The Code of the Hills (21 page)

Chapter Twenty-­Eight

E
LSIE SPENT THE
next hour licking her wounds in Bree's office. After fortifying herself with three cups of coffee and a long pep talk with Bree, she regained her composure. Shortly before ten she walked into court, carrying her file.

Josh Nixon was already there, sorting through documents. He handed Elsie some printed pages. “These are my suggestions in support of the motion.”

“Geez, you briefed it and everything,” she said, flipping through the pages and noting the thread of the argument. “Missouri citations, Supreme Court cases, the whole nine yards.”

“You bet.”

Scornfully, Elsie tossed the papers on the counsel table. “Why are you spinning your wheels with this? You're going to lose this motion. Rountree is not letting that perv out on bond.”

“Just doing my job,” Nixon said, flashing a smile, but he dropped the friendly demeanor when Taney's supporters entered through the courtroom door. Elsie shot a challenging look at the group, then abruptly turned her back to them.

When Merle entered with Taney, the Our Earthly Fathers and their few female companions broke into applause. A ­couple of them rose to their feet and repeated their chant, an uneven declaration of support for parents' rights. Nixon glanced at Elsie and she rolled her eyes. She saw him suppress a smile as the bailiff unshackled his client and settled him into the chair next to Nixon.

In the midst of the noisy display, the door to the judge's chambers flew open and Judge Rountree stormed out, still in his shirtsleeves. “I'll clear this courtroom,” he cried. “There will be order in here or you'll all by God land in jail.”

The chanting stopped. Elsie could hear a pin drop. The judge then announced in a milder tone, “Bond hearing in this cause will be held in five minutes, and I expect everyone to comport themselves appropriately, or there'll be the dickens to pay.” He glowered under a furrowed brow, turned around and limped back into his office on his crippled knees.

When the door shut behind him, Elsie, emboldened by the judge's admonition, turned to gaze on the assembly with a superior air. Troublemakers, she thought. You can't pull your bullshit on Judge Rountree.

The judge reappeared in exactly five minutes, garbed in his black robe and exhibiting his usual calm demeanor.

Taking up defendant's motions, he said, “Counsel for defendant has filed a Motion to Reduce Bond and a Motion to Shorten Time. What is the position of the state on these motions?”

Elsie stood and said, “The state opposes both motions, your honor.”

“You object to the Motion to Shorten Time?”

“Yes, your honor, I do. I'd like to speak to it if I may.”

“You may not. Your objection is overruled. The Motion to Shorten Time is granted.”

As if on cue, Taney's supporters burst into another round of applause and cheers. The judge's eyes popped like a pair of novelty store glasses.

“This is not a sporting event,” he bellowed. “You do not cheer because you think your side scored. If I hear another whisper out of any of you, I'll clear the courtroom.”

The dark-­haired leader of the group leaned forward and quietly mouthed something in the ear of the man sitting in front of him.

“That's it. Out.” The judge slammed his gavel. When no one moved, Judge Rountree turned to his bailiff. “Merle, everybody out. We won't proceed until the courtroom is empty.”

Delighted, Elsie turned and stretched in her chair, folding her hands behind her head, as she watched the support group depart. “Good riddance to bad rubbish,” she said, but she spoke so softly that it was only the barest whisper. As the last spectator exited, she caught a glimpse of Taney out of her peripheral vision. He twisted in his seat, appeared agitated at the group's departure. He exchanged a look with the dark-­haired leader of the Earthly Fathers and then turned his angry countenance to the judge.

Judge Rountree waited for Merle to close the door on the empty gallery and take his chair behind the bailiff's desk. The room was silent. The judge nodded at Nixon. “Proceed.”

As Josh launched into his argument, Elsie drew a vertical line down the center of her yellow legal pad. She made notations of his arguments on the left side of the line and jotted her rebuttals and counterarguments on the right. The points he raised were nothing new; she had heard it all before, in other cases. Nixon recited the Constitutional prohibition against excessive bail or fine. He turned up the volume dial on his voice as he declared that a bond amount of $250,000 was totally out of line, considering the defendant's means. Nixon reminded the court that the purpose of bail was to ensure appearance at trial, not to keep defendant behind bars. He paced up and down before the bench as he talked, pushing back stray locks of hair that fell over his brow.

Nixon stopped pacing and stood behind his client. He made an offer of proof that Taney was no flight risk because he had no money to travel and nowhere to go. As Nixon concluded, he placed a sympathetic hand on the shoulder of his client. Taney shrugged his hand off with an abrupt jerk.

Elsie wrote furiously while Nixon made his argument; then sat quietly, waiting for her turn. When the judge nodded, she jumped to her feet and rebutted the defense arguments one by one: that defendant's bail was far from excessive, considering the nature of the offense; that defendant was most assuredly a flight risk, as he had no job, no property, no home, and no intact family relationships; in short, he had no reason to remain and every reason to flee. She reminded the judge that Taney faced the possibility of life imprisonment, which was, she argued, a most pressing motive for a criminal defendant to run. In addition, she urged, he was a threat to the safety of the state's witnesses.

Pausing, she checked her notes, but didn't find anything she'd missed. She wrapped it up then, urging the court to overrule the defendant's motion.

The judge turned his gaze back to the defense table. “Anything further in support of your motion, Mr. Nixon?”

“Yes, your honor. The prosecution just said that defendant's motion should be overruled because Mr. Taney is not employed. I'm prepared to call a witness who will testify that he will offer Mr. Taney employment if he's let out on bond.”

“Where is this witness, Mr. Nixon?” the judge asked.

“He's in the hallway, I think. He's one of the ­people that, ah, that left the courtroom earlier.”

The judge looked skeptical. He tossed his pen down on the docket sheet. “Call him,” he said shortly.

Nixon called Martin Webster to the witness stand. Webster entered the courtroom with the tentative step of a person who had previously been thrown out. The judge beckoned to him to come forward and be sworn. After taking the oath, the man took his seat in the witness box.

Elsie watched him closely as he answered Nixon's questions. Webster was an unremarkable fellow, ordinary in appearance, and if she encountered him on the street, she would not look twice. His short cropped hair and dark suit were certainly not exceptional in outstate Missouri. But something was wrong, she knew. It didn't make sense that this evangelical Chris­tian would be so fervent in his support of Taney.

His demeanor on the witness stand was smug, sanctimonious. When Nixon asked him his occupation, he responded that he owned his own business. Nixon then asked him to describe his business, and Webster loftily said that it was a Chris­tian plumbing business. He then claimed that he was willing to hire Taney to work for him.

Nixon asked, “How soon can you put him to work?”

“As soon as he can get there. We're always in need of a good hand.”

“No further questions.”

Elsie rose. “May I inquire, your honor?”

The judge nodded.

“Mr. Webster,” she began in a conversational tone, “what is the nature of your Chris­tian plumbing business?”

“Just what it sounds like.” He spoke with scorn, as if he addressed someone with limited understanding. “We do plumbing ser­vices in homes and businesses.”

“What background does Mr. Taney have in the plumbing business?”

Webster paused before he answered. “We have employees who aren't plumbers. Someone has to answer the phone, deal with the public. The plumbers need helpers on some jobs.”

“So you can't put him to work as a plumber—­-­because he isn't a plumber.” She smiled at the witness. “Correct?”

“Yes.”

“So you see the defendant as your receptionist? To ‘deal with the public,' I think you said?”

Webster colored and became visibly angry. “We can train him. We'll find work for him to do.”

Elsie advanced on him; she needed to show him who was boss.

“Please answer yes or no: will he be your receptionist, employed to deal with the public?”

Webster glared at her, refusing to answer.

Glancing at Judge Rountree, she said, “Your honor?”

“Answer the question, Mr. Webster.”

“No. I don't know.” Webster said shortly.

“Did you investigate his employment background before you made this generous offer? Are you aware that he has not had gainful employment for several years?”

“I don't put any stock in anything you say,” Webster said, and he rose from his seat as if he meant to depart.

Judge Rountree swiveled in his hair and addressed him. “You're not done quite yet,” he told the witness, not unkindly. “We'll let you know when you can step down.”

Webster reddened as he sat back down.

Elsie said, “I'll repeat the question. Are you aware that he hasn't had gainful employment for several years?”

“I don't know. We haven't talked about that.”

“So you have a plumbing business—­a Chris­tian plumbing business. And you're going to hire the defendant to work for you. But he doesn't have training or skill as a plumber, and you haven't talked about his employment history. Is that right?”

“Right.”

In an incredulous tone, she asked, “Mr. Webster, would you tell the court why on earth you would make this generous offer.”

Mulishly, Webster spoke. “Because that's what family does.”

Elsie paused, surveying Webster with a wrinkled brow. “Family? You mean church family?”

“Family.” Webster's chin was up; he looked combative, resentful.

She spoke slowly as realization dawned. “Mr. Webster, are you and the defendant related? Kin?”

Webster turned to the defense table, as if waiting for an objection, or instruction of some kind. When none came, he said, “We're cousins.”

Elsie shook her head in amazement. Nixon threw his pen on the counsel table and looked daggers at his client. The judge eyeballed Webster, then Taney, then back again, as if looking for the family resemblance.

“How close? First cousins?”

When Webster nodded, she said, “You'll have to answer. The court reporter can't record a nod.”

Webster said, “We're first cousins. His mother and my father was brother and sister.”

“Well,” said Elsie in a congenial tone, “that explains a lot.” Finally, it made sense to her. The witness was unmasked.

Nixon barked irritably: “Is the prosecutor up there to testify, judge? I believe she's supposed to ask questions, not make a commentary.”

“Miss Arnold, ask a question,” the judge said mildly.

“Is the defendant related by blood or marriage to any other members of your group out there? The church, the Earthly Fathers?”

“My wife's out there.”

“Anyone else?”

“No. My folks were members, but they're in the nursing home now. And Kris is from the Bootheel.”

“Ah.”
The
Bootheel.
Wouldn't you know.
She ruffled through her notes for a minute, then said in a friendly tone, “No further questions.” Webster continued to glower as the judge released him and he took a seat in the courtroom behind Taney.

Nixon declined to produce further evidence in support of his motion, and the judge summarily overruled it, announcing that the defendant's bond would remain at $250,000. Elsie exhaled with relief, although she hadn't even been aware that she was sweating the judge's decision; she could not believe that Judge Rountree would be so foolish as to inflict Kris Taney on the public pending trial. She felt positively jolly about connecting the dots between Taney and the Pentecostal Our Earthly Fathers. At least the support made some sense to her now: families were notoriously blind.

She capped her pen and shuffled her notes into an untidy pile. The deputies entered to put additional constraints on Taney for his walk back to jail. The courtroom was silent but for the clank of metal when Elsie heard Martin Webster speak again.

“Your honor?”

She twisted in her seat to look at him. Webster stood, flagging his arm. “Judge. Your honor, sir?”

Judge Rountree was on his feet, a pace away from the door to his chambers, but he paused and squinted over his glasses at the gallery. “Mr. Webster?”

“I've got to get my cousin released somehow. It's shameful to leave family locked up in jail.”

“I've already ruled, Mr. Webster,” the judge said, with a hand on the doorknob.

“There's a farm.”

Elsie stared at Martin Webster, momentarily confused. When his meaning struck home, she blanched. Jumping to her feet, she cried, “Don't even think about it!”

She bounded to the bench to protest Webster's implicit proposal. “Your honor, this is not a proper case for a property bond. The state objects, I absolutely positively object.”

Nixon followed on her heels. “Judge, if a relative is willing to post property as surety, it's the court's duty to permit it.”

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Taney rise from his chair, facing Webster, who had walked up to the defense table. Webster draped a supportive arm around the defendant as the two men talked in low voices. She heard Taney say, “If you can just get me out of here, I know I can clear this whole dang mess up.”