Murphy and another police officer took hold of Tom’s arms and together hoisted him out of the patrol car. After checking the handcuffs on Tom’s wrists, they ushered him inside, through the security checkpoint, and into a locked room. They pushed Tom down by his shoulders until he sat on the only chair in the otherwise empty waiting room.
“What’s next?” Tom asked. Murphy pretended not to hear Tom’s question. “I said, what’s next?” Tom repeated.
Murphy grunted and pointed to another door on the opposite wall. “Your name gets called by the state. You walk through that door. You sit. You get arraigned.”
“Sounds simple enough.”
“Yeah, simple.”
They waited. Two police officers, one prisoner, silent as could be. Body heat and poor circulation turned the air inside the room thick and oppressive. The longer Tom waited, the more his nerves fired. Sweat dotted his forehead.
In those anxious moments, Tom pondered his fate.
Will the judge set bail? Will it be as high as Pressman warned?
A wellspring of emotion flooded through Tom. If he went to jail, he would lose everything. He would lose his freedom. He would lose his good name. Certainly, above all else, he would lose his daughter forever. Marvin had advised him to suppress his emotions during the arraignment. Cool and calm demeanor, the lawyer had recommended. But Marvin’s life wasn’t the one on the line.
Tom tried patterned breathing to slow his pulse but couldn’t suppress the toxic mix of anxiety and rage boiling within. Tom’s muscles tightened to the point where he thought they might snap. His expression morphed from stony to snarled. Thick veins on the side of his neck pulsed angrily.
“Whoa, this guy looks like he’s ready to pop off,” a police officer said.
“Take it easy, Coach Hawkins,” Murphy said. “I wouldn’t want to cause a scene before your big day.”
Before Tom could respond, probably in a way he’d regret, the PA speaker mounted flush to the wall crackled with static.
“Docket CR-thirteen-s-sixteen-fifty-seven,
State of New Hampshire versus Thomas Hawkins
.”
The moment they called his docket number, Murphy opened the door leading into the courtroom and escorted Tom through.
Marvin had done his best to explain where Tom would be seated during the proceedings, but the reality was far worse than his lawyer had described. Tom found himself standing inside a box that looked out into the courtroom. One wall of the box was made from concrete brick, but the other three walls were built using floor-to-ceiling Plexiglas. Through the plastic walls Tom could see crowds of people jammed inside the tiny courtroom. He recognized many of the faces.
Marvin Pressman stood behind a long table that was barren, save for a single manila folder. One end of the table was pressed nearly flush against Tom’s holding cell wall. The Plexiglas had holes in it so that Tom could speak to his attorney. Marvin wore a well-pressed, nicely tailored suit. It was the first confidence booster of the day.
He’s dressed like a man ready to get me out on bail.
The dearth of documents displayed on the defense counsel’s table, however, didn’t engender much confidence.
Marvin moved his chair closer so he could speak to Tom through the cell’s tiny puncture holes. “Are you ready for this? You look good.”
Tom spoke in a low voice. “I look like crap and you know it. I haven’t bathed or shaved in days. My clothes stink, and I feel like a freak show on display in here.”
“Well, naturally you’re keyed up. Try to calm down. We have only one dog in this fight today. Bail. You got that?” Pressman gestured to the table across from his, pointing to a female attorney, actively organizing her stacks of folders, files, and case evidence.
“She looks more prepared,” said Tom.
“She’s not. Trust me. It’s all show. But she’s a mother who is very active in the community, her name’s Gina Glantz, and this judge likes her a lot. We’ll do what we can, but I need you to focus, and above all else, remain calm. Promise me that.”
“Yeah, I promise,” Tom said.
Tom allowed himself to think about Jill. He conjured up an image of Jill in better days, and that helped calm him. He’d come back to Shilo for her. Everything would eventually turn out all right.
Next, Tom cast a sweeping glance at all the spectators gathered inside the courtroom. He couldn’t see everybody in the sizable crowd, but he did happen to catch Rebecca’s eye. He didn’t wave to her, though she motioned to him. Tom saw Vern seated behind the front row of benches. His assistant coach gave Tom an encouraging thumbs-up sign. At least some had come to show their support.
The judge, midfifties, with a full head of dark hair, wearing wire-rimmed glasses, was seated at his bench. With a bang of the gavel, the courtroom chatter fell into silence.
The proceedings began. The charges against Tom were read aloud. A dozen counts of felonious sexual assault, along with the possession and distribution of more than three hundred images deemed to be lewd and lascivious depictions of minors.
“Do you understand the charges against you?” the judge said, directing his question to Tom. For somebody with “judge” in his job title, Tom felt the man had already passed sentence, just by the way he looked at him.
“Tell him you do,” Marvin whispered.
“I do.”
“And how do you plead?”
“Tell him not guilty,” Marvin said.
“Not guilty.”
The judge wrote something down. In answering the judge’s questions, Tom’s throat felt dry and his own voice rang weak and defeated in his ears.
The judge spoke again. “Is there a question of bail?”
“There is, Your Honor.” The D.A.’s prosecutor, Gina Glantz, rose from her seat.
“Proceed.”
“Your Honor, these are very serious charges levied against Mr. Hawkins. I would like to remind the court that before Mr. Hawkins’s recent move, he had not been a resident of the town for nine years.”
Marvin pounced. “Your Honor, I believe that’s irrelevant to the question of bail.”
“I think it’s quite relevant. It demonstrates the potential for a flight risk, no real ties to the community, especially given the gravity of the charges Mr. Hawkins is facing.”
“Your Honor, my client is an upstanding citizen. He’s a military veteran, a Navy SEAL at that, with no criminal history and strong ties to the community as both a guidance counselor and a soccer coach.”
“Which is precisely why the state is recommending that he be held without bail. Mr. Hawkins very well may be a threat to children. No bail, Your Honor, is the best way to ensure the public’s safety, especially given the preponderance of evidence against the accused.”
Held without bail.
Tom let the words tumble about his head and rattle away all other worries.
Held without bail.
“This isn’t his trial, Gina,” Marvin countered. “There is precedent here for reasonable bail. The defense has yet to be provided with any of the evidence against my client. Bail should be based solely on risk or danger or flight and not any assumptions about my client’s guilt. He’s returned to Shilo to look after his daughter, of whom he now has full custody. I’d say he has strong ties to the community.”
The judge gave both attorneys a stern look.
“Picking up the defense’s argument, Your Honor, Mr. Hawkins also has many contacts throughout the world from his days in the military, justifying my flight risk concern. The defendant is trained to disappear. He has the skills and the resources to do just that.”
“I’m inclined to agree with the prosecution here,” the judge said.
Marvin rose to his feet. “Your Honor, in
Dunlap v. the State of New Hampshire
, a town-purchased computer was used by the accused to view child pornography. The bail for that case was set at twenty-five thousand dollars. I believe this sets a precedent for bail, given that both Dunlap and Mr. Hawkins are accused of similar crimes.”
“Mr. Dunlap was never charged with felonious sexual assault,” Glantz countered. “If Mr. Pressman requires adherence to this precedent, then the state recommends bail be set at two hundred thousand dollars.”
Somebody attending the proceedings clapped loudly.
The judge slammed down his gavel. “There will be no disrespect in my court!” he shouted. The room became uncomfortably silent.
“Your Honor, my client would execute a waiver of extradition to assure the court of his commitment to this trial,” Marvin said.
“Bail will be set at one hundred thousand dollars,” the judge decided. He banged the gavel again.
Tom gave Marvin a panicked look. “I can’t afford that, Marvin. Not even if I mortgaged the house. You know that,” he said. “Do something.”
“Tom, I’m sorry. The judge sets the bail. At least we have bail. You’ll have time to rally your supporters and raise the funds. Then we’ll have our day in court.”
“I’m going to lose Jill, Marvin. I need to be free so I can fight to clear my name.”
“Attorney Pressman, is your client in a position to post bail with the clerk’s office?”
“No, Your Honor. The bail set is too high.”
“In that case, I’m ordering Mr. Hawkins be remanded to state custody in the house of corrections for a period of—”
“Your Honor! Your Honor! Please ...”
“Is somebody addressing the court?”
Tom turned around to see who had spoken. Everybody else inside the courtroom did the same. Adriana Boyd, dressed in a sharply tailored navy suit, with a glittering emerald brooch on the lapel, rose from her seat at the back of the courtroom.
“I will post bail for Mr. Hawkins.”
The room exploded in chatter, and the judge had to bang his gavel several times to regain order. “You understand you’ll be taking on the financial risk here?”
“I understand, Your Honor.”
“Okay. Mr. Hawkins, you’ll be escorted to the clerk’s office once your bail has been posted. A probable cause hearing will be scheduled for October the fifteenth.”
Tom turned again to search out Adriana to thank her. But she was already gone.
Chapter 31
A
ngie Didomenico repeated her demand. “I’m asking you to resign, Tom, effective immediately.”
Tom sat back in his chair. He had anticipated this, but it stung to hear it aloud. They were alone, seated across from one another in Angie’s cramped office. In the aftermath of his arraignment hearing, Angie had hastily scheduled an emergency meeting with Tom, Craig Powers (who was apparently back in her good graces), and Shilo High School principal Lester Osborne. Angie, it seemed, wanted some time alone with Tom and requested that he show up fifteen minutes before the others were scheduled to arrive. Twenty-four hours spent as a free man, and already Tom felt persecuted again.
Marvin had spent an hour on the phone prepping Tom for this meeting. He’d painted a bleak picture of Tom’s finances. Tom had enough saved to keep up with the mortgage payments. But he’d be hard pressed now to land another job, with all the negative publicity surrounding him. And without the teaching and coaching income, his ability to make the mortgage payment was once again in jeopardy.
Marvin warned him it was unrealistic, but Tom had hoped to hold on to both positions, at least until his trial. With one swift demand, Angie had all but crushed that possibility.
Resign.
“I’m not guilty of any crime, Angie.” Tom assessed Angie’s stern, unyielding expression and tried, but failed, to read any agreement on her face.
“It doesn’t matter, Tom. The battle for public perception has already been fought and lost. The risks here are substantial if you don’t resign.”
“Tell me. How could this get any worse?”
“If you ever want to teach again, it can certainly get much worse. Resignations are protected under employment laws and maintain better confidentiality. Firing you will make it a public record.”
“Are you firing me?”
“Not yet,” Angie said. Her expression now betrayed a feeling of sadness and remorse. “But you don’t have to be convicted of this crime to get fired. We can look at the evidence and make our own assessment. That’s within our rights.”
“The union wouldn’t like that move, I bet.”
“True. They probably wouldn’t,” Angie said. “They could agitate the situation, try to overwhelm us with paperwork, but they can’t change the eventual outcome here. Look, Tom, I don’t want to fire you.”
“Then don’t.”
“It’s not that easy. I’m getting a lot of pressure. Calls are flooding our office from concerned parents demanding you be kept away from their kids.”
“This is no better than a witch hunt, and you know it,” Tom said. “I haven’t done anything wrong here. I have no idea how that junk got put on my laptop. But I do know that I haven’t been convicted of any crime. The only crime here is my arrest. Whatever evidence the police have against me is bogus, and we both know it.”
Angie held her stony gaze. She was less convinced of Tom’s innocence than he’d first assumed.
“Do what’s right, Tom, and make this go away.”
“No, you do what’s right, Angie. I love teaching. I love coaching. I love helping these kids. And I’m not going to go quietly. My daughter is still here. And I won’t stop fighting to clear my name and provide for her.”
“Just what sort of future can you provide if you can’t work, Tom? Think about it.”
Though she’d just pricked at one of his biggest concerns, outwardly Tom did his best to seem unfazed. “I’ll work a dozen different jobs if that’s what it takes,” he said. “But if I’ve read my union guidelines correctly, you can’t officially fire me without documenting your case to the union’s satisfaction. So if I don’t resign, you’ll first have to place me on paid administrative leave. Isn’t that right?”
Angie’s brow furrowed. “Yes, that’s right,” she said.
“Well then, that should quiet down the tribe. I’ll take that option and go from there.”
“You’re going to be fired,” Angie said, her face now reddening from anger. “You’re making a mistake, Tom.”
“No, Angie, you are,” Tom said.
The office door swung open. Craig Powers and Lester Osborne entered. Tom stood. Without saying a word to either man, he left.