New York Dead (Stone Barrington 1)

“The clerk will read the verdict.”

The clerk looked at the piece of paper. “We, the jury, unanimously find the defendant guilty as charged.”

Stone’s client sighed audibly.

Well you might sigh, Stone thought. I tried to get you to plead to the lesser charge, you dumb schmuck. But you thought you could beat it.

“The jury is released with the thanks of the court for a job well done,” Judge O’Neal said. “Sentencing is set for the twenty-fifth of this month; bail is continued pending.” She struck the bench with her gavel and rose. The courtroom rose with her.

Stone turned to his client. “I’m sorry we couldn’t get a better verdict.”

“You warned me,” the man said. “Can I go home now?”

“Yes. We have to decide whether to appeal; I really think you should consider the expense.”

The man sighed again. “Why bother? I’ll do the time.”

“You’re free until sentencing, but you’d better be prepared not to go home after that. Bring a toothbrush.”

They shook hands, and the man walked sadly away. Stone began gathering his notes.

“Mr. Barrington?”

Stone looked up. Judge O’Neal was standing to one side of the bench, behind the railing.

“In my office, please,” she said primly.

Stone groaned. He had pressed his luck often in cross-examining the prosecution’s witnesses, and she had repeatedly called him down for it. Now, the lecture. Hell, he thought, I’m lucky not to have been held in contempt. He trudged into her chambers, ready to take his medicine.

She had perched on an arm of the big leather sofa. She undid her robes, and they fell aside to reveal a bright red dress that went particularly well with her blonde hair. She crossed her legs.

They look awfully good, he thought. Something stirred in him for the first time in a long while.

“I read about the Nijinsky case, of course,” she said. “I believe you discovered Ms. Nijinsky in a thoroughly dead condition.”

“That’s right, Judge. She was what a friend of mine calls ‘New York Dead.’”

“In that case, I will remind you of our wager of some time past,” O’Neal said, uncrossing her legs and recrossing them in the other direction.

He had forgotten.

“You, sir, owe me a dinner,” she said.

Stone smiled. “Yes, Your Honor,” he replied.