by Nancy Allen
The minute had stretched into a frenzied interlude on her living room sofa. Recalling it, Elsie smiled with smug satisfaction. She loved it when Ashlock lost control. As a rule, he was so tightly wound.
The Big Mac from the night before felt like a boulder in her belly. She swallowed some coffee, but it didn’t provide any relief.
She heard Stacie shout outside her office door. “Elsie! The attorney general is here! Madeleine wants you!”
Elsie’s office was across the hall from Stacie’s domain, the reception area, and the receptionist generally didn’t bother picking up a phone to communicate with her.
Clutching her coffee, Elsie walked down the tiled floor of the hallway to Madeleine’s office. Shortly they would appear before Judge Callaway on recent defense motions in State v. Larry Paul; and though Elsie knew she would be the silent partner, she had dressed for success, donning a new suit she had picked up at J.C. Penney.
The door was open, but she knocked on the wooden frame, anyway.
“Ready for me?” she asked brightly.
Sam Parsons sat in the armchair closest to Madeleine’s desk, reviewing hard copies of the motions. Madeleine was sipping coffee from a porcelain cup with a gold rim.
Elsie took a seat on the sofa near Parsons and set her Styrofoam cup on a nearby table.
Madeleine stared at Elsie over the rim of her cup. “What is that?”
Instinctively, Elsie sucked her teeth. “What?”
Setting the cup into the saucer with a clank, Madeleine removed her reading glasses, letting them dangle from a beaded chain. “Oh my Lord. Come over here.”
Elsie walked up to Madeleine’s desk. Madeleine waved at her to come closer, and snaked her manicured hand into Elsie’s armpit. Elsie felt a tug.
Madeleine displayed her find; she twirled the price tag, which dangled from a plastic string. “You would walk into court like that? With the tags hanging from your clothes?”
Parsons looked up from his paperwork. “Hey! It’s Minnie Pearl,” he said, laughing.
“Who’s Minnie Pearl?” Elsie asked Madeleine; but she was studying the tag.
Madeleine poised her glasses on her nose, as if she thought her eyes deceived her, and reread the numbers on display.
“Fifty-nine dollars?” she said in a shocked whisper.
Elsie flushed. “It was on sale.” She turned on her heel and walked back to the sofa. It was uncharitable for Madeleine to mock her new suit on the basis of price; of all people, Madeleine knew Elsie’s pay scale. And though it was true that Madeleine was a fashion plate, by McCown County standards, her top-drawer clothing was made possible by her wealthy husband, the John Deere distributor for three southwest Missouri counties.
Samuel Parsons checked his watch and pushed out of the armchair with a grunt. “Showtime, ladies.” He spat lightly into the palm of his hand, rubbed his hands together and slid them over his hair. Elsie looked away, struggling to keep her face a blank. She didn’t know men used saliva as hair gel. She hoped he wouldn’t attempt to shake hands with her this morning.
They walked the short distance to Judge Callaway’s courtroom in single file, with Parsons in the lead and Elsie bringing up the rear. He held the door open for the women. As Elsie walked through, he winked and whispered, “Nice suit.”
Frowning, she hurried to the far counsel table and took the end chair. After her experience with the defendant in Judge Carter’s court, she determined that she’d keep a safe distance from Larry Paul. If he intended to suck his finger in court again, he’d have to make it through several other bodies before he could reach Elsie. She didn’t want spit rubbed onto her new suit. Even if it did cost fifty-nine bucks.
The door opened and Josh Nixon walked in, accompanied by Claire O’Hara. Madeleine had been arranging her pens in an even row beside her files. When she saw them, she stopped short.
“What are you doing here?” she asked Claire, her voice sharp.
Claire gave an easy laugh. Dropping her briefcase at the defense table, she walked up to Madeleine and rested her derriere on the prosecution table directly atop Madeleine’s ink pens. She looked down the bridge of her nose at Madeleine. “Counsel for defendant appears in person,” she said in a throaty voice, then turned to Elsie. “How’s your head, kiddo?”
Madeleine turned to Elsie with a jerk, but she melted back into her seat with an innocent face.
Elsie was spared the ignominy of Madeleine’s cross-examination because the bailiff, Emil Elmquist appeared, slamming the door behind him as he called, “All rise! The Circuit Court of McCown County is in session, the Honorable Judge Callaway presiding.”
Elsie stood. Claire slipped off the tabletop and cruised back to Josh Nixon, swinging her hips. Judge Callaway slipped into his seat on the bench, adjusting the folds of his black robe. “What are we getting done here today, counselors?”
Josh Nixon spoke. “Your honor, my client isn’t present.”
Judge Callaway and his bailiff exchanged a look. “We’ll let him stay where he is this morning, Mr. Nixon.”
“Your honor, we have important motions pending.”
The judge inclined his head; the overhead light reflected a silver circle on his bald head as he flipped through the paperwork. “Mr. Nixon, we can certainly attend to the motions, guaranteed. Mr. Paul doesn’t need to appear. He is amply represented today by the Public Defender’s Office, and also by Miss Claire O’Hara.” To his clerk, the judge said, “Be sure to note Miss O’Hara’s appearance for the defense on the record.”
Madeleine stood. “Your honor, what is the purpose of Claire O’Hara’s appearance in court today?” In her hand, she held one of her many pens; Elsie watched her clench it with her bony fingers.
Claire swung toward the prosecution table with a gleeful expression. “Counsel for the defense appears. And the purpose— which should be fairly obvious, even to you, Madeleine—is to provide representation for the accused.”
The pen jerked in Madeleine’s grasp. “The defendant claims to be indigent. The state public defender has been appointed to represent Mr. Paul.”
The judge focused on Madeleine with a determined countenance. “And the public defender will be assisted by Miss O’Hara.”
“But your honor—”
“Mrs. Thompson. This is a death penalty case. You’ve made that clear.” He turned to the defense. “Take up your first motion.”
Elsie watched as Madeleine took her seat, placing the ink pen neatly beside her file, and then clenching her hands together in her lap, so tightly that it looked painful. Maybe having the role of the silent partner in State v. Larry Paul isn’t so bad, Elsie thought. This case ain’t gonna be no hayride.
“Which motion shall we take up first? Mr. Nixon? Miss O’Hara?”
Elsie peered over to the defense table, curious to see which attorney would act as spokesperson and take the lead. Claire turned to Nixon with a smug smile and gave him a wink, slightly inclining her head in his direction. Nixon stood.
Mama is letting Sonny drive the car, Elsie thought. Her lips twitched with amusement; she pressed them together.
“Your honor, the defense has filed a motion for change of venue. If you want to schedule it for an evidentiary hearing, that’s fine; but there’s no doubt what the outcome will be.”
Judge Callaway ran his hand over his bald pate, making his shrine ring glisten under the overhead light. “The case will be tried in McCown County.”
Elsie blinked in surprise. She turned to speak with Madeleine, but she was whispering to Parsons in urgent tones.
“What about that? We’re best off in McCown County, aren’t we? That’s what I want.”
Parsons said, “You want reversible error? You want to try the damn thing twice?” Elsie leaned in closer, to listen; but Nixon spoke again, leaving the counsel table and advancing on t
he bench.
“Your honor, my client can’t get a fair trial in McCown County.”
“Of course he can.”
Nixon’s face began to flush. “The jury pool in this county is contaminated. My client is entitled to a jury that is fair and impartial, twelve people who haven’t heard about the facts and made up their minds already.”
From the defense table, Claire O’Hara added, “A jury that will base its verdict on the evidence alone.”
The judge sighed, tugging at the sleeves of his robe. “Simmer down. He’ll get a fair trial. We’ll hold the trial in McCown County. We can import the jury from another county in Missouri.”
“Josh!” Claire hissed at him from the defense table. He walked over, and they huddled together.
At the prosecution table, Elsie scooted close to Madeleine. “What do you think?”
Madeleine ignored her. “What do you make of that?” she asked Parsons.
He grimaced. “We sure as hell don’t want to start out this case with reversible error. But if he brings in a jury selected in a different community, we should be okay. It’s been done.”
Josh spoke. “St. Louis. We want the jury to come from St. Louis.”
Judge Callaway smiled, beaming down at Nixon as if he’d cracked a witty joke.
“St. Louis? Really, Mr. Nixon?”
Claire rose and sidled up to her cocounsel. “It’s a valid suggestion, your honor. St. Louis is one of the largest cities in the nation and a safe distance away from here. A murder in southwest Missouri wouldn’t receive much attention in the St. Louis media. The jury pool would be excellent for our needs.”
“I don’t think our taxpayers in McCown County would approve of importing a bunch of city mice from St. Louis to decide matters here in the country. I was thinking, I don’t know—maybe we’ll bring them in from over there in Springfield.”
Nixon threw his file on the counsel table. Claire reached over and grasped his arm, as if to restrain him. “Judge, that’s only thirty miles from here,” she said in a reproachful tone.
“That’s so. Wouldn’t be too much inconvenience for any of us.” The judged leaned over the bench. “Mr. Nixon, if you continue to throw your papers and files in the courtroom, I’ll have you removed. Next matter?”
Claire stepped up with a confidence that Elsie admired, in spite of herself. “Motion to dismiss, your honor.”
Elsie leaned her head on her hand, anticipating a speedy decision in the State’s favor.
The judge gazed down benevolently on Claire’s red head; it occurred to Elsie that they might share some history.
“For what cause?”
“The State has filed two counts of murder in the first degree: Count One for the death of Jessie Rose Dent, Count Two pertaining to her unborn child. We ask that Count Two be dismissed, because there is no statutory basis for it.”
At the prosecution table, Parsons and Madeleine looked at each other. Elsie leaned close and whispered, “Case law.”
Claire continued. “The defense acknowledges that many states have, in fact, passed legislation to criminalize the killing of an unborn child. Twenty-eight states have enacted those statutes. However, Missouri is not one of those states.”
Elsie whispered, “State Constitution.”
Madeleine turned her back to Elsie. “I know that,” she whispered, affronted.
On the bench, Judge Callaway stuck a finger inside his collar and scratched his neck. He said, “These are uncharted waters for me, ladies and gentlemen—not gonna lie. First time this kind of murder has been prosecuted in McCown County.”
Parsons spoke at the prosecution table in a harsh whisper. “Madeleine, if you lose Count Two, you are screwed. No jury is going to care squat about the mother.”
Madeleine turned to Elsie with a deer in the headlights expression. “Stand up,” she said.
Elsie jumped to her feet.
“Judge Callaway, it’s well known that the Missouri State Constitution states that life begins at conception.”
“That’s immaterial. It’s not part of the Missouri criminal code,” Claire countered.
Elsie walked around the counsel table and stood before the bench. “Of course it’s material. The State Constitution is the highest state law in Missouri. And the evidence will show that the unborn child was only a few weeks from his due date.”
“The criminal code has no provision for this, laire said, before Elsie cut her off.
“Judge, there’s precedent in Missouri case law. The case of State v. Larry Paul isn’t a first; defendants in Missouri courts have been tried and convicted of murder of the unborn. The issue has been resolved in Missouri appellate courts.”
“Well, good then. What’s the case name?” The judge picked up a pen and poised it over the file, prepared to write.
Elsie froze. “Beg your pardon?”
“The name of the Missouri case you refer to. That resolves this issue.”
She couldn’t remember. Elsie closed her eyes, urging her brain to produce the answer, but her mind was blank. She turned on her heel, looking to Madeleine and Sam Parsons for assistance. “Case name?” she whispered.
Parsons nudged Madeleine. “Isn’t she supposed to cover research?” Madeleine was regarding Elsie with poorly concealed contempt. The sight of Madeleine’s twitching left eye sent a chill through her. Elsie wheeled back around to face the judge.
“Your honor, may we submit written suggestions in support of our position?”
Sighing, Judge Callaway closed his folder. “Have them ready at nine tomorrow morning. I want the suggestions e-filed, but bring a hard copy to my clerk.” He pushed his chair back and stood. “I like to mark them up with an ink pen. I’m old school. Or just plain old.”
“Judge, you’re not old. You’re a classic,” Claire said. She had the nerve to shoot him a wink.
Elsie couldn’t top that. She slunk back to the counsel table with a brave face. Madeleine stood and leaned in toward her; Elsie wanted to back away, but didn’t dare.
“You’ll bring the brief to me before you submit it.”
“What if I don’t get the suggestions done till tonight? I have other stuff to do this afternoon.”
“Then bring them to my house. Tonight. Am I clear?”
“Can’t I just e-mail it?”
Madeleine moved in so close, their noses almost brushed. “Hand-delivered. I don’t want you to claim a technical glitch. Tonight.”
Elsie held her breath. It smelled like something rotten festered in Madeleine’s gut.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Elsie pulled into the long driveway of Madeleine’s home and snatched up a file from the passenger seat. Not bothering to lock her car, she followed the redbrick walkway to a fourteen-foot door of carved oak. Through the leaded windowpanes of frosted glass, Elsie could see lights on in the hallway. She screwed up her courage and pressed the doorbell.
Nothing. She rang again, and pressed her eyeball to the peephole in the front door. When the center went from light to dark, she knew Madeleine was inside. The massive door creaked open, just wide enough for Madeleine to stick her head through. “Where have you been? What took you so long?”
The plastic smile of greeting on Elsie’s face disappeared. “I didn’t have any trouble finding the case law, but I searched for law review articles to support our position. Then I drafted suggestions from scratch. It took a while.”
“You should have been prepared in advance. I can’t believe you froze on the case citation in court. How hard is it to remember a case name?”
She sidestepped to the opening in the door; in the gloom of the night, she could barely see Madeleine’s face. “You want me to go over it with you?”
Madeleine huffed out with irritation, and Elsie caught a whiff: booze breath. Wine, maybe. A lot of wi
ne.
“Let’s do it tomorrow,” Madeleine said.
“Sure, whatever. Parsons said he wants to meet up in your office at nine? Or eight?”
“Eight. Eight fucking o’clock.”
Elsie blinked; was she having aural hallucinations? Or had Madeleine just said fuck?
“Okay, then. Here you go.” Elsie thrust the file holding the sheaf of pages through the crack in the door; thinking Madeleine had it in hand, she let go.
“Fuck. Goddamn it,” she heard.
Alarmed and more than a shade curious, Elsie grasped the doorknob and pushed the door wide. Madeleine was on her knees, balancing a crystal goblet in her hand as she scrambled to gather pages scattered in the marble entryway. The liquid in the goblet sloshed down the side of the glass.
Madeleine looked up. “Are you going to help me?”
“Yeah, sure.” Elsie knelt and scooped the papers into a pile. “You want me to put these back in order? I didn’t number them.”
Madeleine sighed, pushing a wayward lock of hair out of her eyes. “Come on.”
Elsie followed her though the entryway into a great room with soaring ceilings, with a glass wall of windows looking out onto the wooded countryside. They made a turn into the kitchen. Madeleine made a beeline for the wine bottle that sat on the kitchen island. She refilled her glass, her hands moving with exaggerated care.
Elsie peeked at the label: Mersault. It was French, she was pretty sure—not that she’d know from personal experience.
Shifting her attention to the copy of her brief, Elsie said, “We’re not going to have a problem with this issue; case law is absolutely on our side. We don’t have a criminal statute in Missouri addressing murder of an unborn child, but with our State Constitution declaring life begins at conception, it’s a given. In Missouri, the unborn have protectable interests in life, health, and well-being. Here’s the citation: Section 1.205, Revised Statutes of Missouri. And there’s a case on point from the Western District: in State v. Holcomb, they tried and convicted a man for the murder of a pregnant woman and her unborn child. He was the father of the baby, just like Larry Paul. And the conviction was upheld by the Missouri Court of Appeals in the Western District. They cited two Missouri Supreme Court cases—”