“I’ll give Mr. West your card.”
Mike left the courthouse satisfied. Hall had given him important information about the case without meaning to. The fact that Ken West had assigned Sam’s case to a neophyte lawyer was positive. The weakest and least serious cases flowed downhill to the junior prosecutors.
Mike drove to the jail. He waited in the hallway while an officer brought Sam from the cell block. The older man wasn’t smiling. When he came closer, Mike could see a splotchy red mark on the side of Sam’s face. They went into an interview room.
“What happened to your face?”
“I turned my back on a new cell mate, and he knocked me down.”
“Why?”
“He found something missing from his personal stuff and started swinging. Everyone scattered, but I moved too slow, and he caught me square in the head. I hit the floor and everything went fuzzy. When I came around, some of the other fellows in the cell had grabbed him. The guards got there and dragged him out. He was kicking, screaming, and biting. I didn’t think about trying to help him until he was gone.”
“What could you have done to help him?”
“I’m not sure, but the Master can still calm a storm.”
“Listen, jail is a dangerous place,” Mike said, thinking of Danny Brewster. “Don’t have some idealistic notion that you’re going to save everyone in your cell block. Keep your eyes open, and watch your back. How does your face feel?”
“About like it looks,” Sam said with a grimace. “Don’t say anything to Muriel. She’s worried enough as it is.”
“Did you see a doctor?”
“Nope, but it hurts to chew.”
“Your jaw could be fractured.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, you need to get it checked out. They should take you to the emergency room for an X-ray. I’ll speak to the officer on duty before I leave.”
“Does that mean you’re going to be my lawyer?”
“For now.”
Mike placed a blank legal pad on the table and told about his meeting with the elders and their decision.
“Thanks for going to all that trouble,” Sam replied. “I know how tough it can be getting Papa’s family to agree.”
“And you understand this is a temporary situation?”
“Yep. Everything this side of glory is temporary.”
Mike stared at Sam for a moment. “Do you believe the Lord has shown you anything about the criminal charge?”
“Nope. Everything has been about helping the men in here and getting to know you. The rest is like the guy who hit me yesterday, a blow out of the blue.”
“Do you want me to request a protective transfer to a solitary confinement cell?”
“Nope. I think everything is going to be all right. Most of the guys back there are decent enough. They get into trouble on the outside when they start drinking or drugging.”
“Okay, but be on guard against the ones who are crazy all the time.”
“Yep.”
“And don’t try to force religion down anyone’s throat. It can be offensive and might be taken the wrong way.” Mike shifted the legal pad on the table. “I stopped by the district attorney’s office and met the prosecutor assigned to your case.”
“What did you find out?”
While Mike related his brief conversation with Melissa Hall, Sam listened closely, nodding several times and patting his stomach twice.
“Make sure she meets the choir director at your church,” he said when Mike finished. “That girl is a good singer, and her voice is going to be a key to unlocking his heart to Papa’s love and healing her heart from the pain of the past.”
“What?” Mike asked in surprise.
“While you talked about her, I could hear a woman singing. Then a big key came down from Glory—”
“And unlocked your jail cell,” Mike interrupted. “Are all our conversations going to be like this?”
Sam smiled then winced in pain. “Yep, so long as Papa turns on the spigot. When that’s happening, it would be foolish not to drink.”
“I’m not thirsty.”
“Maybe not, but you have a sharp mind, and you’ll remember everything I’m telling you. Papa can’t use folks who are lazy. You’re a hard worker.”
“And I’m going to work my way out of this situation as soon as possible. I’ll check the real estate records on your property, then file papers with the court to get your bail reduced to an amount that will let you post a property bond. How much is your mortgage?”
“Nothing. It’s paid for. The Bible says to let no debt remain outstanding except continuing debt to love one another. Muriel and I haven’t carried any debts for years.”
“If the people at the bank find out that’s what you believe, they’ll never cooperate with me.” Mike sat back in his chair. “One last item. Do you know a man named Lou Jasper?”
“Yep. Nice fellow who lives in the western part of the county. I met him a few years ago.”
“My former secretary says you took some money from him and lied to him.”
“I’m sorry to hear that’s what she thinks. Papa has a great call on that boy’s life. He’s a dreamer, too. I interpreted a few for him, but he was curious, not serious. When he had a dream that meant he had to forgive some people he didn’t like, he quit calling me.”
“Do you remember the dream?”
“Yep, but it wouldn’t be right for me to tell you.”
“Okay. Did he give you money?”
“He was real excited at first, and I think he wrote out a check for $150. I used the money to buy a secondhand washing machine for a widow woman who didn’t have one.”
“Why would his cousin say you’re a liar?”
“Maybe I made the mistake of telling him too much, too soon. The call on a person’s life may be great, but the path getting there is never smooth. There are lots of tests. It’s not automatic. Then, if a true word doesn’t happen, folks will blame the messenger when the fault lies closer to home.”
“Careful,” Mike said. “I believe in predestination.”
“I can’t argue that stuff. I just know what I’ve seen. You’ll have to figure out if it agrees with what you learned in preacher school. I don’t claim to be unfoolable.”
“You mean infallible.”
“That’s what I get for trying to use a fancy word. I’ve made mistakes.”
“But not with your bank account?”
“No. I’m sure about that one.”
Seven
MIKE LEFT THE TAX APPRAISER’S OFFICE WITH PROOF THAT SAM Miller’s hillside property was worth $65,000. He knew the actual market value was much more. If the eight-acre piece was combined with the parcel next door, it would create a nice tract for a developer who would tear down Sam’s house and plant at least a dozen larger homes in its place.
It was too early for lunch so Mike drove home. Peg and Judge were gone, but when he went upstairs he found Peg’s Bible open on her chair in the bedroom. A notebook lay facedown beside the Bible. Mike reached over to pick it up then stopped. It would be more fun letting Peg tell him what she discovered than to find out by snooping.
The household computer was in a small downstairs bedroom they’d turned into a study. Mike clicked open the word processing program. It took him fifteen minutes to properly format a one-page pleading notifying the court of his representation in the State of North Carolina v. Sam Miller. A Motion to Reduce Bond followed next. As he labored to make everything look professional, he hoped he wouldn’t have to type a brief or requests to charge the jury. By the time he’d added a certificate of service upon Melissa Hall and a fill-in-the-blank notice of hearing on the motion to reduce bond, it was almost noon. He printed out several copies of the pleadings.
Bobby’s car wasn’t in sight at the law firm when Mike returned to town. The trip to Asheville would probably consume most of his friend’s day. Mike filed his notice of representation in State v. Miller
at the clerk’s office. He was now officially on the case. He walked upstairs to the office suite used by the superior court judge currently serving Barlow County. Judges rotated across western North Carolina on a circuit designed to lessen the likelihood of favoritism to local lawyers and citizens; however, judges like Harris Coberg still held court in their home districts.
A young man Mike didn’t recognize sat behind the clerk’s desk in the waiting area for the judge’s chambers. Mike introduced himself.
“Who’ll be on the bench this week to hear a bond motion in a criminal case?” Mike asked.
“Judge Coberg has started a six-month rotation,” the man responded.
“Great. When can you give me a fifteen-minute slot?”
The man glanced at his computer screen. “Tomorrow at nine-thirty.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Unless you want to move it to next week.”
“No, that’s fine. I’ll take it. Is the judge in his chambers?”
“No, he’s at lunch.”
Mike filled in the date and time on the notice and dropped off a copy at the district attorney’s office. As he left Shelton and drove to the church, Juanita Jones called him on his cell phone. “Are you on your way to the golf course?” she asked.
“I haven’t thought about a golf ball all day,” Mike replied. “Did you locate the number for Danny Brewster’s mother? I really want to extend my condolences.”
“Got it right here.”
Mike flipped open his PDA and entered the number while driving with his knees.
“Thanks for letting me know,” he said. “And I won’t forget your comments about Sam Miller. I want to do the right thing.”
“I know. That’s the reason I always considered you the best. You had both the will to fight and the desire for truth. I’ll be praying for you.”
When he reached the church, he phoned Danny’s mother. A shaky voice answered the phone.
“Mrs. Brewster, it’s Mike Andrews. I just found out about Danny and want you to know how sorry I am.”
“I didn’t have the money to get him brought home, and they buried him in the prison graveyard,” Mrs. Brewster replied. “He didn’t have a proper funeral or anything.”
“I wish I’d known sooner.”
“It’s my fault for not calling you.”
“No, you’ve had too much on your mind.” Mike paused. “Would you like to have a memorial service here in Shelton?”
“It’s been almost two weeks since he died. I guess it’s not too late to do something.”
“No, it’s not. Danny was a fine young man, and those who loved him ought to have a chance to get together to share their sorrow and remember the happier times.”
“I’ve been working on Sundays and haven’t been regular at the church down the road. They have a new preacher who doesn’t know our family at all—”
“I’d be honored to serve as the minister. I could look for a place on your side of the county to have the service.”
“Danny sure did think a lot of you. He saved every one of your letters and read them over and over. They were in his things they sent to me from down yonder.”
Mike felt a knot in his throat. He’d corresponded regularly with Danny for several years but slacked off during his time in seminary and had only written twice since returning to Shelton. Danny faithfully replied to every communication. His letters always listed what he’d eaten that day and a Bible verse written with a red pencil. On the back of each letter, he included a crude drawing of something at the prison—his cot, a basketball goal, the guard tower, even the toilet in the corner of his cell. The drawings made Mike both sad and angry.
“I didn’t write him enough, Mrs. Brewster,” Mike said. “I’d like to do this for him if you’ll let me.”
“Danny would be glad about that. He was awful proud of you becoming a preacher.”
Mike looked at his calendar. “What day of the week is best for you?”
“Wednesday is my day off. We’ve got kinfolks and neighbors who would come.”
“Then we’ll do it next Wednesday afternoon. I’ll get back to you tomorrow. Do you have an answering machine on your phone?”
“Yes, sir.”
MIKE WAS EMOTIONALLY DRAINED WHEN HE WALKED THROUGH the door of the house and plopped down in his chair in the breakfast nook. Peg was cutting up tomatoes for a salad.
“What happened today?” she asked.
“Danny Brewster was murdered in prison two weeks ago,” Mike answered in a flat tone of voice.
Peg stopped preparing the salad and gave him a hug. “I’m sorry. Who told you about it?”
“Juanita.” Mike shook his head. “He was stabbed by another inmate with a homemade knife. I don’t know any details, and I’m not sure I want to find out.”
“I know that hurt.”
“I called Mrs. Brewster and arranged to have a memorial service on Wednesday.”
They sat down to eat. Halfway through the meal, Mike spoke. “You know, Danny was innocent because he didn’t know the definition of wrong. I’ve always blamed the system for failing him because my ego wouldn’t let me admit my mistake. It’s time to be honest about my responsibility.”
“No, Mike. His conviction and death weren’t your fault.”
“Indirectly they were. My stubbornness forced him to go to trial when he could have received a lesser sentence in a plea bargain and spent less time in jail. It hit me almost as soon as Juanita told me. Back then, all I could think about was winning. It’s easier to recognize selfishness and stubbornness with the benefit of hindsight.”
Peg turned away.
“What is it?” Mike asked.
“Nothing. Just thinking about the past.”
WITHIN MINUTES OF THE TIME MIKE ’ S HEAD TOUCHED THE pillow, he fell asleep. He rarely woke up until the alarm clock blared in the morning. His nights, however, were filled with unconscious activity. Since childhood, Mike’s sleep had been populated by dreams. Most he forgot before dawn, but occasionally one survived the leap from night to day. He had a couple of recurring dreams but never submitted them to an expert for interpretation.
At 3:00 a.m., Mike came roaring out of slumber and sat up in bed. Breathing heavily, he stared into the dark room.
“What is it?” Peg asked sleepily.
“A nightmare,” Mike replied. “So bad it woke me up.”
Peg leaned on her elbow. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, but I wasn’t in the dream.”
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
Mike rubbed the side of his face, which was scratchy from an almost twenty-four-hour growth of beard.
“I dreamed Danny, Sam Miller, and I were sitting in an interview room at the jail. Sam was talking his usual nonsense, but Danny seemed to enjoy listening to him. I was frustrated with both of them. Suddenly, the door burst open, and four large men without faces rushed into the room and grabbed Danny and Sam. I was paralyzed. I tried to protest but couldn’t think of anything to say. I felt completely helpless. Two of the men dragged Danny away. The other two picked up Sam’s chair and started walking out of the room. Sam looked at me and waved good-bye. I had the sense he could easily get away by jumping out of the chair to the floor. I tried to scream a warning, but nothing came out of my mouth. That’s when I woke up.”
Peg turned on the light on the nightstand.
“I think you’re just trying to work through stress,” she said. “You had a lot dumped on you yesterday. You were calm at the time but needed to process the tension out of your system.”
“Maybe, although it was like watching TV.”
Peg reached over and turned off the light. “Ask Sam about it. He’s the expert on dreams.”
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, MIKE SPENT EXTRA TIME IN FRONT of the mirror adjusting his tie. Peg came up behind him and peeked over his shoulder.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Still tired. I stayed awake for a while because I did
n’t want to go through the dream again.”
“Did it come back?”
“No, but I did wake up with Danny Brewster’s face in my mind. Do you remember how toothy he looked when he grinned?”
“Yes. File that in your mental photo album as a happier thought.”
Peg smoothed his collar and stroked his hair. “You know, if you really want to create a good impression in the courtroom, you need more gray hair.”
Mike shook his head. “I’m going to be a father, not a grandfather.”
“We’ll probably get those questions anyway.”
Mike turned around. Peg looked great in workout clothes from the University of Virginia, their college alma mater and the place they met and fell in love. She leaned up and kissed him.
“I might, but you won’t,” Mike said. “Visitors to the church often ask if you’re my daughter.”
Peg shook her head and frowned. “It’s a sin to lie.”
DOWNSTAIRS, MIKE DRANK A CUP OF COFFEE AND HALFHEARTEDLY nibbled a slice of wheat toast. Judge sat beside his chair, hoping for a crumb from the table.
“Time to ride into battle,” Mike said, looking at the clock on the wall.
“I’ll be in the castle with your noble beast when you return.”
Mike patted Judge on the head and gave him a sliver of crust. “I wish a human judge would do what I ask in return for a piece of bread.”
IT WASN’T A BUSY CRIMINAL ARRAIGNMENT DAY. WHEN THAT happened, the influx of family and friends anxious about the fate of loved ones made it hard to find a parking place near the courthouse. Only a few people were on the sidewalk.
Butterflies fluttered in Mike’s stomach. A bond hearing was a perfunctory affair that wouldn’t create much tension, but Mike’s long absence from the legal arena made him nervous. Sitting in the car, he phoned the jail to confirm that Sam would be present. As he walked up the courthouse steps with a thin folder in his hand, Mike replayed in his mind the legal standard for reducing a bond.
The main courtroom in the Barlow County Courthouse was painted a light cream color. The dark wooden benches had been recently restained, and the faint odor of finishing compound lingered in the air. Half a dozen lawyers were milling around the front of the courtroom. When Mike approached, conversation stopped. Earl Coulter, a veteran criminal defense lawyer, came over and shook his hand.
Mountain Top Page 7
