”We have, Your Honor. We filed it this morning.”
With the number of stab wounds, the case was probably second-degree murder at best. It certainly appeared to be a crime of passion. But Baker handed out death notices like grocery stores hand out coupons. It seemed that every murder defendant got one. He did it because it gave him an effective bargaining chip-Baker was notorious for offering to take the death penalty off of the table in exchange for a guilty plea just before trial, no matter how heinous the murder.
”What about scheduling?” the judge said.
”We’d like a speedy trial,” I said. ”Miss Christian is incarcerated without bond. Since she’s charged with a capital offense and since she’s not from this community and really has no ties here, I’d be wasting my breath to ask you to set a bond. But she maintains her innocence and wants a trial as soon as possible.
I think I can be ready to go in three months.”
Baker stood up. ”There is no way the state could be ready in less than nine months, Your Honor. This is a death-”
I cut him off. ”I didn’t want to get into this, Judge, but since Mr. Baker is going to resist a speedy trial, there are some things I think you should know about.
As you know, I’ve been doing this for a long time, and I’ve never had a case quite like this one. The police and the district attorney have let everyone know that the victim in this case is a preacher. What they haven’t told anyone is that he spent his last night on earth getting drunk at a strip club. Nobody knows where he went between the time he left the club and the time he was killed. This isn’t one of those cases where the police have the killer dead to rights. My client swears she didn’t see the victim after he left the club. She swears she didn’t kill him, and she shouldn’t have to wait almost a year before a jury hears this case.”
”I object to this!” Baker yelled. ”Mr. Dillard is taking this opportunity to sensationalize this case and poison the potential jury pool.”
That’s exactly what I was doing, but I wasn’t about to admit it.
”All I’m doing,” I said, ”is asking you to set this case for trial as quickly as possible so an innocent young girl doesn’t have to sit in jail any longer than necessary.”
Judge Green ruminated for a few minutes and then looked down at Baker.
”God created heaven and earth in six days, Mr.
Baker. Surely you can be ready for trial in ninety. If you weren’t ready to prosecute her, you shouldn’t have indicted her. How long is it going to take to try the case?”
”A week, maybe less,” I said.
”I have an opening on July twenty-fourth. That’s just under three months from now. Mr. Dillard, since you’re the one who asked for a speedy trial, I won’t expect to see you back in here asking me for a continuance. I’ll send you a scheduling order that will deal with pretrial conferences, expert disclosures and deadlines, motion deadlines and plea deadlines. Anything else?”
”No, Judge, not from us,” I said. It was the same week that we were planning to go to the Braves game, but I didn’t say anything. It wouldn’t have made any difference. It was also only ten days before the August 3 election. It had to be Judge Green’s not-so-subtle method of applying pressure to Deacon.
”Miss Christian,” the judge said, ”they’ll bring you over from the jail on July twenty-fourth and you’ll get a fair trial. It will be your responsibility to see to it that you have civilian clothing, and I won’t allow the jury to see that you’re restrained in any fashion.
I’ll see you then unless there are motions or unless you decide to change your plea.”
The bailiff took Angel by the arm and led her towards the door. I followed. Just before we reached the door, I noticed a man walking quickly towards the bar that separated the attorneys from the gallery.
He was about six feet tall, wearing a blue polyester suit. I’d seen pictures of John Paul Tester in the newspaper. This guy looked like a younger version. The hair was shorter and darker, but he was working on the pot belly and he had the same muttonchop sideburns. He was pointing at Angel.
”A fire is kindled in mine anger, and shall burn unto the lowest hell!” he yelled. Everyone froze at the power of his deep voice. I stepped between him and Angel, more fascinated than frightened. ”And shall consume the earth with her increase, and set on fire the foundations of the mountains! They shall be burnt with hunger, and devoured with burning heat, and with bitter destruction. I will send the teeth of 1 0
Scott Pratt
beasts upon them, with the poison of serpents of the dust. You have taken my father’s life, Jezebel, and upon you, I swear revenge.”
I took a couple of steps backwards as the bailiffs began to slowly converge. They were tentative, apparently frightened. Tester’s eyes were as blue as robin’s eggs and fiercely intense.
”And you, scribe!” he continued, turning his attention to me. He voice boomed off the walls, and I could see veins popping out of his neck. He stepped through the bar towards me and bumped me with his pot belly. He was so close I could smell his breath. ”How dare you blaspheme my father! I swear you’ll pay for it!”
I shoved him hard in the chest. He stumbled backwards as I heard Judge Green’s voice cut through the chaos: ”Bailiffs! Arrest that man!”
”She killed my father!” he screamed as he struggled against the bailiffs. ”Jezebel killed my father!”
Angel, crying hysterically, was quickly ushered into a jury room just down the hall from the courtroom. I caught up with her and gently took hold of her shoulders.
”I didn’t kill him!” Her shoulders were heaving.
”Please tell that man I didn’t kill his father.”
”I’ll tell him,” I said, knowing I wouldn’t be going anywhere near him. ”Don’t worry about this. It happens. People get upset. You just try to calm down.
I’ll come to the jail to see you in a couple of days.”
The bailiffs took her away, and I walked back into the courtroom. The man was now in handcuffs, standing at the podium in front of Judge Green,
looking down at his shoes. The judge had apparently just finished reading him the riot act.
”I understand the emotional turmoil you’re going through,” Green said, ”but you, being a chaplain and a deputy sheriff, should know we cannot tolerate that kind of behavior in court. Now go, but sin no more in my courtroom. Court’s in recess.”
Tester’s son a chaplain and a deputy? Any hopes I had of the district attorney’s office acting reasonably were out the window.
As Green disappeared into his chambers, I scanned the courtroom. Erlene Barlowe was in the back row.
I motioned for her to meet me in the hallway. She was wearing a black pantsuit and had toned down the makeup for court. If I didn’t know better, I might have mistaken her for a lawyer.
”Now that we’ve done the arraignment, I can get some discovery,” I said. ”Why don’t you come down to the office around four and we’ll take a look at what they’ve got.”
”I’ll be there, sugar.”
As we stood together, I looked down the hall and saw Tester’s son leaning against the wall, staring in my direction. There was no mistaking the look in his eyes. It was pure hatred.
April 30
4:00 p.m.
Erlene Barlowe’s granny trained her to be punctual way before everyone in Erlene’s family disowned her because she ran off with Gus. Granny said tardiness was nothing but bad manners, and that people with bad manners lacked character. Erlene didn’t want Mr. Dillard to think she lacked character, so she arrived at his office ten minutes early.
Joe Dillard was a big, strong, good-looking man, just like Erlene’s Gus. If Erlene had been a younger woman and hadn’t been so devoted to Gus, she might have thought seriously about trying to seduce Mr. Dillard. He dressed in dark suits and colored shirts, solid-colored ties, nice shoes. His hair was jet black and wavy, just flecked here and there with gray, and he had green eyes and the cutest dimples Erlene had ever seen. He was well-spoken, too-