Page 71 of The River We Remember

The judge gave the county attorney a mildly withering look. “Well, hooray for that, Counselor.”

Charlie considered objecting but decided to let it pass. Noah Bluestone seemed unaffected by the idea. And the judge was right. Nothing so far had seemed to have any effect on him.

The county attorney stood. “Your Honor, I’d like to recommend that bail be set at one hundred thousand dollars.”

“A hundred thousand dollars?” Charlie leapt to her feet. “Come on, Alex.”

“I know that this seems like an extraordinary amount, Your Honor, but in my opinion, Mr. Bluestone represents a significant flight risk, and perhaps a continuing danger to the citizens of this county, particularly in light of his questionable mental state.”

“Your Honor—” Charlie began to protest. But Eide cut her off.

“Go on, Counselor,” he said to Williams.

“Some folks here might think of Noah Bluestone as a longtime resident of Black Earth County. Although it’s true that he was born and raised here, he’s spent most of the last twenty years gallivanting around the globe. He’s a seasoned traveler, a man comfortable on the move. His holdings in the county aren’t significant. I’m not sure what brought him back, but he has no family remaining here, so no roots that strike me as deep enough to hold him if he’s of a mind to run. I’m also concerned that a soldier, a veteran of two wars, a man as used to killing as you and I are to picking up our morning newspaper from the porch, a man accused, as you yourself say, of a particularly heinous crime, would be running free on the streets of Jewel and on the roads of Black Earth County. I’ve heard it said that after the first time, murder is easy. I’m just thinking here of the safety of our citizens, Your Honor.”

Charlie saw clearly that this wasn’t just an argument for setting bail. It was the opening salvo in Williams’s prosecution of Noah Bluestone.

They were Midwesterners in the courtroom, stolid folks normally about as emotional as tools hanging in a garden shed, but Charlie saw a ripple of approval run through them, saw a wave of nodding heads. She could see that in the court of public opinion, the verdict had already been rendered. She thought it was interesting that many of these same people, only a month earlier, had been at a meeting of the county commissioners bashing Jimmy Quinn for his efforts to muscle through a proposal that would pave the way for him to dump the foul waste of a hog operation he owned into a creek that fed the Alabaster.

“Your Honor,” Charlie said, speaking calmly and reasonably, “you’ve already ordered a psychiatric evaluation of my client, which will take time. It will delay the setting of a trial date. If you accede to the prosecutor’s request, it will effectively keep Noah Bluestone behind bars during some of the busiest months for anyone who earns a living from the land.

“Yes, it’s true that Noah Bluestone has been gone for a long time. But remember, his absence was in valiant service of our country. He is a decorated veteran. Since his discharge—his honorable discharge—and his return here, he’s been a model citizen, not only successfully revitalizing his own property but also helping the Quinns manage their vast holdings. He’s done nothing to warrant the kind of monstrous picture our prosecutor has painted this morning and to which I strongly object on the grounds that it has no foundation and is unconscionably prejudicial.”

The judge said, “Your objection is noted, Counselor. Bail will be set at fifty thousand dollars.”

Which would still require the posting of a bond outside the ability of Noah Bluestone or almost anyone else in Black Earth County to post. Effectively, Judge Eide had acknowledged the validity of Charlie’s argument while still giving Alexander Williams what he wanted. That was the kind of action that had kept him unopposed in reelections for so long.

When the proceeding was finished, Brody and Connie Graff took Bluestone back to the jailhouse. Kyoko and Charlie followed. Brody gave the couple time together in Bluestone’s cell, and he and Graff and Charlie gathered around the desk outside.

“That Williams is some piece of work,” Graff said, rolling himself a cigarette. “A man risks his life in war—two wars—and Williams uses it against him. Hell, Bluestone’s no more a threat to the citizens of this county than you or me, Brody.”

“You don’t think he’s guilty?” Charlie said.

“He might have killed Quinn, but that doesn’t make him crazy and it doesn’t make him dangerous to anyone else. You plumb the hearts of a lot of folks in this county and the truth you’ll find is that if Bluestone wasn’t an Indian and if he didn’t bring home a Japanese bride, they’d be thinking of him as a kind of hero.”

“Easy, Connie,” Brody said.

Graff sealed his cigarette and shook his head. “Charlie, you got a defendant who refuses to defend himself. How the hell are you going to do this?”

“Every bit of evidence is circumstantial, Connie.”

“Still pretty compelling,” Brody said.

“You have no real evidence that places him at the crime scene.”

“Somebody wiped everything down,” Graff said. “Noah doing the smart thing.”

The radio on the table in the corner crackled, and Asa Fielding called in.

Brody, who’d suddenly looked a little troubled, went to respond.

Graff spoke to Charlie in a quiet voice. “I do think Bluestone killed him. But the real question here is why. I think absolutely that if you can get Kyoko to open up to you, you’ll find out the reason, and it’ll be one that might fill a jury’s heart with forgiveness.”

“What are you thinking?”

“That Quinn might have raped her or tried to rape her. To me, it’s the only thing that makes sense. Brody won’t say as much, but I’m guessing it’s what he thinks, too.”

“Why are you telling me this?”