Grass Roots (3 page)

Will took the hand. Hunter was dressed in a dark business suit, severe for a Saturday afternoon. Will thought.

“Hello, Elton, how are you?” He didn’t know the young lawyer well.

Hunter was from Columbus, had married the banker’s daughter in Greenville and set up a practice four or five years before, with the bank as his first client. He was prospering, from all accounts. The two men exchanged small talk as they entered the courthouse together The old courthouse, built in the 1840s, looked fresh and new, having recently been restored after a disastrous fire.

Inside the door, Will stopped.

“Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to see Judge Boggs,” he said.

“Yeah? Me, too,” Hunter said, frowning.

“What could he want with both of us?” “Let’s find out,” Will said, steering him through the courtroom and to the door of the Judge’s chambers.

“Come in!” a voice rumbled.

Will ushered Hunter ahead of him into the office, which had been restored to its original condition after the fire.

Dark oak paneling and bookcases rose to a considerable height above the massive desk. The Judge, a short, stout man in his late sixties, with thick, white hair and a florid complexion, stood to meet them. He beamed at the two younger men.

“Elton, how’s Ginny? The children?

Good.” He turned to Will.

“How’s the view from the Hill these days, boy?”

Will grinned.

“Pretty murky, as usual. The Senator’s humming on all cylinders, got a clean bill of health from Walter Reed yesterday, looking forward to running again.” “I know,” the Judge said, sinking into an enormous leather chair that nearly swallowed him.

“I just talked to him.” “Where?” Will asked, surprised.

“I reached him at home, down at Flat Rock Farm, fresh from the airport.”

Will took a chair, wondering what was going on, but not asking.

Judge Boggs brushed aside a strand of snowy hair and looked at the two younger men for a moment.

“Gentlemen,” he said finally, “I need your help.”

“Of course. Judge,” Will said.

“Surely,” Hunter replied.

“We had a pretty bad murder around here this past week.”

“The Cole girl?” Hunter asked.

“Yes.” “I haven’t heard about it,” Will said.

“No, you wouldn’t have,” the Judge replied.

“Bad one.

Rape, strangulation. Her daddy’s a farmer, right prosperous.”

He paused.

“Colored fellow.” “I know him,” Hunter said.

“Drew his will. I’ve seen her around the square.”

“I don’t know them,” Will said. He waited to find out why he was here.

“Sheriff made an arrest this morning,” the Judge said.

“One Larry Eugene Moody, fixes furnaces for a living.

Works for Morgan and Morgan, over in La Grange.” “They do my work,” Hunter said.

“Don’t know whether this Moody was ever at the house, though.” “Just as well you don’t know him,” the Judge said.

“Will?”

“Nope. Manchester Heating Supply does our work.”

“Larry Eugene Moody is white,” the Judge said, rather suddenly.

Neither Will nor Hunter said anything. Everyone seemed to have stopped breathing.

“He’s asked for a public defender,” the Judge said.

Will started to breathe again. He glanced at Hunter, who seemed to be thinking very hard.

“That’s one of my problems,” the Judge said.

“The other one is, J. C. Roberts had prostate surgery yesterday over at Callaway Hospital in La Grange.” J. C. Roberts was the county prosecutor.

“J. C.”s only got one assistant, and with his boss flat on his back, the fellow’s got his hands full.”

Hunter exhaled.

“Now this case is going to get a lot of attention around the state, maybe beyond,” the Judge said, “and I want it tried well. I don’t want the god damned Atlanta newspapers and TV talking about us down here like we’re a bunch of rednecks. That’s why I wouldn’t want J. C.”s assistant to prosecute, even if he had the time, and I wouldn’t want most of the lawyers in the county to defend it. What I want is two first-class lawyers, one to prosecute, one to defend.”

“Isn’t the procedure to bring in a prosecutor from another county?” Elton Hunter asked.

“That’s true,” the Judge replied, “but I’m damned if I want a prosecutor from the next circuit, or some greenhorn down from Atlanta, which is what they’d send us. So I asked the Governor to appoint a special prosecutor, and I told him I want to pick the man. Either of you fellows ever tried a murder?” “Once,” said Hunter.

The Judge permitted himself a small smile.

“That the fellow Higgins, that’s on death row now?” “Right,” Hunter said, embarrassed.

“I tried to get him to plead; he wouldn’t.”

“I remember,” the Judge said.

“You did as well as anybody could have, under the circumstances.” He turned to Will.

“Never,” Will said.

“I guess I’ve defended in a couple of dozen criminal cases; biggest one was armed robbery.”

He was thinking fast now. This case might be just the right thing to get him in the public eye.

“White Man Charged with Sex Murder of Black Girl.” That would make the Atlanta papers day after day.

“I’m satisfied with your abilities,” the Judge said.

“Both of you.” He looked from Will to Hunter.

“How about it, gentlemen?”

“All right,” Hunter said immediately.

“Who’s prosecuting and who’s defending?” Will asked.

He didn’t want to defend.

The Judge opened his desk drawer and produced a half-dollar. He flipped it, caught it, and slapped it down on his desk blotter, covering it with his hand.

“Hang on,” Will said.

“I’ll have to talk with the Senator about this.” He needed time to think before committing himself.

“I told you,” the Judge said, “I already talked to him.”

He smiled.

“The Senator says you can have as much time as it takes.”

Will sank back into his chair. Prosecute, he thought, I want to prosecute.

“Heads, you prosecute, Elton,” the Judge said.

“Tails, Will prosecutes.” He lifted his hand.

Involuntarily, Will leaned forward to see. So did Elton Hunter.

The Judge peered at the half-dollar.

“Heads!” he cried, sweeping the coin back into his desk drawer and closing it.

Will tried hard not to wince. Hunter was unable to suppress a broad smile.

The Judge looked at them, his eyebrows up.

“You’re in, then—both of you?”

Hunter nodded eagerly.

Will looked at the Judge.

“You talked to the Senator?”

“I did. I already told you.” “And he said I could take the time.”

“He did. Now are you in, or have I been wasting my time?”

“All right,” Will said resignedly, “I’m in.”

“Good,” the Judge said, getting to his feet.

“Now, I’ve got to get home and clean my shotguns. I’m going dove hunting tomorrow.”

Will and Elton Hunter rose with him, and he shooed them toward the door like a pair of chicks. When they were in the hall, the Judge leaned against the doorjamb.

“Go see your client. Will. I’ll hold a preliminary hearing Monday morning at ten.”

“Yes, sir,” both lawyers said in unison.

“One more thing,” the Judge said.

“Now that you’re on this case, don’t either one of you ever come to me and ask out of it. You’re in this for the duration.” He walked back into his office and closed the door behind him, will stood in the little room and waited. The jail was new, but it was aging fast. Paint was already peeling from the windowless walls, and the asphalt-tile floors looked scuffed and worn. There were two doors in the room, one leading from the lockup, one from the outside world. There was some steel furniture, a table and four chairs, bolted to the floor.

A muffled clang from somewhere else, then another, then the door opened. A deputy sheriff stepped into the room, followed by Larry Eugene Moody.

“He’s all yours. Counselor,” the deputy said.

“Take as long as you like; ring the bell, here, when you’re all finished.” He pointed to a button beside the door, then disappeared, locking the door behind him.

“Hi,” the young man said uncertainly. He was five-eight or so, well built. His yellow-blond hair was well groomed, parted in the middle, not too long, blown-dry and neatly combed. A wispy attempt at a mustache adorned his upper lip. He was dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved polo shirt with an indecipherable emblem at the left breast. Larry Eugene Moody couldn’t have been more than twenty-five.

He managed a small smile and stuck out a hand.

“I’m Larry Moody,” he said.

Will shook the hand.

“My name is Will Lee, Larry,” he said.

“The court has appointed me to represent you in this matter. Have a seat, and let’s talk.”

“Boy, am I glad to see you!” Moody said, sliding into a chair.

“I’ve been here since ten o’clock this morning, and I haven’t seen anybody but deputies and jailbirds. Can you get me out of here?”

He looked worried and a little scared, Will thought. A proper reaction to being arrested.

“I don’t know yet. First, let’s talk for a few minutes, then we’ll see where we stand.”

“Okay, I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” Moody said earnestly.

Will leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, watching Moody carefully for his reactions.

“First of all, is it all right with you if I represent you? Do you have any objections to that?”

“Sure, no. I mean, it’s okay with me.”

“Good. Now, from now on, anything you say to me is in absolute confidence. I can never repeat anything you say to me without your permission, and nobody can legally require me to reveal any information I get from you.

Do you understand that?”

“You mean, like between somebody and a Catholic priest?”

“Exactly like that. Even if you told me that you had committed a crime, I would be bound not to tell anyone else, and no one could force me to tell. If I did tell, you couldn’t be prosecuted for the crime on the evidence of my testimony.”

“Okay, I understand.”

“It’s important that you do, because I want you to feel that you can trust me, tell me anything you want to, without fear of being punished for it.”

“I got it.”

“And, Larry, it is very important that you tell me the truth. The dumbest thing you can do is to lie to your lawyer.”

“No sweat; I’ll tell you the truth.”

“Good.” Will reached into his jacket pocket and produced a paper.

“This is a copy of a warrant for your arrest on a charge of murder in the first degree. Murder is when you willfully kill somebody. This warrant means the sheriff thinks you killed somebody. First degree means with malice aforethought,” that the sheriff thinks you knew what you were doing, that you meant to do it, that you had time to consider whether or not you should have done it. It also assumes that you are of legal age, that you have the capacity to know right from wrong, and that you were in your right mind at the time.”

Moody nodded, looking intently at Will.

“Now,” Will continued, “just because the sheriff swore out a warrant doesn’t meant you’re guilty of anything. Under our system of justice, you are presumed to be innocent, and before you can be found guilty of anything, the state has to prove your guilt beyond a reasonable doubt.

Do you understand?”

Larry nodded.

“Sure, we had all that in high school, and you see it on TV all the time, but boy, I never thought somebody would be saying it to me.”

“I understand how you feel,” Will said.

“You have other rights, too. Has anybody, since you were arrested this morning, said anything to you about your rights?”

“Yeah, the sheriff told me about my rights when I got to the jail.”

“Did the sheriff or anybody else ask you to sign anything?” “Yeah, they asked me to sign a paper saying they had told me my rights.”

“Did they ask you to do anything else?”

“Oh, yeah, they asked if they could look at my van.

There was something in the paper about that.”

“Did you give them permission to look at your van?”

“Yeah, I didn’t mind.”

Will took another piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Larry.

“Is this a correct copy of what you signed?”

Larry read the paper.

“Yeah, that’s my signature.”

“Okay, then.” Will got a legal pad from his briefcase.

“Now, I want you to tell me everything that happened from the time you first saw the police—the sheriff or his deputies—this morning.”

Moody leaned back and seemed to concentrate.

“Well, I was just finishing my second cup of coffee…”

“What time?”

“Ten, maybe a little after. Then Kenny Eberhart rang the doorbell and said would I come down to the office and talk to the sheriff.”

“Who’s Kenny Eberhart?”

“He’s a deputy. I know him from around town.”

“Did he say you were under arrest?” “No, he said it wouldn’t take long, could I just come on down to the office. Then he said would I mind bringing my car, because he had to make rounds and wouldn’t be able to bring me back. I thought it was kind of funny-when I was about halfway down here, I looked in the mirror and saw him about a block back, and I wondered if he was following me.”

“Then what happened?”

“I got here, and I asked for the sheriff, and he took me in his office and sat me down. There was another deputy there, too, leaning against the wall. The sheriff was real friendly and all, and he asked me what I was doing on Thursday night.”

“Did he tell you that you were under arrest at that time?”

“No, but he did tell me about my rights.”

“What did he tell you about your rights, and how did he do it?” “He said, “I just want to ask you some questions, Larry, and you know, you don’t have to answer them, and if you want a lawyer you can have one.”

“

“Did he say that what you said could be used against you?”

“Yeah, kind of as an afterthought. He said, “Oh, yeah, I’ll use what you say against you, if I feel like it.” He sort of made it a joke.