The Code of the Hills (3 page)

Chapter Four

E
LSIE GENERALLY MET
Monday mornings with dismay, but she was up before the sun today. She felt like her old self again and was anticipating her date night with pleasure. She liked the idea of starting the week on a bright note, she thought as she showered briskly, shaving her legs with smooth strokes. Standing before the foggy bathroom mirror, she applied her makeup with care and chose a brighter shade of lipstick than usual.

After pulling on a pair of slim wool pants and buttoning a tight-­cropped blazer over a shiny blue camisole, she checked herself in the mirror. She looked more like a television version of a prosecutor than the real thing, but that suited her just fine; she didn't want to look dowdy next to that good-­looking man. Balancing on the edge of her bed, she grimaced as she pulled on boots with painfully high heels. They killed her feet, but she examined herself with satisfaction: they looked really good. They'd set her back only forty-­two bucks at Shoe Carnival. She could find a bargain like nobody's business.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, she ate half a banana and washed it down with Diet Coke. There was no time for the coffeemaker; she'd get a cup at work. She didn't want to risk missing Noah when he dropped by to see her. He might have an early court appearance, and she wanted to nail down their plans for the evening.

As she drove her Ford Escort to the courthouse, even the traffic lights accommodated her. It was so early that she thought she might be the first one in the office, but her friend Breeon Johnson already sat behind her desk, checking her e-­mail. Elsie stuck her head in the door of Bree's office.

“ 'Morning, Bree.”

“Hey, 'morning to you. How did it go on Friday?”

“Guilty. They gave him twenty years.”

“That's great. You did good, honey. The case was falling apart on Thursday.”

“Oh, yes it was.” Elsie leaned against the door frame, struggling out of her winter coat. “So what did you do this weekend?”

“Laundry. Sound glamorous?” Breeon was fiercely devoted to her dual roles as mother and prosecutor. A native of St. Louis, she'd moved to the Ozarks after law school, determined to make a go of her law school marriage. The marriage didn't work out, but it produced her daughter, Taylor. Breeon's grit was a quality that served her well, working as the only African-­American attorney in a community that still ran largely on the “good ole boy” system.

Like most of southwest Missouri, McCown County had not yet embraced the notion of women in positions of influence or leadership. With the exception of Madeleine Thompson, no women held political office in the city or county; certainly, they did not sit on the bench. To find a woman circuit or associate circuit judge, it was necessary to drive 120 miles in a northerly direction, halfway to St. Louis.

As women practicing criminal law in the Ozarks, both Elsie and Bree had to battle for respect; but without question, Bree's struggles outnumbered her own. Just several months before, a visiting attorney from Purdy, Missouri, had tossed a file at Bree and told her to make his copies and scare up a cup of coffee. While Elsie stammered in indignation, Bree wasted no time telling the man he could shove that file up his fat white ass.

“What about your weekend?” Bree inquired. “What did you do to celebrate? Did you have some fun?”

“Yeah, I guess. I went to the old Baldknobbers.”

“Oh, don't tell me that.” Breeon shook her head in disgust. “Why did you go to that old dive?”

“The cops wanted to go there, to get a drink after the trial.”

“Ugh. That place is nasty.”

A memory of her tumble flashed through Elsie's head. “I'll never go back. I swear.”

“Liar,” Breeon said, and they both laughed.

“I'm going to get you out there one of these days,” Elsie said.

Bree pushed her chair away from her desk with a skeptical look at her. “I'd do a lot for you, baby girl. But I draw the line at risking my neck in that cracker box.”

Elsie took a step inside the small office and said in a hushed voice, “Hey, something else happened over the weekend. Madeleine brought me in on the Taney case.”

“That's cool. Good for you.” Bree's enthusiasm was sincere; she and Elsie were the only female assistant prosecutors on the staff of seven lawyers, and they worked hard to support each other. “What's up with that guy, anyway? Standard pervert? Addict? Crazy?”

“Sounds pretty standard from the brother's statement. Just another hillbilly who thinks he's entitled to nail his daughters.”

“You sure the brother isn't doing it? Wasn't he the one who snitched him out?”

“Yeah, the brother went to the police and made the report. Hey, how do you know so much about it?”

“I was in Judge Carter's court when they brought Taney in, appointed the public defender, and set a preliminary hearing. Judge Carter was chatty, and I got the inside scoop.”

“He's not too chatty with me,” she said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other to keep the circulation moving in her aching toes. “I gotta tell you, Bree, I'm worried about the case. There hasn't been enough investigative work.”

“What's missing?”

“The daughters' statements. There isn't anything in the file that's in their own words. I don't like that.”

“Is Madeleine worried?”

Elsie glanced over her shoulder. “Hell, no. She's just afraid the case will interfere with her many pressing social engagements.”

Bree shrugged and picked up her coffee cup. “Well, she's first chair, right? This is her case, not yours, and if she's not worried, you're not worried. It's not in your hands, Ms. Second Chair. You're the errand girl. You get the coffee.”

“Okay.” Everything Bree told her was true, but it troubled Elsie anyway. “I still can't believe she brought me in.”

“Why not? You're damned good.”

“But she can't stand me.”

Bree waved a hand in dismissal. “That's an exaggeration, don't you think?”

“I don't. I'm serious. She acts like I'm a leper. A leper who wants a bite of her sandwich.”

Bree laughed. “You nailed it. She thinks you want her whole sandwich.”

“Huh?”

“You're a threat, honey. She's got to run for office next year, and a bright young thing like you—­a local girl—­you could beat her. You're a better trial attorney than she is, that's for sure.”

“Who'd know? She never takes a case to trial.” Elsie rubbed her nose, thinking. “But you're a dynamo in court, Bree. Why isn't she mean to you?”

“Oh, baby. I'm no threat. I'm not electable in this county.”

Elsie nodded, conceding the point without argument.

Bree continued, “A black woman on the ballot in McCown County? The city fathers would get out the torches and pitchforks. But hey, I'd probably get the black vote.”

Elsie's response was an apologetic shrug. The town of Barton boasted no diversity; ­people of color made up only two percent of the population.

As Elsie turned to go, Bree asked, “How are you and your boy toy?”

She paused in the doorway. “Okay. He's coming by today.”

“Lucky you.”

Elsie sighed. Bree had counseled her before on her taste in men, said she should be more concerned with brain mass and less with muscle mass. “I don't want to hear it.”

“You know what I think.”

“I know.”

“You can do better.”

“So you've told me,” she said over her shoulder, heading to her office.

The weekly court calendar lay on her desk, and she checked to see if she was assigned to Associate Circuit Court. Mercifully, she wasn't. Monday would be a catch-­up day for her: no traffic cases to negotiate, no misdemeanors to try, no preliminary hearings in felony cases. For once, her appointment book looked like a clean slate.

So she sat at her desk and waited. Noah might testify in any of the associate divisions; he didn't say what kind of case it was, but it was likely to be a traffic matter, maybe a DWI arrest. All manner of criminal cases were ongoing in the courtrooms on the third floor on Monday. She knew he wouldn't be in Circuit Court because there were no jury trials set.

She caught up on a stack of correspondence she'd neglected the week before. She ignored all incoming calls when she was in trial, so now she listened to her voice mail and noted calls that she'd return and those she would blow off. She checked her e-­mail, and when she was done, checked the time: nine-­thirty. Maybe she'd be better off covering one of the courts, after all. The morning was creeping by on feet of lead.

After idly browsing the news updates on Yahoo, Elsie decided to go down to the basement to buy a cup of coffee at the courthouse coffee shop. She stuck her head in the reception area on her way out. “Stacie, I'm going to the coffee shop.”

“Right.” The receptionist was a cute local girl with limited enthusiasm for her job. Attorneys generally didn't report their whereabouts to the administrative staff, which suited Stacie very well indeed. Studying her reflection in the shiny brass county seal that hung behind her desk, she pinched an errant clump of mascara from her lashes.

“If anyone comes looking for me,” Elsie added, “they can find me down there.”

“Okay.” Stacie, still examining her makeup, didn't take her eyes from the brass seal.

“Noah is coming by. You can tell him where I am.” To the woman's back, she added, “I've got my cell with me, too.”

She sauntered down the stairs and peered into the coffee shop, but found no uniformed law enforcement professionals passing the time. Ordering her coffee to go, she rode the elevator to the third floor, thinking she'd see what was happening in Associate Circuit Court. There was an associate courtroom in three of the four corners, and she made the rounds of the courts, keeping her eyes peeled for a familiar tall figure in blue.

Unable to find Noah on the third floor, she cruised the Circuit Court rooms on the second floor, but without success. It was fifteen minutes before eleven when Elsie returned to her office. As she passed by the receptionist's desk, Stacie called after her and said, “Somebody was looking for you. There's a note on your desk.”

How did I miss him? she wondered. A single message lay on her desk; she snatched it up.
See me ASAP.
Madeleine.

The door to Madeleine's office was securely shut; she didn't pretend to have a welcoming open door policy. When Elsie knocked, a moment passed before she was invited to enter.

Madeleine sat behind her desk drinking coffee from a china cup. A bright lipstick mark stained the gold rim. Elsie wondered whose job it was to wash those cups each day; she was certain her boss didn't do any kitchen patrol duty.

“Sit down,” Madeleine said. “Did you have a chance to look at the Taney case?”

“Yes, I've gone over it pretty thoroughly,” she replied. “It needs a lot of work.”

“Like what?”

“For starters, we need witness statements from the daughters—­all three of them. We need corroboration from the mom, too. It'd be a hell of a note if she tells a different story than they do. And what's up with this girlfriend? Is she living under the same roof with them, like Sarah and Hagar and Abraham?”

Madeleine's face was blank. Elsie guessed she didn't understand the Old Testament reference. Madeleine asked, “What else?”

“So far, you've charged a ­couple of counts of statutory rape and a count of incest based on the defendant's brother's statements. We need to amend the complaint. I'm betting that once you do your witness interviews, they'll reveal other incidents of criminal behavior. At least we know Mom wasn't an active participant in all this behavior.”

“How do we know that?”

With effort, Elsie kept her eyes from rolling. She doesn't know anything, she thought. “If she participated in the abuse, Social Ser­vices would have taken protective custody. She's cooperating with the prosecution, so the Children's Division didn't take the girls away.”

“Hmm,” Madeleine said, a nettled look on her face. She picked up a newspaper and unfolded it.

Elsie persisted. “Check and see whether Social Ser­vices obtained medical exams on the girls. If they didn't, we'll want to. If nothing else, we can show that someone took their virginity, and that will corroborate their testimony, even if there's no way scientifically to show that it was the defendant.”

Madeleine looked up from her newspaper. Elsie noted that one of her eyebrows was higher than the other. “Why not?” Madeleine asked.

“Because too much time has passed since the last sexual assault. He's been in jail since right after Christmas, right? There's only a seventy-­two-­hour window of time to get a sample from the victims for DNA analysis of the sperm. If they do a rape kit now and get a swab for DNA testing, it won't show defendant's DNA.”

“Oh. Forget it, then.”

“Forget what?”

“The medical exams.”

“Madeleine, we need some medical evidence. The jury will wonder why no one checked them out.”

“Okay. But no DNA testing. No need to confuse the jury.”

Though she was nervous about the ramifications of her boss's decision, Elsie pressed on. “Check records at the P.D. and the school to see if we can find outcry evidence. But the most important thing is to talk to those girls.”

“Any other recommendations?” Focused on the paper again, Madeleine didn't look up.

“No. Well, I take that back. Yes. We have to prepare the witnesses more carefully in this kind of case than any other prosecution. Kid witnesses are hard, Madeleine. They're intimidated by the courtroom and by the defendant. Hell, we're setting them against their own father; they're bound to have mixed feelings, even in a case like this.”