The Lawyer's Lawyer

CHAPTER Fifty-Five



Tom and Jack were right about the fix being in. There were no editorials or demonstrations of any kind even though the national press and the foreign press were everywhere trying to foment outrage so that they could report on it objectively.

Still, after two weeks of watching and waiting in vain, Tom and Jack managed to prepare a pretty good motion for change of venue.

When Jack had first made an appearance representing Thomas Felton, the Oakville Sun had written some brutal editorials about Jack and his motivations for wanting to represent a serial killer. Numerous letters to the editor had followed, spewing the same vitriol. Not one letter had appeared supporting Jack for taking on the case. That wasn’t the worst of it, though. The worst came after Kathleen Jeffries was killed. The editorials were harsh, but the letters to the editor almost uniformly linked Jack and Felton and called for both of their heads—literally.

It was powerful evidence and formed the basis for the motion.

Two days after they filed it, Judge Holbrook set it for hearing along with a status conference.

Tom was staying in a one-bedroom condo right next to Jack’s that Ron also owned.

“We’re paying for this one,” Jack told Ron when he offered the place.

“Sure you are,” Ron said. “I’m going to need you later on in life, Jack. Let me do this and you can pay me down the road.”

Jack had just shaken his head at the time. There was no arguing with Ron.

“What do you make of this?” Tom asked Jack when he received Judge Holbrook’s order.

Jack looked at the order. “I think the judge is sending us a message, Tom. He’s setting the status conference at the time of the hearing to let us know before we get there that he is denying our motion.”

“That’s what I thought, too,” Tom said. “This judge is really going to be a problem. He’s also going to want to know our thoughts about a trial date when we get there.”

“You’re right. It’s always been my inclination, if I didn’t have a need to do any further investigation or preparation, to go as soon as possible. The State is always banking on the defendant’s asking for more time and they are never prepared.”

“I agree with you that we should go right away,” Tom said. “But I’ve done some research on this Merton fellow. He’s always prepared. And he’ll want to go right away, too. I’ll bet he has all his disclosures—names and addresses of witnesses and a list of the evidence—with him at the hearing. He’ll hand them to us and tell the judge he’s ready to go anytime.”

“And when do you think anytime will be, Tom?”

“With a specially appointed judge it could be as quick as two weeks if we don’t have any depositions.”

“Do we?”

“I don’t think so. I could take Jeffries’s deposition but it won’t get us anywhere and it will make him more relaxed than I want him to be.”

“So we just tell the judge we’re ready to go?” Jack asked.

“I think we should tell him he can set it three weeks out with the understanding that we may need more time if there’s anything in the discovery Merton gives us that we haven’t seen before.”

“That’s agreeable to me,” Jack said.



The summer after Thomas Felton’s brutal murder spree, Apache County and the City of Oakville built a spacious new court complex in downtown Oakville.

The previous courthouse dated back to the Civil War. The courtrooms were old and hot, the floorboards creaked, and the overhead fans rattled so badly, you thought at any time one of them might take off and power itself right out of the room like a wayward helicopter, or, even worse, land on some poor, unfortunate victim. There were three courtrooms in the old courthouse. The main one was enormous with its own balcony where the black folks often used to stand and watch their kinfolk railroaded, but the other two were very small.

Oakville had grown in population and in criminals, and the old courthouse could no longer handle the volume of traffic coming and going through its doors, so the county commission and the city council pooled their resources and built a new, modern complex with ten courtrooms, all similar in size and shape, all with the same bland gray walls and pine veneer tables, benches, and judges’ dais, so that you could not tell one courtroom from the other. They were small, too, with five or six rows of benches in each to fit the observers who wanted to come and watch a trial. That was usually enough and, in most cases, more than enough. On a normal day, the benches in every courtroom would be empty except for criminals waiting to have their cases called, or loved ones.

The old courthouse was not torn down, however, only because it had become a historic landmark and could not be destroyed. Although in plain sight, it simply became invisible like an old man who had lived out his usefulness to society and stood on the corner of the street every day, confident that his presence would go unnoticed.

Judge Holbrook, being from the north end of the county, didn’t have an office in downtown Oakville, nor a courtroom for that matter. It wasn’t a major problem. There was usually a courtroom empty for hearings, and an office had been located for the judge and his secretary while he was in town. However, the judge was eventually going to be trying Jack Tobin’s murder charge and nobody knew how long the trial was going to last. It would be difficult to tie up one of the other judges’ courtrooms for an indefinite period of time. Besides, none of the new courtrooms were equipped to handle the crowds that were anticipated for the trial of Jack Tobin.



The hearing on the motion was on a Monday morning in late May. The sweltering heat and humidity of the summer had not yet arrived but even though it was an overcast day, it was still in the eighties and humid. Tom had received a call late Friday afternoon advising him that the hearing was going to be in the main courtroom of the old courthouse.

“What do you think that’s about?” he asked Jack. The two men had been through so many trials that they knew every little change could have some significance.

“I’m not sure,” Jack said. “He’s a visiting judge. Maybe they don’t have a courtroom for him.”

“Maybe. Maybe he’s letting us know this is going to be one of those old-fashioned lynchings with a trial thrown in just to dress things up, like in the old days.”

“Maybe so,” Jack said. “But they can’t get away with things today that they used to be able to get away with in the old days.”

“You’re right, but it won’t stop them from trying. They’ve gotten this far.”

They found a parking spot close to the courthouse, which was unusual since they arrived only minutes before the hearing was scheduled to begin.

They weren’t surprised by the legion of reporters and television cameras. Both men knew this was going to be a media circus—a prominent lawyer on trial for murdering a serial killer. It didn’t get any better than that. However, they were surprised by the small number of people in attendance and the lack of any signs supporting one position or another.

“No wonder we got a good parking spot,” Jack said.

“Let’s hope that’s just the beginning of our good luck,” Tom replied. “Get ready. We’re going to plow through this slew of reporters ahead.”

I’ve been in Tom’s position so many times in my life, Jack thought to himself as they started side by side to push through the crowd of media people shouting questions and snapping pictures. Now it’s my turn to be the client, to rely on my lawyer and the system. God help me.