Deputy Potts had reached his partner’s side. His face was grave as he looked to the sheriff for direction.
The pitch of Brockes’s voice rose to a whine, childlike in its intensity. “We pulled him over, is all. It was Potts that said to do it. ‘Pull that Volvo over,’ he told me. ‘It didn’t signal right.’ He was fine when we let him go. Fine as frog hair.”
He turned to his partner. “Ain’t that right, Potts?”
Potts didn’t respond. The sheriff reached for Brockes a second time; again, Brockes snatched his arm away.
The sheriff said to Deputy Potts: “Cuff him.”
With a stony face, Potts pulled the handcuffs from his belt. It took both men to hold Brockes as they clicked the restraints shut. I had to look away; it seemed disrespectful to witness the scene. I turned my focus to Judge Ashley. He and Isaac Keet were exchanging a look.
“Getting kind of rowdy in here, Judge,” Keet said.
For once, I was in agreement with the DA. The spectators in the gallery were buzzing with talk; more important, the jurors were craning their necks to see the drama unfold.
Judge Ashley banged his gavel. “Court will be in recess for fifteen minutes.” To the bailiff, he said, “You’ll probably need to accompany the jurors to the restroom facilities.”
The bailiff spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “I can’t watch over the ladies’ room and the men’s room at the same time. I’ve only got one set of eyes—”
The judge cut him off. “My court clerk will assist. Carla!” he said, pointing to a woman who lingered near the judge’s chambers exit. “Assist with the ladies. Please.”
And Judge Ashley disappeared.
Chapter 50
I HEADED FOR the defense counsel table and walked into the cloud of scent. My nose began to drip. As I dug a wad of Kleenex from my briefcase, I said, “Lee, you can’t wear that cologne. It’s driving me nuts.”
“It’s my new signature scent.” He looked down at my briefcase. “Is that the bag I got you for graduation? You still carry it, after all this time. That is really touching.”
I shoved the briefcase under the table. “Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t carry it for sentimental reasons.”
“Maybe you carry it because it’s nicer than anything you can afford,” he whispered.
I rolled my eyes. That stuck-up son of a bitch. Even if it was true.
Lee drummed his fingers on the wooden tabletop, watching as Deputy Brockes was escorted out of the room, still protesting. After the officers departed, he laughed and said to me in a confiding tone, “Jesus Christ—that Barney Fife deputy doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut. Glad I’m not representing him.”
“What are you talking about?”
“That little deputy they just dragged out of here. What an idiot. I wouldn’t want to represent a dumbshit like him, that’s all I’m saying.”
I stared at him for a long moment. It seemed to me that maybe Lee didn’t have a grasp on reality. We were sitting in a Mississippi courtroom where he was on trial for a murder charge. And if I couldn’t figure out an angle to get the dirt on the victim into evidence, the only legal work Lee would do in the future might be as a jailhouse lawyer in a Mississippi state prison.
I needed to make Lee concentrate on his own situation. “Since I’m seeing Cary Reynolds tonight, I want to be fresh. Give me the background on y’all’s friendship.”
Lee waved it off. “We’re brothers, Ruby. It’s all good.”
“So you stayed tight after college.”
“Well, no. It doesn’t work like that.”
“Did you talk regularly?”
“No. Lord, I don’t think we’d talked in years. But he followed me on Facebook. I posted a picture of dinner at that barbeque place in Vicksburg, and he messaged me.”
“And?”
“And he said he wanted to see me, next time I was in town. He wanted some business advice. I was going to Vicksburg anyway, on depositions. So we made an appointment to have dinner while I was in town.”
I was about to ask a follow-up question when I caught sight of the DA exiting through a side door. In his absence, I needed to have some straight talk with my client. “Lee, the DA brought up his plea bargain offer again this morning.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
He stood up abruptly and turned away, but I grabbed his coat sleeve. “Lee, it’s my duty to tell you what he offered.”
He wrenched his sleeve from my hand. “You’re wrinkling my jacket.”
I stood beside him and spoke into his ear. “Keet will accept a plea of guilty to voluntary manslaughter. If you plead, he’ll recommend five years.”
Lee’s head dropped and he let out a groan. I went on: “Lee, with your clean record, and the victim’s seamy background, you might have a shot at probation.” When he didn’t speak, I said, “I’m not saying you should take the offer. But you should think about it. Talk it over with your parents. And your aunt Suzanne.”
He shut his eyes and laughed softly. “Aunt Suzanne.”
When he lifted his chin and looked at me, his typical demeanor was back in place. “I have an answer for you, Ruby. The suggestion that I claim any responsibility for that woman’s death is appalling to me. I’ve told you: I have no recollection of doing anything criminal.”
I nodded. “Yeah. No recollection. And I’ve told you, Lee: your lack of recall doesn’t help your case. Because you know as well as I do that voluntary intoxication is not a defense for this crime.”
His eyes flashed. In a dangerous voice, he said, “Thanks, counselor—so glad to see you’re on my side. Here’s a thought, Ruby: maybe the girl at the hotel drugged me. You know it’s not my custom to experience blackouts.”
I pondered the possibility. It would help our case, but it just didn’t make sense. Why would the girl drug him, then give herself an overdose?
Chapter 51
I PUSHED MY files into a neat pile on the counsel table while I watched Judge Ashley fiddle with his ear. He turned to look at Isaac Keet, and I saw a pink plastic device in the judge’s ear canal.
I breathed a sigh of relief: thank goodness. Maybe we wouldn’t have to shout our secret conferences at the bench.
Addressing the jury, Judge Ashley instructed that they were to disregard the events that had occurred prior to the recess. He then asked me if I wished to continue my opening statement, which I declined. Finally, to the DA, Judge Ashley said, “Call your first witness.”
Keet stood. “The State of Mississippi calls Juana Gomez.”
The bailiff, now stationed at the courtroom entrance, opened the door and called out the name. A young woman entered, wearing a high-necked black nylon dress. Once she was inside, the bailiff murmured instructions to her and she approached the bench.
“Raise your right hand,” Judge Ashley said, and she complied.
“Do you swear that the testimony you’re about to give is the whole truth?”
“I do,” she answered, with a decided nod.
“You may be seated.”
She took her seat on the witness stand, pulling the hem of her dress down to her kneecaps.
Isaac Keet said in a solemn tone, “Please state your name.”
In a heavily accented contralto voice that carried to the back of the room, she said, “Juana Maria Gomez.”
“And what is your occupation, Ms. Gomez?”
“I work in housekeeping at the Magnolia Inn.” She paused and added, “Magnolia Inn, in Vicksburg.”
Keet nodded with approval. “And by Vicksburg, you’re referring to Vicksburg, Mississippi?”
I could’ve objected to leading the witness, but there was nothing to be gained by it, so I kept my seat.
“Yes, sir. Mississippi.”
“How long have you been employed in that capacity?”
She blinked; there was a moment’s pause. “How long have I worked there? Two years, almost.”
Keet strolled to the jury box and leaned on the wooden railing. “Ms. Gomez, let me direct your attention to March of this year. Specifically, March twenty-third. Were you working on that date?”
“Yes, I was working.”
“What shift, if you recall?”