“Mr. Jones?”
“My client was arrested on land that had been in his family since before the Civil War. After thirteen years of incarceration, the impulse to return there is understandable. I’d further argue that any resistance he might have offered at the time of his arrest was in response to police overzealousness. Police reports indicate that twelve officers were involved—and I’d stress that number again—twelve officers on a trespass complaint. I think that speaks clearly to the state’s intent. On the other hand, Mr. Wall’s family has been in this county since the winter of 1807. He has no plans to leave and is eager to appear before this court so we might offer a vigorous defense to frivolous charges. Given all that, Your Honor, we consider remand an absurd request and ask only that bond be reasonable.”
The lawyer finished softly, the room so silent every word carried. Elizabeth could feel tension in the space around her. It went beyond the DA’s frustration or Faircloth’s dignified air. A woman was dead, and Adrian was the most notorious convicted killer of the past fifty years. Reporters craned where they sat. Even the DA was holding his breath.
“Bond is five hundred dollars.”
The gavel came down.
The room erupted.
“Next case.”
*
Outside, Elizabeth found Faircloth Jones on the edge of a crowd. He leaned on his cane as if waiting for her. “It’s good to see you, Faircloth.” She took his hand, gave it a squeeze. “Unexpected but really, really good.”
“Take my arm,” he said. “Walk with me.”
Elizabeth looped her arm in his and guided him through the crowd. They took the wide, granite stairs, found the sidewalk. A half dozen people spoke a word or touched the lawyer’s arm. He smiled at each, dipping his head, murmuring a kind word back. When they were beyond the crowd, Elizabeth pressed his arm against her side. “You made a very nice entrance.”
“The law, as you may have surmised, is equal parts theater and reason. The finest scholars might struggle in court, while mediocre thinkers excel. Logic and flair, and leverage where appropriate, such are the makings of a trial attorney. Did you see His Honor’s face when I mentioned the reporters? Good Lord. It appeared as if something unpleasant had taken up sudden residence beneath his robe.”
He chuckled, and Elizabeth joined him. “It was good of you to come, Faircloth. I doubt Adrian would have fared as well with a court-appointed attorney that didn’t know or care for him.”
Faircloth waved off the compliment. “The smallest thing. One courtroom appearance among a multitude of thousands.”
“You’re not fooling me, Mr. Jones.” She pressed his arm more tightly. “I was only one row behind you.”
“Ah.” He dipped his still-lean jaw. “And you noticed the sweat stain on my collar. The slight but unfortunate tremor in my hands.”
“I saw no such things.”
“Indeed?” Humor was in the word, a twinkle so lively she couldn’t help but smile again. “Then, perhaps, my dear, you should have those lovely eyes checked.”
They passed the last edge of the crowd and moved thirty yards in a slow shuffle, tarmac on the left, sun-cooked grass to the right. Neither spoke, but he pressed her hand with his arm. When they reached a bench in a spot of shade, they sat and watched a line of uniformed officers stand at the balustrade and stare in their direction. They disliked that Adrian was bonding out, that Liz was sitting with the lawyer who made it happen. “That’s a grim spectacle,” Faircloth said.
“Not everyone sees Adrian as we do.”
“How could they when they barely know the man? Such is the nature of headlines and innuendo.”
“And murder convictions.” The old lawyer looked away, but not before Elizabeth saw the pain she’d caused. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
“It’s quite all right. It’s not as if I’ve forgotten.”
Elizabeth looked back at the officers. They were still watching her, most likely hating her. “I never visited,” she said. “I tried a few times, but never got past the parking lot. It was hard. I couldn’t do it.”
“Because you loved him.”
It was not a question. Elizabeth felt her jaw drop, the sudden flush. “Why would you say that?”
“I may be old, my dear, but I have never been blind. Beautiful young ladies don’t sit so devotedly in court without good reason. It was hard to miss the way you looked at him.”
“I never … I wasn’t…”
The old lawyer nudged her with a shoulder. “I imply no impropriety. And completely understand why a woman might feel that way. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
She shrugged once, then shifted on the bench and wrapped her arms around a single knee. “How about you?”
“Visit? No. Never.”