Walking Woman (Gratis Book 2)

by Jackson, Jay

  In fact, the judge agreed with Broyles, but he just couldn’t stand the district attorney. Delroy, on the other hand, was known to bring a bottle to the judge’s chambers, usually after hours. There they would drink and talk about everything but the law.

  “I’ll ask again,” Delroy continued. “Did you see what was in her hand before she put the item in the carriage?”

  His face redder than Sanford Stadium on an autumn Saturday, Pinky waited for another objection. Hearing none, he answered.

  “No, I didn’t see what it was.”

  “Okay, then can you describe what you saw?”

  “Objection!”

  Without looking up, Judge Pierson replied.

  “Overruled.”

  Delroy looked at Pinky and continued. “Describe what you saw.”

  Pinky sat in the witness box, shades of red and pink rippling over his face. Finally he answered.

  “Well, I didn’t really see anything, but I knew it was something. I just didn’t really know what it was, at the time.”

  “So, you saw my client not breaking the law, and then saw her put something in her carriage, that same something that you couldn’t even describe at the time, right?”

  Pinky waited a moment, and then answered.

  “I guess you could say that, yeah.”

  “And then you decided to put your hands on her carriage, and you told her to show you what she put in the carriage, right?”

  “Right.”

  “But you had no idea what it was before you did that. It didn’t look like a weapon or drugs or anything illegal like that, did it?”

  Pinky answered quietly. “I had no idea what it was, but she sure did seem to want to hide it from me.”

  “So as far as you know it could have been a Bible, a biscuit—anything!”

  “Objection!” Broyles yelled. “If counsel has a question, he needs to ask it. Right now he’s badgering the witness.”

  Judge Pierson leaned back in his chair and then replied.

  “I’m going to sustain that objection. Mr. Jones, you’ve made your point. Sounds like you think there may have been some Constitutional problems with this here encounter, but that’s not what we’re here for. I’m only considering the issue of bond. How about moving along to another topic?”

  “Thank you, Judge,” Delroy replied. “I have no other questions for this witness.”

  Pinky stepped down and walked up the aisle toward the door. Courtroom observers would say his face flashed like a neon Coke sign as he walked out the door.

  Broyles then tendered the previous conviction Claudia had picked up as a teen for disorderly conduct. He made sure to announce that the charges were pleaded down from battery, but conveniently left out that it arose from a disagreement a senior classmate had with her wearing a dress. The alleged victim agreed to let her plea to the lesser charge of disorderly conduct. He didn’t want to admit, at a trial, that someone in a dress was tougher than he was.

  Broyles rested his case, and then Delroy presented his. He put up Crazy A and Tallie, and then his character witnesses.

  Broyles didn’t cross-examine any of the character witnesses, but was able to show the judge the problems with the other two. He thought Delroy was about to rest and stood up to argue against setting any bond. As he was about to start, Delroy cleared his throat.

  “Judge, I’m not through. I have one more witness.”

  Broyles replied. “Judge, I’ve humored defense counsel while he put up seven character witnesses, but now we’re getting way past what you need to make your decision on bond.”

  The judge looked at Delroy.

  “Well, Mr. Jones, you got anybody besides another character witness? The district attorney has a point.”

  Delroy bent down to whisper in his client’s ear. Claudia nodded her head, and Delroy replied to the judge.

  “Yes sir, we do have one more witness. She’s relevant because the DA has put my client’s criminal history at issue, and made a big, big deal about what they found in my client’s baby carriage.”

  Judge Pierson looked intrigued.

  “Well, call your witness, then.”

  Delroy looked toward the back of the courtroom. “The defense calls Mrs. Nancy Breedlove, the 911 call center manager for the sheriff’s department.”

  “Objection!” Broyles shrieked out. He was not ready for this, and had no idea what testimony Breedlove could add to the case.

  Damn sneaky son of a bitch Delroy Jones.

  “Overruled,” the judge replied, turning his chair around so the courtroom crowd couldn’t see him smile. He spit in his mug and turned back toward the courtroom, his hands covering his mouth.

  39.

  Amy had a knack for knowing where to find the information she really needed. She also had a knack for making sure to know the right people, whether they wanted to know her or not. In the second case she had handled with Delroy, the origin of a 911 call was at issue. When she arrived at the 911 call center to get a copy of the call, Nancy Breedlove was there. She was clenching an unlit Winston between her lips. Nancy was a somewhat reformed smoker, and had gone eight months without lighting up. She still carried an unlit cigarette everywhere, though, dangling from her ruby-red mouth. Cigarettes had been her steady companions for the last fifteen years. Going cold turkey didn’t mean she couldn’t keep one around, she reckoned.

  Heck, I still keep pictures of MeMaw and DaddyDaw, even though they’re in heaven. Not gonna throw those away, either.

  Amy approached the strange, cold-cigarette-chewing woman, and knew within five minutes Nancy was one of those people she wanted to know. They took to each other off the rip. Nancy became the best friend Amy had in Gratis. She had a way of laughing at the absurd, and was the first woman in town who freely gave her friendship to Amy. The two spent hours talking about everything, usually at Nancy’s house three blocks off the courthouse square. Nancy made sure to keep their glasses full with boxed wine from the Winn-Dixie. Her husband, Earl, peeked in from his basement man-cave now and again.

  After Delroy, the person Amy missed the most in Gratis was Nancy. At times, though, Delroy was second on that list, and a distant one at that.

  It was Nancy whom Amy called the morning she went looking for the long shot. Nancy would be able to let her know, quickly, whether her idea would come to anything or not.

  The 911 call center handled all the emergency calls from around the county. The calls came into the call center, and then emergency responders were dispatched by the operator speaking with the caller.

  The manager made sure that personnel were there to respond, and the center had the best mapping software available. Responders who couldn’t find an emergency were no good. Sometimes, knowing how to get to Maple Street, as opposed to Maple Lane, was the difference between life and death.

  Also, the 911 calls were recorded and kept as evidence. The district attorney’s office often used them in trials. A victim’s demeanor in trial often failed to convey the fear or urgency that same victim felt while a particular crime was happening. Nancy was still haunted by the screams of a five-year-old who witnessed her mother being strangled by her father. The 911 call captured the violence through a telephone dangling at the end of its cord.

  Nancy did more than simply collect these calls by date. She also organized them by type of call. With a couple of keystrokes she could pull up all domestic violence cases, all officer-involved shootings, and numerous other categories of like cases. Amy knew how meticulously Nancy categorized her 911 calls—this was precisely the reason she called her about Claudia’s case. After speaking with Amy, Nancy pulled years of calls and started listening. Around seven that evening, Earl showed up. He brought fried chicken from the Potluck and a box of chardonnay. They listened to calls until the early morning hours, camped out together in Nancy’s office while her operators answered calls on the floor. This was their version of “date night.” Their only child was conceived on a similar date night fifteen years
before. After hours of listening to the calls and hearing the same voice, they were both amazed. This was the long shot Amy was looking for, and Nancy made a recording containing the relevant calls. In all, there were over sixty of them. She brought them into court with her when Delroy called her name.

  She took the stand, and the judge swore her in as a witness. Delroy asked her name and occupation.

  Before she could answer, Broyles stood up again.

  “Objection! Look, there is simply no way this witness can be relevant to the inquiry of whether bond should be granted or not. This is just another red herring that Mr. Jones would have the court follow—”

  “Overruled! Mr. Broyles, you will let this witness testify, and this court will determine whether there is any relevance in the testimony or not. Now sit down!”

  Broyles waited a moment before sitting. He tried desperately not to look like a dog that just got hit over the nose with a rolled-up newspaper.

  “Now, Mr. Jones, I’ll let you ask your questions, but I’m giving you fair warning. This witness better have some relevance to the case, specifically as to whether I grant bond or not. You may continue.”

  Delroy waited a moment to let the murmurs in the courtroom die down, and then he started again.

  “Your name and occupation, please.”

  “My name is Nancy Breedlove, and I manage the 911 call center for the sheriff’s office.”

  “Okay, Mrs. Breedlove. Do you know my client, Claudia Peters?”

  “Yes, I do. We’ve both grown up here. I’ve known her since we were children.”

  “Would you recognize her voice when you hear it?”

  “Yes, Mr. Jones, I would.”

  Many spectators nodded their heads as Nancy answered. They, too, recognized Claudia’s voice. One of the most off-putting traits about her was the deep growl of her voice. Whether you were behind her at the grocery store or heard her yelling at children to stay out of the street, there was a disconnect created by the baritone arising from under the brown wig.

  “Okay. Now, did you get the opportunity to review certain 911 calls recently, specifically those dealing with distressed-child issues?”

  “Yes, I did. I categorize all calls that come in through the system, to know what type of emergencies our sheriff and fire departments respond to the most. That way, I can hopefully give some insight about where money should be spent or what type of community education might cut down on real emergencies we have here in Gratis. Just last month we had a very successful night at the fire station open house, for example. We gave out over two hundred brochures about the safe use of space heaters.” Nancy smiled warmly at the courtroom audience.

  “Well that’s really great, Mrs. Breedlove. Let me ask you, did you, just this week, go through the calls in the distressed-child category?”

  “Yes, I did. Someone from your office—I’m not sure who—called and requested I do so. They said it may help in this child kidnapping case, and I was glad to do it.”

  This was the first time Nancy had ever lied under oath. She didn’t want Amy to get in trouble for helping out a defendant. She was, after all, a duly sworn prosecutor.

  “Okay, Mrs. Breedlove. I see you have a CD in your hand. Would you please tell us what that is?”

  “This is a CD where I’ve collected some sixty-two 911 calls categorized as child distress calls. They go back well over a decade.”

  “Is there any reason you collected those particular sixty-two calls and placed them all on the same CD? If so, what is that reason?”

  Again, Nancy smiled warmly at audience and then at the judge.

  “Well, yes. After listening to hours of old calls, I noticed the same voice over and over in them. Each time, the caller would inform us that a child was in danger, then give us an address as to where to find the child, along with a description of how the child was being put in danger.”

  “So is it the same voice in all sixty-two calls on that CD you have in your hand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. So were you able to find out whether these calls led to anything? Were they helpful at all?”

  “Yes, Mr. Jones, they were. Fifty-four of the calls led law enforcement to children who were either neglected to the point of disease or starvation or were beaten with visible injuries—sometimes rising to the level of broken bones or lacerated organs. In the other eight, seven children reported sexual assaults, and one child was found with several bite marks from an animal of some type. When looking at the severity of the children’s various injuries, it appears that this 911 reporter may have saved the lives of at least thirty of these children. The rest were saved from some other type of actual harm.”

  The courtroom was quiet, all observers leaning up from their seats to hear Nancy.

  “That is some incredible record, Mrs. Breedlove. Did you recognize that caller’s voice, the caller who saved, in one way or another, more than sixty of our children?”

  “Objection! This isn’t relevant, and there’s no foundation for her recognizing this particular voice!”

  The judge looked at Broyles for a moment and then replied.

  “Well, it looks like I’m going to give counsel the opportunity to lay a proper foundation, and as the trier of fact, I’ll separate the wheat from the chaff. Sit down.”

  Delroy hoped he was only smiling on the inside. He continued.

  “Have you heard the 911 caller’s voice before?”

  “Yes, I have.”

  “How many times?”

  “Hundreds of times at least, since childhood. Maybe thousands. I know the caller.”

  “Were the recordings you heard legible and clear?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was the recording equipment in proper working order?”

  “Yes.”

  “Except for separating each of them out to put on the CD you hold now, were the recordings ever changed or manipulated in any way?”

  “No.”

  Delroy waited another moment, savoring the anticipation of the answer he knew was coming.

  “Then, Mrs. Breedlove, please tell us who the 911 caller is, this person who’s saved so many children over so many years.”

  Nancy looked down for a moment. That moment turned into another, and the assemblage in the room collectively slid closer to the edge of their seats, waiting. When Nancy finally looked up, her previous smile was replaced by tears. She looked directly at Delroy’s client.

  “It was her. It was Claudia Peters.”

  The quiet in the courtroom erupted into a buzz and then a roar. Judge Pierson looked around, picked up his gavel, and then started banging it, repeatedly, on the bench.

  “Both attorneys will come into my chambers—now!” he yelled. Then he stood up and turned toward the door behind the bench. Forgetting his coffee mug, he spit on the carpet as he went through the door.

  Damned lawyers, he thought, wishing he was still in uniform, driving his old cruiser somewhere on the back roads of Gratis.

  40.

  The three men went into the judge’s chambers, the two attorneys seating themselves in front of the former deputy’s desk. Pierson took his robe off, throwing it on the couch he kept against the wall.

  “Well, fellas, how about this right here? Delroy, did you let the prosecutor listen to those recordings?”

  “Hell no, he hasn’t! First time I heard about them was just then. I—”

  The judge looked at Broyles as he cut him off.

  “You’re name ain’t Delroy, is it? Nope, it’s not. Now don’t answer when I ask another man a question. So, Delroy, when did you get these recordings?”

  “Not one hour before the hearing started. Mrs. Breedlove just got them all last night, late, and I couldn’t get them until I came to court.”

  “That’s crap, Judge. He’s been hiding this—”

  The judge cut off Broyles again.

  “Just so we’re straight, Mr. DA, when I want to hear your voice I’ll ask you a question. It’s
a failure, a total failure, that y’all can’t try to cultivate some kind of relationship when it comes to these cases, so this type of fireworks and gotcha stuff doesn’t happen in court. I’m looking at both of y’all when I say that.”

  The judge spit on the floor.

  “Tell you what, I’m gonna play that recording right here on my computer. My clerk has shown me how to work this thing and I’m gonna use it now. Y’all can stay in here, or leave if you want to, while I’m listening.”

  Neither man moved as the judge put the disk into the drive. Nobody said a word, and then the calls started playing.

  The three men listened, intently, for the next three and a half hours. None of them noticed that they were missing lunch until Miss Phyllis, the judge’s secretary, brought in pimiento cheese sandwiches and sweet tea.

  They heard years of one person calling about various children in need. Sometimes the caller knew the child’s or family’s name, sometimes a name wasn’t mentioned. Sometimes, the caller knew the nature of the injury responders would find, sometimes only that the child would be in trouble. Every time, the voice ended each call the same way.

  “Either you send someone here to check on this child, right now, or I’m going in there myself, and I can’t promise what will happen. You’ve got half an hour.”

  Every time a deputy was sent out, and usually an ambulance would follow. They always found children with various types of injuries, or in various states of neglect or abuse. While listening, the judge’s clerk found more information for the trio to consider. Seventy-three arrests arose from the investigations that spun off from the 911 calls, and from those came sixty-four convictions. These convictions ranged from child molestation to cruelty to a child, with some offenders getting life in jail. From these sixty-two calls, over forty-seven children were removed from unsafe environments, and twenty-six families participated in DFACS reunification programs. When the calls were all played, the three men sat in silence for fifteen minutes. The amount of good the calls had created, and the difference they made in the lives of so many children, was staggering. The judge was the first one to speak.