J is for Judgement

with regard to Brian Jaffe."
    "More or less," I replied. "I'm actually more interested in the whereabouts of his father."
    "So I understand. Lieutenant Whiteside told me what was going on."
    "Are you familiar with the case? I've heard some of it, but nothing in any depth."
    "A good buddy of mine worked with Lieutenant Brown on that case so I had him fill me in. Just about everybody down here knows that one. Lot of local citizens got sucked into CSL. Lost their shirts, most of them. Sometimes I think it was a textbook scam. My buddy's transferred since then, but Harris Brown's the one you want to talk to if we can't help."
    "I've been trying to get in touch with him, but I was told he retired."
    "He did, but I'm sure he'd be willing to help any way he can. Does the kid know there's a chance his dad's still alive?"
    I shook my head. "I just talked to his mother and she hasn't told him yet. I understand he was just brought back to Perdido."
    "That's right. Over the weekend we dispatched a couple of deputies to Mexicali, where the kid was handed over. He was transported by car up here to the main jail. He was booked in last night."
    "Any chance I might see him?"
    "Not today, I don't think. Inmate mealtime at the moment and after that he's scheduled for a medical exam. You can try tomorrow or the next day as long as he has no objections."
    "How'd he manage to escape from Connaught?"
    Ryckman stirred restlessly, breaking off eye contact. "We're not going to talk about that," he said. "Next thing you know the information ends up in the paper and then everybody gets it down. Let's just say the inmates discovered a little quirk in the system and took advantage of it. It won't happen again, I can tell you that."
    "Will he be tried as an adult?"
    Tommy Ryckman did a stretch, extending his arms above his head with a series of popping sounds. "You'd have to ask the OA, though personally, I'd sure like to see it. This kid is devious. We think he was the one who cooked up the escape plan to begin with, but who's going to contradict him at this point? Two guys are dead and the third's in critical condition. He'll claim he's the innocent victim. You know how it goes. These kids never take responsibility. His mother's already hired him a high-priced attorney, bringing some guy up from Los Angeles."
    "Probably utilizing some of the benefits from his father's life insurance policy," I said. "I'd love to see Wendell Jaffe make a discreet appearance. I can't believe he'd risk it, but it would sure verify my intuitions."
    "Well now, I'll tell you the problem you're going to have with that. Case like this, a lot of notoriety, courtroom's probably going to be closed and under tight security. You know how it goes. Kid's attorney's going to offer up spirited arguments, asserting his client's fitness for treatment under juvenile court law. He'll want a probation officer to investigate. He'll want reports submitted with other relevant evidence. He'll raise six kinds of hell, and until the matter's decided, he'll maintain his client is entitled to protection under juvenile statutes."
    "I don't suppose there's any way I'd be given access to his juvenile criminal history," I said. I was stating the obvious, but sometimes a cop will surprise you.
    Sergeant Ryckman laced his hands across his head, smiling at me with a sort of brotherly indulgence. "We wouldn't do that regardless," he said mildly. "You can always try the paper. Reporters over there can probably get you anything you, want. Not sure how they do it, but they have their little ways." He sat forward on his chair. "I was just on my way to lunch. You want to join me in the cafeteria?"
    "Sure, I'd like that," I said.
    On his feet again, I realized how much he'd grown since I'd seen him last and he was over six feet tall then. Now he was stoop-shouldered and seemed to carry his head tilted to one side, perhaps hoping to avoid being knocked silly by the door frame when he entered or left a room. I would have bet money his wife was only five feet tall and spent her life with his belt buckle staring her in the face. On a dance floor, the two probably looked as though they were engaged in an obscene act. "If you don't mind, I got a few things to take care of on the way."
    "Fine with me," I said.
    We began to traverse the maze of corridors linking the various offices and departments, moving through a series of security checkpoints, like the airlocks on a spaceship. There were video cameras sweeping