WILL WAS WRAPPING UP his jail conference with Joe Fellows. He had been trying to reassure the young farmer, but he wasn’t sure he was succeeding.
“Just so you understand—the fact that I will be representing Mary Sue, but not you, doesn’t mean I believe you are guilty of anything—or that I believe her but not you. It simply means that there is a potential conflict of interest if I represent both of you at the same time. And if I get conflicted out of the case, then I can’t represent either of you.”
Joe nodded. “Yeah…I think I understand. Looks like I need a local lawyer of my own.”
“Have anyone in mind?”
“I think my mom knows a guy here in Delphi,” Joe said, mustering up a small measure of enthusiasm. “He’s a good guy. Stanley Kennelworth. We’ll get ahold of him. I’d best do that pretty quick so he can be with me at my bail hearing.”
“Good. I’ll be in touch with him too. I want this to be a team effort. I plan on working closely with him to coordinate a joint defense strategy.”
Will wished Joe well and told him that he would do his best to make sure Mary Sue was well-represented. Then he left the jail and headed to the county prosecutor’s office.
Harry Putnam was out for a long lunch, so Will told the secretary that he would be back to visit him shortly. He decided to spend the lunch hour investigating the local venue. He strolled through the old Juda County Courthouse, a brown-brick structure from the turn of the century—four stories high—rising up over the main street of Delphi. The marble floors were worn and smooth, and the ceilings were high, with painted murals. The sounds of footsteps and voices echoed up and down the hallways.
Outside the courthouse Will walked down Main Street. It was his custom to size up the demographics of every out-of-state community where he was going to try a case. What kind of agriculture supported the area? What were its industries? Did they vote Republican, Democrat, or Independent? Who were the founding families everybody knew?
He noticed some posters along the street for a city-council election. Some announcements for the local high school play. The Honorary President of the state Rotary Clubs—a handsome, prosperous-looking fellow who appeared to be in his thirties, named Jason Bell Purdy—had his name and picture on flyers in the store windows. He was inviting the townsfolk to the annual pancake breakfast and fundraiser for Project Child Care—“offering affordable day care for low-income families.” Next to his name were the words “Delphi’s Favorite Son.”
Will also noticed a few for-sale signs and for-rent signs up and down the street. Most of them were listings of the Jason Bell Purdy Realty and Development Company.
A few blocks down, at the corner, there was a large Catholic church—St. Stephen the Martyr—with a sign outside listing Father Harold Godfrey as the rector. Beneath his name were the words “A Clear Conscience Lets in the Light.” Across from the church was a Nickel, Dime & Dollar Store, on a cross street that bore the name “Stanfield Purdy Avenue.”
As he walked back to the courthouse, Will decided that he was starting to get a good feel for the town.
By the time Will returned to the prosecutor’s office, Harry Putnam was back from lunch. He greeted Will with a firm handshake and a hearty welcome.
“You’re a bit outside of the Commonwealth of Virginia, Mr. Chambers. What brings you to our fair city of Delphi?” Putnam asked, leaning back in his desk chair.
“I’ve just been retained to represent Mary Sue Fellows.”
“Well, that is very interesting. You licensed to practice here in Georgia?”
“No. I’ve got local counsel. I’m filing a motion for pro hac vice admission for her case,” Will replied.
“Don’t say. Then I’ve got a question for you.”
“Fire away.”
“If you represent her—you must have been in touch with her.”
“That’s right.”
“Where is she, Mr. Chambers? Where is your client? We’ve got a warrant out for her.”
“I really don’t know.”
“You don’t know,” Putnam repeated, nodding his head a little as he said the words. “Counselor, did you bother to ask your client that? Did you ask where she’s got that little boy of hers hidden away—that little Joshua who is being poisoned by his mother?”
“Mr. Putnam, you know better than that,” Will countered. “Even if I knew that, to disclose that conversation would be to violate attorney–client privilege.”
Putnam’s face was now twisted up, his eyebrows down low over his eyes, which were reduced to mere slits.
“Counselor, you may want to think about heading back to old Virginny. Otherwise, you’d better be ready for some old-fashioned bare-knuckle boxing here in Delphi. We’re mighty serious about child abuse. I’m not about to let some outside counsel ride in here and tell me he’s going to hide a fugitive from justice—while that fugitive is slowly killing her little boy. Not going to happen. Not here. Not with me. You read me?”
Will nodded, managed a smile, and rose to say goodbye. As he was leaving he turned and said, “I do read you, Mr. Putnam,” squelching the temptation to add what he was already thinking—I’m reading you like a fifty-cent comic book.