“My Uncle walked me up to a black soldier who was standing in uniform and he shook his hand. He said, ‘Clayton, this here is my niece. She just saw the march going on downtown and she’s upset.’
“I didn’t understand why we were there. I practically yelled at Clayton, ‘Aren’t you upset? Can’t you go down there and do something? You’re a soldier. Stop them.’ I was so furious at what those people were allowed to do so publicly.
“Clayton just smiled at me and shook his head no. He explained that he became a solider so he could fight for the right of people to stand there and say what they liked. He told me he’d been places all over the world where people lived in fear of expressing their opinions. I remember him calmly telling me, ‘I don’t have to agree with the words, but I’m honored to be part of the reason they have that freedom.’
“Of course I argued that that was insane—the group was just being hateful. He agreed they were being hateful, but argued right back that the rights that allowed a white supremacy group to gather and speak out were the same rights that allowed his parents to fight for the right to vote and to integrate the schools. He taught me liberty is for everyone, and I walked away from that conversation with a whole new perspective. Since then I’ve seen firsthand exactly what other countries suffer through. I don’t have to like what everyone here says or does. But I’d die to make sure they retain the right to keep talking. Here in Clover it’s the same thing. This might not be my hometown, but people here are trying to stand up. I have skills that can help them, and I intend to use them.”
“I wish I was more like that,” I say, stepping in close to her as she puts her flashlight away.
“You’re here too, aren’t you?” Your skills might be different, but you’re still using them to help. And you’re still in danger. We’re not that different from each other.” She’s standing so close now that I can smell the freshness of her clothes. She is perfectly polished. Tucked and tamed with precision.
“I want to kiss you,” I admit, stumbling over my words as I stare into her eyes.
“You can’t. I’m working right now. If you’re kissing me I’m not paying attention. I’ve already screwed up once because of you.”
“Because of me? I thought you wanted me there with you. I thought I was helping.”
“I did want you there. That’s the point. The right thing for me to do last night was to come back here and drop you off before doing recon on the trailers. But I didn’t want to be away from you. I didn’t want to sit all night and not hear your stupid jokes. I let the fact that I wanted your company outweigh my better judgment. So you can’t kiss me.”
“Ever?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying. You better kiss me someday. I mean, I know you’re out hunting Mrs. Right and everything, but I was hoping in the meantime maybe we could . . .” She stops short on the words and, before I can complete the thought for her, my phone is ringing in my pocket.
“Olivia,” I say as I pull my phone out, “I’m definitely going to kiss you soon.” I put my phone to my ear and watch as her cheeks redden, and I love the contrast between her normally unflappable self and what I’ve just done to her. I can’t wait to see more of that.
Chapter Sixteen
Rebecca
I can’t stop staring at my lawyer. He’s not particularly attractive: his nose is too large for his face and his ears are lower than they should be, but something keeps my eyes glued on him. Maybe it’s the shininess. His gold cufflinks, his expensive shoes, even his slicked back golden hair seems to be reflective. He stormed into the small meeting room at the Clover penitentiary as though the heels of those very expensive shoes were on fire. He slammed his boxy tan leather briefcase down on the table and began speaking so fast I thought perhaps he was kidding. Luke was just steps behind him, and I was happy for the familiar face.
“Miss Farrus,” the lawyer begins, “I’m Titus Steubenville of Tivoli, Tivoli, and Steubenville. We’re one of the most aggressive and prominent firms in New York and also one of the most expensive. That means whoever retained me for your case must really want you out of here and that’s what I intend to make happen.” He looks around the room and the wrinkles in his forehead grow deeper as he takes in his surroundings. “What the hell is this place? The jail is part of the police station, and the police station is practically deserted. I’ve never seen anything like this.”
Luke clears his throat as he tries to explain. “The police force here have all been relinquished of their duties and replaced by private security. That’s why it’s so quiet out there. Everyone is still getting settled into the changes.”
“And does Clover not have an actual prison? Just holding cells here at the station?”
“It’s bigger than it looks,” Luke continues. “There are actually twenty-five cells, a small section quartered off just for women.”
I extend my handcuffed hand toward him with the intention of a greeting. “It’s a pleasure to—” Mr. Steubenville cuts me off with the mocking motion as though he’s running a zipper across his lips.
“I don’t do formalities or niceties, Miss Farrus. Just call me Titus and let’s get on with this. The rest is a waste of time. I don’t waste time while I’m on the clock and especially not when the clock is in a countdown like this. We’re about to walk into a bail hearing. You will sit there quietly unless I indicate otherwise. You will look worthy of sympathy without being transparent. Do not cry. I find it repulsive, and it is not nearly as effective with judges as it is with jurors. There is no jury in the courtroom today so save the water works. Understand?” I go to nod, but he charges forward. “I’m here pro hac vice, which I’m surprised a small town like this granted, but it bodes well for us that the judge we’ll be appearing in front of allowed it.”
“What is that? Pro—what? And what does that tell you about the judge?” I ask tilting my head and wondering if this is what the whole case will be like. Words and conversations that don’t make sense to me. That’s what scares me the most, that so much of this will go over my head that I might actually get stuck in here just because I don’t know how to defend myself. Isn’t that what happened to Devin?
“Pro hac vice,” Titus says, slowing the words down but not in a condescending way. “It means I’ve been granted the right to represent you even though I don’t have a license as an attorney in this state. The good news is I have an eidetic memory, which allows me to retain information and recall it at a very fast speed. Years ago I read the laws for every state in the country. It took me nearly nine months, but a good portion of that information is still locked up here.” He points to his temple and taps at it a few times, with a very serious look on his face. “Being allowed to take your case tells me if the judge wanted to shut me down completely and railroad you, then I could have been given a lot more red tape to cut through.” He nods his head, taps his watch three times, and it looks almost as though the movement is out of his control. “You didn’t indicate that the rules I set out for you regarding your courtroom behavior were understood. Could you do so with some physical gesture please?”
I nod my head tentatively. “I just want you to know that I didn’t kill Brent. You’re defending an innocent person,” I say with my chin high.
“That’s not important. It doesn’t really matter.”
“It matters to me,” I say adamantly.
“Fine,” he says flatly. “I’ll see you in the courtroom in a few minutes.” He slides his briefcase back off the table and heads for the door of the small room. Luke looks equally as flabbergasted as I am and follows him in silence, his mouth opening to say something to me, but then he closes it. Instead, he opens the door that Titus mindlessly slammed in his face and shrugs, giving an awkward and out of place thumbs-up. When the room is quiet again I feel like the walls cave in on me, like I could be crushed if I sit here another hour.
Luckily I only have to wait a minute or two before the guard escorts me out of the police department’s bac
k entrance and toward the courthouse. It’s less than thirty yards but the sun on my face feels good. He pulls open a heavy metal door and I’m led to my seat in the courtroom. I’ve never been in here before and, like most places I go, I take it in with the eyes of a painter. The large wall-sized windows are like open gateways for the sun to pour in and I watch the dust dance along the streaming light. Everything in here is regal looking. The judge’s large bench and the walls behind it are all made of dark cherry wood just like the table I’m led to. Marble on the floor and gold swirled paint on the ceiling frames the room perfectly. I could paint a portrait of this room and make it seem picturesque even though it’s serving a dark purpose for me today.
The judge is announced by the bailiff, and I’m stunned to see it’s a woman: Judge Carol C. Cunningham. I’ve heard of her, there are no real strangers living in Clover, but I don’t know much about her. Titus is at my side and I see the corners of his mouth turn up ever so slightly at the sight of the small-framed judge with blazing red, slightly out-of-control hair. Luke is seated behind me in the first row, but a large, waist-high wood petition separates us.
“Ladies and gentleman I don’t want to turn this into a three-ring circus or make a spectacle of this courtroom. I am very aware of the happenings currently going on in Clover and I can assure you I don’t care about them. I care only what is happening right here, right now. That’s why there are no cameras in here today and I’ve closed the court off to the gallery. It’s just us. So right out of the gate, let’s remember why we are here. We’re not arguing the case today, we are discussing whether or not there is enough evidence to try Miss Farrus for the murder of Brent Hoyle. If I determine there is, then we will discuss bail. Is that clear?” the judge asks, pointing a finger at us as well as the prosecutor’s table. I haven’t looked over there. I don’t want to know who they are or what they look like: the opponent, the other side. Well, maybe I do want to know, but I haven’t worked up the courage to look. I hear both Titus and the prosecutor state their acknowledgement and then I feel Titus stand up beside me.
“Your honor, I hope I’m not being too bold here, but this case is nonsense. My client is clearly being railroaded for political reasons and shifts going on in this town. The two women making these allegations are both tied directly to drugs and drug dealers.” I hear the chair at the prosecutor’s table shift as a short man with boxy shoulders shoots to his feet. I can see him now and realize its Gary Lumstead, a friend and cohort of Hoyle, who is likely feeling the heat of his buddy being ousted.
“Your honor, if associations with people were enough to incriminate someone we wouldn’t need this hearing at all. Miss Farrus has a child, out of wedlock, with a man who is in jail for attempted murder among other crimes. If associations were enough to sink us, Carol,” the man clears his throat, “sorry, Your Honor, then Rebecca would be in prison already.”
“Enough,” the judge says curtly, clearly agitated already. “Lumstead, if you call me by anything other than Your Honor or Judge during the remainder of this hearing I will have to charge you with contempt of court. I am not your buddy and I am in no one’s pocket, so please don’t try to allude to some close personal tie between us that does not exist. And I could not agree more; you may well be the poster child for how associations can impact us. The statements being made by the two women need to be considered fully, even if they have issues of their own.”
“Your honor,” Titus interrupts, his voice fairly quiet this time. “From what I’ve been told, Clover has been plagued with corruption and injustice for years, even as it relates to this particular case. This seems like just another attempt to exert power over someone who doesn’t toe the line.”
“I’m very aware of Clover’s history as I have lived here my entire life, Mr. Steubenville. Here, however, on this very bench, you’ll find no bias. I answer solely to Lady Justice, which is why we will continue with this hearing under the terms I have previously laid out. We will evaluate the evidence available and determine if there will be a trial.” The judge gives a stern look to both of them and waves her hand for them to continue.
Titus leans forward, both his palms down on the table in front of us, his fingers splayed out as he begins to speak. “I understand, Your Honor. The evidence, as I’ve seen it so far, is limited to the sworn statements of two women who were acquaintances of Miss Farrus when the murder was committed. Even if we omit their personal credibility it still is not enough to move forward with a trial.”
“Please take a look at where your seat is located in this courtroom,” the judge says with an unyielding look on her face. “Because as far as I can tell it’s my job to make that determination once I hear the rest of the evidence.”
“Outside of the statements, Your Honor, there is literally nothing. I wasn’t making a generalization. I haven’t been provided a single document, report, or piece of evidence to evaluate.”
The prosecutor grins smugly as he straightens his tie. “Your Honor, the evidence regarding the original investigation has not been provided because it cannot be located. Original files have been archived incorrectly and therefore we’ve been unable to pinpoint their whereabouts. Back-up copies got destroyed in a fire at the original medical examiner’s house.”
“So there is nothing?” the judge asks, jotting a note down on the pad in front of her. “You’re telling me every scrap of this murder investigation is gone?”
“I don’t see how any case can be brought against my client if there is no case to be made,” Titus says, and I like the way he holds his calm poker face. He’s not arrogant like Lumstead.
“Well there are officials that were there and helped process the scene. They can be called back in to testify. Wait,” Lumstead says as another man enters the courtroom and hands him a piece of paper. “Judge, I know this does not follow protocol for introducing evidence, but something has been brought to my attention that pertains directly to this hearing today. We could break for the day and send Miss Farrus back to a holding cell for the night while I follow the right channels for distributing this evidence with the defense. Or if it is agreeable, I could just share it with you now and save this court some time.”
The judge looks over at Titus who rolls his eyes and nods. “I don’t see the point in delaying,” he says and the prosecutor steps out from behind his table and closer to the judge.
“It’s come to my attention that just under an hour ago the two girls who made incriminating statements about Rebecca’s involvement in Brent Hoyle’s murder have led a U.S. Deputy Marshal to the site where Rebecca told them the murder weapon was hidden. It was buried in the woods behind her old house. A baseball bat was dug up that would have been consistent with the blunt force trauma cause of death originally ruled in his autopsy. This was all done under the watch of the Marshal who can attest to the fact that the dirt had not been recently disturbed. Deputy Louis Smalls swears to it.” Lumstead is walking around as though he’s putting on a Broadway performance. But he is cut short when Titus’s hand slams down on the table.
“You’ve got to be kidding me? There is so much wrong with that, I don’t know where to start. You’re referencing a cause of death from a medical examination that does not exist. You’re what, going off memory of the case? Should I just walk down Main Street and ask people to tell me what they read in the paper about the case ten years ago? Your Marshal, does he have some kind of forensic experience to know that the baseball bat allegedly found would actually be consistent with the injuries sustained? And does he have some kind of soil distribution certificate that gives him the ability to know how long the bat has been there? This is absolutely amateur and I can’t believe we’re entertaining it for a minute.” Titus’s arms are flailing passionately and his face is crimson.
“Sit down,” the judge barks. “Both of you. I agree that a significant amount of work will need to be done to verify or discredit what was found. Let’s get the evidence and the Marshal down here as soon as possible.”
>
“This is insane,” Titus huffs as he throws his arms up in the air animatedly. “I can’t represent someone under these circumstances. You’re setting us up to fail.”
“That’s enough,” the judge’s voice booms as she slams her gavel down firmly.
I see Luke lean forward, tap Titus’s shoulder and whisper something to him that I can’t make out. “Your Honor, I’d like a brief recess to discuss this new evidence with my client before we talk bail.” His air quotes around the word evidence is met with the pursed lips of the judge who looks like she wants to throttle him.
“I’ll allow it. You have fifteen minutes. Hopefully in that time you will have a chance to get your attitude in check. You don’t have to like how things are done down here, but you do have to respect this court while you voice your opinion.”
“Of course, Your Honor,” Titus agrees, and I’m happy to see he seems more under control at the moment. I don’t need some hothead pissing off the judge.
A bailiff leads us to a small room where Luke and Titus stand while I sit, still not accustomed to the handcuffs pinching my wrists.
Luke gets right to it. “The Marshal they said found the murder weapon is one we’ve identified as being involved in the drug ring. We have incriminating evidence on him. Enough to take him down and undermine whatever he’s about to tell the court.” His voice is low but rushed.
All My Heart (The Clover Series) Page 10
