by Pratt, Scott
“Let me take care of Sadie, Uncle,” Charlie said, “and then you and I need to have a little talk.”
Chapter 30
CAROLINE planned the ambush. After I told her about Charlie and the gold, there was no way Jack was going to escape an interrogation by his mother, and there was no way I was going to avoid being a part of it. She told Jack that she wanted to fix his favorite dish, chicken cordon bleu, on Tuesday evening. When he asked her what the occasion was, she said she’d felt as though they hadn’t been able to spend enough time together, that she’d been spending all her free time with our grandson and niece, and she wanted the three of us to have a nice meal together and catch up. I heard the conversation, and I knew exactly what she was doing, but I didn’t say a word.
The dance school year, which ran from August to May, was over, and Caroline had some time on her hands. I’d become accustomed to doing most of the cooking at the house because Caroline worked in the evenings and she worked a lot on weekends, but she was an excellent cook. She spent the entire afternoon puttering around in the kitchen, and when she laid the food out on the table, it smelled fantastic.
“Wow, Mom, this looks great,” Jack said as he dived into the chicken.
“You should have invited Charlie,” Caroline said.
“I thought you wanted it to be just the three of us.”
“I want to meet her.”
“You will,” Jack said.
“When?”
“I don’t know. Soon.”
“I understand she’s come into some money.”
Jack looked across the table at me. It was one of those “thanks a lot for throwing me under the bus” looks.
“I knew you’d tell her,” he said.
I shrugged my shoulders. “I tell her everything.”
“No, you don’t. I seem to remember hearing you guys argue more than a few times about that very subject. She’s always complained that you keep things to yourself, that you aren’t open enough.”
“I’ve changed,” I said. “I’ve realized the error of my ways. I’ve adapted and I’ve overcome.”
“So tell me about it,” Caroline said.
“About what?” Jack said.
“About this new-found wealth that Charlie has come into.”
“What do you want to hear? I’m sure Mister Recently-Converted-Master-of-Communication over there has already told you all about it.”
“What does she plan to do with this gold? Your father tells me he advised her to turn it over to the court, but he doesn’t think she’s going to. Have you talked to her about it?”
“Not only have I talked to her about it, I’ve actually seen it,” Jack said. “Well, I’ve seen one bar. She showed it to me when I went up there. We’re looking into some different things, some options.”
“What kind of options?” I said.
“First of all, Charlie says getting it out of this cave where she found it is going to be a logistical nightmare. There is literally a ton of gold stashed deep in a cave in the mountains. The terrain is so rugged you can’t drive a truck or even a Jeep up there. She says we can get a four-wheeler to the cave, but we’ll have to haul the gold out of the cave a couple of bars at a time. I’ve been thinking about it, and I can probably haul six or seven bars out at a time in a backpack. She could haul maybe half that much. We can haul a couple hundred pounds at a time on a four-wheeler, which means it would take us maybe ten trips up and down the mountain to get it all out. From there, we’re thinking we could load it into her truck and my Jeep and take it to an armored car service. She doesn’t want anyone to know where it came from, so we’ll meet them somewhere and they can take it on to a gold broker. We’re researching setting up offshore corporations and bank accounts. We think we’ll form the corporation in the Caymans or someplace like that, then set up a bank account in maybe Switzerland, then take the gold to a broker and have them wire the money to the account. Once we do that, Charlie can have access to the money by using credit or debit cards or checks. She can withdraw cash. She can do whatever she wants.”
“It isn’t hers yet,” I said. “She can’t just start spending the money.”
“Why?” Jack said. “Why can’t she spend it? Roscoe gave it to her.”
“Because Zane Barnes and Nathaniel Mitchell filed suit this morning in probate court to have the will declared invalid. It alleges undue influence, accuses Charlie of coercing Roscoe, of taking advantage of a mentally ill old man.”
“Which is a load of crap,” Jack said. “You know it and I know it.”
“It might be a load of crap,” I said, “but until a judge – or more likely an appellate court – rules in her favor, she can’t spend it.”
“Nobody knows she has it,” Jack said, “except for the three people sitting at this table and maybe her uncle. I don’t even know if she’s told him yet. So unless you’re planning on telling someone, she should be fine. And I don’t think she’s planning on going on a spending binge. We talked about it. She’s going to keep it on the down low until she sees how things play out.”
“You could wind up getting subpoenaed in this lawsuit,” I said. “As a matter of fact, I’m sure you’ll wind up being deposed by Nathaniel Mitchell. So will I. What are you planning to do if he starts asking you questions about it? Lie under oath?”
“You’re damned right I will.”
Caroline got up from the table, walked over to the refrigerator, and came back with a bottle of salad dressing. She didn’t open the dressing; she didn’t even have a salad. She did it just to break up the rhythm of the conversation and to let everyone calm down a bit. The tone of Jack’s voice was getting sharp, and I could feel my own blood pressure rising.
“I have a bad feeling about it,” Caroline said to Jack. “I don’t see how she can think clearly under these circumstances, and I don’t think you’re thinking very clearly either. You’re being seduced by two of the most powerful forces on earth – beauty and instant wealth – and I’m afraid you’re going to wind up getting your heart broken. Why don’t you break it off, or at least slow it down, until everything is resolved or until she comes to her senses and turns the money over to the court like your dad suggested?”
Jack pounded his fist on the table. Not too hard, but enough to make the silverware rattle.
“We’re talking about a woman I may want to spend the rest of my life with,” he said. “We’re also talking about fifty million dollars. Fifty million! And you want me to just walk away because you have a bad feeling?”
“Watch your tone,” I said. I loved Jack more than I can put into words, but nobody, nobody, talked to my wife in that tone in my presence. “Talk to your mother like that again and I’ll kick your ass all over this property.”
“Bring it on, old man,” Jack said.
“Stop it! Both of you stop it right now! Joe, go to your study and… study something. Jack, go to your room and do whatever it is you do in there. We’ll talk about this some more when everyone has calmed down.”
I got up and walked out of the room, feeling like a child who had been rebuked by a teacher in class. Jack did the same.
The food was wasted.
Chapter 31
THE door buzzed and clanged, and Charlie and Jack followed me into a small interview room walled by concrete blocks of gunmetal gray and floored in gray linoleum. I wondered how many times Charlie and Jack would visit jails and prisons during their lifetimes. Would they follow the path I had followed and defend men and women accused of terrible crimes? Would they have the stomach for it, or would they take an easier, saner route?
I hadn’t mentioned the gold to Charlie since we’d first spoken about it at the office on Saturday and Jack and I hadn’t spoken of it since the blow up the night before. It was Charlie’s business and her problem, and while I was worried about how she seemed to be handling it, I figured if she wanted or needed my help, she would ask. In the meantime, I needed a little help from her.
I’d
brought her along to meet Jordan Scott because I wanted Charlie to participate in the trial. I wanted her to help me with his defense, and more than that, I was entertaining the idea of letting her present the closing argument. It would be a crucial point in the trial – maybe the most important point – and I knew it would be risky, but there were several things about Charlie that I thought could benefit Jordan. First of all, she was bright and attractive and would appeal to any juror, male or female. Secondly, I thought the effect of a beautiful, young white woman arguing passionately on behalf of a young, black man accused of murder would be powerful. And finally, in spite of the things she was dealing with and my concern for her, there was an inner strength to Charlie – the kind of demeanor developed by people who have dealt with and overcome difficulties and tragedies – that became apparent as soon as she opened her mouth. I thought a jury would trust her, and if Jordan Scott was to be acquitted, he would need that kind of rapport between his lawyers and the jury.
I’d already talked to Charlie extensively about Jordan and the facts of the case. I’d also been in contact with Leon Bates, and as usual, Leon had come through for me. Leon had learned that there were a significant number of people in the Sullivan County Sheriff’s Department who felt like Todd Raleigh had gotten exactly what he deserved, and a couple of them had been willing to smuggle out some important information.
Jordan stood and bowed slightly in Charlie’s direction when we entered the interview room.
“Mr. Dillard,” he said.
“This is Charlie Story,” I said. “She just graduated from law school and she’s going to be helping me out with your defense. This is my son, Jack. He’s about to start his second year of law school and he’s my law clerk. He’ll be helping us with legal research and anything else we need. ”
Everyone shook hands and we sat down at the table.
“So how are you?” I said to Jordan.
“I can’t complain.”
I’d come to admire Jordan’s well-mannered stoicism, his refusal to acknowledge, at least in my presence, that he was in a desperate situation. Jordan was a lightning rod in the community, a symbol of polarity that ignited passionate debates throughout the region and across the state. He’d shot a police officer – who also happened to be the son of a Sullivan County commissioner – in the head with a twelve-gauge shotgun and then had calmly called 9-1-1. He was an African American in a place where the black population was in the neighborhood of two percent. He didn’t deny the killing. As a matter of fact, my impression was that under similar circumstances, he would do the exact same thing without hesitation.
I had already interviewed several people about Jordan and had yet to find anyone who had anything bad to say. As I had suspected, however, the district attorney’s office – while silently grateful to Jordan for ridding the community of a human cancer and for stopping a brutal rape – was not impressed by the fact that Jordan had followed Todd Raleigh for days and that he carried a shotgun with him to the park that morning. They also took note that Raleigh was running away when Jordan shot him. They turned a deaf ear to my story of the rape of Jordan’s girlfriend, the unsuccessful attempt to have Raleigh investigated, and Holly’s suicide. Jordan’s stalking of Raleigh and the fact that he was carrying a shotgun with him in a deserted park in the early morning were evidence of pre-meditation, they said. Vigilantism, no matter how righteous it may seem on the surface, could not be tolerated in a society so advanced as modern-day America nor a community so advanced as Kingsport, Tennessee. Jordan was facing a first-degree murder charge, and it was up to us to salvage his life.
We talked for a half-hour or so, going over details, before I said, “I have some good news for a change.”
“Great,” Jordan said, “let’s hear it.”
“A lot of people are upset by this entire… situation. An employee of the sheriff’s department smuggled out a copy of Raleigh’s personnel file. He’d been reprimanded three times in the past two years for sexual harassment. They even suspended him for a week last year.”
“But they didn’t fire him.”
“I’ve been told by more than one person that the relationship between Commissioner Raleigh and the sheriff runs pretty deep. They grew up together, went to school together, have been friends their entire lives. Commissioner Raleigh has put a lot of money into the sheriff’s election campaigns, gotten him a lot of votes. That’s why Todd Raleigh didn’t get fired, and that’s why they stonewalled you when you accused him of rape.”
“So what’s the plan?”
“It doesn’t change a lot, but it’s something we might be able to use depending on how things play out in court. If the district attorney comes into court and starts telling the jury about Raleigh’s wonderful law enforcement record, which I’m sure he will, it’ll give us an opening. I’m going to subpoena the sheriff. I’ll confront him with the personnel file and then start on him about the accusation Holly made. I also managed to get my hands on the internal reports from the first two investigators you talked to.”
“They wrote something down?”
“Police officers are part of government, Jordan. They cover their butts like any bureaucrat. And when they do, it leaves a trail. We’re lucky to have someone on the inside helping us.”
“Who is it?”
“That’s a piece of information you don’t need to know.”
“I don’t see how it will help much,” Jordan said. “I mean, I killed him.”
“I know. I wish you hadn’t but you did, so we deal with it. Look, the prosecution has to prove that you pre-meditated the killing in order to convict you of first-degree murder. That means they’re going to put on proof of your mental state. We’ll do the same thing. We’re going to show that you were enraged, frustrated and grieving after Holly’s suicide. We’re going to show that you went to the police for help and they turned you away. We’ll do all of that when you testify. You’re the key, Jordan. You’re going to have to get on the witness stand and tell the jury everything you went through with Holly. You’re going to have to tell them everything you’ve told me. The bottom line is that you’re going to have to make them think that Raleigh deserved to die. On the surface, our defense will be that you killed Raleigh in defense of another person when you stopped the rape. But our real defense will be what’s called the ‘sumbitch needed killin’ defense.’ Jury nullification. We make the jury feel so sympathetic toward you and so angry toward Raleigh that they acquit you. It’s a long shot, but it’s been done before. We have a chance.”
Jordan nodded. “I’ll hope for the best, but I’m planning for the worst.”
“Hang in there,” I said. “This personnel file is good news. The first we’ve had in awhile.”
I picked up my briefcase and pushed the button on the wall that would summon a guard. Jordan nodded slowly. He didn’t seem to be listening; his mind was focused on something else.
“I appreciate everything you and Miss Story and Jack are doing,” Jordan said. “But I want all of you to know that even if I end up going to prison for the rest of my life, I’ll never regret what I did.”
“I understand how much Holly meant to you,” I said.
“That’s not why I don’t regret it. I suppose it’s true that I acted out of a need for revenge, but something else came from it, something good.”
“What’s that?” I asked, expecting to hear that Jordan had found God inside the walls of the jail.
“Since the day I killed that man, no one else has been raped, and no one else will be.”
Chapter 32
CLYDE Dalton pulled his Mercedes into a spot next to the Ford Ranger pick up. He’d followed her and the lawyer, Joe Dillard, along with a young man he didn’t recognize, from the office to the jail at a discreet distance. It was the first time he’d seen her since he paid for her breakfast and left the note on her car. The same police officer who arrested him for stalking had showed up on his doorstep and threatened to arrest him again, and his
mother had been preaching at him like an evangelist. He must stay away from Charleston Story, they said. He must leave her alone. But Clyde had once again stopped taking the medication that gave him headaches and made him feel like a zombie and now all he could think about was Charleston.
Clyde suspected that the Central Intelligence Agency was using satellite and microwaves to read his thoughts. They’d put out the word that he was crazy, and he couldn’t get a job. If he couldn’t get a job, how did they expect him to live? He was living in a vicious cycle caused by a conspiracy, a conspiracy to keep him from revealing the truth about the CIA’s lies and illegal spying, and now they were trying to turn Charleston, his young lovely, against him.
She was like a star, a brilliant light in an otherwise dark universe. When she walked, she seemed to float like a swan on a moonlit pond. Her eyes were sapphires, her hair fine silk. Her voice was as soothing as a whippoorwill on a summer’s evening. And her name, Charleston, ah, even the name was symphonic. He would talk to her this time instead of writing. He would profess his love face-to-face, make her understand that all the things the CIA and everyone else were saying about him were lies, that he meant her no harm, that he loved her.
Clyde scanned the outside of the jail, an ominous brick box with narrow, slit windows. It was after lunchtime, warm and humid. It was getting hot inside the car. He cracked a window.
“You need to kill the bitch,” said a tinny voice, a voice identical to the voice of a bully named Bodie Scaggs who had tormented Clyde in high school.
“Shut up, Bodie,” Clyde replied aloud inside the car.
The voice had been bothering him for years. It started around the time he graduated from high school, he wasn’t exactly sure. At first, he heard it only once every five or six months. It would make suggestions, suggestions which Clyde was free to follow or ignore. But as time had gone on, as he grew older and got married and lived the life of a young insurance agent, the voice became more assertive. It was Bodie’s voice that constantly suggested he drink vodka or ingest cocaine or take pills. It was Bodie’s voice that ruined his marriage by telling him to do perverted and violent things to his wife. It was Bodie who first told him about the CIA and the plot, Bodie who told him to buy a gun and start practicing at the indoor range and shave his head.