No breeze filtered through the open windows in Judge Callaway’s chambers, but the people assembled in the judge’s office didn’t complain, or even comment about the temperature. They knew better. Judge Callaway had an appetite for fresh air and a prejudice against central air-conditioning that was famous in McCown County. The windows of his office, and the adjoining courtroom, remained open from April through October.
The freshly printed pages Elsie had prepared with such care the night before lay unheeded on the judge’s desk. She had proudly presented hard copies to the defense, as well as to the judge, but no one was flipping through her written suggestions. It was a new day, with a new wrinkle in State v. Larry Paul. A hot new day, Elsie mused.
Of the seven individuals crowded into the chambers, six were sweating. Only the judge looked comfortable, with no beads of sweat on his forehead, no telltale ring round the collar of his white shirt.
The jailer of McCown County, Vernon Wantuck, appeared to be suffering the most from the temperature of the crowded office. A man of considerable girth, he had a red bandanna in his hand and was using it to mop his face and the back of his neck.
With a weary sigh, Vernon Wantuck spoke. “We got to get him out of there, Judge. Get that old boy out of our county lockup. That Larry Paul, he has got to go.”
Near the window, a beefy middle-aged man stood with his arms crossed, a sheriff’s badge pinned to his chest. “Ditto that, judge,” said Shelby Choate. He had served as the county sheriff for twelve years. His no-nonsense, no-frills approach to law enforcement made him a popular candidate with the voters in McCown County.
Claire O’Hara and Josh Nixon sat together, at the right end of the judge’s desk. Madeleine’s chair was between theirs and the jailer. Elsie stood behind Madeleine; no other seats were available. And Sam Parsons was absent, stuck in traffic that morning on highway I–44.
Josh Nixon leaned into Claire O’Hara. She whispered something in his ear, but Elsie didn’t catch it.
“Your honor, we have to have access to our client. Larry Paul has Sixth Amendment right to counsel, and the right to assist in his defense. How can he exercise his rights if you send him away?”
Wantuck grunted, shifting his weight in a chair that was a tight fit. “Call him on the damn phone.”
The sheriff’s eyes narrowed; the lines on either side of his mouth deepened. “You’re in the presence of ladies, Vernon. Watch your mouth. And offer Ms. Arnold your seat.”
Elsie shook her head. “I’m fine, really.”
Wantuck made no movement to leave his chair. Sherriff Choate shook his head in disgust. “I don’t see how you can let a woman stand when you got a seat. Vernon, you must’ve been raised in a barn.” His eyes cut to Josh Nixon. “Wouldn’t expect any better from a defense attorney.”
“Ouch,” Claire said, flashing a feral smile at the sheriff. “Shelby. You wound me.” She winked at him. The sheriff frowned.
Claire leaned forward in her chair, her eyes darting from the judge to Madeleine. “Come on, boys and girls; I’ve got things to do today. Let’s get back to our client: the unfortunate Mr. Paul. He’s got to have his medication.”
Sheriff Choate spoke, his frown deepening. “We can’t afford it.”
Josh said, “The county is responsible for his welfare. You’re the ones who have him locked up in the county jail. Being held without bond, at the prosecutor’s request.”
Madeleine wiped her upper lip with a dainty finger. The heat was affecting even her. “The defendant has been charged with two counts of murder—”
“We know the charges,” Nixon said. “And it doesn’t matter what you’ve accused him of. While he’s in county lockup, he’s the county’s responsibility.”
Elsie knew that Nixon was right. She studied Judge Callaway’s face, trying to predict what he would say; but he was a hard man to read. His face was relaxed, almost tranquil, as he surveyed the room through eyes that were partly closed.
Shit, Elsie thought. He’s going to fall asleep. He’s not listening to a word they’re saying.
But she was wrong. The judge said, “So who has looked into this medication. This—what do they call it? A drug cocktail? For AIDS?”
Vernon Wantuck groped in his shirt pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper folded into a small rectangle. “The Public Defender’s Office up in Jeff City sent me a letter. A demand. This is it right here.” He pushed the paper across the judge’s desk. “Just looking at it made me cross-eyed.”
“We don’t have the money,” Sheriff Choate repeated.
The judge picked up the wrinkled paper, which appeared to be slightly damp. He pursed his lips and blew out a shrill whistle.
“What did I tell you,” Wantuck said.
“We’re prepared to file an action in Federal Court if the county won’t accede to our demands for Mr. Paul’s care,” Josh Nixon said.
Judge Callaway tipped his chair backwards and swiveled it, turning his back on the room and placing his feet on the open windowsill behind his desk. He crossed his feet at the ankle. Just look how worn out his shoes are, Elsie marveled. She wondered how many times the judge had the battered black wingtips resoled.
He was a thrifty man.
“You can go file in Federal Court, that’s a fact. Go running up to Springfield, crying tales about us here in McCown County.” The judge’s voice sounded thoughtful. They couldn’t see his face.
After a pause, he spoke again. “Of course, nothing happens very fast in Federal Court.”
Elsie glanced at Josh, interested to see how he would react to the judge’s pronouncement. A flash crossed his face; he sat up straight in his seat. “Nothing happens fast anywhere in the court system. We all know that. That’s just how it works.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Judge Callaway fell silent, then uncrossed his feet and let them drop to the floor. “Ladies and gentlemen, we need to pack up and get to Greene County.”
Claire O’Hara smiled, then resumed a poker face. Nixon shook his head. “What for?”
“We need to pick a jury. Time to move the wheels on this old wagon.”
Madeleine was breathing hard; Elsie could hear it. Madeleine’s voice had a faint tremor when she said, “Mr. Parsons isn’t here. He’s stuck in traffic; there was a wreck on the highway. I have to check with Mr. Parsons.”
“Well, he better get down here, then. If he’s going to help you out. The presiding circuit judge in Greene County is an old friend of mine. I bet he can accommodate our jury selection with a couple of weeks’ notice.” He studied his desk calendar, then lifted his eyes to Madeleine. “We’re going to get this case tried. Are you ready?”
When Madeleine didn’t reply, Elsie’s voice rang out. “The State is always ready, your honor.”
Madeleine turned on her with a look of horror. Elsie responded with a shrug. It was an automatic answer.
“That’s what I always say,” she whispered.
Nixon rose to his feet. “This is an action taken by the court to deprive my client of his rights.”
But Claire O’Hara grabbed Nixon’s arm and pulled him back into his chair. “Settle down, kiddo. Don’t get your panties in a wad.” Josh turned on her with a look of indignant disbelief, but she silenced him with a queenly wave of her jeweled hand. “I’m good with this, Judge. Totally good with it.”
“We’re not ready,” Josh said.
When she answered, her voice was harsh. “We’ll get ready.” Regaining her flirtatious banter, she said, “I hate to talk strategy in front of the enemy, sweetheart. But during jury selection, we can knock the law and order types off the panel with a deer rifle. Easy pickings. If we drag our feet, Greene County will forget. In a couple of years, it’ll be Larry who?”
“That settles it, then. I’ll be in touch with counsel for the prosecution and defense as soon as Greene County gives me a date. They may have a panel of prospective jurors called in for next week, for something that could plead out. They can give us the panel, and we’ll pick them over; and once we’ve got our jury, I can clear a time for trial on my docket.” He smiled, sanguine. “That should take care of everything.”
“What about our demand for medication? For our client?” Josh was hot, his voice was rising.
“Oh, that.” Judge Callaway shut the case file in front of him and tossed it to the side of his desk. “I think I’ll take that under advisement, for now.” When Nixon opened his mouth to speak, the judge cut him off. “You’re all free to go. I have other business this morning.” He swiveled in his chair, turning his back to them, and propped his feet in the windowsill again.
As the group shuffled out the door, Elsie noted that the back of Vernon Wantuck’s trousers were wet. Butt sweats, she surmised. Major butt sweats. Glad she hadn’t been sitting on that soggy cushion.