It was 6:30 on Monday morning and Mr. Sterling had brought my breakfast tray by.
"Will I be able to wash up before then?" I hadn't had a shower or a change of clothes since Saturday. I'd been washing myself in the sink. But it was hot and sticky inside and a simple sponge bath wasn't helping much. And I really needed a shave.
Mr. Sterling shook his head. "No. I wish I could let you, but the Sheriff has special instructions. Mr. Jones tried to bring you a change of clothes yesterday, but one of the deputies was here and nixed the idea."
"What about the note?"
"What note?" The man wore an innocent and confused expression, so I let the matter drop.
I took a bite of the scrambled eggs. After I had a swig of coffee, I asked, "Mr. Sterling, I really appreciate all of this. Seems like better treatment than most inmates probably get. I'm wondering why you're taking such an interest?"
He hung his head for a moment. When he looked up, his eyes were red. "My boy has polio. Your donations to the hospital board made sure he had an iron lung when he couldn't breathe. He's still alive because of you."
"I'm really sorry about that."
He nodded. "Don't be. Just keep behavin' yourself and we'll get you out. Don't worry. This is all just politics. The sheriff was a friend of Wilson Jones." He lowered his voice. "They, uh, belonged to the same social club, if you get my drift."
I nodded and said nothing in reply.
. . .
At a quarter to 10, Sheriff Shreve and his deputy came by to escort me to the courthouse. I walked with them in my smelly black silk suit and without handcuffs.
We came into the courtroom from a side entrance. The judge wasn't present yet. The layout was like most I'd seen both in the movies and in real life. There was a high desk for the judge. A bailiff stood to the left of it. There were two tables in front of a railing that separated the lawyers from the spectators in the gallery. On the right side of the room was a jury box. All the windows were open, and ceiling fans were on maximum speed. They hadn't installed air conditioning, yet.
I looked around the gallery, which was mostly empty, and saw Carter. He smiled and lifted the briefcase that was on his left. Next to him was Aunt Velma. On her left was John, who was in his police uniform. They all nodded and smiled encouragingly. I smiled back to let them know I was fine.
The sheriff led me over to the table on the left and walked away. A young, lean man with soulful brown eyes and chestnut hair stood up. He was dressed in a wrinkled white linen suit with a periwinkle tie. He extended his hand. We shook. Before he could say anything, the bailiff announced the arrival of the judge. The young man motioned I should stand to his left, so I did.
The presiding judge, one Arthur T. Young, arrived and sat down. We all did the same. He looked through his papers and announced, "Docket item number 53-81. State of Georgia versus Nicholas Williams." He looked around the courtroom and asked, "Appearances?"
A tall man with thick dark hair stood up from the other table and said, "John B. Underwood, for the state, Your Honor." He remained standing.
The young man to my right stood up and said, "Thomas Kincaid, for the defense."
The judge asked, "Is the defendant present?"
I stood up. "Yes, sir."
"State your name and place of residence."
"Nicholas Williams, 137 Hartford Street, San Francisco, California."
The judge turned to the prosecutor. "What's the charge?"
Mr. Young replied, "Sodomy, Your Honor."
The judge shook his head and looked at Kincaid. "How does your client plead?"
"Not guilty. And we ask for an evidentiary hearing."
The prosecutor said, "Your Honor, we have substantiated proof. There's no need for a hearing."
The judge did not look happy. "If you have the proof, then you can bring it back at 2 this afternoon for a hearing and you can tell me all about it then."
He looked down at his papers. "Mr. Williams, I see that you have sufficient means to meet bail." He looked at me.
"Yes, Your Honor."
He looked down again and made a notation. "Bail is set at fifty thousand dollars. Cash or bond." He brought down his gavel, and that was that.
. . .
Back at the jail, Carter and Kincaid handed over the cash for the bail as I waited on a bench with the deputy. The sheriff was there and was not happy.
"So, how is it that you happen to have fifty thousand on you?" He glowered at Carter and then turn to do the same to me.
Kincaid said, "That's neither here nor there, Sheriff. This is the bail and now it's paid and my client would like his possessions returned to him." We he said the last part, he turned to Mr. Sterling, who was grinning. The jail supervisor reached under his counter and brought out a small box containing my wallet, checkbook, and keys. Kincaid opened the wallet and asked, "Mr. Williams?"
I stayed seated but replied, "Yes?"
"How much cash do you reckon there was in your wallet?"
"Probably six or seven hundred dollars. Maybe a bit more. It was on the receipt that I signed."
"A receipt?" asked Kincaid. I nodded.
Mr. Sterling was looking around furiously. He was bent over opening drawers and pulling out boxes. Finally, he stood up and looked at the sheriff.
"Which one of your boys did this?"
"I dunno what you mean." The tone of his voice made it clear he knew exactly what the jail supervisor meant.
"There was a receipt in that box and that wallet had, if I recall, seven hundred and ten dollars in it. I counted it myself. Now, where is it?"
"Maybe one of your boys has slippery fingers. Come on Floyd, let's go." The deputy sitting with me stood up and the two of them left.
After the door closed behind them, Kincaid turned and asked Mr. Sterling, "If I bring you an affidavit about what happened, would you be willing to sign it?"
"Damn straight I will! I can't believe that son of a bitch thinks he can keep getting away with this bullshit."
I stood up and walked over to the desk. I offered my hand and he shook it. "Thanks, Mr. Sterling. I appreciate everything you've done."
His blazing eyes softened a bit, and he said, "Fair's fair Mr. Williams. Good luck and I hope to see you again outside somewhere, maybe over dinner. I know that Ginger would very much like to meet you. I'm sure she'd love to have you and Mr. Jones for dinner anytime you're available."
I looked at Carter who was clearly stunned. I turned back and replied, "I'm sure we'd like that very much."
. . .
Kincaid said, "Unless someone took a photograph, the only evidence they could have would be the sheets on the bed. Sleeping together in the same bed is no proof. Do you think that's what they have?"
I looked around the diner. We'd been going over everything that had happened from when we landed on Friday to when I was arrested on Saturday. We were in the very back, as far away from prying ears as we could get. Everyone in the diner was whispering, and a few were openly watching.
"I don't think so." I tried to remember what exactly we had done.
Carter said, "I know there isn't anything. Remember? You fell asleep."
I nodded. "Right. That's why I can't remember. It was after 3, wasn't it, when we got to bed?"
Carter nodded. "Yeah, and we'd had a very long day."
I added, "Right."
Kincaid said, "Then I wonder what their 'substantiated proof' would be."
I said, "I don't know how it works in Georgia, but 'substantiated' in California usually means it's been tested in a lab. Is there such a thing around here?"
Kincaid shook his head. "No. They would have to send up to Atlanta. That would be impossible. There wouldn't have been enough time. There must be something else." He took a sip of coffee and thought for a moment.
I asked, "What about someone seeing us?"
"That could be it. Do you think that's possible?"
I looked at Carter who shook his head. "No, in fact, it's
impossible unless someone was under the bed. We both hung up our clothes in the closet in that room. We both brushed our teeth in the bathroom."
"What if someone was hiding in the other bedroom and then saw you from the door to the sitting room?"
I nodded. "That's possible. And there's only one person crazy enough to do that."
Carter smiled grimly. "Eileen."
. . .
After lunch, we went over to Kincaid's office. It was a small affair, dusty, with stacks of documents and boxes and binders everywhere. He didn't have a secretary although, from the look of things, he needed one. Carter had, thankfully, brought a change of clothes for me. I ducked into Kincaid's closet of a bathroom and shed the silk suit I would probably have to burn.
After quickly shaving, I got dressed and was done in less than ten minutes. I still needed a long, hot shower but that was as good as it was going to get.
I crossed the office and took the empty seat in front of Kincaid's desk. He handed me his standard service contract. I quickly scanned it and signed it. Then, I pulled out my checkbook and wrote out his standard retainer. As I handed the check to him, I asked, "How'd you get roped into this, by the way?"
"John Parker called me Saturday night after you'd been arrested." That was Carter's cousin.
"Isn't it strange for a cop to line up a defense attorney?"
"Well, he's one of the few policemen in town who think that following the law is an actual part of his job description. I've never met a more fair policeman." He looked at me a little sternly. Apparently, he didn't like me using the word, "cop."
"If you don't mind me asking, where'd you go to law school?"
"Tulane in New Orleans."
I nodded. "Were you in the service or were you too young?"
Kincaid smiled at me. This was the first time he'd done so, and it was a real charmer. I heard Carter shuffle in his chair.
"What he's askin' you, Mr. Kincaid, is how old you are."
I smiled and nodded.
"Be 39 in December."
"Really?"
"It's my eternal youth and endless charm that win me case after case, Mr. Williams."
I laughed. "Please, call me Nick."
Kincaid smiled again and nodded but did not offer the same in return.
. . .
Before we went over to the courthouse for the hearing, I put in a call to my trust manager at Bank of America and arranged for him to wire in ten thousand dollars to the First National Bank in Albany. He said it should be available in the morning. Before we hung up, he asked if I'd seen the papers.
I put the phone receiver back on its cradle and asked, "Any Hearst papers get delivered around here?"
"Not since James Cox bought the Atlanta Georgian from Hearst in 1939. Why?"
"I suspect I'm on the front page." I sighed. "Again."
Carter stood up. "Come on, son. You can call Marnie after the hearing and she'll tell you all about it."
I stood up and looked at Kincaid. "What happens if we lose the hearing?"
"Then you get bound over for trial but, unless something strange happens, you won't. And, even if you were, you're already out on bail. But, I know Judge Young. He's had it out for the sheriff for a few years now. He's gonna throw this mess out. No doubt." He grinned for a moment in thought as we walked out into the heat of the afternoon. He said, "Poor Buzz Underwood. He's the Assistant District Attorney. Lost the election last year to the new man. Now he's gotta deal with this nonsense arrest by the sheriff." Kincaid chuckled to himself. "He always gets stuck with the tar baby."
Chapter 9
Dougherty County Courthouse, Room 101
Monday, July 20, 1953
2 in the afternoon
When we were all back in our places, the judge asked, "Is the prosecution ready to present evidence?"
Mr. Underwood stood and said, "We are, Your Honor."
"Call your first witness."
"Call Eileen Johnson."
The gallery was packed. When we had approached the courthouse from the side street where Kincaid's office was located, we saw that the lawn in front was covered with anyone and everyone. Kincaid took us through a side door so we didn't have to deal with the throng.
I turned and watched as Eileen Johnson, wearing a blue dotted dress with a white hat and carrying a white purse in her gloved hands, rose and walked forward. The gallery murmured as she did so.
The judge banged his gavel and said, "There will be no interruptions in my courtroom. This isn't a Senate hearing and we're not on television. Any outbursts from the gallery, and I'll clear this room faster than any of you can spit. Am I understood?" He paused and surveyed the room with a glaring ferocity. Once he was satisfied, he said to Mr. Underwood, "Proceed."
Once Eileen was sworn in by the bailiff, Mr. Underwood stood behind his table and asked, "Miss Johnson. On the early morning of Saturday, July 18th, did you have occasion to visit Suite 601 at the New Albany Hotel?"
"I did."
"For what reason did you visit the suite?"
"I suspected that they were breakin' the law." She pointed at me.
"And, how did you come to suspect such a thing might be transpirin'?"
"I read the papers. I know all about him." She pointed at me, again.
"When you say, 'him,' to whom are you referrin'?"
"The defendant. Mr. Nicholas Williams." She spat out my name like she was trying to get rid of a bad taste in her mouth. I watched her with my stone face.
"Now, on the mornin' in question, what did you observe?"
Eileen turned red. "I... I..." She turned to the judge.
Judge Young said, "Answer the question, Miss Johnson."
"But it's so nasty."
"You told the sheriff, didn't you?" asked the judge.
She nodded. "But that was different."
Judge Young smiled briefly and then said, "Yes, I imagine it was. Just tell the truth about what you saw."
Eileen nodded and turned back to the prosecutor.
"I was standin' in the doorway of the corner bedroom and I saw him." She pointed at me again. "And him." She pointed at Carter. "Makin' love with no clothes on."
The gallery burst into furious whispers. I tried very hard not to smile and mostly succeeded by running my hand over my mouth.
The judge brought down his gavel. "I have given one warning. This is my final warning. No outbursts in this court." He looked around ferociously again and then turned to the prosecutor.
"You may continue."
Mr. Underwood asked, "Now, when you pointed you were indicating Mr. Williams. Correct?"
"Yes."
"And, do you know who the other person was?"
Eileen smiled triumphantly. "Mr. Carter Jones." She clutched her white purse to her stomach.
"I see. Now, Miss Johnson, can you tell us what furniture is in the corner bedroom of Suite 601?"
"There's one double bed. On either side of the bed is a nightstand. Each nightstand has a lamp on it." She paused. "Oh yes, there's a bureau against the wall by the door and a loveseat next to that and a small table with a lamp on it that's next to the loveseat."
"And there's no other bed in that room other than the one double bed?"
"No, sir. The other bedroom--"
"We're not interested in the other bedroom," interrupted the prosecutor as Kincaid was standing up.
Eileen nodded demurely and said, "Yes, sir." Tom sat down.
"Can you tell us what happened later on Saturday morning?"
"I got a call from the maid on the sixth floor. She told me that only one of the rooms had been slept in. She wondered--"
Tom stood up. "Objection. Hearsay."
The judge replied, "Sustained."
The prosecutor asked, "The room she told you about was the corner bedroom?"
"Yes, sir."
"The one with the double bed?"
"Yes, sir."
"And is there another bedroom in that suite?"
; "Yes, sir. It has two single beds."
Mr. Underwood turned to Kincaid with a look of resignation and said, "Your witness."
Tom stood up and asked, "Miss Johnson?"
"Yes?"
"What time did you begin your shift on Saturday?"
"At 6 a.m."
"And what time did your shift end on Friday?"
"At 10 p.m." She looked at him defiantly.
"What time did you enter Suite 601?"
"A little after 3:15 a.m."
"Where were you between 10 p.m. on Friday and 3:15 a.m. on Saturday morning?"
"I was in the little room that we can use to sleep in when we need it."
"So, you never went home after your shift ended on Friday?"
"No, sir."
"Later on Saturday, at the First Baptist Church, did you tell Mr. Williams that the housekeeper had reported that only one bed had been slept in in Suite 601?"
The prosecutor stood up. "Objection. No foundation for this line of questionin', Your Honor."
The judge replied, "Sustained."
Tom looked down at his notes and tried another approach.
"When the housekeeper called you, did she tell you anything about the condition of the sheets on the bed?"
"No, sir."
"Thank you. Now, Miss Johnson, when did you first meet the defendant, Mr. Williams?"
Mr. Underwood was up again. "Objection. No foundation."
The judge looked at Tom. "Where are you goin' with this, Tom?"
Kincaid said, "Well, Your Honor. This goes to animus and reliability."
Mr. Underwood piped up. "Animus has no bearing in an evidentiary hearing, Judge. The facts are laid out and the facts show sodomy." I could hear him grasping at straws.
The judge looked the prosecutor straight on and said, "Animus is out but reliability is not." He looked at Kincaid. "Stick to reliability, Tom."
Kincaid looked down at his notes and then looked up again. "So, you got up out of bed at 3 in the morning and went upstairs to see what Mr. Williams and Mr. Jones were doing in the privacy of their suite, correct?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you did this of your own accord?"
"My own what?"
"You did this because you wanted to."
"I did it because I knew what they would be doing."
The Laconic Lumberjack (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 4) Page 8