by Scott Pratt
3:00 p.m.
The judge didn’t tell the jury or anyone in the courtroom why he was granting a week’s recess; he just told them to come back next Monday.
Angel wanted to know what had happened. I told her I’d be over to the jail to explain it to her as soon as I could. The jurors filed out, and as the courtroom began to clear, Erlene Barlowe walked up to me.
She’d been sitting outside in the hallway with the rest of the witnesses. Junior Tester hadn’t moved from his seat.
”What’s going on, sugar?” Erlene said.
”The police say they have some new information in Angel’s case. The district attorney asked the judge for a continuance so they could develop some evidence. He gave them until next Monday.”
Landers was walking out of the judge’s office, where he’d apparently been holding court with Baker. When he saw Erlene he made a beeline for us.
”Don’t leave town,” he said, pointing his finger at Erlene. ”Your ass is mine now.” He turned and walked out the door.
”What was that all about?” Erlene said.
”They don’t tell me anything,” I said as I started to walk away. I wasn’t about to tell her she was more than likely going to be in custody sometime in the next week. With my luck, she’d disappear and I’d wind up with an obstruction charge. ”I have to go over to the jail to see Angel and let her know what’s going on. I’ll talk to you later.”
Before I left the courthouse, I took the elevator upstairs to Deacon Baker’s office.
”Interesting dilemma,” he said when I walked in.
”For you,” I said. ”I’m still in the same boat. Innocent client.”
”Let’s stop beating around the bush,” Baker said.
”Bottom line, if there’s anything in that car that links it to Tester’s murder, we’re going to charge the redhead. I’ll dismiss against your client if she’ll agree to help us.”
”Erlene is her only friend in this world. I doubt she’ll be eager to rat her out.”
”She was with her, Dillard. She knows what went on in that room.”
”You can’t prove that.”
”Will she want to take that chance? Barlowe may have something to say about her when she finds herself facing a first-degree murder charge.”
”All Erlene has ever said about Angel is that she’s innocent.”
”And if her lips are moving, she’s lying.”
”You’re stuck, Deacon. The jury’s been sworn in Angel’s case. If you dismiss, you can’t try her again because the jury’s already been sworn. Double jeopardy. If you come back and resume the trial, you’re going to lose, even with my sister’s testimony. Do you know what I’m going to do to her on the witness stand?”
”I was planning to make it a point to be in the courtroom for her cross-examination,” Baker said with a smirk. ”Wouldn’t want to miss it. At least run my proposal by your client. Go over there and tell her I’m offering to dismiss a first-degree murder.”
”I’ll talk to her, but don’t get your hopes up.”
When Angel came into the attorneys’ room at the jail, I was surprised to see her still wearing her clothes from court.
”The guards are searching my cell block,” she said.
”I’m still in holding. I guess they weren’t expecting me back so soon.”
”Strange day, huh?” I said.
”What’s going on?”
”It’s good and it’s bad. The TBI found a red Corvette in a barn out in Unicoi County this morning.
The barn belongs to Erlene, and apparently so does the car.”
Angel gasped, and I watched her closely. Her face turned pink and her bottom lip was trembling. She sat there, shaking and saying nothing. I reached into my briefcase and brought out some tissue. I’d been carrying it ever since that first visit at the jail. I handed some to her just in case, reached across the table, and put my hand over hers.
”Angel,” I said, ”the district attorney now thinks Erlene killed Reverend Tester. He wants to dismiss the case against you, but there’s a catch. He wants you to tell him what you know about Tester’s murder.”
A faraway look came into her eyes, as though she wasn’t really taking in what I was saying.
”Angel? Did you understand me? He wants to dismiss the case against you. They’re probably going to arrest Erlene for Reverend Tester’s murder.”
”They can’t do that!” she burst out, and then laid her head on the table and started crying. I moved to the chair next to her, put my hand on her shoulders, and began to rub.
”Take it easy,” I said. The door was two inches of steel and the walls were concrete block, but her sobs were loud. I didn’t want the guards coming in and asking questions. ”Talk to me,” I said. ”It’s all right.
Talk to me. Whatever it is that’s bothering you, you can tell me. I’m on your side no matter what.”
She suddenly sat up, wiped her eyes, and became very still. She looked at me pitifully.
”Can I trust you?” she said in a small voice.
”Of course you can. You know you can.”
”Can I really trust you?”
”I’ve been here for you all along. Whatever you tell me, I promise I won’t tell a soul. I’ve already explained attorney-client privilege to you.”
I could see her make the decision. And having made it, she sat up straight and squared her shoulders, as if a great burden had been lifted.
”I did it, Mr. Dillard. I killed him. I can’t let them blame Miss Erlene.”
I’d mildly suspected it since the day I talked to Tom Short, but I hadn’t wanted to believe it. Even AN INNOCENT CLIENT
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now, even though the words had passed her lips, I didn’t want to believe it. I took her hand, knowing that if I continued, if I asked her about the details, everything about our relationship, and my entire strategy if the trial continued, would change.
”Think about what you’re saying,” I said. ”We’re winning this trial. If you tell me you killed him, it changes a lot of things.”
”You want to know the truth, don’t you?”
”I’m not sure.”
I looked at her smooth young face and my heart went out to her. Something told me that if she’d killed Tester, the circumstances might justify it.
”I’m sorry, Angel. Yes, I want to know the truth.
What happened?”
She bit her lip and shuddered.
”Can you tell me about it?”
She nodded slowly.
”Okay, but I don’t want you to get hysterical. I don’t want anyone else to hear, so you have to keep control of yourself. Can you do that?”
”I think so.”
”Go ahead.”
She took a deep breath and squeezed my hand so hard that her fingernails dug into my skin.
”Everything I told you before was the truth except for the last part. Miss Erlene didn’t just ask him to leave when he got so drunk and was bothering me and making a fool of himself. She asked me if I’d help her with something. She said she wanted to teach the preacher a lesson. She said all I’d have to do is ride with her to the man’s hotel room and she’d take care of the rest. I told her I’d do it.”
”What happened next?”
”Miss Erlene went over to talk to him, and he went out into the lobby for a couple of minutes. When he came back, she told me to get my coat. Miss Erlene went back into her office for a couple of minutes, and then we went out and got in her car. We followed him out of the parking lot to the hotel. Along the way, she told me the man thought I was coming to his room to have sex with him. Then she handed me a small bottle of scotch. She told me when we got to the motel, I was supposed to go into his room and offer him a drink first thing. Miss Erlene said she put something in the scotch so when he drank it, it would knock him out. As soon as he was passed out, I was supposed to run back to the car and get her. I think she was planning to take his money.”
”Something obviously w
ent wrong,” I said.
She put a fist to her mouth and whispered, ”Yes.”
Her eyes looked distant. It was the same expression I’d seen when she told me about the oatmeal incident.
”We got to the motel and I got out of the car and went up the steps with him. Miss Erlene waited in the parking lot. I walked into the room and he closed the door behind me. I took the bottle of scotch out of my purse and asked him if he’d like a drink. He took the bottle out of my hand, set it on a table, and when he turned back around he said he didn’t bring me there to drink. He had this awful look on his face, like he was possessed or something. Then, before I knew what was happening, he hit me in the face. He hit me so hard it knocked me onto the bed. It almost knocked me out.
”I remember him taking off all his clothes, then he pulled off my panties . . .” She paused and took a deep breath. ”He rolled me over on my stomach and he put his thing in my, in my . . .” She pointed to her bottom.
”He sodomized you?” I said.
”What?” She didn’t know what the word meant.
”Never mind. Can you keep going?”
”It was like it was happening to someone else,”
she said. ”Like I floated to the ceiling, and I watched him do it from there. It was the same thing that used to happen when Father Thomas did things to me. I remember he was cursing and preaching at the same time, calling me names, and then he took his thing out of me and went over and grabbed the bottle of scotch and took a long drink. He started to stagger and he sat down on the bed. It was like he didn’t even know I was there anymore.
”There was a knife on the table. I guess it was his.
I remember watching myself walk over and pick it up. It was one of those folding knives. He was already snoring. I opened the knife and walked back to the bed and I just started stabbing him. I stabbed him until I couldn’t stab him anymore, until I couldn’t lift the knife. And then I think I just walked out the door. I didn’t even put my panties on.”
”Do you remember what Erlene did?”
”I think so,” she said. ”I remember she came running up to me on the stairs and she put her coat around me and took the knife out of my hand. She put me in the car and asked me what happened, and I tried to tell her. I saw her go back up to the room, but I don’t know what she did in there. She took me home and took me into the backyard and washed all of the blood off of me with a hose. She said she didn’t want any blood in her shower. Then she took me inside and said she had to leave for a little while.
She was gone for a long time.”
”Did you and Erlene talk about it afterwards?”
”Not much,” she said. ”She just told me she was sorry about everything but at least he wouldn’t ever hurt another girl, and she told me never to mention what happened—any of it—to anybody. Then when the police started coming around, she told me not to talk to them. She told everyone that worked at the club not to talk to them. When they came to arrest me, she told me to tell them I wanted a lawyer.”
”You didn’t mention cutting off his penis, Angel.
Do you remember doing that?”
”I didn’t do it,” she said.
”Are you sure?”
”I didn’t do it. I’d tell you if I did.”
I believed her.
”Telling me what happened was the right thing to do,” I said.
”Am I going to have to stay in jail for the rest of my life?”
”I doubt it. This changes a few things, but it doesn’t change the fact that they don’t have much of a case against you.”
”What about your sister? I never even talked to her.”
”That’s what I thought,” I said. ”You have to trust me. I’ll figure something out. I just need a little time to think.”
After the guards took her away, I sat at the table alone, unable to get up and walk out. The door buzzed twice, but I just sat there. I couldn’t move.
In my mind, I kept seeing a beautiful, fragile young girl, naively walking up the steps in the rain to a motel room. She’s accompanied by a man more than twice her size, twice her age. She closes the door and offers the man a drink from a bottle. He takes the bottle from her hand, sets it down, and punches her viciously in the side of the face. She sees a bright light and falls backwards onto the bed, dazed by the blow.
The giant hovers over her, his drunken breathing foul and labored. He grabs the girl and rolls her like a rag doll. He’s muttering, alternately calling her a slut and praising God for the opportunity to exact some righteous vengeance on a lowly whore. He rips off her panties. He’s excited but too drunk to maintain an erection. He tries to force himself inside her rectum, but she’s small. He spits on his hand to lubricate her and tries again. She’s struggling but he’s much too strong.
He slaps the back of her head and tells her to hold still. He gets inside her and grunts with satisfaction.
The girl goes limp. Beads of sweat drop from the giant’s nose onto the girl’s backside. He isn’t performing the way he wants, and he notices the bottle of scotch she offered him earlier. He shoves the girl down flat against the mattress and steps over to the bottle. He takes a long drink while the girl whimpers on the bed.
I hear Sarah’s voice. . . . ”Get him off of me, Joey.
He’s hurting me… .”
When I was finally able to move, I pushed the button, waited for the door to buzz, and made my way slowly down the maze of hallways and steel gates. What Angel had described to me was a voluntary manslaughter, at worst. A Class C felony, maximum sentence of six years. But I couldn’t bring myself to recommend to her that we go to the district attorney and tell him what had happened. I couldn’t see her spending time in prison for retaliating against a man who had violated her in the most shameful of ways.
As far as I was concerned, the hypocritical sonofabitch got what he deserved.
July 24
6:05 p.m.
I drove straight home from the jail with Sarah’s voice and Angel’s confession alternately ringing in my ears. As soon as I got out of my truck, Rio peed on me, and instead of laughing or gently pushing him away like always, I drew my foot back to kick the shit out of him. I caught myself, but barely. For some reason, the thought of the dog pissing on me right then made me mad enough to want to hurt him. I swore at him and stepped over him as he cowered in the driveway.
I walked into the kitchen. Caroline was standing over the stove. I could smell broccoli. I hate broccoli.
”Hi, honey,” she said. ”I heard they recessed the trial. What’s going on?”
”I’m going to wring that fucking dog’s neck.”
”I guess it isn’t good.”
”I’m sick of him pissing all over me. I’m sick of everybody pissing all over me.”
”What’s going on, Joe?”
”Nothing.” I marched through the kitchen and into the bedroom to change my clothes. I could feel pressure, a lot of pressure, at each of my temples, and my field of vision was narrowing. I felt a hand on my shoulder, a touch that usually comforted me. It didn’t.
”What’s wrong, Joe? Talk to me.”
”It would probably be best if you’d just leave me alone right now.”
”Leave you alone? Why? What have I done?”
”Nothing,” I said. ”That’s part of the problem.”
I’d spent part of the drive home working up a healthy anger towards Caroline. I had to provide for her, which meant I had to keep working. But I was sick of busting my ass for people who neither deserved it nor appreciated it, sick of people using me and lying to me, sick of worrying about whether what I was doing was right or wrong. I was sick of everything.
”I’m not the bad guy, baby. I love you, remember?” she said.
”A lot of fucking good it does.”
”You’ve been under a lot of strain. How about a hot bath?”
”I don’t want to take a goddamned bath. Now why don’t you do what I asked you to do and lea
ve me the fuck alone?”
”How dare you talk to me like that!” Caroline said.
”I know you hate your job. I know you hate yourself sometimes, but that doesn’t mean you get to take it out on me. I haven’t done a thing other than love you and try to help you through a difficult time, and I’m not going to stand here and listen to you degrade me. I’m not your whipping girl, Joe! ”
All I could feel was the pressure in my head. I was losing it. I pushed past her and walked back into the kitchen.
”What are you doing?” She was right behind me.
I headed for the door. ”Where are you going?”
”Out,” I said. ”I’m going out.”
And that’s what I did. I drove to a bar in Johnson City called Fritter’s. I sat alone at the bar and drank vodka for a while. Then I asked for a shot of Ja germeister. Then another. I was there for hours.
It was raining when I left the bar, but I didn’t give a shit. I’d convinced myself that I had somewhere I needed to go. I drove across town, holding a hand over my right eye to keep from seeing double. I pulled through the gate at the Veterans Administration campus. I turned into the cemetery towards the long rows of white grave markers and made my way slowly, drunkenly, to the section where my father was buried. I got out of the car and stumbled through the rain until I found him.
Then I lay down on his grave and passed out.
I dreamed I was lying in a thicket, above a path in the Grenada jungle. I had somehow become separated from my squad. My face was covered in camouflage paint, and I was aiming a machine gun at the path. A group of six Cuban soldiers was moving towards me. I’d set out claymore mines in a ditch beside the path and concealed the wires carefully.
The point man moved into the kill zone. All that remained was for the rest of the group to get within range of the claymores. Once they were there, I’d open fire. When they hid in the ditch, I’d hit the clackers and detonate the mines. It would be a perfect massacre.
The last man moved in, and I started blasting away with the M60. I sprayed them with short bursts. The Cubans melted into the ditch line. I detonated the mines, and the earth shuddered. The Cuban guns went silent, and I moved in to mop up.
I heard the sucking sound of a chest wound coming from the point man. He was lying on his stomach in the ditch; his left arm lay severed two feet away.
