by Scott Pratt
Sarah told me her new boyfriend had been clean for five years, but I was concerned. Godsey had been a probation officer in Washington County for at least a decade, and I’d run across him several times in the past. My impression of him wasn’t good, although I hadn’t said a word about it to Sarah. I remembered Godsey as a belligerent hard-ass, always filing violation warrants against his probationers for the tiniest of infractions. He was also a sanctimonious zealot, a man who apparently thought he knew all the answers to questions involving faith and eternity. I’d heard him harangue people in the courthouse hallways about getting right with the Lord more times than I cared to remember. One time a few years ago, I’d seen him back a young woman against the wall with his chest and shove her face with the heel of his hand. I started to confront him, but by the time I broke away from my client he’d stormed out the door. Now he’d transferred to Crossville, and he was taking my sister with him.
Rio began to bark at the front door.
“She’s early,” Caroline said.
I walked through the house, quieted the dog, and opened the door. Sarah stepped inside, wearing black jeans and a pink, V-necked pullover top with short sleeves. I noticed she was wearing a silver fish on a chain around her neck. I’d never seen it before.
“Nice necklace,” I said. Sarah’s conversion to Christianity had been both recent and complete. Caroline and I had gone to her baptism back in mid-August. The ceremony was held on the bank of the Nolichucky River behind the tiny Calvary Baptist Church near Telford where Robert Godsey was a part-time pastor. Godsey himself had immersed her in the brackish water.
“Thanks, Robert gave it to me.”
“Come on in.” I kissed her on the cheek. “Let’s go sit out on the deck. I’ll get you a glass of sweet tea.”
A few minutes later, we were sitting on the deck beneath cirrus clouds that drifted high across the sky like giant kites. I looked beyond Sarah at the pale green lake below, the late-afternoon sun glistening off the ripples like thousands of tiny pieces of hammered gold. An easy breeze was blowing, so pleasant that I thought of falling asleep.
“You okay?” she said. “You look tired.”
“I’ll be fine as long as we don’t talk about the murders. I need to think about something else for a while.”
“No problem. The thought of them sickens me. Where’s Caroline?” Her lips turned upward when she mentioned Caroline. Sarah had a terrific smile, with deep dimples like miniature crescent moons.
“In the bathroom. She’ll be out in a few. I think she’s planning on grilling steak. You hungry?”
“Sounds great.”
“All packed and ready to go?”
“I guess so.”
“When do you start the new job?”
Robert Godsey’s father owned an insurance agency in Crossville. Sarah was going to work for him as a receptionist.
“I start next week.”
I took a deep breath and braced myself. I didn’t want to get into an argument with her on her last day in town, but there was something I wanted to get off my chest.
“Can I ask you a question without you getting all pissed off at me?” I said.
Her eyebrows arched.
“I’m serious. You know I love you and I only want the best for you.”
“You’re already hedging. What is it?”
“I guess I just want to ask you whether you’re sure about this. Really sure. You’ve only known this guy for a couple of months.”
“His name is Robert, and I’ve known him for close to a year.”
“But you’ve only been dating for a couple of months.”
“Three months, almost four,” she said.
“Exactly. So why do you feel the need to pack up and move almost two hundred miles away? Are you sure you don’t want to try the long-distance-relationship thing for a while and see how it goes? Get to know him a little better?”
“I’m leaving. The decision’s been made.”
“I know, but humor me for a minute. Does he make you thumpy?”
“Thumpy?”
“You know, pitty-pat. Fluttery. Heart pounding inside the chest when he comes into the room, that kind of thing. Caroline still does that to me.”
“I guess so.”
“You see? That’s what I mean. If he really made you thumpy, you’d know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“I’m not a teenager. It isn’t puppy love.”
“So you love him. You’re sure you love him.”
“He’s made me a better person. He led me to Jesus.”
“I think you were a good person before, and I guess that’s what’s really bothering me. Tell me this: Would you be going to Crossville if you hadn’t been baptized? Would Godsey accept you if you weren’t a born-again Christian? Or was that part of the deal?”
Sarah’s green eyes tightened. She’d always been quick-tempered, and I could see lines begin to stretch towards her temples like tiny pieces of white thread, a sure sign I’d made her angry.
“How dare you say something like that to me,” she said. “I think you’re jealous. I think you hate the fact that I’m growing beyond you, that I’m leaving you behind in more ways than one.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re a sinner, a nonbeliever. You have no faith. You think when you die you’re just going to rot in the ground, that there’s nothing beyond what you can see and touch and smell. I used to think the same thing, but I don’t anymore. I think you envy me for it.”
“You’re wrong. I’m worried about you.”
“Do you know what God did for you, Joe?” she said, the pitch of her voice rising. “Do you know He gave his only son for you? His only son? So you could be forgiven and have salvation? Think about that. Think about what a tremendous sacrifice that was.”
“I don’t want to debate the Christian religion with you, Sarah. I want you to think about what you’re doing. I don’t think this guy is right for you. I don’t think this whole thing is right for you.”
“I don’t care what you think.” She stood up from the table and picked up her purse.
“What are you doing?” I said. “Are you leaving? Can’t we have a civilized discussion about this?”
I got up and followed her back through the house.
“Wait,” I said. “C’mon, Sarah, please don’t leave. I’m sorry. I won’t say another word about it. Stay and eat.”
She kept walking.
“At least say good-bye to Caroline.”
She stormed out the front door and down the sidewalk. About halfway to her car, she stopped and turned around.
“Tell Caroline I said good-bye,” she said. “And tell her I’m sorry she’s married to an atheist. You’re going to hell, Joe. I feel sorry for you.”
Thursday, September 18
“How’d you get roped into this?” Sheriff Leon Bates said. He was sitting in my office in his khaki uniform with brown epaulets.
“I volunteered for it, believe it or not,” I said.
Two months earlier, before I went to work for the DA’s office, Sheriff Bates and Judge Ivan Glass had gotten into a highly publicized pissing match. A public defender had filed a routine motion to suppress evidence in a drunk-driving case. During the hearing, a question arose about one of the sheriff’s department’s policies in giving Breathalyzer tests. Rather than take a recess and send someone to get a policies-and-procedures manual, Judge Glass ordered a bailiff to contact the sheriff and tell him to come to court immediately to clear up the matter. The bailiff called the sheriff, and the sheriff replied that he was busy, that he was an elected official just like the judge and that the judge didn’t have the authority to order him to court. Glass told the bailiff to call the sheriff back and tell him he’d be held in contempt if he didn’t show up in fifteen minutes. Sheriff Bates replied, “With all due respect, tell the court he can kiss my biscuits.”
Enraged, Judge Glass drafted a petition and charged Bates
with contempt of court, a misdemeanor offense but still a crime. In order for Glass to convict Bates, the district attorney’s office had to prosecute the case in court. My second day on the job, Lee Mooney called me into his office and outlined the case for me. We both agreed that the judge had acted improperly, that there was no factual basis for the charge, and that the district attorney’s office should recommend immediate dismissal.
“Would you mind handling it in court?” Mooney had said. “I don’t want to get myself into the same situation as Bates.”
“I’d be happy to,” I said. “Judge Glass is one of my least-favorite people on the planet.”
Judge Ivan Glass and I had battled each other for more than a decade when I was practicing criminal defense. I’d successfully sued him when I was a rookie to make him stop jailing people who couldn’t afford to pay their fines and court costs, and he’d returned the favor by making me and my clients miserable at every opportunity. A little over a year earlier, he’d attempted to send my sister to the penitentiary for six years. I managed to keep him from doing so, but the hard feelings still lingered.
The day of the hearing on the Sheriff Bates contempt charge had arrived, and Bates was in my office for some last-minute counseling. I’d talked to him several times over the past forty-eight hours, and had come to genuinely like him. He was a tall, sturdy man in his mid-forties with light brown hair, brown eyes, a slightly crooked nose, and a mischievous grin. He was as country as they came, but he had a keen mind and a no-nonsense attitude when it came to law enforcement. Bates had been in office for less than two years, but his department had already made more drug arrests than his predecessor did during his entire eight-year term. He’d also begun to take on the local underground gambling industry, a move that was unprecedented in northeast Tennessee.
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate y’all doing this,” Bates said. “I was afraid I was gonna have to go out and hire me some shark defense lawyer. Just like you used to be.”
“No offense taken,” I said, “and I’m glad to do it. It’ll feel good to put Glass in his place for a change.”
“He’s gonna be one pissed-off hombre, especially with all the folks I’ve got coming.”
I’d asked Sheriff Bates whether he could pack the courtroom. He was a popular sheriff, and since the judge was also a politician, I thought things might go a bit more smoothly if Glass had to face a courtroom full of constituents.
“How many are coming?” I said.
“I reckon there’ll be quite a few.”
“Almost time. Are you ready to go?”
“I’m nervous as a whore in church, but I’m ready.”
“Just let me do all the talking.”
I led Bates out the door and down the hall to the back steps. We walked in silence until I went through the side door into the courtroom.
“Wow,” I said. “This’ll shake him up.”
The courtroom was packed with the good citizens of Washington County. Every seat was occupied, people were standing against both of the side walls, and there was a line outside the door. As soon as Bates walked in, everyone stood and a loud round of applause broke out. The door to the judge’s chamber was closed, but I saw Glass peek out to see what all the commotion was about. His clerk had already taken her spot next to the bench, and the bailiffs were at their stations.
“Let’s sit here,” I said to the sheriff, pointing to the table traditionally used by the defense.
We sat down, as did everyone else in the courtroom. There was an eerie silence while everyone waited for the judge to appear. After several minutes, the door to his chambers opened and Glass, wearing his ancient black robe that was frayed around the sleeves, hobbled carefully up the steps to his bench as the bailiff called court into session. I hadn’t seen him for more than a year, and I was pleased to see that he looked awful. His face was colorless and gaunt, and his mane of white hair—of which he’d always been so proud—had lost its luster. Before, he’d carried himself as a smug adjudicator, one who believed himself to be morally and intellectually superior to others in every way. Now he just looked like a crotchety old man.
Glass sat down and surveyed the courtroom. When his gaze landed on me, he stared at me through his tinted glasses, a look of disgust on his face.
“I thought you went to work for the district attorney,” he snarled.
“I did,” I said without standing.
“Then what are you doing at the defense table?”
“Representing my client.”
“Is the sheriff your client?”
“My clients are the people of Tennessee,” I said, feeling a bit silly at the pomposity of my own words, “and it looks like several of them have shown up today.”
A murmur went up behind me, and Glass raised his gavel. “I don’t know what all you people think you’re doing here,” he bellowed, “but if I hear a peep out of any of you I’ll have you removed from the courtroom immediately. I’m not going to allow myself to be intimidated by a mob.”
“Stop acting like a jerk!” a voice called from the back of the courtroom. The remark was followed by a loud cheer and a round of applause.
“Order!” Glass yelled as the gavel banged. “Order or I’ll clear this courtroom! Bailiffs! I’m ordering you to arrest the next person who opens his mouth!
“Call the case,” Glass barked at his clerk.
The clerk called the case of The State of Tennessee v. Leon Bates.
“Let the record show that Mr. Bates has been summoned here to answer to a charge of contempt filed by this court,” Glass said. “The court is present, the clerk is present, the prosecutor and the defendant are both present. Mr. Bates, since you don’t have an attorney, I assume you’re representing yourself.”
I stood and cleared my throat, more than a little nervous. I knew I was right, but taking on a man as powerful as a criminal court judge was always an uncomfortable experience.
“Mr. Bates doesn’t need an attorney,” I said.
“Oh, really?” Glass sneered. “And why is that?”
“Because the district attorney’s office refuses to prosecute him.”
Glass’s mouth dropped open and his complexion darkened immediately. He leaned forward on his elbows, his lips almost touching his microphone.
“Did I just hear you correctly, Mr. Dillard? Did I just hear you say that the district attorney is refusing to prosecute this case?”
“The charge has no basis in law or fact, Judge. You can’t convict an elected official of contempt of court because he refused to appear when you called him on the telephone. You could have recessed the hearing and subpoenaed him, you could have sent someone over to the sheriff’s department to get a copy of the manual, or you could have recessed court and held the hearing at a time that was convenient for Sheriff Bates. But you have neither the jurisdiction nor the authority to simply call an elected sheriff on the phone and demand that he appear in court, and you certainly don’t have the authority to charge him with a crime when he doesn’t.”
The courtroom was absolutely still, the tension palpable. I was sure that Glass had never encountered a prosecutor who wouldn’t do exactly as he ordered, and I had a pretty good idea of how he would react. I braced for the threat and told myself to hold his stare and just keep breathing steadily.
“What I can do is hold you in contempt of court in the presence of the court and deal with it summarily,” Glass said. His lips were barely moving, his tone full of anger and hatred. “I can fine you or send you off to jail, and I fully intend to if you don’t do your job and prosecute this case.”
“Go ahead, Judge,” I said. “The first thing I’ll do is file a complaint with the court of the judiciary and seek to have you suspended or removed from office. The second thing I’ll do is sue you, and after that, I’ll humiliate you in front of the court of appeals.”
I held my breath, waiting for the explosion. Glass was infamous for his temper and for the pleasure he took in
browbeating and bullying attorneys and defendants. I saw him draw in a deep breath, but then he sat back in his high-backed leather chair and began to contemplate the ceiling. Finally, he leaned forward and looked at the audience.
“Perhaps Mr. Dillard is right,” he said. “Perhaps I acted hastily, even unreasonably. But I hope you good people will give me credit for recognizing my mistake and for dealing with it in a reasonable and appropriate manner. Mr. Dillard, after these fine people vacate the courtroom, I’d like to see you in my chambers. Sheriff Bates, the charge against you is dismissed with my apologies.”
The courtroom erupted again in cheers and applause. As Glass made a hasty exit, dozens of people surged forward, clapping Bates on the shoulder and congratulating him on his victory. I was pleased for Bates, but I knew that the rift between Glass and me had just been raised to a new level. There was no way I was going back to his chambers. He hadn’t ordered me to come to his chambers. He’d said, “I’d like to see you in my chambers.” I took that as a request, and chose to deny it. I wasn’t in the mood to listen to any more of his threats. I just wanted to bask in the glow of kicking his belligerent ass in front of three hundred people. I slipped out the side door and took a seat in the jury room. I left the door open and waited until I saw Bates pass by.
“Hey, Leon,” I said as I caught up with him in the hallway, “congratulations.”
Bates stopped and turned around, a wide grin spread across his face.
“Brother, I ain’t never heard nobody talk to a judge like that,” he said. “You got the cojones of a Brahma bull.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Let’s just hope I never give him a chance to cut them off.”
Thursday, September 18
When I got back from lunch that same day, there was a note stuck to my door from Lee Mooney asking me to come to the conference room as soon as possible. I walked in to find Mooney sitting at the table with a young man I didn’t recognize. On top of the table was an evidence box.
