Hells Kitchen

he’d displayed so far.
    “We’ve had three fires in two days. The most recent was a subway, and I just heard a report before coming to Your Honor’s courtroom that there was another one.”
    Bailey turned slowly and glanced at Pellam. Another fire?
    Koepel continued. “At a department store on Eighth Avenue.”
    “What happened?” the judge asked.
    The A.D.A. continued, “That homemade napalm again, Your Honor. In a women’s clothing department. A clerk just happened to be standing by a fire extinguisher station in the store when it started. She put it out before it did much damage. But it could’ve been a real tragedy.” The A.D.A. fell out of character. She sounded exasperated as she said, “Judge, the police just don’t know what to do. They can’t find this perp. There are no witnesses. These fires just keep appearing. And frankly it’s got everybody on the West Side scared as hell.”
    “Your Honor,” Bailey said in the voice of a melodramatic stage actor, “this is the most rampant form of speculation. Why, the month is August. It’s been hot, people’s tempers are flaring—”
    “Thank you for the weather report, Mr. Bailey. What’s your point?”
    “Copycat crimes.”
    “Counselor?” The judge raised an eyebrow at the A.D.A.
    “Unlikely. The mixture he uses in his bombs is unusual. It’s like a fingerprint of this particular arsonist. And the press has cooperated in not mentioning the exact substances. We’re sure the same perpetrator is behind them. The defendant’s been completely uncooperative in identifying him and—”
    “She’s uncooperative,” Bailey said, echoing Pellam’s thought, “because she doesn’t know who he is.”
    “This is, as I was saying, a very elaborate scheme to perpetrate a vicious crime, resulting in a child’s death. And in light of her prior fraud conviction, we—”
    “What?” the lawyer asked.
    “Are you objecting, Mr. Bailey?”
    “No, Your Honor, I’m not objecting.”
    “Because if you’re objecting, it’s misplaced. There’s no jury here. There are no evidentiary issues.”
    “I’m not objecting. What prior conviction?” He glanced at a mute Ettie, whose eyes were downcast.
    Pellam was sitting forward.
    “Well, Ms. Washington’s felony conviction for fraud and extortion six years ago. Arson was threatened in that case too, Your Honor.”
    She has a record ? An arson threat? Pellam’s memory fast-forwarded through his many conversations with Ettie. This had never come up on the tapes. Not even a hint. His thumb and forefinger rubbed together heatedly.
    Bailey’s head turned to Ettie but her eyes remained downcast. “This is the first I’ve heard of it, Your Honor.” He whispered something to Ettie, who shook her head and said nothing.
    “Well,” the A.D.A. said, “that’s not the state’s problem.”
    “True, Mr. Bailey,” the judge said. The vein on his flushed temple seemed to change course. He wanted to move on to the other cases on his calendar. “Your knowledge of your client’s history is hardly relevant. Can we wrap this up?”
    “On the motion,” Koepel hissed, “the people request the suspect be held without bail.”
    The judge reclined in his tall black chair. “Bail denied.” He banged the gavel with a sound like gunshot.
    *   *   *
    “We got outflanked.”
    Louis Bailey stood beside Pellam on the sidewalk beside the Criminal Courts Building. An odd smell—sour—filled the hot August air.
    The lawyer gazed down absently at his feet. His navy blue sock sported a hole but the green one looked almost new. “I should’ve seen it coming. The A.D.A. pulled a fast one. She kept requesting a delay in the arraignment. She hinted that if I agreed she’d be more likely to go along with a bail reduction.”
    Pellam was nodding. “A technical legal strategy called lying.”
    “Ah, that’s old news. But the sick thing is that she was just delaying until the boy died. Put her in a better spot to ask for a no-bail order.”
    Our public servants, Pellam thought. God bless ’em. He asked, “You didn’t know about her conviction?”
    “No. She never mentioned it.”
    “News to me too. How bad is it?”
    “Well, they can’t use it in her trial. Unless she takes the stand and I won’t let her do that. But it’s just . . .”
    “Troubling,” Pellam muttered.
    Bailey sought a better word but settled for echoing, “Troubling.”
    They each looked at the black-and-gray County Court