back to jail and then, depending on how fast Dobbs and Valenzuela worked, released later in the day.