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The newspaper ran a short article about the killing at the Milton County Correctional Facility. It was buried on page three of the local section and was short on details. The deputies managed to keep a lid on the fact that the prisoners had cut out Ricky Powell’s tongue and that Powell was the only defendant who had followed through with his guilty plea on Tuesday.

My colleagues had lots of theories about the plea rejections. Most favored the idea that the gang leaders in jail had found out that I would be the one accepting the pleas. In retaliation for my past refusal to cut deals, maybe they had instructed every defendant to sabotage the deals we had offered. When Powell didn’t come through, they cut out his tongue.

It was a symbolic killing, meant to send a message—there was no doubt about that. But what was the message?

On Wednesday night, I slept with a loaded single-action .45 Kimber Pro Carry II next to my bed. I had bought it during my third year of law school at a gun shop in Gainesville after I got tangled up with some members of the federal witness protection program. I also made a point to stay away from the large window in my father’s study at the front of the house. I didn’t take a sleeping pill because I was worried that I wouldn’t wake up if somebody tried to break in. I knew Justice would bark like crazy, but if somebody actually made it inside, my black Lab would just try to lick him to death. For protection, I preferred the Kimber.

It was a long night. Between missing my father, thinking about Rafael Rivera, trying to work on Tate’s case, and knowing that gang leaders might now be targeting me, I was so wired I could barely sleep. I struggled to get through the next day, and by Thursday night, I was in dire need of sleep. Shortly after midnight, I finally succumbed and popped two Ambien. I was late for work Friday morning.

By noon on Friday, we knew my courtroom experience earlier in the week was not an isolated event. There had been no plea hearings on Wednesday, but every defendant scheduled to cop a plea on Thursday had backed out even though a different ADA had handled them. The public defenders had grown as jittery as the prosecutors and spent Thursday afternoon meeting with each defendant who was scheduled to plead guilty on Friday morning. All but one backed out on the spot.

On Friday, the only holdout, Rontavius Eastbrook, pleaded guilty to a lesser included crime in exchange for a reduced sentence based on his past cooperation with police on a major sting operation. After the court accepted his deal, Rontavius was escorted directly from the courtroom to the district attorney’s office for processing. He was being released on time served and, in a deviation from prior procedures, was not sent back to the jail for processing. He was asked if he wanted police protection but scoffed at the idea.

I got the text message on Saturday night, right after I finished my workout at the gym. Rontavius Eastbrook had been found dead in an alley in the projects. He died from a bullet wound to the back of the head.