The Code of the Hills

by Nancy Allen

  Madeleine waved away her attempt to explain. “I am not the subject of an ethics charge. But apart from all that, you have the community in an uproar over this case of yours. That protest on Friday was an embarrassment.”

  “That’s not my fault—­” Elsie began, but Madeleine interrupted her.

  “And just this morning, you intentionally left sensitive evidence in your office instead of turning it over to the police department. And now it’s gone.”

  ”I kept it locked up the whole time. Until this morning. I guess I got distracted when I saw that letter.”

  Madeleine barked out a short laugh. “Distracted? I’d call it gross negligence. You should have been more responsible. If it was crucial evidence, why didn’t you mark it? Lock it up? Why did you keep it in that cardboard box? Everything you do leads to disaster. And embarrassment for me.”

  Elsie was afraid she was going to be sick. She wanted desperately to return to the sanctuary of her own office, to sit in her chair and think. She stood and said, “I’m not feeling so great. I need to go sit down.”

  “I’m not finished with you.”

  Elsie sat back down. Poised on the edge of the seat, she thought, I’ve got to get out of here.

  “We have another problem to discuss. Aside from your professional shortcomings.” Madeleine placed her palms on her desk and leaned toward Elsie. “Your activities outside the office.”

  Elsie cocked her head; she didn’t follow, until Madeleine went on: “Do you actually think ­people don’t inform me of your ridiculous public behavior? This is a small town, Elsie. A fishbowl.” As Madeleine served up her reproof, Elsie felt surprisingly numb. Madeleine was “appalled and disgusted” that she would engage in “rowdy drunken debauchery” in a public place, a “filthy bar where everyone in town might view your antics.” What kind of example was she setting in the community, falling onto the floor, making a scene with a group of law enforcement officers?

  “Ridiculous behavior. Scandalous. Unbelievable, for a woman your age and a public official.”

  Elsie shrunk into her seat as the assault continued. So, she thought, this is how it feels to suffer total humiliation. She concentrated on Madeleine’s lipsticked mouth, watching her lips reveal chemically whitened teeth, and found that she was able to block out a good measure of what was being said. Remain expressionless, she told herself. Don’t speak.

  At last Madeleine paused, picking up a dainty handkerchief and polishing her reading glasses. Avoiding Elsie’s eyes, she said, “I’m afraid I’ve about reached my limit with you.”

  Elsie clutched her hands together in her lap, dreading the words Madeleine was about to speak.

  Madeleine said, “You’ve bumbled this Taney case until it’s turned into a nasty mess. And now you’ve allowed your evidence to be destroyed. If you lose the jury trial, you’re done here. Do you understand?”

  Elsie nodded, her throat closing. “I think I’ve got a shot at convicting him.”

  “Well, that’s it, then. If you win, I’ll think about letting you stay on. Questions?”

  Shaking her head, Elsie bolted for the door.

  Chapter Thirty-­Six

  THE BOX OF evidence was reduced to ash, Ed Montee assured Elsie when she went downstairs, grasping at the minute possibility that the box had been spared. Though the janitor offered to demonstrate the effectiveness of the destruction, she didn’t linger. As she walked away, tears burned behind her eyes. Her case was crippled without the evidence, and her career was hanging in the balance.

  Just as she returned to the second floor, Stacie flagged her down to report that Judge Rountree had summoned her to his courtroom. Elsie guessed that the summons meant her case was advancing to the number one position on the court docket.

  She and the judge sat in silence, waiting for Josh Nixon to arrive. The judge fixed her with a quizzical look. She imagined he was curious about her injured mouth but was too polite to inquire.

  When Nixon appeared, Rountree invited him to sit.

  “You’re number one,” he said with a smile as he regarded them across his desk. “The parties in the car wash case came to terms this morning. So I guess this counts as our pretrial conference. Any outstanding issues?”

  Elsie’s blood pressure increased by double digits as soon as the judge announced their imminent trial status. “Judge, I have a problem,” she said. “I found evidence that incriminates the defendant when I was going through his personal effects. Naked pictures of the victim.”

  “Finding that kind of evidence doesn’t sound like a problem for the prosecution,” Judge Rountree observed.

  “This is a total setup,” Nixon said. “She got this box of stuff from the defendant’s wife, the woman we believe has coerced all the testimony against my client. That woman could easily have taken the photos and put them in that box.”

  “Ah,” Elsie said with an involuntary groan. “The county janitorial staff disposed of the box with the evidence, the photos, and the jacket. Incinerated it.”

  “You had it this morning,” Nixon said in disbelief.

  “I know,” she said.

  “Is this some kind of trick?” he asked.

  “I think I’ll ignore that,” she said. “Judge, the defense has copies of the photos. I’ll need to have access to those so I can offer them in lieu of the originals.”

  Nixon jumped to his feet as if he were in court. “She is attempting to violate the best evidence rule.”

  “You know that’s wrong,” Elsie barked back. Once the original document was lost, properly authenticated copies could be received into evidence.

  “But you can’t tie the photos to my client. Without the originals, you can’t get prints, and you burned up all the DNA evidence. You can’t get the copies into evidence.”

  “I can ask Charlene if he took pictures of her, idiot.”

  “That’s enough. Brief it,” said Judge Rountree shortly. “Next issue.”

  “I don’t suppose my juvenile witnesses could testify by video,” Elsie offered with a hopeful air.

  Josh Nixon’s explosive response was interrupted by Judge Rountree’s abrupt rejection of the suggestion. “I know they fiddle with that two-­way video testimony in federal court, but it doesn’t fly in my courtroom. I don’t want any Sixth Amendment Right of Confrontation issues being kicked around on appeal. What else?”

  Her mind raced. She wasn’t quite prepared to hash out all of the pretrial issues, so she had to think on her feet. She ran through her witness list in her head: Charlene, Kristy, Donita, Tina Peroni, Bob Ashlock, Officer Maggard to testify about the handwriting, Dr. Petrus.

  “It would be nice if the defense would stipulate to the physician’s report.”

  “What report?” asked the judge.

  Nixon looked sulky.

  Elsie said, “The physical exams of the complaining witnesses. Nothing dramatic like DNA evidence, but we do have gynecological exams that show that neither child is a virgin. It would be a professional courtesy to stipulate to the reports so that the doctor doesn’t have to spend the day waiting in the hallway of the courthouse.”

  “Mr. Nixon?”

  “Not gonna happen. Defendant won’t stipulate to anything.” Nixon toyed with a button on his jacket. “I thought about having an evidentiary hearing. To look into a witness’s reputation for truthfulness. Now I won’t have time.”

  The judge dismissed his concern. “You don’t need a special hearing for that. The proper place for character evidence is at trial. Be prepared to proceed.”

  Elsie didn’t comment, knowing that she would be unable to rebut the attack on Charlene.

  The judge picked up the list of his prospective jurors and examined it. “Is there a plea bargain in the works? I’ve got a jury panel of eighty citizens coming in, and if you’re working on a last minute settlement, I don’t want al
l these ­people inconvenienced.”

  “Elsie hasn’t made a plea bargain offer,” Nixon said. “She told me this morning that she doesn’t intend to.”

  The judge looked surprised. “Miss Arnold?”

  She met his look squarely. “Judge, if the defendant wants to stand up and plead, that would be great.”

  “So cut me a deal,” Nixon said.

  “Like what?” she asked.

  “Time served,” Nixon proposed.

  Resolutely, she shook her head. “You know the kind of allegations we’re dealing with in this case. I can’t possibly offer some cheap deal, knowing what I know about defendant’s crimes. This one will have to rest solely with a jury. We’ll let the community decide what is just in this action.”

  Josh Nixon gave a contemptuous snort. “Save the speeches for Channel 7.”

  Elsie turned on him, eyes ablaze. “Funny advice coming from you, my good pal.”

  The judge waved a restraining hand. “That’s enough. How many days will it take to try this case?”

  Josh Nixon shrugged. Elsie was silent for a moment, reflecting, looking at the gray clouds outside the north window as she calculated. “Two to three, depending. It’s hard to be exact, at this point.”

  The judge nodded in agreement.

  She continued, “Judge, it’s a good thing you have eighty folks coming in for the jury panel, because I expect we’ll need that many, in this kind of case. When we question the prospective jurors, some of them are bound to say they can’t be impartial when a man is charged with child molesting.”

  She glanced at the inside of her file. “But the presentation of the state’s case will be straightforward. Of course,” she said, with an unfriendly squint in Nixon’s direction, “I have no idea what the defendant’s case will be.”

  “Well,” the judge said congenially, “the element of surprise keeps our blood pumping, wouldn’t you say?” He flipped the paper file closed and tossed it to the side. “I reckon we’re good to go here. If you have any motions, get them filed. We’re counting down.”

  Elsie and Nixon withdrew from the office. “Josh,” she implored as they walked into the courthouse hallway, “I’ve got to have those copies I gave you of the pictures of Charlene. Please. I need to reproduce them for my own file.”

  “File a motion,” he said, walking away with a strut. Over his shoulder, he added, “Brief it.”

  She stood in the hallway for a long moment, uncertain which one of a dozen tasks she should undertake first. Turning, she bounded back to the Prosecutor’s Office, calling out to Stacie, “The Taney case is number one on Monday in Rountree’s court.”

  “I’ll get the subpoenas right out,” Stacie said.

  “The Taney girls and their mom are already served,” Elsie told her.

  “Got it.”

  “Thanks,” Elsie said as she dashed back to her office.

  The heady realization that the case would commence in six days was enough to make her a little crazy. She sat down at her desk, moving deliberately to avoid a manic episode. She needed to proceed calmly. She had done this all before; she simply had to take it one step at a time. Opening the bottom drawer of her desk, she pulled out an old accordion file and a fistful of manila folders and neatly labeled them in black ink: Motions, Jury Instructions, Voir Dire, Opening Statement, Direct Exams, Cross-­Ex, Closing Argument.

  See, she told herself, that’s not so hard. I can do that. She wheeled her chair over to the filing cabinet and opened the drawer that held her standard voir dire questions, the basic presentation she always made during the jury selection process. There. I’ve already begun. This is going to be okay.

  She reached for the phone and dialed Tina Peroni’s number. Tina answered on the second ring. Elsie tried to stay positive as she informed the Social Ser­vice worker that they would be going to trial on Monday. Tina didn’t respond. As the silence extended from one moment into two, Elsie wondered whether she had lost her phone connection.

  “Tina,” she said loudly into the receiver, “are you there?”

  “Yeah,” Tina said in a desolate voice. “Oh Lord, Elsie, I’m so sorry.”

  “About what?” she asked, her head suddenly pounding.

  Tina paused before she answered. “Charlene’s gone. I was just there this morning. She’s run away.”

  Chapter Thirty-­Seven

  ELSIE AND TINA walked shoulder-­to-­shoulder down the cracked sidewalk that led to the door of the Taneys’ apartment building on High Street. Their expressions were grim. Elsie opened the door and stood aside for Tina to enter first. Tina gave her a conspiratorial wink behind her tortoiseshell glasses.

  “Elsie, we are going to see this through.”

  “Hell, yes,” Elsie responded, thinking, We don’t have any choice.

  Donita answered the door, greeting them with a somber face. Roy Mayfield was in his customary seat. It appeared that he had coaxed the television set into a minimal performance level, because the volume was blaring. A battered laptop computer was open on his lap, but when the women entered the room, he snapped it shut and turned his attention to the TV screen.

  Elsie gave Donita a hug, inhaling the scent of unwashed hair as she did so. “Donita, I’m so sorry to hear about Charlene. Has there been any word?”

  “Nothing,” Donita said. “I was afraid of this. Been worrying and worrying it would happen. Just didn’t know when.” She nodded in the direction of the kitchen. “Let’s go set in here. Roy’s watching Maury.”

  Troubled by her attitude of resignation, Elsie asked, “What did the police say?”

  Donita turned on her with an impatient look. “You know I got no phone,” she said. “Got no phone, no car, now how am I gonna get to the police station? Tina says they’ll come out here. She called them.”

  “You could have called on Roy’s phone,” Elsie said.

  “I asked him, but he’s got to charge it up. He says it has to be plugged into the electrical, and he don’t have his special plug on him.”

  Elsie looked at Tina, who said, “I called this morning. They should come by to take the report today.”

  “Donita,” Elsie said, speaking more abruptly than she might have, to counter her rising panic, “do you have any idea where Charlene might have gone?”

  “Run off with her boyfriend, I bet. Said she wanted to get out of this town. Roy seen it coming. She wouldn’t mind him, talked back to him, she was in trouble with him all the time. That boyfriend was probably putting her up to it.”

  “Donita, listen to me,” Elsie said, taking her hands and looking intently into her face, “we have to do everything in our power to get Charlene back, because she has to testify next week. We’re going to trial on Monday. The judge told me this morning that our case is set number one.”

  As she spoke, Donita’s face grew closed and hard. She pulled her hands away as she said, “That’s the reason you’re worried about Char for. You’re just worried about her not being there for your trial. That’s all you care about.”

  Taken aback, Elsie responded, “And her safety, of course. Primarily her safety.”

  “If you’re just thinking about her safety, then it don’t matter too much whether she makes it to that trial.” Donita picked up a plastic bag of corn flakes from the table and folded the top shut. She stood to find the box; when she located it, she shoved the bag of cereal inside and set it back down on the counter.

  Speaking urgently, Elsie said, “But Donita, we knew from the start that if we were going to put Kris in prison, it would be a jury that would do it, and we’ve got to put on evidence that your husband committed those crimes. I mean, we can’t just wave a magic wand, and poof!—­he’s convicted.”

  Donita took a glass from the cabinet and filled it from the faucet at the sink. She walked leisurely to the refrigerator, pulled out a plastic ice cu
be tray and twisted it, popping out four or five ice cubes. She dropped them into the water. Raised her glass, surveyed Elsie over the rim and said, “Kristy don’t want to testify no more.”

  “Donita, we went over this. It’s just not a matter of choice. This is a criminal case. She’s under subpoena.”

  Donita didn’t respond immediately. Leaning against the kitchen sink, she took a drink and rattled the cubes in the glass. She appeared to be debating whether to speak. “I been thinking. I got a idea.”

  “What’s that?” Elsie asked warily.

  “I done told you about the meth. That’s against the law. Do your trial about that.”

  Elsie realized she was open-­mouthed. “What?”

  “Put him in jail for the meth.”

  Unable to keep sarcasm from her tone, Elsie said, “Do you hear what you’re saying? Donita, you made it. You cooked the meth. If we wanted to do a drug prosecution, we’d charge you.”

  Tina let out a short laugh, and Donita looked from one woman to the other. Setting her water glass on the counter with a clink, she said, “You’re turning on me. I know what you’re up to; I ain’t no fool. Roy warned me about you; he was right. Well, I’m done with this. I’ve had it with both of you. I know what you been up to. You been backstabbing me with that whore, JoLee.”

  “What?” Elsie demanded.

  “You think I wouldn’t hear about that? About you and JoLee and that detective talking stink about me?”

  Elsie sat back, squarely meeting her angry stare. “Donita, Detective Ashlock took JoLee’s statement. This is a felony investigation, we have to talk to ­people who can provide information. And JoLee did say something you need to explain. She said you beat Charlene with an extension cord.”

  Donita’s eyes grew wild as she cried, “That was Kris! That was all Kris and JoLee knows it. That woman is poison!”

  Tina’s voice was unrelenting as she said, “You need to come clean on this. If the girls are at risk here, we’ll have to take action.”