Part 8 (1/2)
As they rose, Greg whispered to her, ”You're sure?”
Panic crossed Laura's face as she nodded. Terribly pale, she rubbed her hands, now free of handcuffs, together.
”The defendant pleads 'not guilty,' your Honor.”
As Greg and Laura sat down once more, the judge scrutinized Laura before proceeding. ”On the matter of bail -” he began.
”The State requests no bail, your Honor,” Sandra interjected. ”The charge is murder in the first degree and the defendant is an obvious flight risk. As a doctor, she's had an ample income which would afford her the means to flee.”
Greg jumped up. ”Objection, Your Honor. My client is a prominent member of the medical community in this state with never so much as a traffic ticket. She certainly poses no flight risk. Her entire family is rooted in this community, her parents, her children. I see no reason for any bail whatsoever in this case.”
Judge Potter again studied the defendant.
”The State reiterates the request for no bail,” rang the voice of Sandra Mulloy.
”Rather severe for someone with no prior arrests.” Judge Potter said simply.
”Not for murder one, Your Honor,” Sandra said again. ”Under no circ.u.mstances should bail be set for less than one million dollars.”
The judge then looked up as Jake Cooperman, the D.A. himself, strode into the courtroom and took a seat at Sandra Mulloy's table. All eyes followed his path, his presence a signal that the prosecution intended to take this case seriously. Over the past twelve years, Jake had built his reputation on a politically astute winning streak. He selected his high-profile cases carefully and worked in the limelight of the media, looking more like a Brooks Brothers model than a practicing D.A.
”That's preposterous, Your Honor,” Greg said. ”My client's record in this community is unblemished.”
Judge Potter cut him off. ”Bail will be set at five hundred thousand dollars.”
Among a shuffle of chairs and buzzing of voices, Laura was handcuffed once more and ushered out of the now-crowded courtroom.
An hour later, Greg was led into the small, dingy holding area of the Hillsborough County Jail.
”Dr. Nelson,” he began as soon as the matron had locked the cell door behind her. Laura had brushed her hair and now wore the tan prison-issue s.h.i.+rt and pants that fit tightly over her frame. She was still pale with deepening circles below her eyes.
”We have a lot to talk about, but first we need to clarify my representation. I hate to go over it now, but if you want me to represent you, I'll need a retainer of thirty thousand dollars. Depending on what happens, the fee may be much higher, but we would negotiate anything further as we go.”
”Do you believe I didn't kill that woman?” she asked quietly.
”Yes,” Greg said, surprised that he did believe her.
”Thank you.” Laura leaned forward in the metal chair. ”My children, no one's told me anything. What about my kids?”
”We'll find out as soon as possible, but first we need to agree on fees and the matter of bail,” he said. ”Is it possible for you to come up with my retainer plus fifty thousand for the bail bondsman?”
”I'll pay whatever is necessary. Can you get me out of here today?”
”Of course,” he said gently. ”Now let's get started. First thing, bail.”
”Steve and I have a joint savings account. About fifty thousand dollars in there and a checking account that we keep almost tapped out. You'd think we'd have more with both of us working and all,” she said with a sad smile, ”but we do have some equity in the house.”
He nodded. ”That's a start. It'll just cover the bondsman and get you out, but you'll need more. Your parents?”
”I could never ask them. They've worked hard their whole lives and now they're both retired.” Laura shook her head. ”I do have somewhere around twenty thousand dollars in accounts receivable from the hospital for surgical cases, but that comes in slowly from third-party payers.”
Greg nodded again. ”That should help.”
”Fine. I'll pay you as soon as I can, Mr. Klingman.”
”Call me Greg. Because we're going to be seeing a lot of each other.”
”And call me Laura, Greg.”
Before he left, Laura gave Greg authorization to access her bank accounts. He promised to get her out that day and rea.s.sured her that he'd do everything he could to help find her children. Unexpectedly, he meant it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
”Listen,” Greg said after the matron led Laura back into the dingy holding cell at noon, ”I've got good news and bad news.”
Laura did not speak until the matron locked the door behind her. ”Tell me the bad news first.” Then she gasped, ”My kids?”
”No, no,” Greg said quickly, ”your husband. Last week he all but emptied out your joint savings account. There's nine hundred forty-two dollars left. I've spoken with the hospital to see if they can give you some kind of an advance. As it stands now, they've agreed to ten thousand.”
”What? How could Steve do such a thing? I can't believe it.”
”Believe it. I saw the bank statement. Now let me tell you the good news. You were right - your family was on the way to Michigan. Cops here put a call into your father-in-law to notify the Tampa station in case your husband turned up there. Turns out he was on his way. Anyway, he's flying in for questioning from Chattanooga.”
”What about my kids?”
”They're fine. They'll all be back in a few hours. I'll meet the plane when the flight gets in.”
”Oh, thank G.o.d. You can take them home, can't you? My housekeeper will be there.”
”No problem. The kids can head home while the detectives talk to your husband -”
”Do they think he had something to do with it?” Laura gasped. ”I admit I did at first too, but -”
”I can't answer that - being on the road with five kids.” He paused. ”But I don't know what his actual itinerary was. Or why he emptied your bank account and fled the state.”
”Dear G.o.d, Steve's not a murderer.” Laura let out a deep breath. Kim's body had still been warm - she couldn't have been dead that long - so it couldn't have been Steve. Somehow that realization comforted her.
”I hope you're right. In the meantime, we're still stuck with getting your bail money. I'll talk to your husband about it as soon as they land, but if we can't pull it together in time that means another night here for you. I'll do my best to get you a cell to yourself again, but I can't promise.” He reached over and patted her hand.
Laura slumped back in the hard-back, steel chair. ”Just make him give me the money to get out of here.”
Greg Klingman recognized the familiar face of Steve Nelson and headed toward the cl.u.s.ter of Nelsons as they deplaned. Steve was flanked by two blonde boys, one a teenage version of his father and the other obviously younger, with floppy bangs. Twin sisters, also blondes, wore matching turquoise outfits. They each held the hand of a smaller boy with chestnut hair. Two plainclothes sheriffs shepherded the family to the central terminal as Greg attempted to introduce himself.
”Mr. Nelson,” he called, ”I'm Greg Klingman, your wife's attorney. I need to talk to you. It's important.”
Greg was surprised that the good-looking guy who was always perfectly groomed on TV looked so sloppy, in rumpled khaki shorts and a worn tee s.h.i.+rt. But then, he'd been on the road with five kids. Even so, it was irksome when Steve Nelson merely glanced at him, making no attempt to respond.