Southern Discomfort

CHAPTER 21

FRAMING AROUND OPENINGS

"Where a floor opening occurs (such as a stairway opening), the parts of the common joists which would extend across if there were no opening must be cut away."

Lu Bingham and I crossed paths again sooner than I'd expected. When I walked into court after lunch Wednesday afternoon, there she was sitting in the first row behind the prosecutor's table.

Tracy Johnson was ADA that day. She's tall and willowy, with short blonde hair and gorgeous eyes, which get downplayed with oversized glasses when she's prosecuting. Tracy loves shoes as much as I do, but because of her height, she usually settles for flats and low heels. Some judges of the male persuasion don't like having to look up to a woman.

Shortly before four, Tracy called line thirty-seven. "Jerry Dexter Trogden. Assault on a female."

There was something awfully familiar about his Fu Manchu mustache, that bright green-and-purple dragon tattooed on his right forearm, and the swaggering flourish with which he signed the waiver of counsel.

"Weren't you in here a couple of weeks ago?" I asked.

"Yeah, but she took up the charges," he said.

"She" was the shame-faced teenager sitting close to Lu for moral support. Skinny white blonde. Hair pulled back by a bright pink scarf that matched her cheap summer cotton dress. I sort of remembered that she'd been as pretty as her dress, a shallow-rooted flower doomed to fade just as quickly as that poorly made garment would fade and go limp after two or three washings. She certainly wasn't pretty this afternoon. There were stitches both in her lower lip and over her eye, her face was cut and swollen, and her bruises were as purple and green as the dragon tattooed above the fist that had punched her out.

As Tracy laid out the charges, Jerry Dexter Trogden drummed his fingers on the tabletop before him and kept a sneer on his face.

"That sneer could be a mask of apprehension," the preacher reminded me.

"Yeah," agreed the pragmatist. "Fear that he's finally going to get what's coming to him."

"You are honor-bound to listen to both sides before you judge."

"Fine with me. Give the bastard enough rope so we can hang him in good conscience."

The testimony of Tammy Epps was as old as the Bible she swore on, as new and unnewsworthy as the back page in tomorrow's paper. They had lived together as lovers for two years, he became violent when drinking, each time he promised he would never hit her again. Last week, she finally realized he would probably wind up killing her if she stayed. When she tried to leave, this is what he did: Exhibit A, Polaroid pictures taken before her gashes were stitched.

"Your witness," said Tracy.

Trogden had watched enough television to think he was Perry Mason.

He wasn't.

His defense? Innocent because of extenuating circumstance: she was his woman, she had no cause to leave, he had a right to keep what was his.

The longer he talked, the angrier he became. I explained contempt of court; and when he began repeating himself, I asked if he had anything new to add.

"Nothing, 'cepting I don't think I ought to go to jail for trying to hold on to what's mine."

"How far did you get in school, Mr. Trogden?"

"I finished," he said belligerently.

"Then you've heard of the Emancipation Proclamation?"

"That the one that says women got the same rights as men?"

"No, Mr. Trogden, that's the one that says slavery is abolished. No one may own another human being."

He subsided and I pronounced him guilty of assault.

"I ain't going to jail for just 'cause she marks easy," he muttered.

"If I rule you in contempt, Mr. Trogden, I guarantee you will see the inside of a jail." I looked at Tracy. "What's the state asking, Ms. Johnson?"

She suggested that Trogden pay Ms. Epps's medical bills and be made to stay away from her permanently.

"Stand up, Mr. Trogden," I said. "This court orders that you be imprisoned for a term of ninety days, sentence—"

Before I could finish saying that the sentence would be suspended on condition that he pay court costs, a hundred-dollar fine, and Ms. Epps's medical bills, and that he promise not to go near her, Trogden roared to his feet and snatched up the Bible lying there in front of him.

"I ain't going to no jail!" he howled and reared back and heaved the Bible at me as hard as he could.

I ducked instinctively and it slammed into the wall behind me with so much force that one of the hard corners left a dent in the wood paneling.

Officer Mayleen Richards, a Dobbs police rookie, and an elderly bailiff wrestled him to the floor and snapped handcuffs on him.

"See?" cried Tammy Epps and promptly burst into tears in Lu's arms.

Trogden came up from the floor snarling curses for every woman that ever walked, and I changed his suspended sentence to an active one and had him removed from my courtroom.

"Court's adjourned till tomorrow morning," I said.

"Oyez, Oyez, Oyez," the bailiff intoned. "This honorable court stands adjourned until tomorrow morning at nine o'clock. God save the state and this honorable court."

“Good reflexes, Your Honor," said Phyllis Raynor.

As I left the courthouse, I ran into Julia Lee and her miniature poodle. (Ever since Miss Sallie's Queenie disappeared, Julia stopped leaving CoCo unattended.) CoCo was happy to see me, but Julia was flushed with indignation. "That Health Department man! I'm a good mind to have John Claude sue him for slander."

"O'Connor? What's he done?" I asked, shaking the dainty paw that CoCo offered me.

"Somebody told him our Martha Circle catered Ginger McGee's wedding and he's over there in First Methodist's kitchen right this minute. He's even saying that if arsenic does turn up in Ralph's body, he'll want to know the names of all the women who did both your reception and Ginger's, too. A Martha!" She took a deep breath to steady herself. "So what I need to know is was that Bannerman person at your reception? Gladys says he certainly wasn't invited to theirs."

"I have no idea, Julia." There had been such a crush of people and at that time I didn't know Carver Bannerman from Adam's housecat. "It was a public event though, so I suppose it's possible he could have stepped in for a cookie if he was here at the courthouse. Want me to ask Annie Sue and her friends if they noticed?"

"Please," she said crisply. "The Martha Circle does too much good with the funds they raise to have its image besmirched. Heel, CoCo."

Obediently, CoCo heeled and followed Julia on into the courthouse.

I continued down the side steps and in through the basement entrance to the sheriff's department to see if Dwight wanted to come have a quick drink before I had to drive Aunt Zell and Uncle Ash to the airport.

He was standing in the doorway of Bo Poole's office and he and Bo both grinned soon as they saw me. Might've known the bailiff wouldn't waste time telling them every detail.

"I know you're still new at the job," Dwight said, "but judges are supposed to throw the book, not duck it."

"You laugh, but those hardback Bibles ought to be changed to paperbacks. I could have been injured for life. Any word from the lab yet?"

"Nope," said Bo. "They've got so much on their plate it looks like Friday before we hear for sure. How's Herman?"

"We're real worried about his legs," I admitted. "They still don't know if his nerve damage is permanent. He's getting therapy, but they're also teaching him how to maneuver in a wheelchair."

"And that joker from Environmental Health still can't figure out where he got that arsenic," Bo fumed.

"Got to give him A for effort though," I said. "Julia Lee's mad because he's over at First Methodist's kitchen right this minute."

"How come? Was Bannerman at your swearing-in? Ralph sure as hell wasn't."

I explained about how the Marthas had catered his daughter's wedding, and we kicked it around a few minutes.

"Y'all locate Bass Langley yet?"

"Tell you the truth, we hadn't been looking all that hard," Dwight admitted. "His brother doesn't seem worried, and Ava says she doesn't want him back."

"Maybe you should take her up on her offer and check out that dumpster back of the Coffee Pot," I said tartly.

Dwight thought he had too much paperwork to knock off just then. All the same, when I said maybe I'd go see if Gordon O'Connor had found anything, he said he reckoned he'd come along with me.

The church was only two blocks away, but by the time we got there, O'Connor was gone. As he walked me back to my car, Dwight said, "What time you getting back from the airport?"

"I don't know. Nine or nine-thirty, probably. Why?"

"How 'bout I come over later and keep you company? You make us some popcorn and I'll bring that video you've been wanting to see."

"The Last Wave? Hey, great!" I'd been trying to track down a copy for months. "Where'd you find it?"

"Washington."

"Little Washington had The Last Wave?"

"Not Little Washington. Washington, D.C. I got tired hearing you whine so I asked a friend to UPS it. It'd better be as good as you say it is."

"Better!" Touched by his remembering, I impulsively added, "Listen. If I tell you something, will you promise you'll keep it to yourself?"

His eyes narrowed. "What've you done now?"

"Promise first."

"Okay, I promise, even though I can tell by that look on your face I'm going to regret it."

He listened with growing incredulity as I told him of my encounter with Mr. Ou that morning.

"Jesus H., Deborah! You know how many phone calls we've gotten about those missing dogs? Miz Castleberry's in my ear every morning; Doug Woodall's wife's uncle—you can't just take the law into your own hands like that."

"Oh, come on, Dwight. What would be gained by hauling him into court at this point? It won't bring those dogs back. All it'd do is cause hard feelings. Besides, think how you'd feel if you got plopped down in India and couldn't afford to buy meat for you and Cal. You think you wouldn't soon be inviting one of those sacred cows to come home with you some dark night?"

He shook his head at me. "Don't tell me any more secrets, okay?"

I was hurt. "I thought you'd be glad to know you don't have to worry about any more pets going missing. You always say I don't tell you things."

"And this is what you start with? Barbecued beagles?" He was already heading down the basement steps. "I didn't hear a thing you said. Remember that. See you at nine-thirty."

"Well, he's got a point," said the preacher, smoothing the wrinkles in his favorite hairshirt. "You probably should have given Mr. Ou some meaningful community service. Maybe some hours out at the animal shelter."

"That sorry place?" snorted the pragmatist from the depths of his comfortable lounge chair. "Ninety-eight percent of the animals taken out there get put down and their bodies burned. Would Mr. Ou see that as a civics lesson or a waste of good protein?" * * *

When I got home, Aunt Zell was still trying to decide between black silk slacks, which would let her forget about heels and hose, or a champagne-colored cocktail dress that would require an extra bag. She was as flustered as a teenage bride packing for her honeymoon.

Annie Sue had brought over the adapter plugs that Nadine had used with her hairdryer when she and Herman took that Holy Land tour with their church group a few years back, and Cindy and Paige were with her.

The three girls had bonded closer than ever, but there were lines of strain in all three faces as things got more weirdly complicated with each passing day. Paige had killed a rapist; because of Paige, Annie Sue had escaped rape but now faced the possibility that Herman would be permanently disabled; Cindy's father had been exhumed and, along with Herman and Carver Bannerman, might have been the victim of a successful poisoning attempt. Yet, they were each trying to act as if the most interesting thing in their lives was Aunt Zell's first trip to Paris.

"I'm going to bring back a bottle of real French perfume for each one of y'all," Aunt Zell promised as she hung the cocktail dress back in her closet and opted for a black sequined top for the slacks. She tucked it in next to something pale pink and lacy.

"Why, Miss Zell," giggled Annie Sue, fluffing out one of the skimpiest nightgowns you'd ever hope to see.

"Oh, it's beautiful!" sighed Paige.

Aunt Zell laughed. "Isn't that the silliest thing?"

In went her makeup kit and she was just zipping the bag when Uncle Ash came in, handsome in navy linen blazer and gray slacks.

"All packed?" he asked.

"Ready!"

"You sure you want to make that long drive, honey?" Uncle Ash asked me for the third time. "I really can leave our car at the airport. Five days won't cost that much."

"Don't be silly," I said. Also for the third time. "I'll want to hear a full report while it's fresh."

The girls each picked up a bag and as the four of us waited in the side driveway for Aunt Zell and Uncle Ash to make a final round of the house to see if there were something they needed to tell me about besides the puppy, I remembered something myself.

"That epidemiologist that's trying to find a common denominator," I told the girls. "He asked me if Carver Bannerman was at my swearing-in reception. Did y'all see him there?"

Furrowed brows and slow headshakes as they tried to recall a man they hadn't yet met themselves two weeks ago.

I had a sudden flash of brilliance. "Stevie's video!"

"Huh?" said Annie Sue.

"Stevie," I reminded her. "He was everywhere with that camera of his. Remember? If Bannerman was at the reception, Stevie's bound to have caught him on the tape. It's sitting up there on top of my VCR and soon as I get back from the airport, I'll run through it and check it out."

As Uncle Ash and Aunt Zell came through the veranda door, I called, "Don't lock it. Dwight's coming over to watch a video with me tonight and I told him to go on in if I wasn't back yet."

Annie Sue's truck was blocking my car, so the girls wished my aunt and uncle bon voyage and drove off into the sunset as I picked up one of the bags and said, "Listen, Uncle Ash—"