Trish had sent written summaries of her cases to Holt the previous afternoon but received no reply. Making sure her khaki shirt was neatly tucked into her dark brown pants, she walked into the courtroom. The pendant Keith gave her was concealed beneath her shirt, and she touched it through the cloth to remind herself of how she felt when he gave it to her.
The courtroom was filling up with people. Trish spotted a woman named Maddie Dorman sitting beside a man who looked vaguely familiar. Sitting behind the prosecution table, she opened the woman’s file. Stapled to the right-hand side of the folder was a mug shot of the woman’s ex-husband. The man was clearly intoxicated in the photo, and there were traces of blood on his shirt from the fight that had caused his arrest, but it was the same guy. There was usually only one reason why a man like that would be sitting with his wife in the courtroom. He’d convinced her to ask the judge to give him additional time to catch up on past-due child support. Trish checked the arrearage. Based on the amount of support given by the government to the couple’s three children, it would take a lot more than a few words from his ex-wife to keep the defendant out of jail.
It was Holt. He’d entered the courtroom through a side door while she was studying the file.
“The Meredith investigation is shut down. I was going to call and let you know, but I didn’t think you’d talk to me. Ralph found out about it and made it clear he doesn’t want a hint of what we did becoming public, especially to the newspaper.”
Trish didn’t like Holt’s use of the words “what we did.”
“Butch Clovis may already know it’s closed,” Holt continued, “but in case he doesn’t, you can tell him. Hopefully, that will get him off your back. I’m sorry for all the hassle this has caused you, and I hope we can cooperate as well on your cases in the future as we have in the past. You do a great job.”
“Thanks.”
Apologies and compliments were nice, but they didn’t change the truth. Judge Lomax entered and everyone stood. Trish watched Holt orchestrate the calendar. He didn’t act like a horrible person hiding a terrible lie.
When the case involving Maddie Dorman and her ex-husband was called, both of them came forward. Trish joined Holt in front of the judge. Often, she testified standing in place to save time. Holt swore her in and asked her to summarize the seriously delinquent status of unpaid child support for the couple’s three children.
“Judge, I’d like to say something,” Ms. Dorman said when Trish finished.
“Put her on the stand,” Judge Lomax said.
The woman took the witness stand, and Holt administered the oath.
“Before he asks me anything, I want to speak,” Ms. Dorman said, turning in the chair so she could see the judge.
“Ma’am, I have a full calendar,” the judge replied. “I’m not going to listen to long speeches that won’t have an impact on what I have to decide. Go ahead, but I’ll stop you if you get out of line.”
“Yes, sir. Mickey is behind on support, and I know the state has paid out a bunch of money so me and the kids don’t starve and so we have a roof over our heads. But he’s gotten his life turned around. He’s stopped drinking, and we’ve been to church together every Sunday for the past month. He’s living with his mama and started a new job two weeks ago. He gave me half of his first paycheck.”
“Judge,” Holt interrupted. “Child support payments have to be made through the clerk of court. Deputy Carmichael, is there any record of payment by the defendant in the past month?”
“No, and we’d ask the court to hold the defendant in contempt until such time as he—”
“The state has no objection to continuing this matter for ninety days,” Holt interrupted.
Trish’s mouth dropped open. She turned to Holt. “He’s had two years to do what he should—”
“Deputy Carmichael,” the judge said. “If you want to discuss this with Mr. Douglas, please don’t take up the court’s time doing so. I’ll put the case at the end of the calendar so the two of you can agree on the state’s position.”
Red-faced, Trish returned to her seat behind the prosecution table. Mickey and his ex-wife walked past her. Trish was sure she detected the hint of a smirk on the defendant’s face. Using jailhouse religion to reduce a sentence was one of the oldest ploys in the history of criminal proceedings. Granted, Mickey hadn’t yet gone to jail. He simply adopted the tactic to avoid being locked up in the first place. Trish fumed while Holt handled several matters in which she had no interest. At 10:30 a.m., Judge Lomax tapped his gavel on the small square block of wood on the bench before him.
“The court will be in recess for fifteen minutes. If you’ve received a subpoena, you are not excused and should be back in your seat when court resumes.”
People began moving around. Holt had his back to Trish. She leaned against the railing that separated the gallery from the area where the lawyers sat.
“Well?” she asked, clearing her throat. “Are we going to agree on the state’s position?”
Holt continued to keep his back to her for a few irritating seconds before turning around. He had a slightly sheepish look on his face.
“When Ms. Dorman explained what happened to her husband, the thought crossed my mind that maybe he’s really had a change of heart.”
“He had two years to repent,” Trish responded.
“Sometimes it takes longer than that.”
Trish eyed Holt for a moment. “And there’s more to it than words. Ask Bishop Pennington. Most of the time, genuine repentance involves action.”
“And that’s exactly why I’m going to give Mickey Dorman ninety days to prove he’s legit. If he’s not, he’s going to have a free place to stay behind bars for a while.” Holt leaned a bit closer to her. “Is it really so much extra work for you to verify that he makes his payments to the clerk’s office? If you don’t have time to do it, I can assign it to someone in my office. They’ll do it without giving me any pushback.”
Holt’s condescending tone was infuriating.
“I’ll do my job,” Trish responded crisply. “And unless you need me to stand beside you while you tell the judge what you’re going to do, I’m going to go back to the sheriff’s department.”
“You’re not under subpoena, so you’re free to leave.”
Holt turned around. Steaming, Trish marched up the aisle to the rear of the courtroom.
Holt was miffed that Trish had barely acknowledged his attempt at an apology and reconciliation. For a while he would have to be on guard around her. He didn’t want his unspoken frustration to pop out in an inappropriate comment.
Judge Lomax returned and accepted Holt’s recommendation regarding Mickey Dorman. Holt then asked the defendant and his ex-wife to remain in the courtroom. Shortly before noon he called them over to the prosecutor’s table.
“Do you know what’s going to happen if you don’t follow through with your child support obligations, including extra payment to start reducing the amount you’re behind?” Holt asked Mickey.
“I’ll get locked up.”
“And you know you have to make the payments through the clerk of court’s office, not directly to your ex-wife?”
“Yeah, I done that before.”
“About three or four times and then stopped,” Holt reminded him.
“It’s goin’ to be different this time.” The defendant glanced sideways at Maddie.
“Deputy Carmichael is going to monitor it and let me know. Don’t mess this up.”
“Yeah.”
Holt had doubts as he watched the couple walk away. His greatest fear was that Mickey would see his three months of grace as an opportunity to skip town and abandon his family. Fathers behind in child support weren’t considered high-priority fugitives. Most of the time, they were caught through tips like the one that sent Holt and Trish to the Jenkins house. Holt didn’t want another face-to-face encounter with the wrong end of a shotgun.
Toward the end of the day, he got a call from Dr. Wade.
“Come get your beast,” the veterinarian said. “If he’s well enough to snap at my staff, he’s healthy enough to go back to protecting your property.”
“He was weak and whiny when I saw him yesterday.”
“That’s not the dog who woke up this morning and spent an hour or so gnawing the bars of his cage. He couldn’t bite his way through the metal, but a flesh-and-blood finger would be a different story. Although he’s definitely on the mend, it will be weeks before he’s back to normal. You have a fenced-in backyard, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“That’s where he needs to be, and let’s hope the brother or sister of the snake he killed doesn’t come looking for revenge.”
Holt swiped his credit card to pay the bill. Treatment for multiple snake bites was twice a monthly car payment. Henry tried to lick Holt’s face as his master carried him to the car.
“You’ll never be like Peps,” Holt said, “and you can show your gratitude by staying out of fights that could kill you and put me into bankruptcy.”
Henry sat up in the seat and looked out the window. When they reached the house, he slowly hopped out of the car and walked to the backyard fence. The dog sniffed up and down the fence, stopping at the place where the construction workers had draped the dead copperhead over the metal chain links. Holt knelt beside him. There was a deep rumbling in Henry’s throat.
“Yes, you killed the snake,” Holt said quietly. “And if it was still here I bet you’d drag it onto the deck and gnaw on it some more.”
Holt stood up and opened the gate. Still moving gingerly, Henry went into the backyard. A squirrel scampered across the grass, but the dog showed no interest in it. Dr. Wade was right. It was going to take awhile for Henry’s killer instinct to recover.
Trish returned to the sheriff’s department and vigorously pounded the letters on her keyboard as she prepared a memo for the file. By the time she finished, she’d calmed down. One thing that helped was recognizing that her frustration was directed more at Holt than at Mickey Dorman. Trish, too, hoped Mickey had changed for the better. If he had, it would make her job easier and mean his children had food on the table and clothes on their bodies. And unlike Holt, Trish hadn’t recently come to believe in God’s ability to transform a bad person into a good person.
Butch Clovis stopped by her cubicle.
“I understand you were in court this morning,” the detective said.
“Yes. And I talked briefly with Holt Douglas. Did you know Ralph Granger ordered him to drop the investigation into Mr. Meredith’s death?”
“No.” Clovis shook his head. “And don’t talk so loudly. What exactly did Douglas say?”
Trish lowered her voice. “Mr. Granger doesn’t want the newspaper to get wind of the existence of an investigation and told Holt to leave it alone. That’s about it.”
She didn’t include Holt’s apology.
“Are you sure there wasn’t anything else?” the detective asked.
“No. He was running the calendar call by himself so there wasn’t much time to talk.”
“Okay. What are you going to do if you catch wind of Douglas ignoring Granger’s orders and snooping around town?”
“Tell you about it immediately?”
“That’s right.”
After Clovis left, Trish went to the restroom and washed her hands. Regardless of the tone and substance of the conversation, the detective made her feel unclean.
As soon as her shift ended, she called Sue Ann to see if she could stop by on her way home from work.
“I guess so,” Sue Ann replied.
“If you’re busy I can make it another—”
“Don’t be silly,” Sue Ann quickly added. “What do you think I’m doing? Lying on a Swedish massage table getting a hot stone treatment?”
“Didn’t you get one of those on your honeymoon?”
“No, but I read about it yesterday in a magazine. The only massage in my future is when I lie on the floor and let Candy pretend I’m an alligator while she walks on my back.”
“Is she awake?”
“No, still down for her nap. It’s a perfect time for you to visit. Don’t knock. I’ll unlock the door for you.”
In a few minutes, Trish carefully opened the front door of the apartment and went inside. Sue Ann was sitting in the living room with her feet propped up on an ottoman.
“My energy level is way down,” Sue Ann said. “My body is beginning to focus more and more on manufacturing this new baby.”
“Any morning sickness? I know that was bad when you were pregnant with Candace.”
Sue Ann stuck her finger in her mouth and nodded. “Mark is leaving for work fifteen minutes earlier than usual so he won’t have to listen to me gag.”
“That’s terrible.”
“No, he can’t do anything to help me, and I don’t want him to carry an image of his wife leaning over a toilet with him all day. By the time he gets home in the evening, I’m ready for pizza and tacos with chocolate syrup and ice cream.”
Trish smiled. “You’re my hero.”
“And I’m riding on your romantic coattails. What did Keith give you at the party? I know he had something special because I saw him slip a little gold box into his pocket. It wasn’t a ring, because that was the first thing I checked when you walked through the door.”
“I’m not ready for that,” Trish said, “but he gave me this.”
She slipped out the pendant and leaned closer so Sue Ann could see it.
“Do you like it?” Sue Ann asked.
“Of course. He didn’t get me something generic. He put a lot of thought into it.”
“I know, but I wanted to make sure you realized it, too.”
Trish eyed the pendant again, then slipped it beneath her shirt.
“So, does this mean Holt Douglas has been dumped on the ash heap of lost-love history?” Sue Ann asked.
“Buried and covered over without a trace.”
“I had questions about him all along,” Sue Ann said. “I wanted to support you, but I wasn’t sure the reality matched the fantasy you’d created in your mind.”
“Your intuition was one hundred percent accurate. I wish you’d told me.”
“Would it have done any good?”
“Probably not,” Trish admitted. “Now my focus is on seeing where the relationship with Keith is headed.”
“Tell me more about that dream home he’s building for you. He’s sounding more and more romantic by the hour.”
Trish hesitated. She glanced around the apartment.
“Don’t let where we’re sitting right now stop you,” Sue Ann said. “Remember, we’re good enough friends that I would be happy for you to have a beautiful home even if I have to wait.”
“Okay,” Trish said somewhat reluctantly. “The first thing I told him was that he needed to expand the kitchen . . .”