8
“Aren’t you coming to see the show?”
I look up from an attempted murder file into the face of Tanner Jarrett. He’s wearing his perpetual smile.
“What show is that?”
“Ray Miller’s in court. Judge Green sent word that he’s going to call Miller up first thing.”
“Yeah, I was planning on coming down.” I’ve been thinking about what Ray said, about his doing something dramatic, all weekend.
“I hate this,” Tanner says. “It’s a lousy case, and Miller seems like a good guy. Being the new kid on the block sucks sometimes.”
“Why don’t you just walk in there and tell Green there’s no case and refuse to prosecute? Show everybody you’ve got some balls, son.”
“Mooney and my dad would both cut them off as soon as I walked out of the courtroom,” Tanner says. “I’ll leave that kind of stuff to you old guys.”
I stand and smile at Tanner. “Is Mooney coming?”
“He took a week of vacation.”
“You’re kidding. He went to a conference last week. He didn’t say anything to me about going on vacation this week.”
“He’s the boss. I guess he can do whatever he wants.”
Tanner and I make our way downstairs to the courtroom, and I take a seat in the jury box. The place is full of defense lawyers and prosecutors, most of whom have no business with the court; they’re there just to see if a battle erupts. There are about thirty people in the gallery, two television news camera crews, and a smattering of reporters. The atmosphere is tense and subdued. I look around and see Ray sitting in the back row. Toni isn’t with him. Ray won’t let her come. He’s told me he’s too ashamed.
Judge Green enters the courtroom and his clerk calls the case of State of Tennessee versus Raymond Miller. Ray walks slowly, almost unsteadily, toward the front, wearing a black suit, a black shirt, and a black tie. His hair, which has grayed significantly over the past six months, is pulled back tightly into a ponytail. His forehead is deeply lined, his eyes dark and intense. His back looks to be as wide as a sheet of plywood. He attempts to stand straight at the defense table, but I notice he’s swaying slightly. He stares at Judge Green. Tanner silently rises from his seat at the prosecution table.
“Mr. Miller,” Judge Green says, “you’ve been charged with contempt of court in the presence of the court based upon your failure to show up at the appointed time and your failure to notify any court personnel. You’re here today for a plea deadline. I see you haven’t hired counsel.”
“I don’t need counsel,” Ray says curtly.
“You know what they say about the man who represents himself in court,” the judge says. “He has a fool for a client.”
There is a lingering silence in the courtroom, and as I sit there watching, I imagine that the entire building is shuddering, as though it’s trying to shake off the tension inside. Ray’s jaw tightens, and his chin juts forward. He begins to speak, very slowly.
“Because of you, I’ve lost nearly everything I’ve spent my life working for.” His speech is almost imperceptibly slurred. Only someone who has spent as much time with Ray as I have would notice. He continues, “I’ve also lost my livelihood, my reputation, my-”
“Anything that’s happened to you, you’ve brought on yourself,” Judge Green interrupts.
“ I’m not finished! ” Ray roars, and Judge Green, suddenly intimidated, seems to sink in his high-backed leather chair.
“What you’ve done to me is inexcusable. I’ve done everything in my power to try to put a stop to it, but you just won’t quit. You’re a pathetic excuse for a man, an embarrassment to the judiciary, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to stand here and let you call me a fool!”
“You’re in contempt again,” Judge Green says, trying unsuccessfully to look brave. “Bailiff, take Mr. Miller over to the jail.”
“You’re right about that.” Ray lets out a sardonic chuckle. “I have more contempt for you than you could ever imagine.”
Ray’s right hand slides quickly inside his jacket. When it reappears, it’s holding a revolver. Without saying a word, he points the pistol at Judge Green.
Boom!
The shot is deafening in the confined area of the courtroom. I see smoke pour out of the gun barrel and I freeze, unable to believe what I’m witnessing. Ray pulls the trigger a second time, and another ear-splitting roar reverberates off the walls. I glance at Judge Green. He’s scrambling to get beneath the bench. I’m conscious of women screaming, men yelling, bailiffs dashing forward. I start climbing over the two rows of seats in front of me, yelling Ray’s name.
A bailiff moves to within five feet of Ray, his gun pointed at Ray’s head.
“Put the gun down! Now!” the bailiff screams. Another is approaching from the rear.
Ray looks at the bailiff. Then he looks back at the bench, where Judge Green-dead, wounded, or cowering- has disappeared.
Then Ray looks at me.
“Good-bye, my friend,” he says calmly. “I didn’t deserve this.”
He opens his mouth wide, inserts the pistol barrel, and, before I can get to him, pulls the trigger.
9
Katie Dean awoke to a house filled with the smells of clean cotton sheets and pillowcases, coffee brewing, and sausage frying. Sunlight was spilling through her window upstairs, and when she lifted her head to look outside, the view nearly took her breath away. The mountains to the east were dazzling with color-deep reds, brilliant oranges, and golds. It looked as though they’d been covered with a gigantic, multicolored quilt. She pulled the covers back and looked around at her new bedroom. The walls were plaster and had been painted gold. The hardwood floor next to the bed was covered by a dark orange woven rug. There was a small closet just off the foot of the bed and a chest of drawers against the wall near the door. Framed photographs of Katie’s mother and brothers and sister covered the chest and a small nightstand next to the bed. Some of her drawings had been hung on the wall by the window. She walked to the closet in her stocking feet and saw that her clothes had already been unpacked and were hanging neatly in a row.
Katie slowly descended the stairs. When she was halfway down, she saw him for the first time. His bed had been rolled into the living room. His head was turned away from her, toward a television set. He was covered from the neck down with a sheet and blanket. All Katie could see was his hair, which was the same color as that of the bright red squirrels that lived in the trees in her yard back in Michigan. Katie stopped, sat down on the stairs, and watched him through the railing.
Lottie walked into the den from the kitchen a few seconds later. She noticed Katie immediately.
“I knew the smell of sausage would bring you outta that bed. Come on down here and meet Mister Luke.”
Lottie reached her hand upward from the bottom of the steps, but Katie hesitated.
“Don’t be scared now, child. Like I told you last night, Luke’s a special boy.”
Lottie’s voice and manner were soothing, so Katie stood and took her hand. Lottie led her to the side of the bed. Katie noticed it was just like the bed in which she’d lain for two months at the hospital.
“Mister Luke,” Lottie said, “this is Miss Katie. Ain’t she just a beautiful angel?”
Katie looked curiously into Luke’s brown eyes. He was small and incredibly thin, his skin as pale as the white
