“See you in the morning,” I said, lying back on the pillow.
June switched off the lamp and they tiptoed from the room as if I were already asleep.
Minutes later, I was.
CHAPTER 5
Neither twin made it up before time for me to leave next morning. I rapped on the door of one bedroom and stuck my head in. The face beneath purple hair blinked at me groggily, rolled over to tilt the bedside clock so she could read it, then moaned, “Just another half- hour, okay?” and pulled the quilt back over her bare shoulders.
“Will I see y’all again before the end of the week?” I asked.
“Mmmff,” was my only answer.
Happily it was none of my business whether or not they got to class on time.
With my judicial robe slung over one arm and the strap of my laptop looped over the other shoulder, I let myself out into a fall morning so picture perfect it had probably been ordered up by the Cedar Gap Chamber of Commerce: turquoise blue sky, one puffy white cloud, and a bit of a breeze so that brown, gold, and orange leaves floated down and swirled around my feet as I crossed the drive. The air smelled fresher and cleaner than the fusty humid air I’d left in Colleton County and its slight nip of fall encouraged me to walk briskly down the steps to Main Street. I was feeling virtuous as hell by the time I reached the courthouse.
The Lafayette County Clerk of Court wasn’t around at the moment, but someone in her office had been watching for me.
“Judge Knott? I’m Mary Kay Kare,” said the woman, who looked to be about ten or twelve years older than me. “I’ll be clerking for you this week.” Short and blond, she wore a bright yellow cardigan over black slacks and a white shirt, with a string of purple beads around her neck.
“Is it Mrs. Kare or Ms.?”
“Well, it’s Mrs., but you can just call me Mary Kay.” She was as cheerful as sunshine as she handed me the day’s calendar. “Is there anything else you need?”
“A cup of coffee?” I said hopefully.
“Already waiting for you,” she said, beaming as she led me downstairs.
Most courthouses are built up. Lafayette County’s was built down. Entering at street level got you the usual Register of Deeds, Board of Elections, Clerk of Court, and so on, then the building literally went downhill from there. The lobby outside the two courtrooms on the level below had floor-to-ceiling glass walls that overlooked breathtaking vistas.
The bottom level housed the sheriff’s department and county jail, Mrs. Kare told me.
I followed her through a door marked “Official Personnel Only” and down a hallway to an office behind the courtroom I’d be using. An insulated carafe sat on the desk with a business-size mug. “Judge Rawlings drinks coffee all day long, so we’re in the habit of keeping it full for him.”
She pointed to a tiny refrigerator built into a low bookcase. “There’s half-and-half, if you use it.”
“I don’t, but thanks.” A photograph of a chubby middle-aged white man and an equally chubby woman and boy stood on the desk. I thought he looked familiar from various conferences we’d probably attended together, but he wasn’t someone I could say I knew. “Is that Judge Rawlings?”
She nodded and her blue eyes misted over. “Bless his heart, this is the first vacation he’s taken since his wife and son died.”
“Died?” Startled, I looked again at the photograph, my automatic condescension washed away by the tears in Mary Kay Kare’s eyes. Yes, it was a picture of three Teletubbies, but from the way the two adults smiled at each other, the photographer had also captured an aura of love that seemed to wreathe them.
“She was broadsided by a drunk driver two years ago, taking their boy to Little League practice. Guy ran the stop sign. Both of ’em were wearing seat belts, but they were still killed instantly.”
“What about the driver?”
“Barely scratched. He’d been cited before, though, so this time it was prosecuted as vehicular homicide and he’ll be in prison another few years. What made it so bad for Judge Rawlings is that he’s the one that turned the kid loose with community service the last time he was up for DWI. Felt sorry for him. Two weeks later—”
It’s a judge’s worst nightmare in these days of budget deficits that spawn overcrowded penal institutions and overextended substance abuse programs: balancing the need to protect the community with the need to believe that offenders can reform themselves before they hurt someone else. Rawlings must have spent the last two years replaying his courtroom decision a million times, begging God for just one do-over.
I’ve been there. I know. God doesn’t bargain and He doesn’t give do-overs.
According to Mary Kay, I was the only judge hearing cases here today. The calendar held the usual Monday morning assortment of DWIs, assaults, and simple possession of marijuana or drug paraphernalia. From the coast to the mountains, it’s the same predictable catalog of minor sins, and when I looked out over the people sitting there on the benches in front of me, it was the same panoply of wary, embarrassed, defiant, or defeated faces, although … ?
There was something different about this group, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
Was it the assistant DA? Most ADAs are young men or women at the beginning of their careers. William Deeck had to be at least fifty and his rumpled blue suit was that of a man who didn’t care about looks or labels. He sounded cranky and his facial expression struck me as dour when he stood to call the first case, but I soon realized that there was a twinkle behind his rimless glasses and that he had an exceedingly dry wit. More to the point, he was efficient and single-minded, presenting the state’s cases so concisely that we had cleared more than half the day’s calendar before the morning break.
I was congratulating myself on probably getting through before three o’clock, when I noticed that the
