The Wages of Sin Page 4

  As the bell at the diner door jangled to signal his exit, Elsie remembered what she liked least about Josh Nixon. He was always full of surprises.

  Terrible surprises.

  Chapter Eight

  Elsie shifted in an ancient folding chair in Judge Carter’s chambers, wincing as she heard the metal seat creak. She hoped the old relic wouldn’t crumple beneath her. Madeleine would probably attribute the collapse to the macaroni and cheese at the Sycamore Diner.

  Madeleine and Josh Nixon sat in comfy leather club chairs facing the judge’s walnut desk. All three of the attorneys were silent, watching the judge toy with the sheet of paper in front of him. He lifted one hand and ran it through his silver hair.

  Judge Carter looked up. “This will be his first court appearance.”

  Nixon’s tie was askew on his chest. He adjusted it and said, “We’ll waive the reading of the criminal complaint. No need to give the press more ammunition.”

  A shade of displeasure crossed Madeleine’s face. Elsie read the meaning behind it; Madeleine wanted to maximize press exposure on the murder case. She was a political animal, and a case of this magnitude could generate positive spin for the Prosecutor’s Office.

  Judge Carter said, “If the defendant isn’t going to hear the charge, why do we need to bring him over? It’s a security burden. State v. Larry Paul has already tied up thirty minutes of my morning.”

  “The public has a right—­” Madeleine began, before Nixon cut her off.

  “The hell with the public. Are they on trial? Judge, I don’t want a circus; that won’t help my cause. But I’m making a motion regarding bond and I want it on the record. And Larry Paul needs to be in court when I make it.”

  Judge Carter sighed, a weary sound. “Why?”

  Nixon tugged at his tie again, as if he was unfamiliar with neckties. “Oh, you know. So he can see what a great job I’m doing.”

  Madeleine scoffed out loud.

  Unperturbed, Josh continued. “And we need to talk about a change of venue, at some point.”

  Elsie glanced at Madeleine. Her legs were so tightly crossed that Elsie could see the white outline of her kneecaps.

  Madeleine said, “The citizens of McCown County have the right to see justice done in their own jurisdiction. There has been tremendous public outcry concerning this crime.”

  “That’s exactly my point,” said Nixon.

  Judge Carter shut down the debate with a wave of his hand. “Venue won’t be my call. Save it for the judge in Circuit Court.”

  A tap sounded on the door connecting the judge’s chambers to the courtroom. Eldon, Judge Carter’s bailiff, poked his head through the door. “We got him, Judge.”

  “Okay, then.” Judge Carter rose and zipped up his black robe. “Let’s go.”

  Elsie folded her battered chair and set it against the wall. She wasn’t used to the role of the silent partner; it didn’t suit her. But she was trying her best to defer to Madeleine and keep her mouth shut.

  As the attorneys followed the judge through the side door and into the courtroom, the bailiff said, “All rise.”

  The recently refurbished courtroom had room for only a single counsel table with four chairs, where opposing attorneys and their clients sat elbow to elbow facing the judge’s bench.

  Nixon headed to the far end of the counsel table, beside his client. Madeleine placed her hand on the chair at the other end, marking her territory. That left Elsie in the only remaining spot: a middle seat, directly beside the defendant.

  “Be seated,” the judge said, as he settled in his high seat and opened a paper file.

  Elsie watched the defendant from the corner of her eye as he struggled to take his seat. His hands and feet were cuffed, trussed together with a metal chain. The orange jumpsuit was a poor fit for a tall man; the suit strained over his shoulders and his ankles jutted out in the style of an adolescent wearing high-­water pants.

  Madeleine hissed in her ear. “Be prepared to make suggestions on the bond issue.”

  Confidence restored, Elsie flashed her a smile. “No problem, Madeleine; I’ll handle it.”

  Madeleine took a quick intake of breath. “Excuse me? I’ll handle it. If you have any burning thoughts, write them down and pass them to me.” Madeleine shoved a legal pad in front of her; Elsie turned to a fresh page and uncapped a pen. I’m Helen Keller, she thought. Mute. Talking only to Anne Sullivan, with my fingers.

  The defendant shifted in his chair, brushing Elsie’s elbow. She jerked away from the contact like she had been touched with a live wire. Their eyes met; his were pale blue, without a hint of gray.

  Frozen, she stared at Larry Paul. His face was expressionless, but she fancied she could sense the darkness, the quality about him that was off, somehow. The defendant wasn’t like other ­people; he was a man who would bludgeon a woman and kill his unborn child.

  “I was high,” he said to her, in a whisper.

  Elsie gasped as the courtroom began to buzz. Nixon grabbed the defendant by the shoulder and jerked his client away from Elsie.

  “Don’t. Say. Anything,” Nixon said in a tense voice.

  Judge Carter banged the gavel. “Order,” he said, and the spectators in the gallery hushed. The benches were full of reporters, drawn to cover the story from all of southern Missouri and northwest Arkansas. “We have a first appearance in the case of State of Missouri v. Larry Edward Paul. The State appears by Madeleine Thompson and Elsie Arnold; Defendant appears in person and with his attorney, Josh Nixon.” The judge picked up a sheet of paper. “Defendant has been charged with two counts of Murder in the First Degree.”

  Nixon stood. “Your honor, the defense waives the reading of the charges and enters a plea of Not Guilty.”

  A woman at the end of the front row whispered, “Did you hear him say he was stoned on drugs?”

  Elsie expected the judge to slam the gavel again, but he turned to his computer screen. “I have a morning clear on my calendar; I can give you three hours on September twelve. We can set the preliminary hearing at nine o’clock on that date. Or I can give you two hours in the afternoon on the fifteenth.”

  “Let me check, your honor,” Nixon said; and Madeleine echoed the same answer.

  “Defendant is being held without bond,” Carter said, and Nixon stepped away from his chair.

  “Your honor, I’d like to speak to that. Defendant moves for a set bond amount, one that he can meet.”

  “The State objects,” said Madeleine. “State stands by its recommendation against bond.”

  Josh Nixon took his cue to recite the Sixth Amendment prohibition against excessive bonds. “This man has not been convicted of any crime, your honor; the criminal complaint filed by the State is a bare accusation.”

  Elsie scrawled Flight risk on her legal pad, and shoved it where Madeleine could see it.

  “He’s a flight risk,” Madeleine said. “Because of the charge.”

  Because of the PENALTY, Elsie wrote. He’s looking at the Death Penalty!

  Madeleine glanced down. “This is a death penalty case, your honor. We are asking for the maximum penalty under law.”

  With a flourish, Elsie wrote, No greater reason to flee exists.

  Madeleine raised her chin, and said with gravity, “Your honor, no greater reason to flee exists.”

  Elsie could see the local newspaper reporter nodding as she wrote the words on the pad. A nugget of resentment lodged under Elsie’s chest.

  She turned to face Nixon, waiting to hear his response. He had the look of someone who was about to light a rocket fuse.

  “Well, your honor, there’s also the security issue. At the jail.”

  Here it comes, Elsie thought.

  “My client is infected with AIDS.”

  A woman in a mustard yellow jacket jumped from her chair, stepp
ing over her seatmates to flee from the room. Startled, Elsie wondered whether she was frightened by the revelation; but a glance at the pad of paper she stuffed into her bag indicated otherwise. More likely, she was a reporter trying to scoop the other news stations.

  “Judge, that can’t color your decision on bond. The defendant is not in any danger,” Madeleine said.

  “The other inmates may worry that they’re in peril,” the judge said in an undertone.

  Nixon placed a supportive hand on the defendant’s shoulder. “He requires medical attention from a doctor who has experience treating his condition.”

  “There is medical assistance at the county jail,” Madeleine said smoothly.

  “Oh come on.”

  “There is,” she insisted. “Dr. Gray visits the jail weekly.”

  “Get serious, Madeleine. Dr. Gray isn’t even an MD; he’s a DO. So is that the best arrangement McCown County is willing to make? We can fight the issue in federal court, if that’s how you want to do it.”

  Judge Carter slapped the palm of his hand on the bench. “Mr. Nixon, there’s no need to threaten me with federal court.”

  As the debate wrangled on, the defendant lifted his cuffed hands to his face and stuck his index finger into his mouth, plunging it all the way down to his knuckle.

  Elsie watched, wary; was he trying to make himself gag? Vomit?

  The icy blue eyes rested on her, unblinking. Then he pulled the finger out of his mouth with a popping sound. He reached over and wiped it on the back of Elsie’s right hand.

  She jumped out of her chair, tipping it over. “Jesus Christ!”

  The judge stopped in midsentence; both Madeleine and Nixon swung around to look at her. Madeleine’s face was a mask of angry disbelief.

  But Elsie was backing away from the counsel table. “He rubbed his spit on me,” she said, scrubbing her hand against the fabric of her skirt.

  In the effort to distance herself from the defendant, she didn’t see her overturned chair. Elsie stumbled against it and fell, hitting her head on the wooden railing that separated the public gallery from the parties in court. As she collapsed, she clutched her head with a shriek.

  Only the defendant laughed.

  Chapter Nine

  Groggy, Elsie squinted her eyes and tried to focus. A face was inches away from her own, blowing stale coffee breath up her nostrils.

  The bailiff, Eldon, snapped his fingers at her, nearly tweaking her nose. “Elsie! Wake up!”

  She tried to sit up, but the movement sent a vicious twinge through her head. “What the hell?” she whispered, massaging a knot on her skull with a tentative hand.

  Judge Carter called from the bench, “Should I clear the courtroom?”

  Bracing herself with her elbows, Elsie turned to respond the judge, and saw Larry Paul smirking at her. A wave of anger coursed through her veins, blurring her vision again.

  Madeleine stood at her side and gave her a smart rap on the shoulder. “Are you all right? Can you stand?”

  Elsie tried to rise from the tile floor, grasping at the wooden railing for balance. “I’m kind of dizzy.”

  Judge Carter said, “Do we need an ambulance?”

  Resolutely, Elsie shook her head, and immediately regretted the movement. With an effort, she grasped the wooden spindles to pull to a stand. “No, Judge, thanks. Maybe I could just sit out in the hall for a minute and let my head clear.”

  The bailiff looked doubtful. “Shouldn’t she stay where she is at? Could be she has a back injury.”

  Impatience made stars dance before Elsie’s eyes. “I hit my head, Eldon. Not my back.” With an involuntary groan she took a step to prove her point, and toppled sideways, landing at the feet of a television reporter from Good Morning Four States.

  “Sorry,” Elsie muttered, as he scooted out of danger.

  A deputy approached her; with his arms crossed against his chest, he looked at Elsie on the floor, assessing her. Deputy Joe Franks was a slight man in his forties.

  Franks said, “Reckon you ought to carry her out of here, Eldon?”

  The bailiff gave a slow whistle. “Don’t know that I can. Too heavy.”

  Elsie grimaced with chagrin. Even a blow to the head couldn’t mask the sting of the bailiff’s implication.

  “We’ll both tote her. You get her around the chest and I’ll grab her feet,” Franks said.

  Though Elsie squawked in protest, the men executed the plan, bearing Elsie out into the rotunda like a supersized bag of potatoes. When they deposited her on the wooden bench outside the courtroom door, Eldon groaned with relief.

  “Glad I don’t have to do that all day long, I tell you what.”

  “Oh, Jesus Christ,” Elsie muttered.

  Deputy Franks appeared incapable of speech; he wheezed until his face turned violet.

  “Maybe you need to cut back on the smokes, Joe,” Elsie said, miffed.

  Deputy Franks nodded as he walked off, still gasping. Madeleine darted through the doorway and stood over Elsie, regarding her with her lips pressed together in a thin line.

  The bailiff gave Madeleine a subservient nod. “Mrs. Thompson, I’d best get back in court see what Judge Carter wants me to do next.”

  Madeleine waved a hand in dismissal, still focusing on Elsie. When Eldon walked away, Madeleine took a deep intake of breath before she spoke.

  “I need help.”

  Elsie raised her head from the bench; she wasn’t sure she’d heard Madeleine correctly. “What?”

  Madeleine broke eye contact and looked off with a pensive air. She paced the hall of the top floor of the courthouse, studying the ceiling. After several moments of silence, she said, “The stained glass is filthy.”

  Trying to gauge the focal point of Madeleine’s attention, Elsie also looked up and stared at the green and blue stained glass windows decorating the third floor of the old courthouse. The old structure was a local jewel, one the community refused to desert for newer quarters. Built on classical lines, with a low dome over a rotunda, the white stone courthouse had changed little since its construction in 1905; and the stained glass panes of the dome had been set in place a century ago. They did in fact look grimy.

  “Is that a problem? Those windows are a hundred years old.” She didn’t follow Madeleine’s train of thought. Perhaps, she thought, her head was still too muddy.

  “It’s going to be the death of me,” Madeleine whispered.

  “What?” Elsie sat up on the bench. “You’re not talking about the windows?”

  “Heavens no,” Madeleine snapped, glancing at Elsie. “The case. I’m too old for this. I simply must have someone help me.”

  “Madeleine, you’ve got me.” Elsie’s voice held an apologetic note.

  Madeleine responded with a pointed look. After a pregnant pause, she gave a decisive nod. “I’m calling in the general.”

  Elsie was working on a fitting reply when the courtroom door opened and a hum of voices distracted her. Eldon and Deputy Franks, joined by two other deputies, walked through the door with Larry Paul, flanking him on both sides. Josh Nixon followed a pace behind.

  “Mr. Nixon,” Madeleine said, her voice sharp.

  Nixon turned and gave her an inquiring glance. When she waved him over, he walked toward the women. Once he was within earshot, Madeleine said with a hiss, “We are calling in the Missouri Attorney General. I just wanted you to know.”

  “Why? Can’t you handle your own case? With your ace assistant?”

  Nixon gave Elsie a wink. She ignored it.

  “I can certainly handle my case. But you apparently can’t control your client.” Madeleine’s voice grew shrill. “Maybe the Attorney General can bring you both under control.”

  The exchange was drawing a crowd. Three reporters stood nearby, looking on with growing interest. O
ne of them adjusted a microphone on his navy jacket.

  The reporter with the microphone edged closer to Madeleine. “Can we ask some questions, when you have a minute?”

  “The prosecution can’t comment,” Madeleine said. Nixon backed away from her, laughing with scorn. The Public Defender often accused the McCown County Prosecutor’s Office of pandering to the press, to the detriment of the defendants. They had once filed an ethics complaint against Elsie for speaking out in front of reporters. Though the charge was later withdrawn, the recollection still irked her. She wanted to wipe the snotty grin off Josh Nixon’s face.

  Madeleine turned her back on the group and headed toward the worn marble stairway. Rising from the bench, Elsie followed Madeleine down the stairs, trying to keep pace, though she was still wobbly.

  “Madeleine,” she said, pleading, “don’t bring in a stranger. It’s not necessary. We can do this.”

  At the bottom of the steps, Madeleine spun to confront her. “Have you taken the child’s statement yet? The eyewitness?”

  Elsie grasped the brass handrail, adding her fingerprints to scores of others tarnishing the metal. “No. Not yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “You didn’t tell me—­” When Elsie saw Madeleine’s complexion take on a scarlet hue, she backpedaled. “I didn’t think there was a rush. We haven’t even been set for preliminary hearing yet.”

  “We have now. While you wallowed on the bench in the hallway, Judge Carter set it for preliminary hearing. Next week.”

  Elsie whistled. “That’s pretty soon.”

  “Get that social worker, Tina what’s-­her-­name, and go take that child’s statement. I need her ready.” With a warning glance, she said: “You better be able to get her on the stand a week from Friday.”

  Madeleine stormed off in the direction of the women’s restroom. Elsie really needed to relieve herself, too. She watched Madeleine open the bathroom door with a bang.

  I can hold it, she thought, and headed to her own office.