Chill of Night by John Lutz Page B

happen!”
    Murray was sidling up the far aisle, a smile stuck on his face, motioning with his arms for his client’s mother to sit down.
    The judge simply sighed and nodded to the bailiff, a husky blond man, who in turn nodded to a uniformed patrolman on the other side of the courtroom. The one in uniform made a hand motion that stopped Murray, and he and the bailiff converged on Cold Cat’s mother.
    That was when Cold Cat leaped to his feet. “You best leave my mom alone. Lay a hand on her an’ I’ll buy your ass and sell it to somebody not gonna treat it kindly.”
    From somewhere behind the bench two more uniformed cops appeared, a beefy man and a small, determined looking woman. They grabbed Cold Cat and forced him back down in his chair. Farrato was dancing around now, waving his short, stocky arms and objecting to everything. He finally lapsed into simply yelling, “Outrage! Outrage!”
    Cold Cat’s mother calmed down immediately when the two men reached her, as if she’d suddenly been shot through with a mild anesthetic that allowed her enough consciousness to remain on her feet, but no more. Braced between the two men, she accompanied them from the courtroom without a struggle until they reached the doors behind the gallery. Then she turned suddenly, as if she’d experienced a brief last surge of energy.
    â€œThis here’s a place of lies!”
    She repeated herself loudly in the hall after she was led from the room.
    â€œEverybody,” Judge Moody said, holding out both palms toward the courtroom. “Everybody calm down, and sit down.”
    â€œPut-up deal for the media!” Farrato grumbled. “Cheap stunt by the defense!”
    â€œYou sit down too, Mr. Farrato. You too, Mr. Murray.”
    â€œCertainly, your honor.” Murray seemed sobered and much concerned over what had occurred.
    â€œWe’re going to continue these proceedings in an orderly fashion,” the judge said.
    â€œThank you, your honor.”
    â€œQuiet, Mr. Murray.”
    â€œYour honor—”
    â€œI will not entertain an objection during an opening statement, Mr. Farrato. And for purposes of this trial, you will refer to the defendant as Richard Simms, not Cold Cat. And of course the jury is to disregard this…disturbance.” To the defendant: “When Mrs. Simms—the defendant’s mother—agrees to behave herself, she will be allowed back in the courtroom.”
    Murray smiled beatifically, as if he’d just achieved a victory. “Thank you, your honor. Your demeanor and judicious temperament are commendable.”
    â€œI’d like to request a short recess,” Farrato said.
    â€œNot in the middle of an opening statement, Mr. Farrato.” The judge fixed her baleful stare on Murray. “You may continue, Mr. Murray.”
    â€œDespite attempts to silence those who know my client as a kind and generous man,” Murray began, seizing on opportunity and making Farrato squirm, “the defense will prove to you that it was absolutely impossible for Richard Simms to have murdered Edie Piaf.”
    â€œRight on!” a Cold Cat supporter in the courtroom said softly.
    Judge Moody silenced him with a laser-like glance.
    Melanie knew the judge’s instruction to ignore the disturbance was simply a matter of form. How on earth could a juror actually put such a thing out of his or her mind?
    She knew she couldn’t, and decided that if any relevant impression stayed with her from the recent outburst, it was that Cold Cat loved his mother.
    Of course, it was possible to love your mother, hate women, and murder one.
    Wasn’t it?

15
    â€œThis is just terrific!” da Vinci said in disgust.
    He hadn’t taken the results of Nell’s computer research quite as she anticipated. She and Beam, seated in da Vinci’s sun-washed office, glanced at each other.
    â€œNot only do we have two more Justice