EighteenChicago › Thursday, December 4, 2008 › 01h12
At 1:12 a.m., Jayson L. Riley was read his rights and arrested for the first-degree murder of Henry Baker. He was led to cells by the rookie cop and a male auxiliary. They took fingerprints, although the ones on file were still damning: the fingerprints he’d been required to provide before registering as an international user of Transys — fingerprints filed with Interpol. They emptied his pockets and inventoried and stored the contents, took his watch and belt and shoelaces, and repeated the inventory procedure. A lot was going through his mind: Henry, death row, the Cayman Islands . . .
He spent two hours in a cold lonely cell before the Riley dynasty fast-tracked his bail. They’d awakened everyone and anyone with political and legal
