I turned to give Mazie and Noah a reassuring smile. He gave me a nod, but she didn’t see me. She was glaring at Ruiz like her greatest wish was for him to drop dead on the spot.
She was going to need some coaching. I did not want the jury to see that expression on her face.
The bailiff called out, “All rise.” The judge, an energetic little white-haired guy, scooted up the steps and took his seat between two flags: the Stars and Stripes and South Carolina’s indigo with its white palm tree and crescent moon. I couldn’t tell if his pink face was from sunburn or exertion.
The clerk announced the case. The judge leaned back like he was sitting in a recliner and said, “Morning, Mr. Ruiz. What you got for us today?”
“Morning, Your Honor. Well, as you know, our peaceful little seaside community had a murder last month.” He paused to let the gravity of his words sink in.
Judge Chambliss shook his head like it was a damn shame. “I’m familiar, counsel. And may God rest his soul.”
Ruiz said, “Amen, Your Honor.”
I didn’t normally send good wishes on high when child-abusing drunks died, but perhaps His Honor wasn’t aware yet of what kind of man Karl was. I would need to make that clear.
“We’re here to talk about bail,” Judge Chambliss said. “Anything you want to say on that, counsel?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Ruiz said. “Mr. Warton here is a repeat offender with convictions for drugs and vandalism, two of them from just last year, right before he turned eighteen. And now he’s charged with murder, and the victim is his own father.”
Judge Chambliss was shaking his head with his lips pursed. I half expected him to say something about the folly of mankind.
“Not only that,” Ruiz continued, “but when the police came to inform him and his mother that his father was dead, this young man”—he was pointing at Jackson—“fled out a back window and remained in hiding for more than a week. So even if the general rule was to grant bail in murder cases, which of course it isn’t, the facts here weigh powerfully against granting it.”
“Okay, thank you.” Judge Chambliss looked at me and said, “And good morning, uh…” He glanced at something on his desk. “Mr. Munroe. I don’t believe I’ve seen you in my courtroom before.”
“No, Your Honor. I was with the solicitor’s office in Charleston until recently, so today’s the first time I’ve had the privilege.”
“Well, welcome. Okay, you got anything you want to make of record?”
“Yes, Your Honor. I appreciate that. While it’s not relevant here, I do want to make sure it’s clear that when Mr. Ruiz suggested my client had some sort of drug record, he must’ve meant the $200 fine my client paid for possessing a single marijuana cigarette shortly after his seventeenth birthday. And the vandalism was a moment of teenage foolishness with some spray paint. He worked hard and paid for that small amount of damage.”
Judge Chambliss asked, “That true, Mr. Ruiz?”
“We’ll stipulate to the marijuana fine, Your Honor. And while I’m dismayed that Mr. Munroe is making excuses for vandalism, it’s my understanding it was spray paint on the wall of a local bar.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Now, Your Honor, as Mr. Ruiz is aware, my client has no history whatsoever of violence. This is the first time he’s ever been accused of laying a hand on anybody. And I know this isn’t the time to enter a plea, but he denies any involvement—”
Ruiz stood up. “Your Honor—”
I said, “Mr. Ruiz, that’s just for context. The point I was getting to is that as far as I understand the solicitor’s theory, what he’s going to allege here is that a boy with no history of violence was provoked until he lashed out at the father who’d abused him badly enough to break his arm.”
“Your Honor, I—”
“Mr. Munroe,” said the judge, “this is a bail hearing. You’ll get your chance to argue for lesser charges later on. At this stage, I’m not going to second-guess Mr. Ruiz on charging this as murder rather than some degree of manslaughter.”
I said, “Of course, Your Honor. My point was just that there’s nothing here suggesting my client poses any danger to the community. And he’s a local boy, just nineteen, with deep ties to the area. His entire family lives within an hour of this courthouse, and he’s never set foot outside of South Carolina. He’s a hardworking kid, and far from wealthy. Up until his arrest he was working nearly full-time at Barrett’s Hardware here in town, earning just $7.95 an hour. In short, Your Honor, he’s about as low a flight risk as he could be.”
Judge Chambliss said, “But the first thing he did was flee. He went out the back window and went into hiding—am I wrong?”
“Your Honor, he slept in a friend’s shed for a few days. He does have, I’m sorry to say, some fear of the police due to some perceived mistreatment that he feels he experienced during those previous incidents Mr. Ruiz stipulated to. But I’ve explained to him that there’s nothing to fear.”
“Okay,” the judge said. “You done?”
We both said we were.
He said, “All right, given this is a murder case, and particularly since the defendant already fled once, I’m denying bail.” He banged his gavel and stood up.
“All rise,” the bailiff called out.
As soon as the judge was gone, Mazie made a beeline for Jackson. They hugged; she cried. Noah came up too, and this time he smiled at me.
“You told us not to get our hopes up,” he said. “You said there was no way he’d get bail. But you fought for him anyway.” He stopped abruptly, gave me a
