"Hi," Ray said.
"Hi."
He smiled. "This is odd."
"Yeah."
I hadn't had a case with Ray recently. Ray worked the Circuit Court, handling jury trials on the murders, rapes, and major drug offenses that arose with great frequency in our county. My criminal cases rarely went to trial. When they did, the matters usually involved clients with exaggerated notions of their driving ability after 10 beers. Or people who believed in the socialist principle of the even distribution of wealth and expressed their support by redistributing other people's goods to themselves.
The fact that Ray was prosecuting was yet another sign that this case was serious.
"So?" I asked.
"So." He looked away for a moment.
I glanced at my scuffed shoes. "We can handle this, right?"
He nodded vigorously. "Sure."
"OK." I paused to gather my thoughts. Part of me wanted to kiss him. I was also aware of the pain I felt when I tried to reach him after my release from the hospital.
"I thought you were in San Diego," I said, trying to keep my voice neutral.
"San Francisco."
"Right."
"I got back yesterday."
"Was it nice?"
"Yeah. It's a beautiful city."
"It must be fun to travel. I never have the time or the money. Of course, I'm not wild about planes. You always hear about them falling out of the sky and people losing their luggage and all."
He looked at me warily. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." I forced myself to look him in the eye. "Why don't we talk about the case?"
"Dinner first?"
"Oh, I don't know," I said. "I'm really tired and it's been a long day. I'm still—" I started to say that I was still sore from the beating, but I stopped myself. I wanted to tell him, but I didn't want to. I didn't want to get sucked into dinner. I didn't want to tell my problems to Ray. I couldn't depend on him.
"Still what?" he asked.
"Still tired from my drive. I drove to Pennsylvania and back."
"Yes, I heard."
"So I probably won't be very good company. And it's late. You probably want to get home."
"Helen won't mind," he said, giving me a meaningful look. "She's still in San Francisco."
So it was more than dinner I was being sucked into. It was another perfect opportunity. I wanted it, too. But a little voice said no. "My head. I'm just not feeling so hot. I'm sorry."
He nodded. "It's OK. We'll have other times."
"Let's get back to the case. The bail hearing—where are you on that? I assume you won't be asking too high an amount."
Ray hesitated. "I ... I'm not sure about that."
"What do you mean? We're talking about an employed, middle-class individual with a job, and community contacts. She should be released on her own recognizance."
"You can forget about an OR release. We're talking about a woman accused of murder and major fraud, big enough for the feds to take an interest. She also fled the jurisdiction."
"She didn't know about any of this," I said. "She left because she was afraid."
"Maybe. Maybe not."
"So what are you saying?"
"I'm leaning toward contesting any pretrial release. At best, we'll be asking for a very high bail, possibly as high as a hundred thousand."
I stared at him. "You must be joking."
"Sam, this is serious business—"
"Don't be condescending, Ray. Of course, it's serious, but my client doesn't have property. She's a university student who works at a bank. She's not a flight risk."
"She's got a spotty employment history. She also has a record in another state."
"What?" That stopped me cold. A background check is something I do as a matter of course for any criminal client. In this case, I hadn't had time.
"It's true," he said. "I've got the paperwork. She was picked up in Florida for shoplifting."
"How could she get a job at a bank with a record?"
"That's what I'd like to know. She got Florida's version of a stet, so maybe they missed it on the background check."
A "stet" is a case that gets continued and never goes to court, eventually getting dismissed. It was something short of probation—used frequently for first-time offenders.
"When was this?"
"A while ago."
"What does that mean, a while ago?"
"I don't know, maybe 15 years."
"So she was young and stupid. And she hasn't done anything since."
"I have my marching orders," he said. "You've got your arguments. Take your best shot."
"Ray, why can't we work something out?"
"This is a big case. I don't have a lot of room to move."
"My client is not one of those lowlifes you run across all the time in your cases."
He did a double take. "Oh? So, because your client isn't poor and black, she should get a free ticket out of the slammer?"
"That's not what I'm saying and you know it. There's no reason to be inflexible on this."
"You don't appreciate what I'm dealing with." He glared at me. "I've got three sets of cops telling me what's what, and my own boss is walking on eggshells to keep everyone happy. This is hot stuff."
"Maybe you should recuse yourself?"
He laughed. "On what grounds? Certainly, we're not going to bring up certain, uh, things we've done recently?"
"Of course not." I waved the thought away in irritation. "I don't know. There must be something."
"I'm sorry, but even if there were grounds, this case is dynamite. This is a real step up for me."
"What do you care?" I shot him an accusing look. "I thought you wanted to leave the state's attorney."
"Well, sure," he said. "But not right away."
"Face it, Ray, you're not going anywhere." My words flowed, fast and furious. "You're not leaving the state's attorney. You're not leaving—" I managed to stop myself in time. My hand felt cramped. I realized I was clutching a pen. It was a miracle it hadn't snapped in half.
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about your job. You're not leaving the safety of your job." I wasn't talking about that. From the look on his face, he knew it. I squeezed my temples with one hand, trying to work out the tension. "This has been a rough few days," I said.
"I know."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lose my temper."
He nodded.
"I guess we'll just have to play this out in court."
Ray gestured toward the door. "I've got some stuff for you in the car. Paperwork ..."
"OK."
We walked out together. He handed me the information.
"I'm sorry, too," he said.
"It's your job."
"Right."
"OK then. See you tomorrow."
"See you."
For a moment, we looked at each other. Any other time, we might have embraced. Not this time.
I walked away, willing myself not to look back. The sound of his car door slamming was like that of the lid closing on a casket.