The Code of the Hills

by Nancy Allen

  “What did the girls say?”

  Elsie paused, her brows drawing together. “I beg your pardon?”

  “The little gals: Kris’s girls. What they done told you?”

  Smoothly, she responded, “What we need to discuss is your testimony, Mr. Taney, not the testimony of other witnesses. From the reports, it sounds like you personally observed some of the abuse. Were you present at the Taney home on Thanksgiving Day? Because—­”

  He cut her off. “You talk to Tiffany? Bet she ain’t said nothing. Tiffany don’t hardly never talk.”

  Elsie didn’t answer. Drawing stars on the legal pad, she said, “Can I have your updated contact information? I need an address and phone where you can be reached. And when can we meet?”

  “You tell me what the girls said and I’ll tell you where I’m staying.”

  She hardened her tone. “Mr. Taney, I realize you don’t know me very well, but I’m not going to bargain or barter with you. We’re not going to play any little games. I’m going to ask questions about this case, and you’re going to provide information.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You understand me?”

  “Yes indeed, yes ma’am.”

  “So you will help with the case and testify at trial?”

  “Oh, I will, all right. What I’m gonna say is gonna be real helpful.”

  She hesitated; she still didn’t like his tone. “And just what is it that you’ll be saying at trial?”

  “Whatever you want.”

  “What I want, Mr. Taney, is for you to tell the truth. You’ll be under oath.”

  “Sure, you do. I’m your man.”

  A look of exasperation crossed her face. She had no strength to put up with Al Taney’s antics, after all that had gone on that day. She tossed her pen across her desk; it rolled off onto the floor. “So what specific recollections about your brother’s behavior with his daughters can you share with me?”

  “I mean it. You tell me what you want me to say, and I’ll say it.”

  “Mr. Taney, you’re just messing with me.”

  “Oh no I ain’t.”

  “You certainly are.”

  “Hey, little lady, don’t go off on me. I wasn’t trying to piss you off, honest. I want to help you out.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “And you can help me out.”

  “What are you talking about? How do you want me to help you out?”

  “There’s something called immunity, ain’t there? Something like witness immunity?”

  An unhappy connection was forming in her head. “Immunity? Are you charged with something? Some other county?”

  “No! Not me. Nothing I know of.”

  “Then what do you need immunity for?”

  He sighed softly into the phone. “Well now, let’s see. Anything you think of. Whatever you say.”

  Elsie hung up without further comment. She dialed Stacie’s extension and told her that the nameless caller was Al Taney and his calls were not to be put through in the future.

  “What did he say?” Stacie asked. “Will he come over here?”

  “I don’t think he will, Stacie. He’s been dodging us so far.” She knew that it was impossible to predict what a Taney might do, but she wondered what Al Taney was up to. Her heart started beating faster as she tore the top sheet from the notepad and threw it in the trash. Block it out, she told herself sternly. Forget Al Taney. He’s history.

  It was barely mid-­afternoon, but she wanted a drink in the worst way. She sighed and turned her attention to the blank subpoena forms.

  She filled one out for Donita and one for each of the Taney daughters. As she checked the calendar to ensure that she had the correct date, her office phone rang again and she checked the caller ID: GEORGE ARNOLD.

  “Oh, thank God,” she said with a ragged breath. Picking up the receiver gratefully, she said, “Mom?” To her dismay, tears came into her voice.

  “What is it? What’s the matter?” her mother demanded.

  Though she struggled to get her voice under control, it was hopeless. She could hide her belly from Madeleine and the Our Earthly Fathers and Taney and the judge, but not from her mother.

  “It’s been a bad day, Mom. Really bad.”

  When Marge Arnold insisted that she relate all of her problems, Elsie found that recounting them in detail was more than she could bear at the moment. So she just said, “There was a protest at the courthouse, about the Taney case. And they got my car with rotten eggs. And—­” Then her voice broke.

  “What, baby? What is it?”

  Elsie rubbed her nose, hard. She wanted to tell her mother about the name-­calling, to confide the terrible things the man had said on the courthouse steps. But she had to collect herself before she could say it out loud.

  “Tell me,” her mother urged.

  “A protester. He called me a slut. Dirty leg slut, with my legs—­”

  She couldn’t finish; Marge exploded on the other end of the line. “Son of a bitch! How dare he?”

  Her mother’s anger was a panacea. Elsie’s distress eased as she heard Marge rant into the telephone, cursing the Our Earthly Fathers in particular and evil-­minded men in general. When her mother demanded that she come home to stay with them for the weekend, Elsie caved without a fight.

  “Okay, Mom. See you tonight,” she said, drawing strength from the prospect.

  “I’ll bake a ham!” her mother declared.

  Chapter Thirty-­One

  I AM NOT driving Donita Taney around today, Elsie swore as she headed to High Street in her dripping car. Two run-­throughs at the Jiffy Go automatic carwash rinsed a fair amount of the shells and the muck, but a coating remained that seemed to be stuck there for good. She could read the reference to the verse in Deuteronomy. ­People gonna think I’m born again, she reflected, cracking a humorless smile.

  When she parked in front of the Taneys’ apartment house, she glanced in the front window. Someone was home; she could see bodies moving around inside. She was relieved to know that her drive was not a waste of time. Now that the trial could be just around the bend, it was imperative that she connect with the family.

  Donita looked curious as she opened the door in response to her knock. “Did something happen?” she inquired.

  “Actually, yes, you could say that,” Elsie hedged. “May I come in?”

  Donita nodded. Elsie followed her into the front room, where the family was gathered around a recent acquisition: a television. Obviously a secondhand set with major picture and sound problems, it was not providing much entertainment. The girls watched anxiously as Roy Mayfield fiddled with the knobs and dials.

  “Just look at that,” Donita whispered with awe, nodding in the direction of the television. “I never in my life had a man who could bring something like that home, and make it work. That Roy’s something.”

  She looked at Elsie as if she expected a response. Staring at the woman’s blithe expression, Elsie’s gut clenched and she tasted bile. But she swallowed back her response. Working hard to keep her face neutral, she said, “That’s sure something.”

  “Roy has a head for that fancy stuff. He’s got a computer. And a cell phone. Of his own.”

  “Well, that’s handy.”

  “Yes it is. So if you want to get ahold of me, you could call Roy’s phone. Ain’t that right,” Donita said, turning to Roy, who was manipulating a screwdriver. “Ain’t you got a cell phone and a computer?”

  Roy looked up from his task, regarding Elsie and Donita with a flat expression. “Nobody touches my computer. Or my phone.”

  “We ain’t bothering it, I’m just telling Elsie. How’s the TV coming?”

  He gave an inarticulate grunt, which could be interpreted as either good or bad news.

  Donita smiled. “That Roy. He’ll get it wo
rking in two shakes of a tail. We got a good daddy to take care of us now.”

  Elsie looked at Donita with a sinking feeling in her stomach.

  “Maybe we should go to the kitchen. I need to talk to you about something important,” she said to her in a quiet voice.

  Mayfield looked up from the TV as she spoke. “No need to go anywhere,” he said firmly. Donita looked uncertain as she glanced from Elsie to Mayfield.

  “We don’t want to disturb you all,” Elsie said reassuringly. “We’ll just be a minute.” With that, she started toward the kitchen, willing Donita to follow. She needed to assert leadership. At this point in the proceedings, she couldn’t let Roy Mayfield create an impediment.

  But Mayfield stood and laid a hand on Donita’s shoulder. “You ain’t got nothing to say to Donita I can’t hear,” he said. “I’m head of the house here. Everything goes through me.” He gave Donita a shove. “Sit down, Donita.”

  Donita did as she was told. Elsie surveyed the situation with concern. Donita sat on the edge of the couch, regarding her with an apologetic smile, waiting for her to speak. Kristy and Tiffany also had their eyes on Elsie, while Charlene kept her gaze doggedly fixed on the fuzzy television screen.

  Elsie felt a chill, despite her heavy coat. This was what Josh Nixon predicted when he revealed that Donita had another man. What else, she wondered, was he right about?

  She wanted to slap Mayfield down but stopped herself. Maybe she should proceed as though he wasn’t creating a problem.

  “Okay,” she said, walking over to the couch and taking a seat next to Donita. “Well, here’s the news. Kris’s lawyer filed a motion to reduce bond, and the hearing was held today.”

  “So he’s getting out,” Mayfield said accusingly, turning away from the set and fixing Elsie with an angry glare. “I knew it.”

  Kristy, with an expression of horror, said, “Lord, Lord, he’s gonna be mad. We’re all gonna get it.” Donita’s hand involuntarily went to her jaw, as if to deflect a blow. Tiffany jumped up and ran to Elsie and clutched her hand. She squeezed it, looking at her with urgency in every muscle of her small face.

  Elsie gently detached herself from the child’s grip. “He’s not going anywhere,” she said. “The judge overruled the motion; he said he would not lower Kris’s bond, so he’s staying in jail while he waits for trial.”

  The relief in the room was palpable. The girls relaxed. Tiffany returned to her spot. Picking up her Barbie where she’d dropped it a moment before, she kissed the doll’s nylon head, though she kept her gaze trained on Elsie. Kristy’s head dropped to her knees and she exhaled audibly.

  “So that’s good,” Elsie continued, cheerfully. “And the other big news is that the judge set our case as the backup to a big civil case the week after next. And that civil case is looking like it could settle. So it’s just possible that we may go to trial in ten days.” The room was silent. “Wouldn’t that be great? We can put all this behind us when it’s done.”

  She examined the faces that turned toward her in the Taneys’ front room. They wore uniform expressions of dismay. She wasn’t surprised; going to trial wouldn’t be a treat for any of them.

  “But we just had a trial,” Kristy said.

  “Now, honey, remember, that was the preliminary hearing before the judge upstairs.”

  “You bet I remember. It made me sick. I puked. Two times.”

  “But you’ll be an old hand now, Kristy. This time it’s the real trial, in the big courtroom with Judge Rountree and a jury in the jury box. You’ll testify, and Charlene will, and your mom, and Dr. Petrus, and Tina Peroni, and some police officers. And I’ll be in the courtroom every minute.” Elsie spoke with false enthusiasm, trying to dispel the air of dread that hung over the room.

  “I don’t want to do it again,” Kristy said. “I don’t like it at the court. It scares me to death.” She hid her face on her knees, covering her head with both arms.

  Elsie sat in silence for a few moments. She wanted to offer comfort, but she could not deny the painful challenge that awaited the girl. “It’s going to be all right, Kristy.”

  A muffled voice came from Kristy, whose head remained buried in her arms.

  “I can’t. I can’t do it.” Kristy lifted her head. “Roy, I don’t want to.” Jumping up from the floor, the girl ran to Roy and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Roy, say I don’t have to. Please,” she begged in a wheedling tone.

  Elsie said, “You have to, honey. You don’t have any choice.” She found it disconcerting to see the child snuggled up to Roy Mayfield. Turning her head away, she rummaged in her purse for a pen and smoothed down the top sheet of a pad of paper.

  Mayfield advanced on her. “Just a minute here,” he said, his chest thrust out. “These girls don’t want to fool with this no more. They want to move on, go on with their lives, put what their daddy done in the past. You get him to plead guilty. That’s your job.”

  She’d lost her patience with his interference. The reach of his attempted domination extended beyond the Taney family circle; he was trying to shut down her case.

  In a sharp voice she said, “I can’t get him to do anything. That’s not how it works. We have to be ready for trial, to prove our case in court. The girls are the state’s witnesses; they have to appear.”

  “This is a free country, man. Nobody in this family has to do anything unless I say so. I know the law,” he added. “Maybe we’ll drop the charges. You make him a deal that, if Kris leaves town, we’ll drop the criminal thing.”

  Drop the criminal thing? she thought, dumbfounded. Who the fuck do you think you are, cracker? Mayfield’s demands were setting alarms off in her head.

  Elsie decided to change tactics, not eager to discuss legal theory with him. Maybe if she pretended Mayfield was invisible, he would actually disappear. She turned back to Donita and gave her arm a friendly pat.

  “Donita, I won’t tell you that testifying in a criminal case is easy, because it’s not, and I’m not going to be anything but straight with you.” Donita locked eyes with her and seemed focused on what she was saying. “But it’s the truth: it’s out of your hands at this point. ­People get the mistaken notion,” she continued, intentionally refusing to look at Mayfield, “that when they are the complaining witness in a criminal case, they can just drop the charge and make it disappear. That’s not how it works.”

  She had the attention of everyone in the room, except for Charlene, who turned her head so Elsie could only see her ponytail. Kristy shook her head and stretched out on the floor. Tiffany came over and sat on her mother’s lap, staring at Elsie, and Mayfield glowered by the TV set.

  “I always thought you could. Drop it. I seen it on TV a hundred times,” Donita said lamely. She ran her hand gently through Tiffany’s red curls, combing out tangles with her fingers.

  “Yeah, well, it’s not like that in real life. This may sound weird, but it’s the state of Missouri’s case, and only the state gets to decide to drop the charge. See?”

  Looking around the room, she hoped to see comprehension. Donita and her daughters focused on Mayfield, waiting for his reaction. He looked angry, like he was itching to fight.

  When Elsie directed an unwavering gaze toward him, he turned abruptly and walked to the kitchen. She heard the faucet as he poured a glass of water. He returned a moment later and stood in the doorway.

  Mayfield announced, “It ain’t good for them girls to be in court against their daddy like that, talking about that family business in front of the whole town. Don’t you know it shames them?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Elsie replied matter-­of-­factly. “These girls are agents of justice.” As she opened her folder and pulled out four pink subpoenas, she silently vowed that if Roy got in her way, she’d make him sorry he was ever born. After tearing off the originals, she handed them to Donita, then tucked the copies ba
ck into her file. “It’s official now,” she said, affecting a cheerful voice. “You’ve been served.”

  Donita examined the documents. “Tiffany, too?”

  “Yeah, we better have her there. You never know.”

  From the kitchen, Mayfield said, “You can throw that one for Tiffany in the trash. Tiffany got nothing to say.” Returning to the main room, he reached for Tiffany. “Ain’t that right, baby? Come give Uncle Roy some sugar.”

  With a look of horror, the child shied away from him, clinging to her mother like a spider monkey.

  Without a look at anyone, Charlene rose from the floor and dusted off her knees. She headed to the doorway.

  “Charlene,” Donita said, “where you going?”

  Elsie spoke up. “Charlene? Can we go somewhere private? I need to talk to you. I need the name of a teacher from middle school.”

  Charlene didn’t respond. She picked a jacket up off of the floor and put it on without looking back.

  “Charlene!” Donita said again.

  “Your mama is talking to you,” Mayfield said in a warning tone.

  Donita turned back to Elsie with Tiffany in her arms and spoke confidingly. “We think Charlene’s got a boyfriend. We can’t hardly keep her to home these days. Char,” she repeated as the door opened, “when you coming back?”

  Charlene looked over her left shoulder. Her face was stony. “Later,” she replied shortly.

  She had a black eye.

  Startled, Elsie asked, “What happened to Charlene’s eye?”

  Donita laughed pleasantly, shaking her head. “That girl. She walked into a cabinet. She never looks where she’s going.”

  Elsie looked at the others in the room, but no one would meet her eye. On impulse, she jumped up and ran out in the front yard, calling Charlene’s name.

  She caught a glimpse of the girl’s black hair as Charlene rounded a corner and disappeared from view.

  She wanted to curse. If she didn’t find that middle school teacher, this house of cards could fall. But the glimpse of Charlene’s black eye brought new worries. With Kris Taney in jail, who was using Charlene as a punching bag?