CHAPTER THIRTEEN
"Initial Appearance"
Mel Berenson waited in the jail foyer to accompany his client across the street to the courtroom. Berenson was a tall, dignified man with glasses and a Roman nose. He'd handled the closing on Beadles' house and other matters that had come up over the years. He watched as a jailer returned Beadles' belt, watch, and wallet.
Beadles remained uncuffed accompanied by a policeman as they took the elevator to the second floor and from there an enclosed pedestrian bridge over 10th St. to the courthouse, a Georgian revival with fluted columns. The streets were alive with vehicular and pedestrian traffic, people going about their Monday morning business.
"Vaughan," Berenson said. "I read the warrant. I assume you had nothing to do with this."
"Absolutely not. It's a frame-up."
"Well let's just let that slide until we get you out of here. Considering your lack of record and standing in the community I don't think we'll have to wait too long."
"How's Betty?" Beadles said.
"She's coping. She called her parents who are driving down from Elgin to be with her."
Great. Betty's parents had never really warmed to Beadles, although they put up a good front. They were hide-bound conservatives who were not shy about expressing their opinions and turned every family get-together into a harsh debate.
They joined a half dozen supplicants, their lawyers and police in the corridor outside the courtroom and sat on marble benches beneath a painting of Lincoln.
"You need anything? Coffee? There's a vending machine downstairs."
"No thanks, Mel. Let's just get this over with."
Shortly the bailliff called them into the court. Judge Shirley F. Black was a wizened crone with pince nez peering down at them like a hawk at a mouse. The bailliff called their case.
"Creighton University versus Vaughan Beadles."
"This is grand larceny, Mr. Beadles. How do you plead?"
"My client pleads not guilty, your honor," Mel said.
"I'd prefer to hear that from the client if you don't mind."
"Not guilty, your honor."
Black pored over papers four inches from her nose. "Very well, Mr. Beadles. I'm not going to set a trial date because judging from your history I expect you and the university to come to some kind of agreement before then. Bail is hereby set at five thousand dollars."
"Five thousand dollars, your honor?" Berenson said. "Isn't that a little steep for a first-time offense?"
"Well according to my documents Mr. Beadles was arrested for shoplifting in Rockford in 2005."
"That was a misunderstanding, your honor," Beadles said. Berenson looked at him reproachfully.
"We're satisfied with the bail, your honor," Berenson said.
Black nodded her head. The door to the hall popped open with a degree of urgency. Whitaker appeared before the judge clutching a warrant.
"Your honor, if I may?"
The judge nodded. "Go ahead, officer."
"Last night one of Professor Beadle's students, Rob Whitfield, died from a poisonous insect sting that occurred when Beadles violated university policy and a non-disclosure agreement he had signed and admitted Whitfield illegally to view a closed exhibit. That makes Professor Beadles an accessory to manslaughter. Professor, I'm placing you under arrest for involuntary manslaughter."
Whitaker whipped out his handcuffs.
***