The Closing: A Whippoorwill Hollow novel (The Whippoorwill Hollow novels) (17 page)

“Let’s dispense with the small talk, Mister Abbitt. You’ve got me hanging by tenterhooks.” The judge limped across the room to a mahogany desk and sat in a burgundy leather desk chair. He gestured for Nate to sit in a matching easy chair on the other side of the desk. “I assume you intend to reveal my bias against Deatherage to the world,” he said.

Nate sat in the chair. “When I file my appellate brief, Your Honor, I’ll be required to state grounds for overturning his conviction.”

“It’s ironic you still refer to me as Your Honor. Indeed, you may be the last person who will address me that way.” The judge opened a desk drawer, withdrew a cigar box, and extended it to Nate, who declined the offer. The judge lit a cigar and puffed a cloud of smoke to the ceiling. “Smoking a fine cigar usually calms me in stressful times, but I suspect this one won’t produce the desired effect, given my circumstances. I assume you intend to approach the circuit’s legislative delegates, inform them of my crimes, and encourage them to initiate impeachment proceedings.”

Nate paused. “I don’t know. I haven’t considered what steps I should take beyond those required to defend Deatherage.”

The judge covered his eyes. “No matter. Impeachment won’t be necessary. The publicity and disgrace that will flow from the revelations in your brief will be sufficient to destroy me.” The judge removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose again. After a few moments, he said, “Do you understand why I didn’t disqualify myself from the case, Mister Abbitt?”

“You wanted to be certain Deatherage was convicted and sentenced to death.”

“Precisely. Deatherage beat my goddaughter. He raped her while he strangled her with a garrote. Her suffering was intense and prolonged. He feasted on her pain. Execution in the electric chair is too good for him. The Supreme Court’s ambivalence toward the death penalty has forced the state courts to refrain from executing defendants for the time being, but I expect the death penalty to be vindicated and reinstated. When that day comes, I wanted to ensure that Deatherage would be one of the first in Virginia to sit in the electric chair, but even then his suffering won’t compare to my goddaughter’s ordeal.”

“Deatherage may not be her killer.”

“Spare me your legal sophistry, Mister Abbitt. I’m certain Deatherage is guilty. That doesn’t excuse what I did. I abused my power. I deserve to be punished and disgraced, but I’m not sorry for it. I would do it again if given the chance.”

“It will cost you your career.”

“I don’t care about my career. I’m ready to step down from the bench. I’ve seen too much misery. I’m tired of it.” The judge looked in the direction of the upstairs bedroom. “I don’t care a whit about myself, but there’s my beloved Betsy. She doesn’t deserve what lies ahead.” There was a long silence. Then the judge stared at Nate. He leaned forward, a pleading look on his face. “I have no right to ask you, Mister Abbitt, but is there no place in your heart for mercy for my Betsy? Is there no way we can work out something between us that won’t destroy her life along with mine?”

“I don’t know what I can do for her, Your Honor. What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure what I mean. This is uncharted territory for me.” The judge looked at his cigar pensively. “Perhaps I could step forward on my own and admit my bias in the Deatherage case, explain my relationship to Darlene to my constituents, step down from the bench, and take retirement. Perhaps there would be no need to reveal my arrangement with Randy. My admission of bias would likely result in the reversal of Deatherage’s conviction and your duty to your client would be fulfilled.” The judge looked at Nate, his expression tense but hopeful. “Rumor has it that Harry Blackwell was merciful to you in similar circumstances. He allowed you to resign. He didn’t have you indicted. He didn’t expose your crimes to the world. Can you do the same for me now?”

Nate struggled to regain his equilibrium, reminding himself that a ruthless man could be artfully deceitful. He realized the judge’s concern for Betsy gave him leverage. The judge might be willing to confess to Nate to spare his wife humiliation and ignominy. Nate said, “Maybe there’s a way to fulfill my duty to my client and preserve your interests, but I’ll need to understand the full scope of your misconduct.”

“Of course. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

“You convinced Randolph Swiller not to present a defense of Deatherage, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Why did Swiller do your bidding?”

“Randy, Darlene’s father, and I were old friends and Randy knew Darlene. He wanted to send Deatherage to the electric chair for the same reasons I did.”

“Swiller’s affection for Darlene wasn’t his sole reason for helping you. Your conspiracy with Swiller predates the Deatherage case.”

The judge sighed heavily, and there was a long pause. Then he said, “You’re a fine lawyer, Mister Abbitt. I hoped enough time had passed for the world to forget what I did to Creighton Long, but it appears you have left no stone unturned.”

“Why did you rig the case against Long?”

“Creighton was a fiend. He lived in our midst for years, pretending to be a respectable member of the community, a bank teller, a Little League coach, a Sunday school teacher, for God’s sake, all the while preying on defenseless children. The sheriff’s search of his apartment turned up a diary that proved he was the killer, but the search was unconstitutional. The diary was inadmissible, but I couldn’t free Creighton to kill again. The people of Buck County rely on me to safeguard their interests, so I made an arrangement with Randy. You understand what I did, don’t you, Mister Abbitt? You once bent the laws to secure a conviction.”

“I was wrong to do it. The defendant wasn’t guilty.”

“I wasn’t wrong about Creighton. He killed five children.”

“Why did Swiller help you in that case? Did you bribe him?”

“I didn’t pay Randy to help me.” The judge hesitated. “Perhaps that’s not entirely true. When Creighton was arrested, Randy needed work. I set him up in practice here in Bloxton. I have great influence over the district judge here, Toby Gwathmey. Toby’s predecessor died when the general assembly was out of session. During such times the chief judge of the circuit has the power to appoint an interim district judge. I appointed Toby. That gave him preferred status with the local legislators when the general assembly reconvened. I recommended him to the local House of Delegates and senate members. They accepted my recommendation and the general assembly elected him to the district judgeship. He owes his judgeship to me. I told him to appoint Randy as Creighton’s defense counsel, and he agreed to do so.”

“Was Judge Gwathmey aware of your efforts to convict criminal defendants through the use of Swiller?”

“No. Judge Gwathmey wants to be a circuit court judge some day. He curries my favor and does my bidding, but he’s not corrupt. He’s merely ambitious. I convinced him to appoint Randy as Creighton Long’s defense counsel, and I gave Randy an office free of charge in a building I own. That was the extent of my arrangement with Randy.”

“But you made sure Judge Gwathmey appointed Swiller to represent all the capital defendants in your jurisdiction. Did you ask Swiller to lose those cases, too?”

“No, but Randy didn’t prepare the cases. He didn’t care.”

“Why did you tell Gwathmey to appoint Swiller to represent those defendants?”

“Randy threatened to expose our arrangement concerning Creighton. He didn’t want money for his silence. He wasn’t an evil man. He wanted work. He wanted to feel useful, I suppose. Successful, perhaps. He demanded that I use my influence over Toby to deliver to Randy the lion’s share of indigent criminal defense work in Buck County. I agreed and made sure Toby gave Randy the cases he wanted. That’s all Randy asked of me, but it was almost more than I could bear. When Toby appointed Randy to represent those defendants at my direction, I stole their Sixth Amendment right to competent counsel. My conscience hid behind the fact that Randy’s clients were guilty, but guilty men have rights, too, and I swept those rights away. Otis Banks, Carl Gibson, James Washington. Those cases have haunted me. I was actually relieved when Randy died. I thought my ordeal had come to an end and my violations of my oath of office had escaped detection. Then you appeared here tonight.”

“Did George Maupin know about your conspiracy with Swiller?”

“No.”

“Did George know you were Darlene Updike’s godfather?”

“George knew nothing about Darlene. I granted a motion in limine to exclude all evidence about Darlene’s background, hoping to prevent anyone from discovering my relationship to her. My plan worked until you took the case.”

“What was Darlene Updike doing in Buck County in the first place?”

“She was addicted to alcohol and drugs. She had a child out of wedlock two years ago, which inspired her to clean up her life for a short while, but she soon fell back into her old ways. Darlene’s parents, Daniel and Rachel, my lifelong friends, were at their wits’ end. I suggested to Daniel that Darlene stay with Betsy and me for a while in hopes I could steer her to the drug rehabilitation center in Roanoke.”

“But you weren’t able to convince her to mend her ways.”

“She was incorrigible. The first week she stayed with us I caught her using drugs in this house. I threw her out and told her she could not return until she was clean. She stopped using drugs here in Buck County as far as I could tell, but she drank heavily. Several nights she came home drunk and I turned her away until she sobered up. In fact, I banished her from my home the night Deatherage murdered her.” The judge’s voice broke.

Nate waited a respectful time and said, “You visited Darlene in her motel room the night of her murder. What were you doing there?”

“I had given up on her. I talked with Daniel. We agreed Darlene was lost to us forever. He asked me to talk to her about her son, Nicholas. Daniel was afraid Darlene would destroy the boy’s life. He asked me to try to save the boy.”

The judge opened his desk drawer and withdrew a pistol. Nate was stunned. He expected the gun to fire at any moment, and said, “Kenneth Deatherage. Kenneth Deatherage.”

The judge looked at Nate with raised eyebrows.

“Kenneth Deatherage is my client,” Nate said. “I owe Kenneth Deatherage a duty. I’m required to protect Kenneth Deatherage’s interests.”

“I have no quarrel with your conduct, Mister Abbitt,” the judge said. “You have every right to expose my corruption in order to protect your client.” He placed the pistol on his desk and rummaged through his drawer.

Nate leaned back in his chair and the tension drained away as he realized that the judge meant him no harm. He was simply looking for something in his drawer. Then his relief was replaced by anxiety. He had used the code words. Clarence would believe Nate was in trouble. He imagined Clarence stumbling over the gate in the dark and staggering toward the house, but he had no way of telling him to stand down without revealing to the judge that someone was listening. Their lack of experience had hurt them, he thought. Experience would have taught them to agree in advance to a second code-phrase to cancel the call for help.

“Here it is,” the judge said. He extended a document to Nate. Nate put aside his concern about Clarence for the moment, took the document, and reviewed it. It was an agreement signed by Darlene relinquishing custody of her son and consenting to his adoption by her parents. “Darlene gave Nicholas to her parents,” the judge said, “when I met with her in the motel, but the agreement became moot when Deatherage murdered her. That agreement has remained in my desk drawer since that night. No one knows about it but me. And now you. After she signed it, I begged her to come home with me, but she refused. She was drunk and miserable, consumed by self-loathing.” The judge pointed to the pistol on his desk. “This gun was Darlene’s. I saw it on the bedside table in her room that night. I feared she would take her own life. I took it away from her and talked with her for almost an hour. She promised me she wouldn’t hurt herself and she agreed to go home to Daniel and Rachel the next morning.” The judge’s eyes welled with tears. “If I hadn’t taken the gun, Darlene might have used it to defend herself. She might be alive today.”

When the judge regained control, Nate said, “Tell me about your collusion with Deputy Jones.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You persuaded Jones to lie about the bloody scarf in the Deatherage case.”

The judge looked confused. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Jones testified he found a scarf in Deatherage’s pocket. That was a lie. You told him to falsify evidence against Deatherage.”

“I did nothing of the kind. I’ve done some shameful things, but I’m not so low as to corrupt the sheriff’s office.”

Nate sat up on the edge of his chair. “Jones had no motive to manufacture evidence against Deatherage. You had the relationship with Darlene Updike. You had the motive.”

“I swear to you I don’t know anything about false evidence against Deatherage. I relied on Randy to help me. The case against Deatherage was strong. There was no need to manufacture evidence.”

“You had Crawford killed because you were afraid he would tell me he was in the warehouse the night of Updike’s murder.”

The judge’s eyes widened. “I didn’t have anyone killed. I’m not a monster.”

Nate was confused. “You told Drinkard to call you when I arrived in Bloxton. Right after he called you, someone knocked me out and killed Crawford.”

“I asked Drinkard to tell me when you arrived because I was afraid you’d discover my bias in the case. I asked the sheriff to have someone watch you. Feedlow had someone follow you the morning after you arrived, but he said you were conducting a routine review of evidence and he dropped his surveillance. I didn’t tell anyone to attack you.”

Nate’s theory of a wheel of conspiracy with the judge at the hub was breaking apart. The judge had to be lying. “You told the county file room clerk to call you whenever anyone looked at the trial exhibits. You sent Jones to Country Faire to check on me right after I looked at them.”