Page 15 of The Instruments of Darkness

“So I’m already guilty?”

“It’s a question of perception for now, but that’s open to manipulation—by both sides.”

“What do you mean?”

Moxie gestured for me to step in.

“Some people have prejudged you,” I said. “Others will be keeping a more open mind, and they may be troubled by seeing a young mother, worried for her missing child, railroaded on the basis of a single piece of evidence. But if we let the police arrest you at your home, in front of the cameras, we hand the prosecution an advantage. It will confirm the suspicions of those who believe you belong behind bars, and may also sway some of the neutrals in that direction.”

“What options do I have?” said Colleen. “Chain myself to my door? Go on the run?”

“Let’s call those plans B and C,” I said. “Plan A is that you present yourself for arrest.”

“Wait,” she said, “won’t that be like an admission of guilt?”

“Not the way we’re going to play it,” said Moxie. “Instead of a suspect being arrested, it’ll be a mother demanding that the circus leave town before it has a chance to set up its tents. She knows she’s innocent, regards the police and prosecutor as being in error, and believes any investigation and proceedings will not only vindicate her but also force the police to follow other lines of inquiry that may currently lie unexamined. She wants to know what happened to her child. If handing herself over to the police will help, she’s prepared to make the sacrifice.”

Even by Moxie’s singular standards, this was an unusual gambit.

“Will that work?” said Colleen.

“It’ll work better than letting them lead you from your home in handcuffs, running a gauntlet of cameras and cell phones.”

“What then?”

“Maine law prevents a defendant from being held for more than forty-eight hours without arraignment or an initial hearing,” said Moxie, “but we’ll push for twenty-four on the basis that you presented yourself, thus saving the police time and trouble.”

In Maine, a felony case required the accused and their attorney to appear before a judge for an initial hearing to ensure that the former was aware of both their constitutional rights and the nature of the charges against them, and to address the issue of bail. Following that appearance, the prosecutor would seek a grand jury indictment prior to an arraignment, at which the accused would be asked to enter a plea.

“Because we’re talking about felony charges involving a child,” Moxie continued, “bail will have to be set by a state judge, assuming it’s decided that there’s probable cause for proceeding. I’ll meet with the prosecutor before the hearing to hammer out bail terms acceptable to both of us, just in case we’re assigned a judge who’s a teeth-grinder, but it’s likely you’ll have to spend a night at Cumberland County Jail. I’ll do my damnedest to ensure it’s not two, but I’m not making any promises.”

Colleen put her face in her hands.

“But I didn’t do this” she said, “and I shouldn’t have to go to jail to prove it.”

“I don’t deny it,” said Moxie. “The only consolation I can offer is that we will take care of you, and we will win this.”

“How can you be so sure?” she said.

“Because I don’t like losing,” said Moxie. “It becomes habit-forming.”

“And my son?”

She looked to me as she spoke, and I knew what she needed to hear. It would no longer be enough to relegate or abrogate any duty toward her son.

“You can be Moxie’s priority,” I said. “Henry can be mine.”

CHAPTER IX

Before leaving Twitchy’s, I raised with Moxie the possibility of the Fulci brothers keeping an eye on Colleen Clark, both at home and when, or if, she chose to venture out. To my surprise, he made no objection, but perhaps he could see what was coming down the line and regarded the Fulcis as apt to discourage all but the most committed or foolhardy from attempting to interfere with our client.

The afternoon sky remained gray, shading to white and black at the extremes, like being trapped under a pigeon’s wing. I opened the car door for Colleen, then spoke briefly and quietly to Moxie once she was safely inside.

“Learn anything interesting?” said Moxie.

“She has few friends, and we should ask the Fulcis to drop her husband on his head.”

Moxie shrugged. “He thinks his wife killed their son. I’m prepared to allow him some leeway for trauma, if not for being an asshole.”

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