Chapter 19: The Driver

The hearing on Lyle's bail was in the same paneled courtroom.

The judge was a different woman with the same tired eyes.

Lyle sat at the defense table in a gray suit, freshly shaved, with his hands folded.

His lawyer had brought a stack of character letters.

Celia was not in the gallery.

Marissa was, in the second row, in a plain navy dress, with her hand flat on her stomach.

The prosecutor stood.

"Your Honor, the state moves to revoke bail. We have a witness who was contacted by the defendant's associates last night."

"Call him."

The driver came in through the side door in a borrowed jacket, with a public defender at his elbow.

He was a heavy man of about fifty with a delivery company badge still clipped to his belt.

He did not look at Lyle.

He took the oath in a voice that shook, and then he looked at me, and he kept looking.

"Sir," the prosecutor said. "Do you recognize the man in the third row, on the cane?"

"Yes. I hit him."

A murmur went through the gallery, and the judge tapped her pen once on the bench.

"Tell the court how."

"I was told it would be a tap. Low speed, at the light on Asylum Street."

"A broken ankle, maybe."

"Who said that?"

"Mr. Carrow." He pointed at the defense table. "That one."

Lyle's lawyer was on his feet.

"Objection. There's no corroboration."

"I'm getting to it," the prosecutor said.

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