It had been Friday forever. Legal Aid sent over an attorney to make certain that none of The Ancient Skulls’ rights were being violated. At the same time the detectives—figuring they had hooked into real meat—called the District Attorney’s office and asked that a man be sent over before they messed up the legal ramifications by asking any further questions. By 11:00 P.M. everyone was assembled. By ten minutes to 12:00 they all realized they were going to get nowhere, since the Skulls’ appointed attorney advised them to keep silent. The man from the DA’s office felt they had a good case, nonetheless, and so the Skulls were booked for acting in concert on one count of homicide and one count of assault, and were taken downstairs to the detention cells to await transportation to the Criminal Courts Building for arraignment. The lawyers shook hands with each other and the detectives, and everybody left the squadroom at a few minutes past midnight. It was Saturday at last. Ollie Weeks had cracked his case in less than twelve hours, and one might have expected him to go home and sleep the sleep of angels secure in the knowledge that he had performed admirably and well.
