”Has she hired you?”
It was a stupid question, but I resisted the urge to say something smart.
”She has.”
Judge Green raised his eyebrows at me as if to say,
”How much did she pay you?” He turned towards the deputy nearest the door that led to the holding cell and barked, ”Bring in the defendant.”
The deputy disappeared into the hallway. He returned in less than a minute with Angel beside him.
The shackles on her ankles forced her to shuffle. Every camera was suddenly pointed in her direction. The courtroom went dead silent. Just behind the deputy and Angel were two more deputies and K. D. Downs, the sheriff of Washington County. Everybody was getting in on the show.
The bailiff gingerly escorted Angel to the podium in front of the jury box, directly to the judge’s right.
I noticed that he patted her on the shoulder before he stepped back. Angel looked tired, scared, confused, and gorgeous. I walked over and stood by her at the podium.
Green turned to Tammy Lewis. ”Let me see the indictment.”
She handed the document to the judge. He studied it for a few seconds and then offered it to Wilkie Baines.
”Give this to Mr. Dillard, and let the record show that the defendant’s counsel has been provided a copy of the indictment. Mr. Dillard, your client has been charged with one count of first-degree murder and one count of abuse of a corpse. Do you waive the formal reading of the indictment?”
”We do, Judge.”
”How does your client plead?”
”Not guilty.”
”Very well.” The judge looked at Deacon Baker. ”I assume you’ve filed your death notice, Mr. Baker?”
”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
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
Tester’s son a chaplain and a deputy? Any hopes I had of the district attorney’s office acting reasonably were
