Just Cause

He thought of his daughter and wondered, Why does she need to know? Why does she need to know anything about evil and the awful desires of some men?

He did not know the answer to that question.

There were thick black television cables snaking out the entranceway to the courtroom. Several cameramen were setting up video tape recorders in the hallway, taking their feeds from the single camera allowed in the courtroom. A mix of print and television reporters milled about in the corridor; the television personnel all slightly sharper dressed, better coiffed, and seemingly cleaner than their newspaper competitors, who affected a slightly disheveled appearance to set themselves apart self-righteously.

'Out in force,' said the photographer who walked beside him, fiddling with the lens on his Leica. 'No one wants to miss this dance.'

It was some ten weeks since the stories had appeared. Filings and maneuverings had postponed the hearing twice. Outside the Escambia County courthouse the thick Florida sun was energetically baking the earth. It was cool inside the modern building. Voices carried and echoed off high ceilings so that people spoke mainly in whispers, even when they didn't have to. There was a small sign in gold paint next to the wide brown courtroom doors: CIRCUIT COURT JUDGE HARLEY TRENCH.

'That the guy that called him a wild animal?' the photographer asked.

'You got it.'

'I don't imagine he's going to be too pleased to see all this.' The photographer gestured with his camera toward the crowd of reporters and camera technicians.

'No, wrong. It's an election year. He's gonna love the publicity.'

'But only if he does the right thing.'

'The popular thing.'

'I doubt they're gonna be the same.'

Cowart nodded. I don't think so, either. But you can't tell. I bet he's back in chambers right now calling every local politician between here and the Alabama border, trying to figure out what to do.'

The photographer laughed. 'And they're probably calling every district worker, trying to figure out what to tell him. What d'you think, Matty? You think he'll cut him loose or not?'

'No idea.'

He looked down the corridor and saw a group of jeans-clad young people surrounding an older, short black man, who was wearing a suit. 'Get a shot of them,' he told the photographer. 'They're from the anti-death-penalty group here to make some noise.'

'Where's the Man?'

'Probably somewhere. They're not so organized anymore. They're probably going to be late. Or maybe they went to the wrong place.'

'Got the wrong day, maybe. They were probably here yesterday, got bored and confused, and left.'

The two men laughed.

'It's going to be a zoo,' Cowart said.

The photographer paused in his step. 'Yeah. And there's the tigers, waiting for your tail.'

He gestured and Cowart saw Tanny Brown and Bruce Wilcox slumped up against a wall, trying to stay out of the way of the cameramen.

He hesitated, then said, 'Well, might as well see what's in the tiger's den.' And he walked briskly toward the two men.

Bruce Wilcox pivoted, presenting Cowart with the back of his sportcoat. But Tanny Brown moved away from the wall and nodded in meager greeting. 'Well, Mr. Cowart. You sure have caused some commotion.'

'It happens, Lieutenant.'

'You pleased?'

'I'm just doing my job. Just like you. Just like Wilcox.'

Brown looked past Cowart at the photographer. 'Hey, you! Next time try to get my right profile. Makes me look ten years younger and makes my kids a lot happier to see it. They think I'm getting too old for all this. Like, who needs the aggravation, hey?'

Brown smiled, turned slightly to demonstrate for the photographer, and put his finger on his cheek, pointing.

'See?' he said. 'Much better than that old scowling sneak shot you took.'

'Sorry about that.'

The policeman shrugged. 'Goes with the territory, I guess.'

'How come you wouldn't return my phone calls?' Cowart asked.

'We didn't have nothing more to talk about.'

Cowart shook his head. 'What about Blair Sullivan?'

'He didn't do it' Brown replied.

'How can you be so sure?'

I can't be. Not yet. But it doesn't feel right. That's all.'

'You're wrong,' Cowart said quietly. 'Motive. Opportunity. A well-known predilection. You know the man. You can't see him doing that crime? What about the knife in the culvert?'

The lieutenant shrugged again. 'I can see him doing it. Sure. But that doesn't mean jack shit.'

'Instincts again, Lieutenant?'

Tanny Brown laughed before continuing. 'I am not going to talk to you anymore about the substantive issues of the case,' he said, slipping into the practiced tones of a man who'd testified hundreds of times before hundreds of judges. 'We'll see what goes on in there.' He pointed at the courtroom. 'Afterwards, maybe we'll talk.'

Detective Wilcox stepped around then, staring at Tanny Brown. 'Then you'll talk! Then! I can't believe you're willing to give this bastard the time of day after he hung us out to dry. Made us look like…'

The lieutenant held up his hand. 'Don't say what he made us look like. I'm tired of that.' He turned toward Cowart. 'When this dog and pony show is all over, you get in touch. We'll talk again. But one thing.'

'What's that?'

'You remember the last thing I told you?'

'Sure,' Cowart said. 'You told me to go fuck myself.'

Tanny Brown smiled. 'Well,' he said quietly, 'keep at it.'

The big detective paused, then added, 'Walked right into that one, Mr. Cowart.'

Wilcox snorted a laugh and clapped the bigger man on the back. He made a pistol figure with his forefinger and fist and pointed it at Cowart, firing it slowly, dramatically. 'Zap!' he said. The two detectives then wandered toward the courtroom, leaving Cowart and the photographer hanging in the corridor.

Robert Earl Ferguson strode into the courtroom, flanked by a pair of gray-suited jail guards, wearing a new blue pinstripe suit and carrying a yellow legal pad. Cowart heard another reporter murmur, 'Looks like he's ready for law school,' and watched as Ferguson shook hands with Roy Black and his young assistant, glared once in the direction of Brown and

Wilcox, nodded toward Cowart, and then turned and waited for the judge to arrive.

Within moments, the courtroom was summoned to its feet. judge Harley Trench was a short, rotund man with silver-gray hair and a monk-like bald spot on the crown of his head. He had an instant officiousness to him, a clipped orderliness as he arranged papers swiftly on the bench before him, then looked up at the attorneys, slowly removing a set of wire-rimmed glasses from inside his robes and adjusting them on his nose, giving him the appearance of a fat crow on a high wire.

'All right. Y'all want to get this going?' he said swiftly, gesturing at Roy Black.

The defense attorney rose. He was tall and thin, with hair that curled long over the collar of his shirt. He moved slowly, with exaggerated, theatrical style, gesturing with his arms as he made his points. Cowart thought he would not be likely to get much slack from the short man on the bench, whose frown deepened with each word.

'We're here, your honor, on a motion for a new trial. This motion takes several forms: We contend that there is new exculpatory evidence in the case; we contend that if this new evidence were presented to a jury, they would have no alternative but to return a verdict of not guilty, finding reasonable doubt that Mr. Ferguson killed Joanie Shriver. We also contend that the court erred in its prior ruling on the admissibility of the confession Mr. Ferguson allegedly made.'