Page 144 of Devil and the Deep Blue Fish

Interesting, Jackson thought. Very, very interesting.

The cross-examination went smoothly, and Arizona pretty much stuck to the script, testing Effie Kleinman’s testimony in the places it could—potentially—be weak. Could Mr. Halliday have run through the underbrush in order to take a shortcut to where the incident had taken place?

No, Effie had insisted, he could not have. Between the injury to his foot and his lack of physical coordination, Zeke Halliday couldn’t have beat her to the park’s entrance where the incident had taken place.

Then Arizona had done more of Jackson and Ellery’s work for them. Why, she asked Effie, if Zeke Halliday was disabled, would he be allowed to stand trial?

“He’s notstupid,” Effie had protested. “His IQ is very functional, and I understand he really loves audiobooks—he apparently loves to discuss them. But his body makes it difficult to parse his sentences and difficult for him to be self-sufficient. He’s cognizant and able to stand trial, but he’s not physically capable of committing this crime.”

Then Arizona Brooks had put the nail in the coffin of her own case by asking what sounded like a “gotcha” question—but it got the wrong side.

“You say you were going to go home to call a resource for Mr. Halliday,” Arizona said, her voice measured, as though she were weighing every word.

“Yes, and I did. I called Arturo as soon as I got home.”

“But there were resources all over the park. The police were already there. Why didn’t you call them?”

Effie Kleinman visibly recoiled. “Have you everheardthe police roust the homeless? Have youheardthe way they talk to the transient population in my neighborhood? It’s dehumanizing as hell, and it’s certainly not help of any sort. No, if I’d realized they were going to come get Zeke, I would have sat down next to him and told them to fuck off when they tried to arrest him. I certainly wouldn’t have thrown him to the wolves.”

And before the judge could call order, Arizona proclaimed herself done with the witness, and Ellery was up to call the next one to the stand.

Arturo Bautista was a trim man in his midfifties with a square, lined brown face and a sweet smile. His family ran several adult-care homes off Stockton Boulevard, and while the places weren’t posh, they were clean, the residents felt safe, and the staff knew everybody by name and talked to them like human beings. Arturo, who’d been sitting next to Jackson during Effie’s testimony, gave Jackson a nervous smile as he stood.

“You’ll do fine,” Jackson mouthed, and Arturo gave a here-goes-nothing sort of shrug.

After being sworn in, he sat, both feet on the floor, and regarded Ellery with bright, alert eyes and a sort of calming presence. Jackson had seen him in action at the care home. Arturo had a big job, taking care of nearly forty residents, each with an assortment of mental and physical disabilities, but he dealt with the challenges using compassion, humor, and a solid dose of common sense.

“Mr. Bautista,” Ellery began, “you are the proprietor of the Sunshine Prayers Care Home off Stockton Boulevard?”

“The Sunshine Prayers Care Home for the Moderately Disabled,” Arturo clarified. “Sunshine Prayers is the company name. There are different homes for different needs.”

“Thank you for the clarification,” Ellery said, and Jackson had to keep from smiling to himself. Ellery had originally scripted different wording during witness prep, but once, when he’d been tired, he’d simply left off the remainder of the name. Arturo had made the clarification then, too, and Ellery had liked the way it sounded—as though Arturo was a professional who knew his business and made sure there was no confusion.

“So,” Ellery continued, “you’re responsible for Ezekiel Halliday?”

“Well, his family is responsible for him,” Arturo said wryly, “but we provide the day-to-day care. It’s often difficult for a family—particularly one with low income—to provide a suitable peer-interactive environment for an adult with special needs.”

Ellery nodded and began to question Arturo about the day-to-day operations of the care home. Jackson’s stomach knotted, expecting Arizona’s objection at any moment, but none came. In a way, it was a relief; sometimes the prosecution spent the entire trial trying to disrupt the defense’s rhythm or vice versa. But as Ellery’s questioning—designed for one exclusive purpose—continued, Jackson started getting jittery. When was the other shoe going to drop?

“So your facility sounds very organized,” Ellery said. “But that begs the question. How was it Ezekiel Halliday was in the park that day unsupervised?”

Arturo looked sorrowful, as he had during witness preparation. “Zeke’s smart,” he said with a sigh. “And he gets bored. Some of the residents are cleared to leave unsupervised. They need very little help and are close to being independent. Ezekiel has been begging for the same privileges, but—” Arturo took a deep breath. “—he’s easily injured,” he said, meeting Ezekiel’s eyes in apology. “And his speech is unclear, so it’s difficult for him to ask for help.”

“How long had Ezekiel been missing from your facility on the day of the incident?” Ellery asked without commenting on Arturo’s explanation.

“Two days.”

“Is this common, Mr. Bautista? For a resident to be missing overnight?”

“No,” Arturo said grimly. “In fact with any other resident, we would have been on the phone to every authority in the book to find him. It’s not safe for him to be out there.”

“Then why not this time?” Ellery lowered his voice, made it soft, almost invisible, because he wanted everybody to hear the answer. Jackson hated the answer, but it wasn’t any less true because Jackson hated it.

“This was his third such incident in two years,” Arturo said. “When it happens too often, social services moves residents to a different facility.”

“Wouldn’t a different facility be a better fit?” Ellery asked. He’d asked that question during preparation to find out why Ezekiel had been in the park that day.

“The state-owned facility is horrible,” Arturo told him, voice shaking. “Too many people, too many problems. He could get assaulted, have his possessions stolen, be force-fed medication. He’s vulnerable on his own, but that is not the place for him. Neither is jail. There’s not a violent bone in his body. He just… just was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

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