Condemned Read Online Free

jail.”
    â€œShe could make life very difficult for the lawyers.”
    â€œShe hasn’t already?”
    â€œAll rise,” Claire Trainor announced as Judge Ellis swept back into the courtroom and up the steps to the bench. As she sat, the Judge focused on Hardie.
    â€œI’ve asked Doctor Norman Texard to examine Mr. Leppard—after he arrives in the courtroom,” the Judge murmured. “We shall shortly have an objective opinion whether or not Mr. Leppard is feigning anything for any of our benefits.” She smiled thinly at the jury.
    â€œNorman Texard?” Marty Adams murmured from the side of his mouth toward Engler. His seat during the trial was directly next to Adams. “I thought that old son of a bitch was dead.”
    â€œYou know him?” Engler whispered back.
    â€œHe’d testify a cadaver was fit for trial. Whenever the government needs a friendly medical opinion, they pull Texard’s chain. He was the doctor, years ago, who said that Funzawal Tieri was fit to stand trial. Old Funzy was falling on his face, had his colon removed, wore a bag and all, could hardly stand up … you remember?” Engler shook his head. “That was like a week, ten days at the most, before Funzy died. Son of a bitch, he is, Texard.”
    â€œWhile we wait, Mr. Hardie,” the Judge continued softly, “let’s explore our alternatives.”
    No one, not even the jury, to the Judge’s immediate left, could hear every word the Judge said. The sense of her colloquy emanated from the sneer on her face. “Claire, let me look at the file.”
    Trainor handed a case folder up to the bench. The Judge began rummaging through the documents in the file. “Mmmm, now I remember …,” the Judge said, mostly to herself.
    The Court Reporter leaned closer toward the bench.
    â€œSandro Luca was originally your attorney, was he not, Mr. Hardie?” The Judge looked over the edge of the bench.
    Hardie merely returned the Judge’s glance.
    â€œIs that right, Mr. Hardie?” the Judge said slightly louder.
    â€œYour Honor,” said Marty Adams, rising,
    â€œAre you now representing Mr. Hardie?” the Judge demanded, turning a baleful glare at Adams.
    â€œNo, Your Honor.…”
    â€œMr. Adams,” the Judge said, leaning forward, “stop winking at me when you speak.”
    â€œI’m not winking, Your Honor,” said Adams, his hands trembling. He had no control over his high blood pressure, his trembling hands, or the tic that made his right eye blink when he was stressed.
    â€œOf course, you are, Mr. Adams. I know a wink when I see one. I order you to stop winking at me.”
    â€œYour Honor …” said Engler, beginning to rise.
    â€œDo you think Mr. Adams needs a lawyer, Mr. Engler?”
    Engler shook his head, immobilized in the half risen position.
    â€œAre you lawyers trying to lock horns with me?” The Judge’s eyes narrowed, her lips curled at the corners. “I wouldn’t advise it. I really wouldn’t. Now sit down! Both of you. When I want to hear from either of you, I’ll tell you. Now both of you, stay seated!”
    Calmer, the Judge sifted through some papers in the file. She glanced again at Adams. “I suggest, Mr. Adams, that you find yourself a good doctor and attend to yourself. Mr. Hardie, would you mind standing.”
    â€œNot at all, Your Honor,” said Hardie, rising to his full height.
    â€œMay I just make a remark for the record, Your Honor,” said Marty Adams, half rising again.
    The Judge slammed the flat of her palm on the bench. An exhalation of apprehension puffed out of the jury and audience.
    The Judge leaned forward. “Mr. Adams. Welcome to the real world. The routine that you used in the Municipal Court a couple of decades ago, does not work here. If you say one more word, any word at all, Mr. Adams, even ‘Your Honor’, I am going