”Judge, I told you I don’t want any more appointed cases. I’m getting out of this business.”
”We’ve all got problems, Mr. Dillard,” he said.
”And right now my biggest problem is dealing with this piece of shit. You’re already appointed on the first two. A few more won’t hurt you. Make a package deal. Get it over with.”
”You’re not hearing me, Judge.”
”The case law says I can appoint you to a case if I so choose. If you refuse, I can hold you in contempt.
Now you’ll either deal with this like a professional or I’ll cite you for contempt and throw you in jail.”
”Where are they holding him?” I said. He had me by the balls, and he knew it.
”My understanding is they’ve moved him up to Northeast, to the max block. We need to get him arraigned as soon as possible, unless you can get him to waive the rule. Do you think you can do that?”
”I have no idea. I’ll have to ask him.”
”Get up there by Friday.”
”I’ll go after the funerals,” I said.
The sturdy young guard, along with two of his sturdy young buddies, returned with Maynard Bush in tow. He was smirking. There were bruises on his face and arms, I assumed from the police. The guards sat him in a chair across the room from me. There was no way to secure him to the floor, so the guards ran chains through his shackles and around the legs of the chair. That way, if he decided to make a run at me, he’d have to drag the chair with him.
”Do you want us to stay in the room?” one of the guards said.
”No thanks. I’ve talked to Mr. Bush many times before.”
”If you have any problems at all, just holler,” he said. ”We’ll be right outside the door.”
I looked over at Maynard sitting there in his striped jumpsuit with MAXIMUM SECURITY emblazoned on the front and the back. He was staring at nothing in particular with that disgusting smirk on his face.
”You’ve been a busy boy,” I said.
”Appreciate the help,” he said.
”You sonofabitch. You used me.”
”You’re right about both things, counselor. My mama was a bitch, and I played you. Don’t worry about it, though. I played everybody. Why do you think I wanted that change of venue so bad? I knew them crackers in Mountain City wouldn’t have good security.”
”Why, Maynard?” I said. ”Why did you have to go and do something so goddamned stupid?”
”Been wanting to plug that worthless old hag for twenty years. I shoulda done it when I was a kid.
The only thing I regret is that I didn’t have more time with her. I was looking forward to seeing her suffer.”
”Is that the only reason you broke out? So you could kill your mother?”
He smiled.
”And the Tate woman? Why?”
He shrugged his shoulders. ”She got the drop on them deputies, handed me the gun, and then drove me out of there, just like I told her. She was as responsible as me for them getting killed. I didn’t figure she’d like it in jail, so I did her a favor. Besides, I didn’t need her no more.”
”So now you’ve got four more counts of murder,”
I said. ”The two deputies, Bonnie Tate, and your mother.”
”I know how many was killed. I can count.”
”The judge wants to try you for the teenagers first, then the police officers, then Bonnie, and then your mother, but they have a little problem. The law says they have to arraign you on these charges as soon as possible. Normally they do it within seventy-two hours of your arrest, but with your security situation, they have some leeway. I have a waiver here I need you to sign. It gives them up to thirty days to arraign you on the new charges, but they’ll probably do it in the next week or two. You don’t have to sign it, but you might as well. You’re eventually going to end up on death row anyway.”
I pulled the document from my briefcase and stood to approach him. He was trussed up like a chicken, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t apprehensive. I set my briefcase on his thighs and put the pen in his right hand. He scrawled his signature on the line.
”They can’t kill me but once, you know,” he said.
”Are you finished now, Maynard? You’ve killed your mother. Is that enough? Or are you going to kill anybody you can kill between now and the time they stick a needle in your arm?”
”You ain’t gonna have to worry about me much longer.”
”Why? You contemplating suicide?”
”Nah, I like myself too much for that. But they’ll get me in here, Dillard. You mark my words.”
”Who?”
”I killed two cops in this county. You think they’re about to let me live?”
”You’re in a max block, in case you haven’t noticed. Nobody can get to you in here.”
”The guards can. I won’t make it another week.
But that’s all right. I’ve lived my life, and now I got my revenge.”
I walked to the door and opened it, and the three sturdy young guards stepped in. They took Maynard back and I ran the gauntlet of catcalls again on my way out. Once I was clear of the max unit, I thought about what Maynard had said. The chances that Darren and David Bowers had friends and relatives working at the prison were good. For a moment, I thought I should do something, maybe file a motion and have Maynard transferred out of Johnson County for his own protection. Then I thought about the argument I’d have to assert-that it was likely the guards at Northeast would conspire to murder him. I imagined myself making that argument in front of Judge Glass. He’d throw me under the jail.
Maynard, I decided, was on his own.
July 10
9:45 a.m.
Agent Landers looked down at his ringing cell phone and then over at the naked blonde lying next to him.
His head was throbbing again. The woman wasn’t nearly as young as she looked last night. Must have been the bad lighting in the bar. Or the whiskey.
He was supposed to have the rest of the week off.
He and Bull Deakins were planning to drive down to Hotlanta for a couple of days. They were going to catch a Braves game and visit the Golden Pony, maybe round up a couple of fillies and ride them for a night or two.
The phone number on the caller ID was the district attorney’s. Fuck. He pulled a sheet up over the woman’s head so he didn’t have to look at her and answered the call.
”Landers.”
”Phil, it’s Frankie Martin. We have a serious problem. Our only witness against Angel Christian is dead.”
Deacon Baker had assigned the Angel Christian case to Martin, who was only four years out of law school and had never tried a murder case. Martin didn’t know it, but Deacon was setting him up to be a scapegoat. If the case went south, Martin might as well pack the suntan lotion, because he’d end up going south with it.
”Julie Hayes?” Landers said. ”How?”
”They found her at her place yesterday afternoon.
She didn’t show up for work, so Erlene Barlowe sent one of her gofers over to check on her. She was dead on the kitchen floor. The Washington County investigator who worked the scene said it looked like she might have been poisoned, so I asked the medical examiner to rush the preliminary autopsy. ME says she was full of cocaine and strychnine.”
Landers had heard of lacing cocaine with strychnine at a DEA seminar. It was a relatively simple process that produced an agonizing death.
”Any ideas on who might have done it?” Landers said.
”I certainly have a candidate in mind.”
”You think it was Erlene Barlowe?”
”Damned right I do. Who else would kill her?”
”You think she killed her to keep her from testifying against Angel? I think you’re reaching, Frankie.
Why would she risk murdering somebody to help Angel out? The kid had only been around a couple of months when we arrested her. Barlowe barely knows her.”
”At this point, I think Barlowe probably murdered the preacher, too.”
”Then why would she kill a witness who was about to help us convict someone else? Doesn’t make any sense. And in case you haven’t looked close, we have less on Barlowe than we do on Angel.” Landers hated working with kid lawyers. They were too fucking dumb to live.