Hells Kitchen

the other implications of this silent event—that the charge against Ettie Washington would now be murder.

TWELVE
    Business was brisk at New York State Supreme Court, Criminal Term.
    John Pellam sat in the back of the grubby, crowded courtroom beside Nick Flanagan, the bail bondsman Louis Bailey had hired, a round, world-weary man with grime under his nails and a rapid-fire mind that could figure various percentages of bail faster than Pellam could use a calculator.
    After the boy’s death Bailey had revised his estimate of the bail upward—to a hundred thousand dollars. According to the usual bond arrangements, Ettie would have to come up with cash or securities worth ten percent of that. Flanagan agreed to post on five and a half percent. He did this grudgingly, revealing either his nature or—more likely—some vast, resented debt owed to Bailey that this was in small part repaying.
    Ettie Washington would contribute her savings to the cash deposit—nine hundred dollars. Bailey had arranged through one of his faceless Street Contacts to borrow the rest. Ettie wouldn’t let Pellam put up one penny, not that he had much to contribute.
    Pellam was impressed with the dealings Bailey had orchestrated but he wondered if the lawyer’s skills in a courtroom would be equal to his sleight of hand in bars, clerk’s offices and filing departments.
    Bailey had also received the handwriting report and the news wasn’t good. Ettie’s bouts of bursitis and arthritis made her handwriting very inconsistent. The signature on the insurance application was, according to the report, “more probably than not that of subject Washington.”
    Pellam examined the assistant district attorney, Lois Koepel, a young woman with a sharp jaw, small mouth and a tangle of very unlawyerly hair. She seemed self-assured, brittle and far too young to be handling a murder case.
    The clerk muttered, “People of the State of New York versus Etta Wilkes Washington.”
    Bailey and, at his urging, Ettie, stood. His eyes were up, hers downcast. The elderly judge reclined along the bench in boredom, his fingertips supporting his temple, which was disfigured by a prominent vein, visible even from the back of the courtroom.
    The A.D.A. said, “We’ve amended, Your Honor.”
    The judge glanced down at the young woman. “The boy died?”
    “Correct, Your Honor.” Not a single S in the sentence and she still managed to sound extremely shrill.
    The judge scanned papers. “Ms. Washington,” he droned, “you’re charged with murder in the second degree, manslaughter in the first degree, criminally negligent homicide, arson in the first degree, arson in the second degree, assault in the first degree, criminal mischief in the first degree and criminal mischief in the second degree. Do you understand these charges?”
    Startling the first several rows of spectators, Ettie Washington called out firmly, “I didn’t kill anybody. I didn’t do it!”
    The A.D.A.’s ground-glass voice snapped, “Your Honor.”
    The judge waved her silent. “Mrs. Washington, you’ve had the charges explained to you, have you not?”
    “Yessir.”
    “How do you plead to each of these charges?”
    Without prompting, she said, “Not guilty, Your Honor.”
    “All right. What is the state seeking for bail?”
    “Your Honor, the People request Ms. Washington be held without bail in this case.”
    Bailey grumbled, “Your Honor, my client is a seventy-two-year-old woman with no resources, no passport and severe injuries. She isn’t going anywhere.”
    The A.D.A. droned, “She is charged with murder and arson—”
    “I wouldn’t kill that boy!” Ettie shouted. “Never, never!”
    “Counsel will instruct his client. . . .” The judge roused himself from his boredom long enough to deliver this lethargic command.
    The A.D.A. continued, “We have here a woman accused of a very elaborate scheme to defraud an insurance company, involving premeditation and the hiring of a professional arsonist.”
    “Do you have that suspect in custody?”
    “We do not, Your Honor. This is the man we believe to be responsible for a series of other fires around the city, resulting in a number of deaths and serious injuries. It seems he’s on some kind of rampage. I’m sure Your Honor’s read about it in the paper.”
    “ Those fires?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Your Honor,” Bailey said, sounding appalled.
    “Quiet, counselor.” The judge’s brow furrowed, the most emotion