Anger could make a man say more than he ought to, but Blount was not stupid. What I hoped was that his face would give him away, at least to the handful of jurors who were open to the possibility that cops can lie.
If that question didn’t do the trick—if he thought I was bluffing—I was ready to ask him if it was Dunk McDonough who’d blackmailed him. And then I was ready to get strung up by Ruiz and Judge Chambliss, because I had nothing to back up those questions, no evidence I could introduce at all. This whole strategy was desperate. But so were we.
Just before Chambliss was about to call the jury back in, his bailiff came in the main doors, walked over to Ruiz, and handed him an envelope. Ruiz ripped it open. Whatever it said seemed to surprise him.
He stood and said, “Excuse me, Your Honor. May we approach?”
He gestured to me, and we went to the bench. Chambliss said, “Something come up, Mr. Ruiz?”
“Yes, Your Honor. My superior, Mr. Ludlow, is down at the county jail, and he sent this over.” He held up the envelope. “He couldn’t call, since they don’t allow cell phones at the jail, so—”
“Please get to the point, Mr. Ruiz.”
“We have a jailhouse informant prepared to testify that Mr. Munroe’s client confessed.”
I looked at him. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Judge Chambliss sighed like someone had just told him he needed a couple of root canals. “And I suppose, Mr. Ruiz, you’re going to need a continuance?”
“Yes. I apologize, Your Honor. This comes totally out of the blue for me, but—”
“Mr. Ludlow presumably had a little more notice. Does his note state when this alleged confession occurred?”
Ruiz looked at it. “Uh, well, it says they were housed together until October. The informant and—”
“That was two months ago, Mr. Ruiz.”
“I’m aware, Your Honor, but—”
“You can have your continuance. It runs until tomorrow afternoon. Mr. Munroe, can I assume you’re going to want to argue we shouldn’t hear this witness, or his testimony should be limited somehow?”
I nodded.
“Okay. We’ll do that at noon. The jury will be back here, seated and ready to go, at one p.m.”
That was a spanking if ever I saw one. Ruiz thanked him for it.
“Your Honor,” I said, “I think, in fairness, we’re going to want full disclosure on what all this informant may be getting from the solicitor’s office.”
Chambliss nodded. “Mr. Ruiz, that defense request is granted.”
“I’d also like to know,” I said, “if the informant is down at the jail awaiting trial, versus already serving out a sentence.” Ruiz knew what I meant: could Ludlow have offered him a plea deal?
“I can’t speak to that. I was only just advised.”
Chambliss said, “You’re going to need to find out and speak to it, pronto. You two get going. I’ll inform the jury.”
I turned back toward the defense table, spotted Terri, and changed course to follow Ruiz. I needed everything he had on this jailhouse snitch so I could pass it on to her.
All Ruiz had was the name, age, and what charges he was in on. He let me snap a photo of the witness statement.
I came back, slapped my hands down on the table, and told Jackson, “Hey! We got us a short vacation. It ain’t going to be fun.” More quietly, I said, “Terri, he and I need to talk, and in the meantime I got someone for you to look up.” I handed her what I’d scribbled down from Ruiz. She started typing it in while I was still talking. I said, “Work your magic like never before. There is nothing I don’t want to know. The color of his daddy’s boxer shorts, what made his granny turn alcoholic, anything you got. This is a jailhouse snitch, and we need to take him down.”
At the words ‘jailhouse snitch,’ Jackson just looked confused.
I grabbed my bag and files, then whispered to Terri, “I want Ludlow too. If you got time.”
In our little conference room, I emailed myself the witness statement so Jackson could read it on my laptop screen. When he saw the guy’s name, he said, “Oh. Oh, shit.”
“Jackson, did you tell this guy you did it?”
“I let him think I did,” he said. “To scare him. He—oh, God.” He sprawled against the back of his chair, head hanging over the back, and covered his face with his hands.
I could feel the second hand ticking down. The twenty-four-hour window Chambliss had given us to figure this out was shrinking, but something in the way Jackson was sitting told me to keep my mouth shut.
Elise used to do deep-breathing exercises to relax. I tried some. Then I realized tightly clenched teeth probably were not part of the exercise and tried again.
When he finally sat back up, he looked haunted. He said quietly, “Can anyone hear us?”
“No. I checked, with Terri.”
He nodded.
“If I tell you something,” he said, “will you keep it secret? Not say it in court?”
“I’m trying to get you out of jail. I do that by saying things in court. But I give you my word, I won’t say any of this unless you tell me I can.”
He set his forearms on the table, clasped his hands together, and shut his eyes. I didn’t know if I was about to witness a confession or a prayer.
“My dad,” he said, “was dealing drugs. Serious drugs. He was making bank and tried to bring me in, but I
