Free Devil in the Dock (A Robin Starling Courtroom Mystery) by Michael Monhollon

There was blood on the palm of the glove and especially the tip of the index finger. We think he used that finger to write Shorter’s name on the floor, that he dipped it in the blood running out of his chest.”
    Way to end on a high note. When I sat back down, Shorter leaned toward me. “Even I thought that was a waste of time, and I got nothing going on.”
    “I’ll try to be more entertaining.”
    He only grunted.
    “Ms. Starling?” the judge said. “Are you prepared to continue, or do you need a short recess?”
    I half stood. “Ready, Your Honor.”
    “Call your next witness,” the judge said to Maxwell.
     
    The preliminary hearing ended just before lunch the next day, and the judge bound Shorter over for trial in circuit court. I asked that the defendant be admitted to bail. As the magistrate had done before him, the judge declined. As the courtroom cleared, Shorter said, “You said I was going to see some action at the preliminary hearing.”
    “You did. We got an outline of the prosecution’s case against you, and we got to cross-examine the two key witnesses—the police detective and the medical examiner.”
    “And here I go back to jail.”
    “You were always going back to jail. Defendants never win at the preliminary hearing.”
    “That’s not what you said. When the magistrate denied bail, you said to wait until the preliminary hearing. I’ve been waiting.”
    “I was hoping something would come up.”
    “Besides, I know of at least one case you won at the preliminary hearing. I read about it in the paper.”
    “That was a fluke.”
    “Great.”
    “You seem to think I have an obligation to exercise skill and diligence to acquit you,” I said.
    “And you don’t? I believe we have a contract.”
    “And it’s your opinion that people ought to honor their contracts?”
    He studied me. “If they don’t want to face the consequences.”
    “But if I’m okay with the consequences, screwing you over would be a valid choice, wouldn’t you say?”
    His lips pulled back to expose the brownest teeth I’d ever seen. “Majority opinion is on my side on this one,” he said.
    “So for this we defer to majority opinion? The majority’s opinion is binding when it comes to the moral obligations of a contract, but not when it comes to being pleasant to our neighbors?”
    The deputy sheriff was standing by, the handcuffs cupped in one hand, but Shorter stayed in his seat.
    “You read books, don’t you?” he asked me.
    “Since early childhood.”
    “There may be more to you than meets the eye.”
    “Maybe. I like to think moral principles are real, like mass and color,” I said. “They don’t change as the public consensus changes, and we don’t get to make up our own.”
    “And these moral principles are grounded on what?”
    I hesitated.
    “You’re building castles in the air with this moral edifice of yours, but you are quick on the uptake, I’ll give you that.” He stood, finally, and the deputy sheriff cuffed his hands behind him. Shorter didn’t look upset, but his expression was calculating and not particularly pleasant. He’d given me two compliments in a row. I thought he might as readily drive a knife into me as give me a third.
    The deputy led him away. As I put my papers back into my briefcase, a cold spot developed between my shoulder blades. The shiver started there and radiated outward. I do not like Bob Shorter, I said to myself.
     
    Surprisingly, there aren’t that many places to eat near the courthouse—a Subway up near the Coliseum, a couple of places down around the VCU Hospital. One of the best within a couple of blocks was the Richmond on Broad Café, occupying a space on East Broad Street that had once served as a drugstore. Even though it was a block out of my way, I decided to stop off for a bite to eat on my walk back to the office.
    As soon as I walked through the double glass doors, I regretted my decision. Mike McMillan and Sarah Fleckman were