Strawman's Hammock (14 page)

She was crying again.

“You're right. You're right.” Barrett eased over to her side of the bed. “Look. Laura Anne. I can work in the FDLE 'til the cows come home.”

She nodded. “It's just—I feel like it's my turn, is all. For you to help me.”

It was. Barrett knew it.

“Tell you what. Until you have decided whether you want the restaurant or the classroom, I'm not changing anything. How's that?”

She nodded. “Would make it a lot easier for me.”

Barrett spread his wide hands gently on her leg.

“I wasn't trying to do anything behind your back.”

“No.” She laughed. “But Linton Loyd was. Who do you think gave Stacy that story? Or had it given?”

Barrett nodded. “I know. I know.”

“Run for sheriff!” Laura Anne shook her head. “Linton poured it on good, did he?'

“He tried.”

“Said he'd back you.”

“Yes.”

“Which means he'll buy you votes.”

Barrett squirmed. “I wouldn't want that.”

“Makes you think you'll have any say in the matter? Tell you something, Bear, you get in bed with a man like Linton Loyd, you're gonna wake up with fleas big as nickels.”

Barrett reached for the freshly washed sheets.

“Puppies get fleas.” Barrett nuzzled his wife.

“They've got medicine for puppies,” she said.

“Night-night.”

*   *   *

Sparks were flying next morning in the Lafayette County courthouse. Barrett rose early to arrive with Cricket and Warden Jarold Pearson for the hearing scheduled in Mayo. The attorney representing the state of Florida had his fountain pen tapping code on the arm of a hardwood chair like the last telegrapher on the Titanic. Judge Alfred Carey Blackmond, sitting for the third circuit, glanced up from the writ on his desk.

“Roland. Please?”

Roland Reed's platinum-tipped pen paused in
medias res,
lending an unnatural silence to chambers only recently made available to visiting judges. The county judge's office, just downstairs, was too busy and too cramped to accommodate the circuit judge's needs, so an old jury room one flight up had been recently renovated for third-circuit business. It was a serviceable interior, complete with phone lines and modems and computers. But it did not have the character of the chambers Judge Blackmond had enjoyed while a county judge in Perry. Barrett Raines had visited those wainscoted and oak-paneled digs on more than one occasion, enjoying the high tin-pressed ceiling, luxuriating in the airy view of a town square verandahed with the limbs of sycamore trees.

Judge Blackmond had reluctantly left the comfortable confines of his Perry chambers to assume duties spanning seven large counties. And duty called this frigid morning. Another norther rattled the windows badly set in these new accomodations. The belligerents were ranged for dispute. State Attorney Roland Reed had a table to himself, flanked on one side by Sheriff Sessions. Thurman Shaw represented defendants Gary and Linton Loyd across the aisle.

Barrett Raines and Cricket Bonet attempted to find neutral ground toward the rear of the room. Jarold Pearson sandwiched in between, his olive-and-tan uniform spotlessly pressed and creased, his tan Stetson resting in his lap. He perched on the edge of his padded seat like a good bird dog waiting to point, the Boy Scout knife diligently applied to his cuticles.

*   *   *

They heard arguments for a good half hour. Roland and Thurman wrangled acrimoniously for the entire duration, a period of time and mode of demeanor not usually granted before the man known as the hanging judge. Barrett was trying to read Judge Blackmond's always calm and never perturbed face. He was a hard man to figure, a judge of liberal sentiment who had sent men to the death chamber, a champion of the little man who had ruled against unions as often as against corporate interests. A passionate defender of speech who believed firmly in law and order.

He'll have to be Solomon this morning,
Barrett thought to himself, and as if reading Bear's mind, the judge looked up to offer the state's advocate a wan smile.

“Mr. Reed, it seems you are determined to prosecute the Loyd family for their alleged battery of the county's sheriff.”

“And agents of the FDLE, your honor.”

“Yes, yes. Must have been some donnybrook.”

Roland aka “Fountain Pen” Reed had scrambled to be assigned this case, and Barrett was not surprised. Any dispute promising headlines got Roland's attention, no matter the merits. The prosecutor dressed for Channel Seven's ever-present camera, tailored suits and vests completely impractical for the climate.

Thurman “The Rooster” Shaw was unkempt by comparison, his own baggy suit and frayed shirt making him appear even scrawnier than was usual.

The only person who looked completely at home in the visiting judge's chambers was Lou Sessions. The sheriff lounged unconcerned in his khakis alongside the state's attorney. Barrett and Cricket had their shirts cleaned and ties knotted in anticipation of being called as witnesses.

Felony charges had been filed against Linton Loyd and his son. You punch a civilian in the nose or spit Red Man on an umpire, you got charged with a misdemeanor. But similar actions when directed at any law-enforcement officer put you up with the big boys.

So there was that business. Not to mention disputes related to murder.

“Seems we have two issues here.” Judge Blackmond had a way of looking you in the eye that made you think he was talking to you, and you alone. “The first issue relates to battery. The facts are not disputed in that case. Only, perhaps, the degree of provocation alleged in Sheriff Session's conduct and a history, which I am inclined to consider, of enmity between Sheriff Sessions and Mr. Linton Loyd. On this issue I have first to say, nothing, short of unlawful threat to life or limb, gives anyone the right to batter a sheriff, deputy, or FDLE investigator. Having so stated, I do acknowledge a degree of provocation from the sheriff that was extremely unprofessional. And then there's the history.” The judge shook his head. “Worse than Agamemnon and Clytemnestra.”

“Sir?” Roland was perplexed.

The judge waved him off.

“The second issue relates to the impoundment of a vehicle alleged to be connected with a homicide. I have no intention of minimizing the importance of this case. I recognize that Sheriff Sessions was investigating a particularly brutal and apparently calculated slaughter. I am willing to believe that the heinous nature of the crime, the length of the day, any number of factors may have led the sheriff, while acting in good faith, to nevertheless commit errors in judgment or comportment. The most serious consequence of those errors relates to the seizure of Gary Loyd's unique vehicle.”

“It was linked to the crime scene, your honor,” Roland reminded the judge unnecessarily.

“A half-mile hardly constitutes a ‘link,' your honor.” Thurman Shaw bristled like a hedgehog beside his clients. “Especially in the middle of hunting season. Especially when, by the sheriff's own account, there were other tracks of other vehicles reported by the game warden to have on more than one occasion come directly to the site of the homicide.”

“Might I point out that the truck was taken in conjunction with the battery, your honor? And that it may have held a device or weapon posing imminent threat to the interviewing lawmen?”

“‘Interview' is an interesting choice of description,” Judge Blackmond replied drily. “The weapons of choice, in this case, were an overzealous son and a wad of chewing tobacco. Were there a contemplated use of the arsenal in the Humvee, I am sure Mr. Loyd and his son would not have resorted to blindside tackles and Red Man.”

“Your honor—!”

“Tend your notes, Roland. Now. Sheriff Sessions. It seems to me, Sheriff, that your judgment in this investigation is badly compromised by the obvious and ongoing contempt that you make no offer to conceal for the defendants.

“Add to that bias a more compelling problem: You simply have not demonstrated probable cause sufficient to accuse Gary Loyd of any crime whatever. Mr. Reed's insistence that you needed a warrant to inspect Mr. Loyd's property or his vehicle is incorrect. You did not. What you
did
need was clear, direct, and probable cause that would substantiate an arrest or even investigation of Gary Loyd for the murder of Jane Doe. You do not have such cause.”

Gary Loyd, Barrett noticed, bowed his head with that pronouncement. Linton did not.

“Furthermore, Sheriff,” the judge continued, “by impounding Mr. Loyd's Humvee without probable cause to search or seize, and by subjecting that vehicle to forensic examination, you have deprived yourself of the benefit of
any
evidence so derived. If the tree cannot be allowed, neither can the fruit of the tree.

“It is therefore my ruling that in the absence of independent corroboration or potential for discovery, any evidence derived from this truck or its examination must be suppressed and may not be used in this case.”

“State will appeal,” Roland Reed declared.

“You have that right. Before you do, however, we need a private conversation. Mr. Shaw, do you have any questions before me?”

“Like to know when my client can get his vehicle back, your honor. Along with everything that was in it.”

“Immediately.”

“Then we're good for now.” Thurman nodded, taking the judge's hint and shepherding Gary Linton and his tighter-wrapped father toward the door.

Linton paused as he passed Barrett.

“I read your statement.”

“Yes.”

“Looked pretty much up the middle to me.”

“I just told the truth, Linton.”

The elder Loyd smiled tightly. “Man expects to be sheriff, Bear, he has to be willing to make some hard decisions.”

“The hell is that exactly supposed to mean, Linton?”

“Means you were fair and impartial, Agent Raines.” Thurman addressed his neighbor as though he were a stranger. “Linton, we're out of here.”

Thurman bustled Linton Loyd and his son into the hallway. When the door sighed to a close, Sheriff Sessions exploded.

“You let a goddamn killer walk out of here!”

“Sheriff, you are before a judge.”

“I don't give a damn
who
I'm in front of!”

“Clearly.”

“There's hair on that truck! Stains of semen. He
had
that girl, judge! He took her out there, he raped her, he strung her up, and he put that dog on her. Sure as shit stinks!”

“Sheriff Sessions.” The judge's voice suddenly turned to flint. “If you do not recuse yourself from the investigation of this case—immediately—I shall inform the state's attorney general that you are abusing your authority and must be replaced.”

“The hell?” Lou Sessions' cratered face went white.

Roland Reed lurched from prosecution to defense.

“Your honor, that's outrageous! It's a breach of authority! It's—it's—the sheriff is the backbone of this county! You can't do this!”

“Of course I can, Roland. Now sit down. Unless you'd like me to hold you in contempt.”

Roland sank to his chair. Judge Blackmond waited patiently for the sheriff to follow suit.

“Better. Now, gentlemen. I don't want to undermine the Sheriff's authority. The problem is, the sheriff has managed that on his own. And it is not my goal in life to displace any man or woman from duly elected office. I can refrain from going to the attorney general. But there will be some quid required pro that quo.”

“Such as?” Lou growled.

“I recommend that you drop all charges of battery against the Loyds,” the judge restated firmly. “I also order,
order,
that you turn over the day-to-day investigation of Jane Doe's homicide to the FDLE. The Live Oak field office will assume those responsibilities.

“I am not taking the case out of your jurisdiction, Sheriff, but I am limiting your ability to participate. With luck you can save face and preserve your authority in this matter. But you have to understand, Sheriff, that you are incapable of an objective evaluation of the evidence in this case. So it is strict injunction that you subordinate your efforts in the investigation of Jane Doe's homicide to the FDLE.”

“Play by these rules and we'll be fine. But if you go, within a mile and a half of either Linton or Gary Loyd, Sheriff, I shall visit the state's wrath on you like white on rice.”

Judge Blackmond leaned back.

“You have a badge and a gun, sir. I hope to be reassured that you retain the judgment and common sense necessary to use them.”

*   *   *

Later that day Thurman Shaw was informed through a clerk of the court that State's Attorney Reed had dropped all charges of assault against Linton and Gary Loyd. Thurman was also informed that the Florida Department of Law Enforcement would assume primary responsiblity for gathering evidence in the case, coordinating that effort day to day with the sheriff's office.

Like a true Solomon, Judge Blackmond left no one happy.

“Son of a bitch!” The sheriff corralled Barrett before he could leave the courthouse. “Your buddy took care of you up there, didn't he, Bear?”

“What are you talking about, Lou?”

“Blackmond's always been in your corner. Even when you was pounding tar in Deacon Beach. So now—he's settin' you up for sheriff.”

“Pretty hard for him to do that, Lou, when I haven't even decided whether to run.”

“You'll run, all right.” The sheriff's holster squeaked with the grip of his hand. “You'll piss around and make noise but when it's all over and done Gary Loyd's gonna walk free, and Linton's gonna give you credit. Ain't that what you want?”

“No,” Barrett answered steadily. “And goddammit, Lou, by now you should know me better than to think I would.”