Clean Slate

Chapter 52

Harberts stared at Mac. "You knocked him down," he repeated automatically.

"Correct."

"Just. . .threw him to the floor."

"I did have reasons."

"That's not relevant," Harberts said, looking over at Stillman. "By your own testimony you're confirming that you assaulted a harmless citizen without provocation or justification on County property."

"Now hold on a minute," Stillman said. "I'm not convinced that his reasons are irrelevant. Go on, Respondent."

"The man," Mac said, "was stalking a fellow Recorder's Court employee. She had told him in no uncertain terms that his attentions were no longer welcome." Mac tried not to look at Abigail was he spoke. He hated to think what was going through her mind. "But the man continued to pressure her. To the point of trespassing repeatedly into her place of employment, in secure areas of the judicial annex. In the interest of protecting my friend, and enforcing Court House rules, I warned him on at least two occasions to stand down. He rejected my advice. So."

Harberts stood, hands on hips, listening, expression a mask of scorn and disbelief. "And it never occurred to you to report this – alleged – harassment, to proper authorities?"

"Not my place."

"But it was your place to assault this man."

"It's my place to take care of my friends." Mac ventured a look toward Abigail. She sat straight, hands folded in her lap, staring at him.

"But you admit you could have done that through proper channels."

"Better to do it off the books."

"‘Off the books'? What does that mean, Respondent?"

"I did not want to embarrass my friend. To make a bad situation worse for her. And in point of fact," Mac said, "the way I handled it, worked. The man quit stalking her."

"Ends justify the means," Harberts said, in full scorn mode now, "irrespective of whatever laws you break."

Mac just shrugged. Let them rip. He did not care. To Mac's right, Stillman was motionless, chin cupped in his hand, staring into the distance.

Harberts flipped pages of his pad. Without looking up he said, "You enjoy explosions, don't you, Mr. McGladrey."

What now. Mac squinted at the skinny ADA. Bucaro, he saw, was leaning forward now. The heart of it, Mac realized; that's what we're getting to. "Um," Mac said, "I'm not sure I follow."

"No, of course you wouldn't," Harberts murmured.

"Just ask the questions," Stillman said, "and spare us the commentary, Advocate."

"Isn't it a fact," Harberts said, "that over the past decade or more, you've traveled the country to witness buildings being blown up?"

"True," Mac said. This, he thought, could only have come from Suzanne. Who had, Mac knew, talked to Bucaro. Which meant Bucaro was in fact behind all this. "Implosions. I'm interested in the science involved there, imploding big buildings."

"I'm sure. So you've spent significant sums and taken a lot of personal time to go see these events."

Mac could think of a dozen smart-alec answers to that – some do golf, others do whores, I go see implosions – but reined himself in. "Yes."

"Which," Harberts went on, "pretty much confirms that you in fact enjoy blowing up things, don't you."

"No, I don't." True statement. "Enjoy" was not the right term.

"But you have blown up things."

"Tree stumps out at my farm."

"Anything else?"

"No," Mac answered, with his only lie of the session.

Harberts looked up from his pad. "Then explain to us, if you would, why you keep a collection of technical books and manuals on bomb-making in your office."

Well, well, Mac thought. This explains the search. "I keep a lot of books in there," he said. "I collect books. I enjoy having them around. What you're talking about, those are old reference books. Haven't cracked 'em in years."

"Then why keep them?" Harberts asked. "If you're not actually using them."

"It's just a collection." Mac braced himself for the obvious next question.

"Uh-huh. I see. Okay." Harberts made an effort to keep his indignation under control. He was giving it all he had, and Mac hoped Bucaro was getting his money's worth. "Which brings us full circle, to your year long absence. And I ask you once again, Mr. McGladrey, to tell us where you were, and what you were doing."

Mac glanced at Stillman. The referee said, "You may answer."

"I was in France for a few months," Mac said. "Cambodia the rest of the time."

"Engaged in what?"

"Volunteer work."

"Really. What sort of. . .volunteer work."

Mac caught himself about to answer, and dragged himself back. No way, he thought; no way. Whatever good he'd been able to do, to publicize it in any way, even in this forum, would detract from it, cheapen it. Let Harberts hint and allude all he wanted. "I prefer not to answer," he said.

"No, no," Harberts retorted. "This time you must answer. Referee?"

"Let's hear it, Respondent," Stillman said.

"Sorry, Referee. No can do."

Stillman straightened, squinted. "Well, this could have an adverse effect on my findings, you realize."

"I do realize, sir."

"All right," the referee said reluctantly, and gestured at Harberts. "Go on."

"That's all we have, Referee," Harberts said. "Besides our summation."

"That's all you have," Stillman echoed.

"That's right," Harberts said confidently, and sat down.

Stillman looked at Mac. "You're excused." Mac gratefully exited the witness chair and headed back to his seat. "You may present your case now, Respondent," the referee added.

Mac faced him. "I have none to present," he said.

"Hold on a minute," Stillman said. "No case?"

"No, sir. I've appeared here, I've answered questions truthfully, I have an absolutely clean record with Recorder's Court going back a dozen years, and I've done nothing wrong. That's it."

Stillman considered, then nodded. "Your choice. Very well."

Mac sat as Harberts bounced to his feet. "That was his summation, Referee. That's all he gets."

"All right," the referee said, sounding a bit weary now. "You can ease up now, Advocate, your reputation as a pit bull is safe. Go ahead with your summation."

"Thank you, Referee." Straightening his thin shoulders, Harberts spoke without notes. "We have proven, by any reasonable measure, that the respondent, E. H. McGladrey, without provocation assaulted a civilian in Recorder's Court facilities. We have developed ample evidence, some of it documentary, of his violent proclivities, including a fascination with bombs, bomb-making, and bomb use. We have proven, by McGladrey's own admission, that he was overseas for an extended period of time, part of it in Cambodia, known to Homeland Security and others as a hotbed of terrorist activity. His refusal to explain his activities overseas is, to us, a significant red flag, calling into serious question his plans, intentions, motivations.

"We have shown," Harberts went on, "that Mr. McGladrey is a threat to the peace and security of Recorder's Court facilities and employees, as well as of the general public. And we therefore demand that he be suspended from his duties, without pay; barred from access to Recorder's Court property; and that this matter be remanded to the Office of the Prosecutor and the Department of Sheriff for further investigation, and criminal charges."

Stillman let a silence drag out, then said: "Thank you. I will file the Information within twenty-four hours. And you, sir," he said to Mac, "will receive a hand-delivered copy. These proceedings are concluded."

Mac rose as Stillman bustled out, preceded by Harberts. Bucaro was already gone, Mac saw, as well as Ray Christopher, and Abigail seemed to have left, too, while he had his back turned. He felt weary and drained. Harberts's harsh words echoed in his head as he left the hearing room. Harberts was skilled at weaving together wisps and strands and making them appear – especially in these terror-fearful, George Bush "watch what you say" days – dark and threatening. Mac walked up the hall, past other hearing rooms and the rest rooms. It's all up to Stillman now, he thought. He seemed fair. Let the chips fall.

As he emerged from the elevator on the ground floor, he saw Abigail waiting. She wore navy slacks and a pink button shirt, and her highlighted brown hair was in its painful looking painted-on tied back 'do, as usual for a work day. She came over to him, brow furrowed, lips tight. Mac reached out and took her hand in both of his. "I'm sorry," he said.

"It's all right," she said, and her cornflower blue eyes were brimming. "It's all right."

"I didn't want you to know."

She had to work at the words. "No one," she began – "No one has ever. . .helped me like that. . . put himself on the line for me that way. No one but you."

Mac felt relief wash over him. For all he knew, she could have been angry. "We're pals," he said. "We help each other out. That's how it is with us."

"Yes, it is," Abigail said, and unless Mac's eyes were deceiving him, she touched her heart very briefly. "Thank you again."

"Mr. McGladrey?" came a soft female voice. Mac turned to see a short woman he did not know. "The magistrate would like a word."

"Who?"

"Magistrate Stillman."

Mac looked back at Abigail. "Gotta go," he said.

"See you back at the barn," she answered, and managed a smile.

---

Four minutes after the hearing ended, Earl was behind his desk at the Bailiff Bureau. The smooth tanned man sat utterly calm in the familiar surroundings, his fiefdom, peaceful and well controlled. All in all he thought Harberts had done the best he could with what he had. The big question mark was Jolyon Stillman. Earl did not know him. Seldom did his duties bring him into contact with magistrates. Idly he wondered who he knew, who might know Stillman; who he knew who he could lean on, who could lean on someone else, who could arm-twist another person with the power to put the screws to Stillman and make him do the right thing here. It was like a game of Concentration, trying to remember what cards were buried where. Earl had lots of things on lots of people, but this time each cause-and-effect chain faded into a blind alley mist. It was getting to be more and more this way, these days; new faces in the picture, each gathering his or her little strands of power, more and more of them outside the range of Earl's sphere of influence. It made doing business – and getting done what you needed done – tough.

But Earl took heart at the thought of Stillman's hard-nosed demeanor in the hearing. He certainly had cut McGladrey no slack. He'd worked Harberts over pretty good, but that was no doubt for show. The more Earl thought about it, the more sure he was that Stillman would hit McGladrey with some kind of sanction. Enough to make that nosy pushy jerk-off duck for cover.

And then, and then. . . . All this scuffle over the hooker papers would fade fast into history, where it belonged. And things would go back to the way they were before, the way they'd always been –

His desk phone purred. Earl snatched it up. "Go."

"How was it?" came Judge Wildern's heavy voice. No bonhomie. All business.

"The hearing?"

"What else?"

The Judge was just assuming Earl had been there. They had not talked about it. Earl was surprised Wildern was broaching the subject now. He's worried, Earl realized. "Your boy got bitch-slapped pretty good."

"Enough to. . .calm things down?"

"You know him better than I do."

"I think so. I hope so," the Judge said. "I do believe, at the end of the day, that Mac is a man of proportion. Able to weigh things and put them in proper perspective. Maybe I should talk to him. Level with him. Tell him how it was."

"I would not do that," Earl said quickly. "We need the can of worms zipped up tight, not opened any further. Judge," he said, feeling uncharacteristically hesitant, "we never had this conversation, correct?"

"Very well," Wildern murmured.

"Let's not overreact. All right? The issue is. . .ninety percent resolved. The woman out of the picture, and tamed. The files and records were incinerated. We had that slight leak. Potential leak. But that issue is. . .virtually contained. The person directly responsible is inactive now, which leaves McGladrey as the only open issue." Silence at the other end. "Judge," Earl went on, "I do not read McGladrey as being as realistic as you think. His mindset is not businesslike. Talking to him, reasoning with him, will have consequences you most surely do not intend. He's not one of us."

"He and I, we've been friends for years," the Judge said quietly. "It pains me for Mac to be in. . .a position of opposition."

"Well," Earl said confidently, "I think he got the message today."

"Let's hope so."

"Because if not --"