Joe Dillard - 01 - An Innocent Client (28 page)

”And here’s someone else that loves you,” she said.

Rio trotted into the room, saw me, and stopped dead in his tracks.

”Come here, big boy,” I said. His ears perked and his tail began to wag. ”Come over here and take a leak on my shoe.”

July 25

11:00 a.m.

For the first time in what seemed like forever, I slept well. There were no ambushes in the jungle to haunt me, no rapes or murders, no raging rivers or deadly waterfalls.

I woke to the smell of coffee brewing and the sound of rain tapping steadily on the roof. I walked into the kitchen and looked outside. The sky was low and slate gray. A thin mist hung above the lake, and I knew it would be a long day of summer rain, the kind of rain that seems to cleanse the whole world.

Caroline was in the kitchen, wearing only a sports bra and a pair of biker shorts. When she hugged me, I lifted her off the floor and carried her to the bedroom. A half hour later, we were lying in bed, pleasantly exhausted.

”What are you going to do today?” she said.

”Think,” I said. ”I have to figure out what to do about Angel.”

”What are your options?”

”The first one would be to go to Deacon and tell him we’ve reconsidered and we want to make a deal.

But as soon as I do that he’ll know she killed Tester and he’ll go hard-ass on me. He’ll offer twenty years.

The second option is to go back to trial on Monday and put Angel on the witness stand. If she tells the truth, I can argue self-defense or voluntary manslaughter because he sodomized her.”

”What’s the worst case if you go that way?”

”Worst case is they don’t believe her and find her guilty of first-degree murder. That means life. I don’t think there’s any way she gets the death penalty under these circumstances. They could find her guilty of second-degree murder. That would mean a minimum of fifteen years. If they go with voluntary manslaughter she’d be eligible for probation, but I doubt if Judge Green would grant it.

”The problem I have with putting her on the stand now is that I can’t get any medical testimony in. Tom Short would have helped us out if she’d told me about this on the front end, but there’s no way Judge Green will let me use medical testimony this late.

The prosecution has the right to have her examined by their own shrink, and they’re entitled to all of Tom Short’s reports. I didn’t give them anything because I didn’t intend to use him.”

”What are the other options?”

”She might get on the stand and tell them she didn’t do it. If she does that, I have to decide whether to tank her. The rules say that if she gets on a witness stand and lies, and I know she’s lying, I can’t question her and can’t present a closing argument on her behalf. The jury will figure that out pretty quickly. If she lies and I don’t tank her, then I’m suborning perjury and I could wind up in jail.”

”You can’t do that,” Caroline said.

”I can’t and I won’t. But I swear I think I’d do it if I knew I’d get away with it. The guy sodomized her. Punched her in the head, damned near knocked her out, then rolled her over and screwed her in the ass. A man of God. I don’t feel the least bit of sympathy for him. None. She should walk on this, Caroline.

She should walk right out the door.”

”I guess we both know where that comes from.

Finally.”

”I should have told you about Sarah a long time ago,” I said. ”I’m sorry. I was ashamed.”

”It’s out in the open now, and I still love you.”

I kissed her on the forehead. She had no idea how much that meant to me.

”This is so unfair,” I said. ”The right thing would be for her to go home. Erlene set up the whole situation. She apparently intended to rob the preacher. It wasn’t Angel’s fault. She didn’t even have a weapon with her. She killed him with his own knife.”

”She didn’t have to kill him,” Caroline said.

”Yeah? What would you have done if a drunken redneck punched you and sodomized you?”

”I’d have killed him and cut his dick off.”

”Exactly. There’s really only one other thing I can do. I can try to fix things with Sarah. If I can get her to talk to me, I think I can make this turn out all right.”

”What would you say to her?”

”I’m not sure. Do you know that she and I never talked about it after it happened? I guess we were both so scared and humiliated we didn’t want to go near it. I really think it’s the reason she’s struggled all of her life.”

I sat up on the side of the bed and took a deep breath.

”I’m going,” I said. ”I’m going down to the jail.

They can’t keep me from talking to her. The worst thing that can happen is she’ll tell me to go to hell and things will stay the same.”

”Are you going to try to talk to her about the rape?”

”I have to. I have to tell her I’m sorry.”

”It wasn’t your fault, Joe.”

”I know that now, but I still feel like I should apologize to her. I’ve handled this almost as badly as she has, and I wasn’t the one who was raped.”

”Don’t expect too much,” Caroline said.

I got dressed and gulped down a cup of coffee.

”Joe?” Caroline said as I was about to walk out.

”Yeah.”

”Make sure you tell her you love her.”

July 25

Noon

Jail inmates hate a lot of things. They hate the guards, they hate the food, they hate the tedium. But there are two things they hate most of all. One is a child molester; the other is a snitch.

The administration had moved Sarah to the jail’s protective custody unit in case the word got out that she was snitching on Angel. Protective custody is just like maximum security. The inmates held there are completely isolated. It’s an unrelenting, punitive, miserable existence.

Lawyers who want to see inmates being held in protective custody have to go to them. The guards won’t bring the protective custody inmates out to the attorneys’ interview room, because it would mean exposing them to other inmates along the way. It took me almost an hour of wrangling to get in to see Sarah. The guards knew she was a witness against my client, and they didn’t want me talking to her.

But as an attorney, I had as much right to interview witnesses as the police, even star witnesses, and I wasn’t going to let them keep me out. They tried to get Deacon Baker on the phone but were told he was

”unavailable.” Frankie Martin had taken the day off and was fishing somewhere. Finally, after I threatened to haul every one of them in front of the nearest judge, they relented.

The guard who unlocked the door to Sarah’s cell walked in and announced that she didn’t have to speak to me if she didn’t want to. True to form, she told him to go fuck himself.

He closed the door, and I heard him walk down the hall. The cell was tiny, only eight feet square, and solid gray. It contained a stainless steel platform covered by a thin mattress, a stainless steel sink, and a stainless steel toilet. That was it. There was no television, no radio, no writing or reading materials, absolutely nothing to distract or otherwise occupy the mind. Sarah, barefoot and clad in her wrinkled orange jumpsuit, was sitting on the floor in the corner beyond the sink with her knees drawn up to her chin.

”So this is the way they treat their star witness in a murder case,” I said. ”I wonder where they’d put you if they didn’t like you.”

She buried her face in her hands, and I moved towards her. I got down on my knees and put my hands on her forearms. To my surprise, she didn’t flinch or draw back.

”You don’t have to say a word if you don’t want to,” I said softly, ”but I realized something last night and I want to talk to you. I want to tell you I’m sorry.”

I felt tears gathering in my eyes and fought for control. I didn’t know why, but even in my efforts to peel back the curtains and take an honest look at what had happened between us, I felt the need to maintain my stoic image.

”I’m sorry I let you down, Sarah. I’m sorry I didn’t stop him. I’m sorry I didn’t protect you. I should have killed the bastard.”

As with Caroline the night before, getting it out brought down my defenses and tears began to run down my cheeks.

”Please, Sarah. I was so young. I didn’t know what to do. Please forgive me.”

She too began to cry, and I scooted closer to her and put my hands on her shoulders.

”If I could, I’d take you back there right now and get you out of that room, but we both know I can’t.

All I can do is tell you I’m sorry and I love you. I’ve always loved you, Sarah. I always will.”

”You were too little, Joey,” she said in a choked voice. ”We were both too little.”

She lifted her head and wrapped her arms around my neck. It was a surreal moment, a moment of desperation and honesty and, ultimately, what I hoped was love. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d hugged Sarah, and I found myself content to kneel on that concrete floor and feel her breathing against my neck. We said nothing for several minutes, both embarrassed by the rare show of affection.

Finally, she spoke again.

”You’re breaking my neck, Joey.”

”Oh, God, I’m sorry.” I sometimes forgot about my size. I let go of her and scooted back. ”I have to get up. This concrete is killing my knees.”

I sat on the edge of her bunk and she sat with me.

We talked for an hour. The conversation was slow and stilted at first, but before long she was telling me how tormented she’d been, how the drugs seemed to be the only thing that gave her any relief, if only for a short time. We talked about growing up fatherless, and about Ma and how deeply troubled she was. We eventually got around to the future, the immediate future, and what it held for Sarah.

”So what’s your agreement with the district attorney’s office?” I said.

She looked at me warily. ”Is that why you really came down here?”

”Please don’t say that. You know why I came down here. But it’s something we’re going to have to deal with.”

”I’ve agreed to testify truthfully in exchange for immediate release and probation on my sentence.”

”Do you have it in writing?”

”You’re damned right I do.” She reached under the mattress and pulled out an envelope. Inside was an agreement signed by Sarah, Deacon Baker, and Judge Glass. Sarah was obligated to provide ”truthful testimony” in court in the case of the
State
v.
Angel
Christian
, and upon her having provided that testimony, she was to be released immediately.

”What’s your truthful testimony going to be?” I said.

She gave me a mischievous grin I hadn’t seen in thirty years. ”Will you make sure I get my deal?”

she said.

”You bet your ass.”

July 31

2:00 p.m.

The test results on the forensic evidence found in Erlene Barlowe’s car hadn’t been received from the TBI lab by nine a.m. the following Monday, so Judge Green reconvened the trial. I’d spent a great deal of time explaining everything in detail to Angel during the week. She understood she couldn’t get up and lie. She understood I couldn’t use the doctor as a defense witness. She understood the risks. After listening intently to everything I had to say and no doubt with some input from Erlene, she decided to go for it.

Frankie Martin did his best, but ultimately he had no murder weapon, no clear motive, and no eyewitnesses. He put Landers on the stand to describe the crime scene and explain the investigation, but on cross-examination I was able to paint a picture of Tester first drinking beer at the Purple Pig and then spending the money he’d received from a church at a strip club. To top it off, I pointed out the fact that Tester was so out of control that he’d spent all the church’s money and had to withdraw even more from the ATM at midnight.

The medical examiner testified that Tester died from blood loss as a result of multiple stab wounds, but on cross she also had to admit that his blood-alcohol level was off the charts. She tried to help the prosecution by pointing out that he’d ingested a date rape drug, but she could offer no testimony as to how the drug entered his body.

An expert from the TBI lab told the jury about the hairs found on Tester’s shirt and explained the DNA identification process to them. On cross he had to admit it was possible that the hairs could have passed from Angel to Tester at the club.

An elderly woman named Ina Mae described for the jury how her cat found Tester’s penis and delivered it to her the morning after the murder. Her testimony provided a brief moment of levity in an otherwise deadly serious trial.

Frankie saved Sarah for last. He would have been better off going outside and shooting himself.

”Would you state your name for the record, ma’am?” Frankie began.

”My name is Sarah Dillard.” She was wearing the orange jumpsuit and was cuffed and shackled. She seemed nervous but determined.

”And where do you reside, Ms. Dillard?”

”At the Washington County Detention Center.”

”So you’re in jail?”

”Yes. I was convicted of theft.”

”Are you familiar with the defendant, Miss Dillard?”

Sarah looked at Angel and nodded. ”She’s in my cell block.”

”And as a matter of fact, you’re her lawyer’s sister, are you not?”

”I am.”

”And did you contact the district attorney’s office and tell someone that you had information regarding the defendant that might be relevant to this case?”

”No.”

”I beg your pardon?”

”I said no. I didn’t contact the district attorney’s office. They came to me.”

”Oh, I see. And who was it that came to see you?”

”That man over there.” She pointed to Landers, who was sitting at the prosecutor’s table.

”And as a result of your visit with Agent Landers, what did you do?”

”Nothing.” Uh-oh. Here we go.

”Nothing? You had a conversation with the defendant, didn’t you?”

”No.”

”This defendant confessed to you that she murdered Reverend Tester, didn’t she?”

”Objection,” I said. ”He’s leading the witness, Judge.”

”Sustained. Move on, Mr. Martin. She answered your question.”

”Can I have a short recess, Your Honor?” Martin said.