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“What happened to your hands?” he asks, noticing my bandaged knuckles as he handcuffs me.
“I was locked in a cinderblock cage all weekend. What do you think happened?”
“You really need to learn to manage your anger.” Chrome Dome leads me out of the cell block and through the back entrance to a patrol car parked just outside the door with Four Eyes behind the wheel.
“Where is the magistrate court?” I ask once we’re on our way.
Four Eyes looks at me through the rearview mirror. “In the municipal building.”
“Will I get to speak with my attorney before my hearing? I’m not even sure I have one, since you’ve denied me my one phone call.”
“You have one. She’s already at the municipal building,” Four Eyes says and returns his attention to the road.
I say a silent prayer this she is Stone Cold Alex.
Several members of the press and their camera crews are waiting in the front of the municipal building when Four Eyes parks alongside the curb. As the officers usher me through the crowd, the reporters shout questions at me.
“Will you plead guilty to aggravated assault, Mr. Darby?”
“Did you murder your wife?”
“Is an arrest in your wife’s case forthcoming?”
“What happened to your hands, Mr. Darby? Did you suffer those injuries during your assault on Ethan Striker?”
A furious Alex Stone holds the door open for us as we enter the building. She’s an imposing figure in a stark black suit with her black hair fastened at the nape of her neck. She glares at the officers. “Why didn’t you bring him in through the back entrance instead of subjecting him to that media circus?”
“We’re in a hurry,” Chrome Dome says. “We don’t have time for the parking deck. We just got word that Darby’s case is up next.”
“I need a moment alone with my client.” Alex glances around the lobby. “Is there a private room nearby?”
Four Eyes shakes his head. “There’s no time. The magistrate is waiting for him.”
“I only need one minute.” Alex holds up a finger with a red-lacquered nail pointed at the ceiling. “I’m not asking you. I’m telling you.”
“Fine. You’ve got sixty seconds,” Chrome Dome says, setting the timer on his Apple Watch.
Alex pulls me aside. “This is one ass-backwards town you live in. I’ve been trying to get in touch with the prosecutor all weekend.” She eyes my bandages. “Did that happen during the assault?”
“Nope. In jail over the weekend.”
“Well, it’s not a good look.” She tugs the gauze off my hands, wads it into a ball, and tosses it at Four Eyes. “Get rid of that.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Four Eyes says, and slinks off to locate a trash can.
Alex returns her attention to me. “Now listen carefully. When we get inside the courtroom, I want you to follow my lead. Hide your hands as best you can, and don’t speak unless I tell you to. I hope it won’t go that far, but if given the chance, I want you to plead not guilty.”
“Time’s up,” Chrome Dome says, and motions for us to follow him down the hall.
Inside the courtroom, a white-headed man with a heavily wrinkled face looks down his nose at us. In front of him on his massive bench, a nameplate identifies him as The Honorable Luther Carr. “You’re late,” Judge Carr says.
“With all due respect, your honor, I’ve been given exactly one minute to converse with my client.”
He gives her the once-over. “Who are you, anyway? I’ve never seen you before in my courtroom.”
“Alexandra Stone. Google me.”
The judge pulls out his cell phone and puts on his reading glasses. He hems and haws as he stares down at his screen. When he looks up again, he says, “Impressive.”
