Rich Waters (Jason Rich), page 22
“I need to talk with Sergeant Mitchell first and circle the wagons with my officers.”
“Shay, please. I was trying—”
“I have to do my job, Jason.” She was gazing down at the floor, her shoulders slumped. She had her left hand on her hip, and her right hand was massaging her neck as if she might have a crick in it.
“Shay . . .” He trailed off. He could think of nothing else to say. He was exhausted and still reeling from the nightmare he’d just had.
The prosecutor sighed and turned away. As the cell door clanged shut, she finally met his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“I bet,” Jason said, scowling at her.
As Shay walked away, Jason rubbed his face with his hands.
Despite the district attorney’s seeming reluctance, Jason knew the score. His arrest was a gift to the sheriff’s department. They could slander him now all in the name of doing their job. Destruction of property. Shooting up a Buck Island mansion. Threatening a minor.
And on and on. Regardless of her demeanor in the cell, Shay Lankford had to be loving this development. The jury would already be slanted against Trey Cowan. Marshall County was a conservative venue, where the police were revered. Add to that Cowan’s attorney being a criminal, and things went from bad to impossible.
Jason stood and rested his face against the cold iron bars. But that wasn’t the worst of it. He’d have to report the charges to the Alabama State Bar. He was operating under a zero-tolerance policy, and he might be put on probation again. Or worse . . .
He’d jeopardized his career. Again.
Jason squeezed the bars, trying to maintain his composure.
And then there was Nola. And Chase. What was he going to do?
It’s my fault, Jason thought, gazing around the tiny confines of the holding cell and trying not to let depression consume him.
Focus, he thought. Focus only on what we can control.
It was a lesson of AA. As Jason gazed through the opening in the iron bars of the holding cell, he knew he would need to lean on everything he’d learned to get himself out of this mess.
He thought back to the nightmare he was having when the district attorney entered the cell. He was no psychiatrist, but he thought he knew what it meant.
“I’m in over my head,” he whispered.
And I’m going to take everyone I love down with me.
51
At 10:00 a.m., Jason walked out of the Marshall County Jail to a cascade of flashbulbs and microphones. He still wore the golf shirt and jeans from the night before, and he knew he must look terrible. Izzy, who gripped his forearm and wore a charcoal-gray suit, said that he needed to look the part. Today, he was the victim.
“Mr. Rich, are you going to contest the charges?”
“What were you doing at the old Waters home on Buck Island?”
“Mr. Rich, isn’t it true that you are on probation with the Alabama State Bar? Will these charges affect that?” The voice sounded familiar, and Jason glanced and saw his friend Kisha Roe. Her face was all business. She was a reporter, and this was her job. As Jason climbed into the back seat of the waiting SUV, he saw Harry in the driver’s seat.
“Amigo,” Harry said.
Jason nodded. His mouth was dry, his brain frazzled.
Jason listened as Izzy addressed the mob of reporters. “My partner dove into Lake Guntersville last night and pulled his niece out of the water. He’s a hero who should be treated as such. Instead, the Marshall County Sheriff’s Office has filed a bunch of frivolous charges in a clear effort to defame his name and to retaliate against him for taking the Trey Cowan case. Their behavior will not stand.”
“Are you going to sue the sheriff’s department?” Kisha’s voice again.
“We’re going to sue the sheriff, his office, the district attorney, and anyone else who had anything to do whatsoever with these ridiculous charges.”
“Is Mr. Rich all right?” Kisha asked again, concern in her voice.
“He almost drowned last night. He was treated in the emergency room. His niece almost died. What do you think? No more questions.” Izzy opened the door, and Jason scooted to the left to make room for her. “Drive,” she said to Harry.
As the Explorer pulled onto Blount Avenue, Jason looked at her. “Thank you.”
“No need for that, Jason Rich. Charging you with those crimes was a declaration of war.” She stared at him, her eyes ablaze. “They don’t have any clue who they’re dealing with.”
52
“Mind telling me how all these reporters found out that Jason Rich was being held at the jail?” Shay glared at Sheriff Richard Griffith.
“Small town, Shay. Jason Rich is a celebrity around here. There’s literally no telling. Someone at the hospital could have tipped them off.”
“Or a deputy in your office . . . at your direction.”
“I would never do that.”
“Right.”
“Forget the press coverage, Shay. Rich’s arrest is good news for us. This is Marshall County. Folks around here don’t like showboaters, and they do like cops. Rich being charged with a crime is completely in line with who everyone probably already thinks he is.”
“What if he sues us? You ready for that?”
“We have qualified immunity, and he shot up a house and threatened a teenager with a pistol. I’d say we’re in good shape. If his partner wants to file a lawsuit over that, then I’ve got two words for that crazy bitch. Bring it.”
“Tough talk, Griff. That crazy bitch is smart as hell. If she can show an intentional act of retaliation, she could get around qualified immunity, couldn’t she?”
He put his hands on his hips.
“Couldn’t she?”
“I don’t know. You’d have to ask our civil rights lawyers.”
“And isn’t that just what we need? A lawsuit on the heels of Hatty Daniels’s disappearance.”
Griff’s face reddened. “What’s wrong with you? I thought you’d be happy about this. Jason Rich has been a thorn in our side since he returned to Guntersville.”
“I don’t want a tainted victory.”
“He did this to himself, Shay.” Griff walked toward the door.
“Any leads on finding Hatty?”
He stopped and glared at her. “No.”
53
Before going home, Jason stopped at Marshall Medical Center North. He went to her room, where Nola was lying in the bed. The tube that had been down her throat was out, but an IV was still latched to her arm. Jason walked toward her and planted a kiss on her cheek. He saw her chest move up and down. Then, her eyelashes batted, and she squinted up at him. “Uncle Jason?”
He felt a rush of emotion that came out in an anguished sob. He pressed his face into her neck. Thank you, God.
“Uncle Jason . . . I’m s-s-so tired.”
He patted her forehead and turned to the man sitting at her bedside.
Satch had his legs crossed and his arms folded across his chest. His eyes were alert, albeit a bit redder than normal. If he was tired from staying up all night, he didn’t show it. “She regained consciousness about three hours ago.”
“Man, that’s good news,” Jason said.
“It is,” Satch said. “Afraid I’ve got some bad.”
“What?”
“We found Chase’s shotguns.”
Jason frowned. “Go on.”
“The newer one was still in its gun case. Dust on the barrel and handle. Looked like it hadn’t been used in a while.”
“And the old one?”
“In the trunk of her car. Next to a five pack of Remington buckshot shells.” He paused. “The pack was open.”
“How many were left?”
“Three.”
Jason felt dizzy. Kelly Flowers had been shot twice from close range. Two shots. Two missing shells . . .
“Uncle Jason?” Nola whimpered.
“Yeah, honey?”
“I’m sorry.”
It was the same thing she’d said before diving into the lake.
“It’s not your fault, honey,” Jason said. “None of this is.” Then, turning to Satch, he added, “It’s mine.”
PART FOUR
54
Hatty Daniels waited in the reception area of the law office. One week had turned into two and a half, but he’d finally agreed to meet with her. A woman with strawberry-blonde hair who’d introduced herself as Lona sat at a desk a few feet away, typing furiously on her computer. Her phone buzzed, and she picked it up, glancing at Hatty. Then she put the receiver down. “He’ll see you now.”
She was escorted down a narrow hallway and into a conference room. Lona asked if she wanted coffee, water, or a soft drink, but Hatty declined. Her stomach had twisted into a knot, and she doubted she could eat or drink anything until after this conference was over. She took a seat and waited, feeling her heartbeat thudding in her chest. For the past eighteen days, she’d stayed as a houseguest of Frannie Storm. She hadn’t checked in with Griff or Shay or anyone else with the Marshall County Sheriff’s Office. According to Frannie, there’d been a bulletin asking for any information regarding Hatty’s whereabouts, but Frannie had ignored it. Not until you see him, she’d said. In the interim, Hatty had taken long walks in the morning and reviewed the materials in her investigative file of Kelly Flowers at least once a day. She did Google searches related to her predicament, which only confused her more. She was a law enforcement officer, a damn good detective, but she wasn’t a lawyer.
When he entered the room, he took up almost the entire door. “Hatty Daniels,” he said, his voice deep and firm. “It’s been a long time.”
“Bo,” she managed, biting her lip. “Thank you for agreeing to a meeting.”
Bocephus Aurulius Haynes had practiced law in Pulaski for almost thirty years. Before going to law school, he’d been an All-American linebacker for Coach Paul “Bear” Bryant at Alabama and would have likely enjoyed a long professional career if he hadn’t blown his knee out. At six feet, four inches tall and at least 240 pounds, Bo still looked every bit the former football player he had been. He wore blue jeans, a black button-down shirt, and boots. His bald head made him look a bit like Michael Jordan. He was the only Black trial attorney in Pulaski, and even now, some twelve years since she’d last seen him, he was still a good-looking man.
“I followed that Odell Champagne case a couple years ago,” she said. “You did a phenomenal job. As always.”
“Thank you,” Bo said, taking a seat at the head of the table and placing a notebook and a pen in front of him.
“Is the General still kicking everyone’s ass?”
Bo laughed, and Hatty joined in. “The General” was Helen Evangeline Lewis, the district attorney general of Giles County, Tennessee.
“Yep,” he said. “Would you expect any different?”
She shook her head. “I heard you helped her out of a jam a few years back too. Her husband’s case.”
Bo nodded. “She’s a fine lady. Very good at her job.” He paused. “Just like you. Hatty, I’m sorry we couldn’t meet sooner. My schedule’s a bit crazy. But I’m here now. What’s going on?”
For the next hour, she told him everything she knew. Bo took a few notes, asked several questions, and eventually stood and began to pace around the conference-room table.
“Can you help me?” Hatty asked.
Bo sat on the table and folded his arms. “I’m a trial lawyer, Hatty. I’ve handled contract cases, but it’s been a while. You might be better with someone else.”
She snorted. “Better than Bocephus Haynes? Surely you jest.”
“I don’t,” Bo said. “I’m not a magician, and I have a wheelhouse. Personal injury plaintiff’s work and the occasional criminal defense is my toolbox.”
“You’re the only one I trust. I remember going against you, Bo. In our cases, you were tough but fair.” She sucked in a breath. “And you’re smart. You always seemed to have an angle.”
For a long moment, Bo gazed at her.
“I’ll pay you whatever your rate is for this kind of work. I have money.” She swallowed, and her mouth tasted dry. “At least I do now.”
“I’ll have to check the whistleblower laws in Alabama, but I don’t think you really have that here. No one has threatened you with retaliation for coming forward with the results of the Flowers investigation, correct?”
“Correct. But someone in that office deleted files on my computer, and I know I was being followed when I left. Either by my own employer or—”
“This meth dealer,” Bo interrupted, beginning to pace again. “Hatty, sometimes these types of cases involve stuff that goes on outside the courtroom. Believe me, I’ve had a few . . . especially here recently . . . where just staying alive to get to the verdict was as much a consideration as the case itself.” He looked at her. “Do you know what I mean?”
“I think so.”
“I’ll do some research, and let’s regroup in a few days.”
“That sounds great, Bo.” She stood and approached him. “I appreciate this so much.”
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
She walked to the door.
“Hatty?”
“Yes.” She turned to face him.
“What’s your endgame?”
“What?”
“Your goal. What do you want here?”
Hatty had thought about little else over the course of the past eighteen days. “I want to return to my job. I’ve worked hard to be the head of investigations. I have at least ten active cases that need to be worked.”
“You realize your actions could be seen as abandonment.”
“Yes, but I didn’t have any other choice.” Her voice began to shake. “I was scared, Bo. I’ve been scared before. This job isn’t for the faint of heart.” She bit down on her bottom lip. “But nothing like this. Please . . .” She took a deep breath and looked at the hardwood floor. “Please help me.”
For several seconds, there was silence. Then she felt his large hands cover her own, and she looked up into his dark eyes.
“If I can, I will.”
55
The arraignment of a capital murder defendant was a big moment in a criminal trial. As Jason glanced over his shoulder, he saw that all rows of courtroom 1 of the Marshall County Courthouse were filled. He noticed media people he recognized, including Kisha. There were also several town and county dignitaries. Mayor Annie Caudle. A couple members of the Guntersville Chamber of Commerce. County Commissioner Rex Patterson. He figured the politicos were here to show their public support for a fallen officer. Any chance to stand behind the police was an opportunity to stoke the flames of support leading into November elections.
Sitting directly behind the prosecution table was a young woman with dark-brown hair. She wore an elegant black dress. Bella Flowers, Jason thought. There’d been a picture of her in the Advertiser-Gleam’s article on the funeral of Kelly Flowers, and Jason recognized her right off. In fact, it appeared that she might be wearing the same dress. As Tyson Cade and Bull Branner had both mentioned, she was attractive, though, in her conservative outfit, it was hard to imagine her “dancing the pole,” as Bull had said. Seeing her was a reminder that he needed to meet with Bella if she was agreeable. That was a box he needed to check. Kelly Flowers seemed to be kind of an enigma. Perhaps a family member could shed some light on the man behind the uniform.
The bailiff announced the judge’s presence, and Terry Barber walked to the bench with what seemed to be a spring in his step. Barber also was facing reelection, and was there anything better for a judge than to be seen wearing the robe and making rulings in a high-profile case? Jason doubted it.
Especially when there were two cases that would put him in the public eye.
Jason kept his expression neutral as His Honor ascended the bench, but inside, he was seething. He knew that Barber had intentionally set his arraignment in the state’s bullshit attempted assault of a minor and destruction of property charges on the same day as Trey Cowan’s capital murder case to turn the dial on the publicity all the way to the right.
Jason took in a deep breath, knowing that today was going to be a kangaroo court but resolving that there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
“State of Alabama versus Trey Jerome Cowan.” Judge Barber spoke with his nasal southern twang. “Are the parties here?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Shay said, standing and pressing down on her burgundy suit.
“And the defendant?”
“Yes, sir,” Jason said.
“OK, then. The defendant shall remain standing. Mr. Cowan, you have been charged with the intentional murder of Sergeant Kelly Flowers, and the state is seeking the death penalty.” He paused. “Do you understand the charges levied against you?”
“Yes, sir.” Trey’s voice was calm and firm.
“How do you plead?”
“Not guilty.”
“All right, Counsel, please approach.”
Once Shay and Jason were both below him at the bench, Judge Barber put on a pair of spectacles and looked down at what appeared to be a calendar. “Today is June 3. When do you think this one will be ready for trial?”
“The defendant would like this case set as quickly as possible,” Jason said.
Barber smirked. “The defendant or his lawyer?”
Jason didn’t take the bait. He kept his mouth shut and gazed at the judge.
“Well . . . we can do that. But, regardless of how quick a setting Mr. Cowan receives, the charges brought against you, Mr. Rich, will be set first. A capital murder case will take longer to get ready for trial than an attempted assault and destruction of property case. Isn’t that right, Madame Prosecutor?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Mr. Rich, don’t you have a hearing in front of the state bar’s disciplinary commission pretty soon?”
“More of a meeting than a hearing, sir. But yes, in a few weeks.”
“And you are currently operating under a consent order, correct?”
