before his nine o’clock bedtime.
“The thing is,” Dwight said as he got up to pour us a
second cup of coffee, “are you likely to be the judge for
a half-million civil lawsuit?”
“Probably not,” I said, my curiosity really piqued
now. “Something that big usually goes to superior
court. Unless both parties agree to it, most of our judg-
ments are capped at ten thousand.”
“Okay then,” he said and settled back to tell me how
Bo Poole started thinking about his teenage years when
he used to run a trapline along the creeks in the south-
ern part of the county, especially Black Creek.
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“He wasn’t the only one and it dawned on him that
Fred Mitchiner used to trap animals and sell the pelts,
too.”
“Who’s Fred Mitchiner?”
“That eighty-year-old with Alzheimer’s who wan-
dered away from the nursing home right before
Christmas, remember?”
I shook my head. “That whole week was a haze.
Except for our wedding and Christmas itself, about
all I remember is that you took two weeks off and Bo
wouldn’t let you come into work.”
Dwight cut his eyes at me. “That’s all you remember?”
I couldn’t repress my own smile as his big hand cov-
ered mine and his thumb gently stroked the inside of
my wrist.
“Don’t change the subject,” I said, with a glance
into the living room where Cal seemed absorbed by the
game. “Fred Mitchiner.”
“Once Mitchiner slipped away from the nursing
home, it would have been a long walk for him, but they
do say Alzheimer’s patients often try to find their way
back to where they were happy. Bo figures the old guy
probably thought he’d go check his traps, fell in the
water, and either drowned or died of exposure. High
water and animals did the rest. It wasn’t murder.”
“But it does sound like negligence,” I said. “Is that
what his family feel?”
He shrugged. “We haven’t told them yet. Bo wants
to wait till we get an official ID; but yeah, that’s the
talk.”
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C H A P T E R
10
There is something always preying on something, and noth-
ing is free from disaster in this sublunary world.
—Profitable Farming in the Southern States, 1890
% Friday’s criminal court is usually a catchall day for
me—the minor felonies and misdemeanors that
don’t fit in elsewhere. Sometimes I think Doug Woodall,
our current DA, goes out of his way to see that the
weird ones wind up on my Friday docket. On the other
hand, sometimes his sense of humor matches mine and
when I entered the courtroom that morning and saw
Dr. Linda Allred seated in the center aisle, it was hard
not to smile.
“All rise,” said Cleve Overby, the most punctilious
of the bailiffs, and before she’d finished giving him a
rueful hands-up motion from her motorized wheel-
chair, he grinned and added, “all except Dr. Allred.
Oyez, oyez, oyez. This honorable court for the County
of Colleton is now open and sitting for the dispatch
of its business. God save the State and this honorable
court, the Honorable Judge Deborah Knott presiding.
Be seated.”
I ran my finger down the calendar and found the case
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she was probably there for, then sat back and listened
as ADA Kevin Foster pulled the first shuck on Anthony
Barkley, a nineteen-year-old black kid who had ridden
through a parking lot on his bicycle and tried to snatch
a woman’s purse. Before the shoulder strap fully left her
arm, she gave it a sharp yank, which sent him sprawling
into the path of a slow-moving car. The car immediately
flattened his bike and the man who jumped out to see
what was going on had proceeded to flatten the youth-
ful thief.
“Fifteen days suspended, forty hours of community
service,” I said.
Next came a Latino migrant, one Ernesto Palmeiro,
age thirty, who had gotten drunk, “borrowed” a trac-
tor, and headed east, plowing a half-mile-long furrow
across several semi-rural lawns before the highway pa-
trol could head him off.
“He deeply regrets his actions,” said the translator,
“but he went a little loco when his wife left him and
went home to Mexico. He’s already repaired most of
the damage and throws himself on the mercy of the
court.”
I rather doubted if that was what he’d said, but what
the hell? “Fifteen days suspended on condition that he
finishes putting all the yards back the way they were,
including any plantings that he might have destroyed.”
I looked at his boss, a Latino landscaper, who’d spo-
ken on his behalf. “And I’d suggest, sir, that you teach
him how to lift the plows before you let him near an-
other tractor.”
I sent the exhibitionist for a mental health evaluation
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MARGARET MARON
and gave the guy who’d tried to steal an antique lamp-
post from the town commons ten days of jail time.
The woman who bopped her boyfriend over the head
with the Christmas turkey while it was still on the serv-
ing platter? Ten days suspended if she completed an
anger management course.
Finally, Kevin called, “Raymond Alito, illegally parked
in a handicap space in violation of G.S. 20–37.6(e).”
A heavyset white man of early middle age rose and
came forward. He was neatly dressed in black slacks and
a gray nylon windbreaker worn over a red plaid shirt.
His black hair was thinning over the crown and there
were flecks of gray in his short black beard. He did not
look familiar to me, but if Linda Allred was here, then
he’d probably been cited for at least one earlier infrac-
tion of the code.
“I see you have chosen not to use an attorney, Mr.
Alito. How do you plead?”
“Your Honor, could I just tell you what happened?”
“Certainly, sir, as soon as you tell me whether you’re
pleading guilty or not guilty.”
“Not guilty then, ma’am.”
“Mr. Foster?”
“Your Honor, we will show that on December twenty-
third of last year, Mr. Alito illegally parked in a space
reserved for the handicapped at the outlet mall here in
Dobbs. Mr. Alito is not physically disabled and he does
not possess a handicap permit. The ticketing officer
called for a tow truck, which impounded his car. This is
Mr. Alito’s second ticket for this infraction.”
With appropriate gravity, I asked, “And is the ticket-
ing officer in court?”
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“She is, Your Honor. I call Dr. Linda Allred to the
stand.”
“Huh?” said Alito as Allred steered h
er motorized
chair over to a position in front of the witness seat,
which was one step above floor level. “She’s the one
who gave me a ticket? She’s no police officer.”
“You’ll have your chance to speak, Mr. Alito,” I told
him. “The witness may swear from her own seat.”
The bailiff handed her the Bible and my clerk swore
her in.
Dr. Allred is a dumpling of a woman with short
straight gray hair parted high on the left and piercing
eyes that usually cast jaundiced looks over the top of her
glasses. Although her doctorate is in psychology and she
teaches statistical analysis on the college level, she lives
in Dobbs and in her heart of hearts, she’s Dirty Harry.
Or maybe I should say Betty Friedan because a lot of
her work is rooted in women’s issues.
Her particular pet peeve, however, is able-bodied
drivers who park in spaces reserved for those with im-
paired mobility. Any time she spots one, she writes up a
ticket, something that she’s officially allowed to do, as
Kevin’s next question made clear.
“Dr. Allred, are you a sworn law officer?”
“No, Mr. Foster, but I was made a special deputy and
given ticket-writing authority by Sheriff Bowman Poole
and I try not to abuse it.”
“Would you describe what happened on the twenty-
third of December?”
“Certainly.” She took a small laptop computer from a
pocket on the side of her chair and opened it to a screen
full of photographs. “On the afternoon of December
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MARGARET MARON
twenty-third, a friend and I were finishing up our
Christmas shopping at the outlet mall. I was just get-
ting out of my van when Mr. Alito pulled into the only
empty slot. It was directly in front of ours. I immedi-
ately noticed that his car did not display a handicap tag
on the rearview mirror, so I took out my camera and
snapped the first picture.”
The bailiff handed me her laptop. There, in glorious
color was a view of Alito in his late-model black Honda
with the edge of the blue warning sign just visible. His
rearview mirror was dead center. Nothing dangled from
it except a set of rosary beads.
“Mr. Alito then got out of his car and had no trouble
walking into the Gifts and Glass Warehouse. That’s the
second picture on the screen, Your Honor. Now if you’ll
click to the third picture?”
I clicked as directed.
“My friend helped me with my wheelchair and I
went around to the rear of his car and took a third
picture of his license plate. As you see, it is a standard
North Carolina plate, not one issued to the disabled.
At that point, I called for a tow truck and wrote out
the citation.”
I signaled for the bailiff to show the laptop to Mr.
Alito, who looked at the pictures with a distinctly sour
expression.
“What did you do next, Dr. Allred?” Kevin asked.
“The parking lot was quite crowded. There were reg-
ular spaces way off to the side, but all the other nearby
handicap spaces were legally taken. An elderly couple
with a tag asked us if we were coming or going so they
could have my spot, but I told them just to wait a few
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minutes and that the one in front of me would be open-
ing up as soon as the tow truck got there. Then my
friend and I went inside and finished our Christmas
shopping. When we came out, Mr. Alito’s car was gone
and the other car was parked there.”
“No further questions,” Kevin said.
“Your turn, Mr. Alito,” I said. “Do you wish to ques-
tion the witness?”
He blustered a moment, then said, “I’d just like to
ask her if she followed me in the store and saw what I
bought?”
“No, sir,” Dr. Allred responded promptly.
“Well, if you had, you’d’ve seen me buy a Christmas
present for my eighty-nine-year-old mother and she does
have a handicap tag. Her heart’s so bad she couldn’t
walk across this room without her oxygen tank.”
Dr. Allred looked at him over the top of her glasses.
“I’m sorry to hear that, sir, but she wasn’t in the car
with you, was she?”
Alito turned to me. “Ma’am, can I just explain what
happened in my own words?”
“Certainly,” I said. “But first, I have a question for
Dr. Allred.”
She looked at me expectantly.
“Dr. Allred, you say you try not to abuse the author-
ity Sheriff Poole gave you. It’s my understanding that
you usually just write a ticket. Could you tell me why
you called a tow truck for Mr. Alito’s car?”
“Because this is the second time I’ve caught him in a
handicap space.” Her fingers played over the keyboard.
“According to my records, I ticketed him on the fourth
of September in front of a grocery store.”
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MARGARET MARON
Alito’s mouth dropped open when he heard that.
“Thank you, Dr. Allred. No further questions. You
may come up and take the witness stand, Mr. Alito.”
They passed in the space before my bench and I heard
Alito mutter, “Bitch!”
“Did you say something, sir?” I asked.
“No, ma’am. Just clearing my throat.” He took the
Bible and promised to tell the truth, the whole truth
and nothing but the truth.
“Yeah, I know I shouldn’t have parked there, but I
really was just going in to buy a present for my poor
old mother. I bet I wasn’t in there ten minutes. Well,
twenty if you count the time I had to wait in line to
check out.”
“One present?” I said. “That was all?”
“Well, maybe I did pick up a couple of little things on
my way back to the front, but my mother’s present was
really all I went in for. I got back outside, I almost had a
heart attack myself. I thought my car’d been stolen, but
when I called the police and they saw where I’d been
parked, they told me to call the county’s towing service.
Cost me a hundred-fifty to get it back, and what I don’t
understand is how come this ticket’s for two-fifty, when
the first one was only fifty.”
He paused briefly to glare at Dr. Allred but there was
a whine in his voice when he turned back to me and
said, “So what I’m saying here is yes, I did wrong, but
I don’t see why it’s got to cost me four hundred dol-
lars. It was Christmas and the parking lot was jammed.
She says there were spaces further out, but by the time
I parked out there and walked to the store, I could have
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already been in and out. Can’t we just let the towing
charges take care of everything?”
I shook my head. “Sorry, Mr. Alito. If this were your
first citation, I might have been inclined to let you off
more lightly. But this is your second offense here in
this district. If I were to have my clerk run your license
plate, would I find that you’d collected more tickets
elsewhere? Say in Raleigh?”
By the way his jaws clamped tight, I was pretty sure
I’d hit home.
“Those spaces aren’t there for the convenience of the
able-bodied. The State of North Carolina reserves them
for its citizens who are not as fortunate as you are, sir.
I find you guilty of this infraction and fine you the full
two-fifty plus court costs.”
“Court costs!” he yelped. “That’s outrageous! That’s
highway robbery! That’s—”
“That’s going to be a night in jail if you make me
hold you in contempt,” I warned him. “The bailiff will
show you where to pay.”
As he stomped out in one direction and Dr. Allred
serenely rolled out the other way, two middle-aged sis-
ters came forward to argue over a pair of diamond ear-
rings valued at about three hundred dollars. According
to the younger sister, their mother had given her the
earrings before she died. The older sister did not dis-
pute that their mother might have let her borrow them,
but that her mother’s will left them to her. When the
younger sister refused to give them up, the older one
had taken them from the other’s house, whereupon the
younger sister called the police and charged her with
theft. The earrings were nothing more than two small
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MARGARET MARON
round diamonds set in simple gold prongs. Identical
earrings could be found in any discount jewelry store
in any mall in America, so I did the Solomon thing. I
threw out the larceny charge and awarded each sister
one earring. “Why don’t you two ladies go have lunch
together, buy a pair to match these and then think of
your mother whenever you wear them. I bet she’d be
horrified to think you’d let these two little rocks destroy
your relationship.”
I had hoped for sheepish looks and murmurs of rec-
onciliation. What I got were glares and snarls as they
both huffed off, still mad at each other and now mad at
me as well.
I sighed and adjourned for lunch.
As I went down the hallway to the office I was using
that week, I heard hearty laughter coming from within.
I pushed the door open and there sat Portland and Dr.
Allred munching on bowls of pasta salad. Portland im-
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