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On Monday morning, at 9:22, a judge of the Richmond General District Court appeared on a monitor in a small room in the Justice Center, read the charge against Teodoro Barrientos-Mejía, noted that the defendant had no criminal record, noted that the defendant's attorney of record, Ruth Halvorsen, was present by phone and that a second attorney, Delphine Okafor, had entered a limited appearance, and noted further, with a dry glance at something off-screen, that he had received a letter.
"From the victim," the judge said. "Or rather, from the man the arresting officer describes as the primary suspect. Mr. Julian Ashby writes that the defendant handed him the key to his own car, at his request, because his daughter was in labor, and that the defendant's only act was to tell the officer the truth. Mr. Ashby asks the court to release the defendant without conditions, and offers to post any bond the court sets." The judge set the letter down. "I'm not going to set a bond. Released on recognizance. Next date November ninth, with the co-defendant. Mr. Barrientos, do you understand?"
Teo stood in front of the camera in a borrowed jail sweatshirt. He had not slept. He said, "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," and then, because he could not help it, "Is Mr. Ashby all right?"
The judge looked at him for a moment longer than judges usually look at anyone.
"I'm told he has a granddaughter," the judge said. "Next case."
They gave him back his belt, his shoelaces, his wallet, his hundred-dollar bill, and his phone at 10:48. A deputy walked him down a long beige hallway to a steel door with a push bar. The deputy, a young Black man with a shaved head, paused before he opened it.
"You know what's out there?"
"No."
"Go on and see." The deputy pushed the bar.
There were two hundred people on the sidewalk on Fairfield Way.