The Code of the Hills

by Nancy Allen

  Inside the warm store, Kristy trailed her sisters with a troubled expression. “You gonna get caught.”

  “Not me,” Charlene said. “I’m gonna eat the evidence.”

  She and Tiffany roamed the snack aisle. Charlene ran her fingers over the candy bars, picked up the Snickers and the Butterfinger and hefted them in her hands, assessing the size and weight. She picked up a beef jerky stick and sniffed it, then shook it at Tiffany and said, “Them is good.”

  Tiffany nodded sagely and followed along.

  Kristy picked up a can of barbecue-­flavored Pringles and looked at it with longing, but set it back down.

  The clerk at the counter—­a gaunt woman in her thirties with sallow skin and a sparse head of dyed blond hair—­eyed the girls with a frown. “You’uns buying?”

  “Yeah, we are. We’re just taking our time.”

  Charlene stepped over to the refrigerated drink display. To her sisters, she said, “Root beer or Dr Pepper?”

  “Dr Pepper,” Kristy cried, in spite of herself.

  Charlene nodded with satisfaction, and plucked a twenty-­ounce plastic bottle from the rack. “We can share this,” she said.

  With Tiffany and Kristy at her heels, she selected a Slim Jim beef stick, a package of Skittles, and, with a glance at Kristy, the can of Pringles.

  As Charlene counted out the change on the counter, the clerk tried to make amends.

  “I didn’t mean to ride you, sweetie. It’s just that you would not believe how many ­people come in here to rip me off.” Smiling, the clerk revealed a mouthful of jacked-­up teeth, with molars missing on both sides.

  “Yeah?” said Charlene as Tiffany fingered the energy shots by the cash register.

  “Mercy, yes. And kids. I hate to say it. Kids stealing, too.”

  Charlene shook her head. “That’s a sight. Don’t they know? It’s a sin to steal.”

  “And then who ends up in trouble over it? Me. Well. You’uns have a good day. Stay warm and take care of that little bitty thing.”

  “Yep, we will.”

  Charlene twisted the cap off the Dr Pepper and handed it first to Tiffany, who raised it to her lips for a greedy swallow.

  “I’m taking care of this Little Bit. Someday soon, I’m gonna get my own place so she can be with me. Nothing’s going to happen to her if I can help it.”

  With a dubious expression, Kristy popped the top off the Pringles can. “How you gonna move out? You ain’t but fifteen years old.”

  Charlene lifted her chin, smirking at Kristy. “I got plans. I got somebody to get me out.”

  “Who?” Kristy asked, but Charlene just shrugged in reply.

  Kristy turned to Tiffany. “Quit hogging that pop. It’s my turn.”

  Tiffany wiped the Dr Pepper off her chin with her coat sleeve. “Lord, that’s good,” she whispered.

  Chapter Twenty-­Two

  JUDGE CARTER DECLARED a five minute recess and left the bench, and Elsie flung herself to the door. She’d juggled a furious docket in court that morning with cases called one after another, and the judge had not seen fit to take a break. Clearly, he did not care to use the bathroom facility, but she desperately needed to go. She ran around the rotunda to the third floor women’s room, half afraid she wouldn’t make it on time.

  She heard footsteps echoing behind her and thought someone might be calling her name, but she didn’t pause. She tore through the door and into one of the pink metal stalls, tremendously thankful that there had been no line.

  Afterward, washing her hands at the restroom sink, Elsie checked her hair in the mirror and sighed. She looked pretty doggone terrible, she thought, but she tried to be philosophical about it. It was a Wednesday, and she’d overslept, and so had done a slapdash job of getting ready. She’d twisted her hair into a claw comb, thrown on an old suit of some drab permapress fabric, and run out the door with a naked face. But she was only doing garden-­variety associate court business today, and didn’t expect to be much in the public eye. She also didn’t anticipate seeing Noah, fortunately. He might be foolhardy enough to comment on her appearance.

  When she exited the bathroom, Josh Nixon was waiting for her.

  “Hey, didn’t you hear me calling you?” he asked.

  “Sorry,” she replied. “I was trying to get to the restroom before I peed my pants.”

  He looked somewhat taken aback. “Okay. No problem. Well, I need to talk to you about discovery in the Taney case.”

  She checked her watch. The time for the recess was nearly up. “Sure. I only have a minute, though. We’re in recess in Associate Division 3.”

  With a nod, he said pleasantly, “You look really nice today.”

  She stared at him with disbelief. She had checked her miserable reflection a half minute earlier, and it wasn’t at all nice. She wondered whether he was mocking her. Or working her.

  Hastily, he amended, “I like your suit. It’s got a nice shape. Cut.”

  She laughed out loud, in spite of herself, but her antennas were buzzing. This was a marked change from their combative relationship. It might be a trick, some new strategy. But two could play that game. With a toothy grin, she said in rejoinder, “Your new haircut looks great.”

  Running his hand through his unshorn locks, he said, “I haven’t cut it in a while.”

  “Really?”

  Giving her a look of reproach, he said, “Cheap shot.”

  Despite her skepticism, Elsie warmed to him a notch. She was amenable to friendly fencing with Nixon. As long as it didn’t undermine her case, it made life easier to regard the defense attorney as a friend rather than a foe. She leaned against the rotunda railing, willing to prolong the conversation, until Judge Carter’s bailiff stuck his head out the courtroom door and bellowed, “Elsie Arnold, EL-­seee Arnold, you’re wanted in Associate Division 3.”

  As she hurried back in the direction of Judge Carter’s courtroom, she asked Josh whether he’d picked up his discovery yet. She had watched Nedra reproduce the file, so she knew it was ready for him.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Not much to it. I wondered if you were holding out on me. There’s no statement from Al. Is he still out of pocket?”

  “Yeah. Terribly inconvenient.”

  “Terribly suspicious, I’d say. So the stuff in that file is all you’ve got.”

  “About that,” she began, and told him about the boxes from the Taney household. “I wasn’t sure about it from a discovery angle, whether there would be anything in that box I could use, honestly. It’s mostly trash and dirty clothes. But I found what looks like an admission. I’m going to need handwriting samples from your client so that the handwriting guy at Barton P.D. can compare them to the handwriting on the card.”

  “What exactly is it that you found?”

  “It’s a valentine. I think we can prove that it’s an admission of sorts.”

  “What does it say?”

  “You’ll need to see it. I’ll show it to you.”

  “That’s a coincidence. I’ve got something to show you, too.” He opened his briefcase, but she waved him away.

  “I’m tied up in court right now.” She opened the courtroom door, then stopped and called to his retreating back. “Stop by my office at noon and you can see. Hey, Josh, that’s not all: I think I’m going to have some more witness statements this week in the Taney case.”

  He swung around and looked at her quizzically. “When are you going to finish your investigation?”

  Good question, she thought, but she didn’t respond. As the door swung shut, she heard him shout, “You’re supposed to investigate before you file.”

  IT WAS PAST twelve when Judge Carter declared they could break for lunch. As Elsie hurried to her office to meet Josh, she passed Stacie, eating a Banquet microwave enchilada at her desk.

  “That
smells pretty good,” she said as she walked by.

  “Hey, Elsie.”

  “What?”

  “There’s a witness trying to get in touch with you.”

  Elsie paused and turned to face the receptionist, who was sawing the tortilla with a flimsy plastic fork. “Who?” she asked.

  “Some guy.”

  “What name?”

  “Didn’t leave a name.”

  “What case?”

  “Didn’t say.”

  “That’s helpful.”

  “Are you trying to be sarcastic?” Stacie asked with a frown.

  Elsie shook her head as she walked through the doorway that led to the long hall of offices. Stacie called after her, “He said to tell you he called. And don’t worry about missing him, because he’ll call back.”

  When Elsie reached her office, Josh was waiting outside the door. She turned the key in the lock and pointed out the remaining box of Taney’s effects.

  “So you found your big admissions in there?” he asked.

  “Pretty much.”

  “Aren’t you making yourself a witness by supplying all this do-­it-­yourself investigation?”

  She flipped open a file on her desk and removed stapled pages bearing a photostatic copy of the valentine. Handing it over to him, she said, “Don’t give me a hard time.”

  “Yeah. When can I have total access to this exhibit? I want to see the original. This is unsigned. My client probably never saw it before.”

  “Hmm.” She put on her bargaining face. “If I can get the handwriting samples I need from Taney, you can have access by the end of the week.”

  “Okay,” he said, and they stood up. “Nice flowers.”

  They both looked at the bouquet sitting on the corner of her desk, a dozen yellow roses arranged with lush greenery in a big glass vase.

  “Why, thank you.”

  “From someone at the jail?”

  She tried to keep a straight face. “Oh, shut up.”

  He dug into his briefcase and pulled out a ­couple sheets of paper. “Told you I’ve got something for you. We’ll take it up Friday morning.” He tossed them on her desk.

  She scanned the documents as he refastened the buckle on his bag. No surprise, she thought. He’d filed Taney’s Motion to Reduce Bond and called it up for hearing before Judge Rountree on Friday. Apparently Taney wanted to be released from jail pending trial.

  “When pigs fly,” she said, sitting at her desk.

  “How’s little Miss Charlene?”

  Elsie grew wary. “Fine. I guess.”

  “Making lots of nice friends at school?”

  Her eyes narrowed. Maybe she didn’t like Josh Nixon after all. “You’ve got Charlene all wrong. If you try to beat her up on the stand, I’ll make you look like the bad guy.”

  “You think? She’s got quite a reputation.”

  “That school thing didn’t go down like you think. She’s a victim.”

  He laughed incredulously. “Where do you get your information? She recanted. She lied. She admitted it.”

  Elsie swallowed, silent for once.

  “That’s not all. There’s more.”

  “What?” she asked.

  “It’s a bombshell.”

  “What kind?”

  “About your witness.”

  “Who?”

  “Mom,” he answered with a sardonic grin. “The lovely Donita.”

  “Why can’t you leave that poor woman alone?”

  “You will find that your witness isn’t exactly Miss Lily White. You’ll see.”

  “Oh, fine. Smear the mother next. You’re like a broken record.”

  “I’ve got a subpoena.” He pulled a pink subpoena from the file folder he was holding and dangled it in front of her. Suspicious, Elsie lunged from her chair and made a grab for it, but he stuffed it in his pocket.

  “What the hell?” she snapped. “If you had anything, you’d come out with it. You’re bluffing.”

  In a huff, she sat back down.

  “As it turns out,” Nixon said, “Donita is a businesswoman. An entrepreneur. She’s in manufacturing.”

  Elsie looked blank.

  “Can’t guess?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Meth. Hillbilly heroin.”

  Her jaw dropped like a ventriloquist’s dummy.

  Nixon continued, “Donita’s in the methamphetamine manufacturing line. I’m subpoenaing the pharmacy records of her ephedrine purchases. Because you know what they’re going to show?”

  Elsie was speechless. Nixon prepared to leave, but he was clearly enjoying himself. Before he walked out, he paused and said, “You ever see anyone that skinny who wasn’t on meth? Hell, this ain’t California.”

  Chapter Twenty-­Three

  AS SOON AS Nixon cleared the doorway, Elsie grabbed the office phone, dialing Ashlock’s cell phone so fast that she pushed the wrong numbers and was rewarded by the blare of the misdial tone.

  “Fuck,” she whispered, dialing again, squeezing her eyes shut as it rang. “Fuckfuckfuck.”

  “What is this?” Ashlock demanded through the receiver.

  “Oh Lordamighty, Ashlock, it’s me. How do we get the information on pseudoephedrine purchases?”

  “Elsie? Why do you need it?”

  “Josh Nixon is calling Donita Taney a drug lord now. He says she’s making meth. So we’ve got to try to prove the negative.”

  Ashlock’s voice was calm, even. “I can get the records. If she’s been buying over-­the-­counter ephedrine, we can track it. If she hasn’t, her name won’t come up.”

  There was a moment of silence, which was broken by Ashlock’s observation: “She is awful skinny.”

  “Goddamn it, I know she’s skinny. Maybe she’s got a fast metabolism,” she said irritably, though Elsie doubted that such a condition existed. She rubbed her eyes while she held the phone. “Do you think it’s possible?”

  “Hey, we’re the capital,” he said.

  “I know. I read that.”

  “Missouri is the meth capital of the United States.”

  “Yep.”

  “We’re number one.”

  She laughed a little, despite her anxiety. “My mom always says Missouri is number one. Now I can tell her she’s right.”

  Ashlock suggested they ask Donita up front. He was taking JoLee’s statement at four and could bring Donita in as well to see what she had to say.

  “I want to be there. Where can I meet you?” Elsie knew that JoLee’s testimony could be vitally important, and she was desperate to hear a denial from Donita regarding the meth accusation.

  “I’ll interrogate her at the department. Detective Division.”

  “Okay, I’ll come on over. Four o’clock?”

  “Yep.”

  “See you then.”

  She hung up and stared at the roses on her desk. When the florist delivered them to the front office, there was a buzz of excitement. Stacie had called her to the reception area to receive them, and she felt a thrill of pleasure as she pulled the little florist card from its envelope amidst the green foliage. The card was printed with script that read: THINKING OF YOU. Under the script was scrawled, Love ya! Noah.

  Elsie had borne the flowers back to her office like a trophy; ­people expected that. But now, as she set the bouquet on the corner of her desk, she regarded it with a jaded eye. In her experience, flowers signified three things: love, lust, or a guilty conscience. Was Noah apologizing for his high-­handed departure smack the other night? Or was it something else?

  Her reverie was interrupted when Bree walked in.

  “Got a minute?” she asked.

  “Sure.”

  Bree shut the door before she sat down. Elsie eyed her with su
rprise. “Closed door conference, huh? This must be super secret. What’s cooking?”

  “I just overheard something pretty interesting.”

  “What?”

  “Madeleine tried to pull Ashlock off the Taney case.”

  Elsie shook her head. “No, Bree, that can’t be right. He’s still on the case. He’s taking a witness statement today.”

  “That’s what makes it such a good story.” Bree didn’t try to disguise her glee. “She told him that she needed his help on the trial she’s got coming up; she told him to take himself off the Taney case, to hand it off to someone else. She said—­this is a quote, ‘Taney is not a priority.’ ”

  “Backstabber.” Elsie snatched up a pen from her desk and twisted it, fighting the urge to confront Madeleine. “So what happened then?”

  “He said he was seeing Taney through to the end. That Madeleine didn’t make the case assignments at the Barton P.D.”

  “I bet that blew her away,” Elsie said with awe. “Where did you hear this?”

  “The chief assistant was talking about it in Rountree’s courtroom, giving a friend of his the blow by blow. I was in the jury room, looking up a statute, so they thought they were alone. I was quiet as the tomb.”

  “Bet it absolutely curled her hair. Wouldn’t you have loved to see her face?”

  “I’ll just have to imagine it,” Bree said, rising from her chair with a blissful sigh. “Guess old Madeleine learned that Detective Ashlock won’t be kicking our Elsie to the curb.” She reached out and touched the petals of the roses on Elsie’s desk as she turned to go.

  FOUR O’CLOCK FOUND Elsie at the police department. She hurried up the short flight of stairs to the Detective Division on the second floor, eager to finally get a look at JoLee. Patsy, manning the front desk at the investigative unit, pointed toward the interrogation room in the northeast corner. Elsie headed to the door and knocked.

  Ashlock let her in. A girlish looking woman in her mid-­twenties sat quietly at a metal table with her hands clenched in her lap, out of sight.

  Elsie glanced at Ashlock. “Will we be taking two statements?” she asked.

  He returned the look. “A minor complication with the other statement. I’ll explain later.” She nodded.