“In my experience, Mr. DA, safekeeping orders are for defendants too sickly or frail to manage outside the types of medical facilities available at fully staffed and funded state institutions. Are you suggesting that Mr. French is too unwell to survive two weeks at the local jail?”

“Actually, Your Honor, I’m suggesting he’s too dangerous.”

Another murmur stirred the courtroom. The judge waited for it to settle. “Perhaps you could explain.”

“Your Honor, the defendant served three combat tours in Vietnam, a time in which he learned to kill and do it well. Many here have heard the stories—”

“Rumors, Your Honor.” Jason’s lawyer interrupted. “Unadulterated and irrelevant.”

“Be that as it may”—the DA raised his voice—“the defendant was dishonorably discharged after attacking a highly decorated superior officer. It took four men to subdue the defendant, and three were severely injured in the process, two to the point of hospitalization in intensive care. It takes a dangerous man to do that kind of damage, and local authorities don’t relish the responsibility of keeping someone like that in custody. Our jail is overcrowded. Its officers lack the training necessary to deal with someone as demonstrably violent and capable as this defendant.”

“Your Honor—”

“I have a letter, Your Honor, from the warden at Lanesworth Prison attesting to the dangers of holding Mr. French in custody. Even at a state prison farm—with all its facilities and experienced officers—this defendant was suspected in two unsolved killings and multiple beatings—”

“Suspected, Your Honor. Neither tried nor convicted.”

“Your Honor, if I may approach with the letter.”

“Hardly necessary, Mr. DA. Your request is unusual but well within the prerogative of your office. If you want the defendant in state prison, that’s where I’ll send him. Madam Clerk, enter the order and call the next case.”

An hour passed before they came for Jason. He spent that time alone in a cell.

“Open five.”

When the door opened, Jason blinked but stayed where he was.

“Come on, let’s go. Your ride is here.” Jason waited five beats, then rose as if from a Sunday nap. The guard stepped back, and four others entered to bind Jason in full restraints. “All right. Nice and easy.” They formed up around him, and Jason began the shuffle step that kept him on his feet and moving. They traveled one hallway, and then a second. A bus waited in the parking bay. LANESWORTH PRISON. INMATE TRANSFER. “Stop here.”

Beyond the bus, a concrete ramp sloped to the open street. Jason heard distant traffic; tasted the fumes. When the bus door opened, a uniformed corrections officer stepped down. The name tag said RIPLEY. Jason knew him. “Paperwork?” He held out a hand, and one of the local officers gave him a clipboard. Ripley dashed off a signature, and handed the clipboard back. “Any problems I should know about?”

“Meek as a kitten.”

“We’ll take it from here.”