Lawyers who want to see inmates being held in protective custody have to go to them. The guards won’t bring the protective custody inmates out to the attorneys’ interview room, because it would mean exposing them to other inmates along the way. It took me almost an hour of wrangling to get in to see Sarah. The guards knew she was a witness against my client, and they didn’t want me talking to her.
But as an attorney, I had as much right to interview witnesses as the police, even star witnesses, and I wasn’t going to let them keep me out. They tried to get Deacon Baker on the phone but were told he was
”unavailable.” Frankie Martin had taken the day off and was fishing somewhere. Finally, after I threatened to haul every one of them in front of the nearest judge, they relented.
The guard who unlocked the door to Sarah’s cell walked in and announced that she didn’t have to speak to me if she didn’t want to. True to form, she told him to go fuck himself.
He closed the door, and I heard him walk down the hall. The cell was tiny, only eight feet square, and solid gray. It contained a stainless steel platform covered by a thin mattress, a stainless steel sink, and a stainless steel toilet. That was it. There was no television, no radio, no writing or reading materials, absolutely nothing to distract or otherwise occupy the mind. Sarah, barefoot and clad in her wrinkled orange jumpsuit, was sitting on the floor in the corner beyond the sink with her knees drawn up to her chin.
”So this is the way they treat their star witness in a murder case,” I said. ”I wonder where they’d put you if they didn’t like you.”
She buried her face in her hands, and I moved towards her. I got down on my knees and put my hands on her forearms. To my surprise, she didn’t flinch or draw back.
”You don’t have to say a word if you don’t want to,” I said softly, ”but I realized something last night and I want to talk to you. I want to tell you I’m sorry.”
I felt tears gathering in my eyes and fought for control. I didn’t know why, but even in my efforts to peel back the curtains and take an honest look at what had happened between us, I felt the need to maintain my stoic image.
”I’m sorry I let you down, Sarah. I’m sorry I didn’t stop him. I’m sorry I didn’t protect you. I should have killed the bastard.”
As with Caroline the night before, getting it out brought down my defenses and tears began to run down my cheeks.
”Please, Sarah. I was so young. I didn’t know what to do. Please forgive me.”
She too began to cry, and I scooted closer to her and put my hands on her shoulders.
”If I could, I’d take you back there right now and get you out of that room, but we both know I can’t.
All I can do is tell you I’m sorry and I love you. I’ve always loved you, Sarah. I always will.”
”You were too little, Joey,” she said in a choked voice. ”We were both too little.”
She lifted her head and wrapped her arms around my neck. It was a surreal moment, a moment of desperation and honesty and, ultimately, what I hoped was love. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d hugged Sarah, and I found myself content to kneel on that concrete floor and feel her breathing against my neck. We said nothing for several minutes, both embarrassed by the rare show of affection.
Finally, she spoke again.
”You’re breaking my neck, Joey.”
”Oh, God, I’m sorry.” I sometimes forgot about my size. I let go of her and scooted back. ”I have to get up. This concrete is killing my knees.”
I sat on the edge of her bunk and she sat with me.
We talked for an hour. The conversation was slow and stilted at first, but before long she was telling me how tormented she’d been, how the drugs seemed to be the only thing that gave her any relief, if only for a short time. We talked about growing up fatherless, and about Ma and how deeply troubled she was. We eventually got around to the future, the immediate future, and what it held for Sarah.
”So what’s your agreement with the district attorney’s office?” I said.
She looked at me warily. ”Is that why you really came down here?”
”Please don’t say that. You know why I came down here. But it’s something we’re going to have to deal with.”
”I’ve agreed to testify truthfully in exchange for immediate release and probation on my sentence.”
”Do you have it in writing?”
”You’re damned right I do.” She reached under the mattress and pulled out an envelope. Inside was an agreement signed by Sarah, Deacon Baker, and Judge Glass. Sarah was obligated to provide ”truthful testimony” in court in the case of the State v. Angel Christian, and upon her having provided that testimony, she was to be released immediately.
”What’s your truthful testimony going to be?” I said.
She gave me a mischievous grin I hadn’t seen in thirty years. ”Will you make sure I get my deal?”
she said.
”You bet your ass.”
July 31
2:00 p.m.
The test results on the forensic evidence found in Erlene Barlowe’s car hadn’t been received from the TBI lab by nine a.m. the following Monday, so Judge Green reconvened the trial. I’d spent a great deal of time explaining everything in detail to Angel during the week. She understood she couldn’t get up and lie. She understood I couldn’t use the doctor as a defense witness. She understood the risks. After listening intently to everything I had to say and no doubt with some input from Erlene, she decided to go for it.
Frankie Martin did his best, but ultimately he had no murder weapon, no clear motive, and no eyewitnesses. He put Landers on the stand to describe the crime scene and explain the investigation, but on cross-examination I was able to paint a picture of Tester first drinking beer at the Purple Pig and then spending the money he’d received from a church at a strip club. To top it off, I pointed out the fact that Tester was so out of control that he’d spent all the church’s money and had to withdraw even more from the ATM at midnight.
The medical examiner testified that Tester died from blood loss as a result of multiple stab wounds, but on cross she also had to admit that his blood-alcohol level was off the charts. She tried to help the prosecution by pointing out that he’d ingested a date rape drug, but she could offer no testimony as to how the drug entered his body.
An expert from the TBI lab told the jury about the hairs found on Tester’s shirt and explained the DNA identification process to them. On cross he had to admit it was possible that the hairs could have passed from Angel to Tester at the club.
An elderly woman named Ina Mae described for the jury how her cat found Tester’s penis and delivered it to her the morning after the murder. Her testimony provided a brief moment of levity in an otherwise deadly serious trial.
Frankie saved Sarah for last. He would have been better off going outside and shooting himself.
”Would you state your name for the record, ma’am?” Frankie began.
”My name is Sarah Dillard.” She was wearing the orange jumpsuit and was cuffed and shackled. She seemed nervous but determined.
”And where do you reside, Ms. Dillard?”
”At the Washington County Detention Center.”
”So you’re in jail?”
”Yes. I was convicted of theft.”
”Are you familiar with the defendant, Miss Dillard?”
Sarah looked at Angel and nodded. ”She’s in my cell block.”
”And as a matter of fact, you’re her lawyer’s sister, are you not?”
”I am.”
”And did you contact the district attorney’s office and tell someone that you had information regarding the defendant that might be relevant to this case?”
”No.”
”I beg your pardon?”
”I said no. I didn’t contact the district attorney’s office. They came to me.”