Two days after her arrest, the daily breakfast arrived again at dawn. Gabriella stared at the tasteless scrambled eggs, bland white toast with what might have been margarine spread over the center of the two slices, and a juice box.
“I can’t pretend to eat this junk anymore. I want some good coffee!” Gabriella said to her cell-mate. “Want mine?”
“Sure thing,” Imani answered, “don’t know why you don’t like this. Sure is a pile better than the shit we got at home. Hell, my bunk in this hole is better than the one at home. Jail ain’t so bad if you come from my block. Gab, stop talking so much and pass over them eggs!”
“But I wasn’t tal… oh, never mind. Here you go. Enjoy.”
Imani snatched the plate from Gabriella in case she changed her mind. She sneezed on the food for added insurance. Gabriella’s nose wrinkled as she watched the disgusting move.
A guard opened the cell door after breakfast. A second guard looked on.
“Okay, Blondie. Time for you to see the judge.”
“You got pull, girl,” Imani said. “I been in here four days and ain’t seen nobody yet. Fine with me, though. Know what I’m say’in? It’s all good.”
The two guards led Gabriella to a secured room adjoining the judge’s courtroom. A slim woman in her early thirties was standing there with a small black leather satchel full of legal papers. Her mid-waist stylish jacket closed with a single silver button. Affixed to the narrow lapel sat a silver bee with diamond eyes. Narrow-cut black pants covered the top strap of her high heel black shoes. The strap behind her manicured toes was still visible under the pant leg. The woman walked over to Gabriella and held out her hand in greeting.
“Hi Gabriella, I’m Hoyt Brightwood, your attorney. I’m pleased to meet you. We can exchange niceties later, but the judge will call us in about two minutes. We need to be on the same page. For a murder charge, the defendant must plead ‘not guilty.’ Is that acceptable to you?”
“Yes,” Gabriella responded. “I’m innocent and wasn’t even near the lab when Jim died. I don’t understand how they could have any evidence against me.”
“Well, they do. I’ll get to see it all in the exploratory phase when they assign prosecution to the case. For now, they are charging you with first-degree murder, so let’s go in with our plea, and the rest will be up to the judge.”
The security guard opened the doors of the courtroom. Another prisoner in handcuffs was being led out of the back door.
“Gabriella West,” the security guard called out for her in a loud voice, even though Gabriella and her attorney were the only ones in the waiting room.
“Yes,” responded Ms. Brightwood.
“Judge Weatherby will see you know.” The guard held the door open for the defendant and her attorney to enter the courtroom.
Dark wood paneling on the walls gave the courtroom a somber, official feel. Polished wooden rails separating the attorney and client area from the judge’s bench showed the wear of thousands of hands touching them as defendants filed through the courtroom.
The judge performed the legal formalities of introducing herself and listing the charges against the defendant, then asked, “How does the defendant plead?”
“Not guilty, your honor,” said Hoyt Brightwood.
“The defendant has pleaded not guilty. Bailiff, remove the defendant to Rikers Island to await trial.”
“Your honor,” gasped Hoyt, “Rikers Island? Couldn’t she be kept in a city jail?”
“No, she cannot. Your client is accused of a brutal murder, and the court must assume she is dangerous until proven otherwise. My decision stands un-amended. Bailiff!”
“Gabriella, don’t worry. I’ll see you there tomorrow after you have been processed. We can work on a defense.”
The bailiff interrupted their conversation and led Gabriella through the little door at the back of the courtroom. She glanced backward towards her attorney before disappearing.