The Code of the Hills

by Nancy Allen

  “No, your honor,” she answered. She had no intention of putting Donita Taney on the stand that day. As a witness, Donita needed a lot of work, and she didn’t want to give the defense a crack at her yet.

  Smiling sympathetically at Charlene, the judge told the girl she could step down. When he announced his finding, Elsie kept a straight face, but inside she was jubilant, setting off Roman candles. She recorded the judge’s words in the prosecutor’s file:

  Defendant Taney appears in court with attorney Josh Nixon. Preliminary hearing held. Court finds probable cause. Defendant bound over to Circuit Court for arraignment.

  “Court is adjourned,” the judge said.

  When she turned around to catch Tina Peroni’s eye, she saw Madeleine peering through the door into the courtroom. Elsie bristled; if she dared to barge in and take the credit for the hearing, there would be a bloodletting. When Madeleine saw Elsie looking in her direction, she disappeared.

  You’d better run, she thought. I’ve got a score to settle with you, bitch.

  She was distracted from her irritation by Josh Nixon. He walked over the prosecution table and said, “I’m going to subpoena that girl’s permanent record from her school. I’ll destroy her.”

  Blood flooded Elsie’s face. “You won’t get it. I’ll fight it. And you won’t ‘destroy’ her, anyhow. Hard to shake a story like this one.”

  “We’ll have an evidentiary hearing downstairs. About her behavior at school.”

  “Not relevant,” she snapped. She had to protect Charlene; four of the five criminal counts depended on the girl.

  “Wait till we get those records.”

  “FERPA. Ever hear of that statute? She’s got privacy rights.”

  “Well, my client has rights. Parental rights. And right to confrontation. Sixth Amendment rights.”

  Elsie wanted to punch Nixon. “Well, I guess we’ll just see about that.”

  “I guess we will.”

  She tried to think of another retort, but Tina tugged at her sleeve.

  “Can I take the girls downstairs?” she asked.

  “Sure. I’ll walk you out.”

  The cameras were rolling as she exited the courtroom flanked by Taney’s daughters. She pretended not to notice the press. Don’t look into the camera, she reminded herself. As she guided the girls toward the stairway, a nice-­looking male television reporter wearing an alarming amount of orange pancake makeup stuck a microphone in her face and said, “Can you tell us what additional evidence you’ll have at trial?”

  “I can’t comment on a pending prosecution, sorry,” Elsie said with what she hoped was a dazzling smile.

  “Are you aware that Taney is calling in a parents’ rights group to come to his aid?”

  She was stunned for a second; she was not aware of that. What group would want to be associated with a dirt bag like Kris Taney? She repeated automatically, “Can’t comment, like I said. Sorry.”

  The reporter turned on his heel when he saw the defendant leaving the courtroom. Taney had extra security today, and his attorney was sticking close by him; Elsie figured Nixon was glad to have the photo op. Kris Taney looked positively explosive.

  “Mr. Taney,” said the reporter, “do you deny the allegations?”

  Josh Nixon fielded the question. “My client will enter a plea of Not Guilty to all counts at his arraignment on Friday.”

  The reporter pulled the mic back to follow up. “What is the basis of the defense you’ll be presenting?”

  As she descended the stairs, Elsie heard Nixon declare that the charges had been falsely made by Taney’s daughters at the urging of their mother, due to a marital dispute. Right, Nixon; that’s what they all say, she thought scornfully.

  “We’ll establish that the testimony of Charlene Taney, in particular, is totally untrustworthy,” Nixon said. “I’m also happy to announce that my client has the backing of Our Earthly Fathers, a support group for men going through the ups and downs of marital dissolution proceedings.”

  Nixon was clearly warming up in the limelight. “This isn’t a novel situation, really. Bitter ­people in a broken marriage use the children to hurt each other. What’s frightening is when you see the Prosecutor’s Office sucked into the game. It looks like Ms. Arnold is siding with the women’s accusations as some kind of knee-­jerk feminist response.” Nixon gestured dramatically, pointing directly at Elsie on the staircase.

  Her jaw dropped as she heard Nixon’s statement to the reporter. Her blood was still up from the hearing, as well as their fight over Charlene. She stopped and spun around on the stairs. How dare he trash me in front of the cameras? “Tina,” she said, “please take the girls on downstairs.”

  As she bounded back up the stairs, “Hey, Nixon,” she said through the railings, “good thing you’re a criminal lawyer. Your grasp of family law ain’t so hot.”

  Nixon gaped at her. “The prosecution cannot comment.”

  But Elsie was mad, and she didn’t stop. “Since when do ‘parental rights’ include rape and abuse?”

  Nixon barked, “My client denies those charges. Arnold, you are out of line. You are violating your ethical duty.”

  Kris Taney weighed in, his face scarlet: “Hey, bitch—­you got the wrong guy.”

  Nixon turned to his client, ordering him to shut up, but Taney didn’t follow his advice. He stood unmoving in ankle cuffs and handcuffs, demanding, “What about her? She don’t know when to shut up.”

  Turning on Elsie with a snarl, he added, “Somebody ought to shut your mouth.” He spat at her, the spittle spattering the shoulder of her jacket. His eyes wild, he roared, “Why ain’t you talked to my brother? Him and Donita is the ones what ought to be locked up. Ain’t you figured out that they’re just trying to get me out of the way?”

  The bailiff interrupted the altercation. “Get this man back to the jail. Get a move on, Taney.”

  The deputies attempted to pull him in the direction of the jail, but Taney refused to go voluntarily and had to be dragged. The bailiff and deputies pulled the big man down the hall as he bellowed insults against them, Elsie, and the accusation. She stood frozen while the cameras rolled. The lawmen, with much effort, managed to maneuver the struggling man into the hallway leading to the jail, and his shouts became fainter.

  Staring after him, Elsie began to shake. In four years as a prosecutor she had been shouted down, cursed, and insulted. Being spit upon, though, was an entirely new experience. A filthy assault. Demeaning. She felt utterly humiliated. She struggled to snap out of it but heat pricked her nose and she knew she was in danger of crying right in the middle of the courthouse.

  Wheeling around, she wanted to flee, but was surrounded by strangers, reporters, and onlookers, regarding her curiously. And the camera was trained on her face. Act like you’re okay. Pretend it doesn’t matter, she told herself.

  The hallway now quiet, the reporter with the orange face strolled up and stuck the microphone in her face.

  “Ms. Arnold, do you have a reaction to the altercation that took place here?”

  Elsie just shook her head, blinking rapidly to keep the tears back. For once, she had nothing to say.

  Chapter Twelve

  AS SHE WALKED down the stairs to the courthouse coffee shop, Elsie pulled off her suit jacket and rolled it into a ball, taking care to avoid touching Taney’s spittle. She longed to escape to her office and lock herself inside. The hearing and the aftermath in the hallway had sucked all the sap out of her. However, she had an obligation to her witnesses. She had to make sure they’d survived the hearing intact.

  When she walked into the tiny coffee shop, Tina waved from the corner table, where she sat with the Taneys.

  Forcing a smile, Elsie joined them. “Phew,” she said, leaning on a plastic chair back, “it’s been an exciting day, huh? What can I get you guys?”

/>   Donita shook her head. “Nothing. Got no money.”

  She dismissed the objection with a shake of her head. “It’s on me. Girls, come on up to the counter with me.”

  Kristy and Tiffany jumped out of their seats. Refusing to meet Elsie’s eye, Charlene rose, too. Elsie led them to the counter, where she ordered a round of Cokes and chips.

  Charlene grabbed a bag of Doritos from the display, but Kristy and Tiffany hesitated, examining the selections, fingering one and then another.

  “Order up, ladies,” Elsie urged, affecting a cheery tone. But the girls lingered.

  “It all looks so good,” Kristy said. “I can’t make up my mind.”

  Impatience formed a knot in Elsie’s chest as she silently willed them to pick something and sit down. But looking into their faces, she chastised herself. The girls needed to recover from the hearing, just as she did. Let them have a damned minute to pick their chips.

  Finally, Kristy plucked a bag of Lay’s from the display. As Elsie handed Tiffany her cup of Coke, she asked if she wanted some chips, too. Tiffany didn’t respond.

  “Me and Tiffany can share,” Charlene said, taking Tiffany’s hand.

  They returned to the round table and crowded their six chairs into a circle. As Elsie pulled the paper wrapper from her straw, her hand shook. Pull yourself together, she told herself.

  Congratulating the girls on their good work in court, she began to explain the next steps: the case would be assigned to Circuit Court and placed on the trial docket.

  During her explanation, Tiffany stuck her finger in her nose and commenced to dig. Kristy’s hand shot out and slapped Tiffany on the side of the head.

  “Stop it. That’s nasty,” Kristy said.

  Charlene grabbed Kristy’s hair and twisted it. “Don’t you be mean to her, you stinking bitch.”

  Donita snatched Charlene’s upper arm, pulling her away from Kristy with an iron grip. In a low voice she hissed, “You’uns all cut it out right now.”

  Charlene turned on her mother. “I won’t have her hitting Tiffany.”

  “I mean it. I’ve about had it with you today.”

  Picking up Charlene’s Coke, Donita took a long drink through the straw. “Hey,” Charlene protested, but her mother stared her down.

  “Lord, that’s good,” Donita said as she set the cup down.

  Tina asked her how the family was holding up and Donita said, “Pretty good, I reckon. But I got to tell you about the WIC.”

  Tina nodded. “The nutrition program.”

  “Yeah. Now that Tiffany is in school, they won’t give me the WIC no more. I need it.”

  “Tiffany is over five. You’re not eligible.”

  “That don’t make no sense. It’s for women and children, and that’s us. She needs more eats now that she’s getting big.”

  “Donita, you don’t qualify anymore,” Tina told her again. “You’ll have to get by with your food stamp account.”

  As the two women talked, Elsie leaned across the table and said, “Charlene, I need to know what happened at school, what the defense attorney was talking about.”

  Charlene ignored her, pulled Tiffany’s chair a little closer to hers and smoothed her sister’s strawberry hair behind her ear.

  Elsie persisted in a quiet voice. “I’m not trying to be nosy; it’s not that. But I have to know what the attorney is talking about, so I can protect you, and we can try to shut him down.”

  Charlene didn’t answer. She was talking to Tiffany, close to the child’s ear, speaking in almost a whisper. Elsie strained to make out what she was telling the little girl.

  She heard her say, “Just do it when you’re alone. Or in the toilet.”

  Tiffany nodded.

  Charlene offered her a chip from the bag, and Tiffany took one. Then Charlene smiled indulgently and said, “Honest to God, Tiff, it ain’t no big thing. Everybody picks their nose.”

  BEFORE TINA ESCORTED Donita and her daughters through the side exit of the courthouse, Elsie pulled Charlene aside, in a final attempt.

  “Charlene, please. It’s important that you tell me what happened to you at school that time.”

  “Ain’t important to me.”

  Charlene tried to walk away, but Elsie put a restraining hand on her arm. “They’ll use it as ammunition against you, don’t you see? I have to be in the know, so I can fight it.”

  Tiffany inched up to them. Charlene lifted her sister’s hair and tickled the back of her neck. “Spider on you,” she whispered.

  Looking up, Tiffany swatted at Charlene’s hand. But she was smiling.

  Frowning, Elsie said, “Charlene, we’re going to have to discuss it sooner or later.”

  “Maybe later.” She gave Elsie a hard look. “Maybe never.”

  Elsie watched as Tina walked Donita and her daughters to the parking lot, then slowly climbed the stairs back to the second floor. When she returned to her office, Josh Nixon was waiting for her, slouching comfortably in the chair facing her desk, drinking coffee from a plastic cup.

  “Oh yeah, great,” she said irritably. “Make yourself at home. Totally.”

  “I will, thanks.”

  Elsie displayed her befouled jacket, then wadded it back into a ball. After throwing it into a corner, she asked, “Don’t suppose I can bill your office for that?”

  Nixon just laughed.

  Flopping into her chair, she swiveled around and put her feet up on the air-­conditioning unit. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I want discovery.”

  She looked at him with disbelief. “You’ll get it. After the arraignment in Circuit Court.”

  “I need access to the prosecutor’s file today. I want to read those witness statements before I go talk to Taney at the jail.”

  “You aren’t entitled to discovery until after the felony charge is filed in Circuit Court. That’s Friday. That’s when you can see our file.”

  He surveyed her silently for a moment. “You know, Elsie, I’m trying to save you from yourself.”

  She blinked. He was really yanking her chain. “How’s that?”

  “I know you’re mad at my client right now; he just spit on you. But you need to take a step back from this thing.” He set his coffee down and leaned toward her with a look of sincerity. “You’re getting tricked into playing the heavy in a simple domestic relations case. Really. Mom gets the girls to claim that Dad’s a molester, and everything goes her way. Nobody will stop to ask what kind of scene Mom’s into. Oldest trick in the book.”

  “ ‘Oldest trick in the book,’ ” she mimicked back. “Defend your criminal case by saying the girls are bold-­faced liars, set up by Mom to take down dear old Dad.”

  Josh picked up the coffee cup, raised it in a toast. “I’m just telling you. Trying to help.”

  She responded with a dismissive flip of her hand. She started reorganizing her papers in the accordion file bearing the name TANEY.

  Nixon was okay, as defense attorneys went. And prosecutors and public defenders had a sort of kinship. As opposite sides of the same coin, they were both overworked and underpaid, and embroiled in the attempt to bring reason and justice to terrible crimes.

  She wanted to get along with him, if she could. It was helpful to have friendly relations with opposing counsel; it meant that fighting would be confined to the courtroom, not deteriorate into personal animosity. But being friendly did not mean she would give an inch where the case was concerned. She was not opening her file to Nixon until Friday.

  He persisted, saying, “Your star witness is a liar. Little Miss Charlene. Her record at school will prove it.”

  “Your defense is so farfetched. What would motivate the girl to go through all this courtroom torture if it wasn’t true?”

  “Mommy dearest.”

  �
�Oh, Lord.”

  “I’m serious.”

  Elsie set her file down. “Problem with your theory that Mom concocted this plot: I don’t think you understand this woman’s situation. She is the most powerless person imaginable. She’s got no weapons in her arsenal.”

  “She’s got a boyfriend.”

  “Please.”

  “She’s got a boyfriend and he put her up to it.”

  “Would you get out of here?”

  Nixon rose from the chair. “It’s not too late to stop it from going any further. You’ll be the one with egg on your face when this whole thing blows up.”

  “Well,” she said wryly, “I’ll have the pleasure of seeing you carried off the field on the shoulders of Taney and the Earthly Fathers.”

  Nixon shook his head. “You know, I like you. I’m trying to help you out.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Elsie?” Tina Peroni called from the hallway.

  “In here,” she answered.

  Tina stuck her head in the door.

  Nixon nodded with mock gravity. “I’ll show myself out.”

  As he moved to the door, Elsie said, “I know you have to take whatever garbage they tell you and try to make the jury believe it. But Nixon, don’t try to sell it to me.”

  He turned and sighed. “Can’t wait for you to meet the boyfriend. Bet she really traded up.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “OH, TINA, PLEASE DON’T,” Elsie begged as the social worker pulled her blue Volkswagen beetle into the parking lot of Baldknobbers bar.

  Tina was perplexed. “Why not? I thought you liked this place. I’m always hearing some wild tale about the prosecutors and the cops at Baldknobbers.”

  Elsie shook her head. “That’s just it. I was here last Friday and got pretty shit-­faced. Fell on my butt. I’m still mortified.”

  Tina put an arm around Elsie’s shoulder and peered at her over the top of her specs. “You do understand that you are not the first person who ever had too much to drink at a bar.”

  “I know, but it’s embarrassing.”

  Tina got out of the car, walked around to Elsie’s side and opened her car door.