The Summer House

Chapter 101

Sheriff Emma Williams of Sullivan County thinks it’s about time Judge Howell Rollins steps down, because that brief recess stretched to nearly an hour, and it’s a wonder the old drunk can keep his eyes open, but her thoughts and mood are abruptly interrupted by the sound of someone’s handheld device sounding off.

Hoo boy, she thinks, someone is about to get their ass in a sling, because the judge hates cell phones and hates being interrupted, but before the judge can say a word, that smart-alecky Army lawyer steps forward and starts talking in a loud voice.

“Your Honor, if I may please approach the bench, sir, my name is Allen Pierce, and I’m an Army captain, serving in the Judge Advocate General’s Corps.”

Loud murmurs and talk from the spectators, and Rollins hammers down his gavel twice. “Are you here to represent Staff Sergeant Jefferson? I’m sorry to tell you, that opportunity is gone. That ship has sailed, Captain Pierce.”

“I understand, Your Honor,” the lawyer says. “I’m here as part of the Army investigation into those homicides and the alleged participation of the Rangers who were arrested.”

At last Corny Slate stands up and says, “Your Honor, this is unacceptable. There is no alleged participation... There is evidence from the county sheriff’s investigation, overwhelming evidence that’s led to this Army sergeant pleading guilty.”

The Army lawyer steps up to the bar and says, “Your Honor, please, I beg for a few minutes’ indulgence. That’s all. I’ve just received an urgent text from Afghanistan saying there is evidence in that country that will be key to determining whether your sentencing should go forward.”

Judge Rollins’s already red face gets more crimson. “Are you telling me, son, that some judge over there in that Third World country is tryin’ to tell me how to run my courtroom?”

The JAG lawyer, leather bag in his right hand, shakes his head. “Not at all, Your Honor. Not at all. In the interest of seeing that the very best outcome is made today, sir, please, will you allow me to approach the bench for a few moments? Please?”

Williams stares at the judge in cold disbelief. What in the hell is going on here? Afghanistan? For real?

It was settled. It was buried. There should be no mention of Afghanistan at all in this sunny courtroom in Georgia. Not a word.

Rollins says, “I’ll allow it. No guarantees, you understand. But I’ll allow it.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” the JAG lawyer says. “You won’t regret it.”

Rollins barks out a laugh. “You better hope you’re right.”

The Army lawyer steps through the bar’s open gate, and as he approaches the bench, Williams stands up and violently gestures to get the district attorney’s attention. Slate spots her and slinks over like a student about to be disciplined in public by a teacher, which is pretty accurate.

She grabs a lapel of his suit jacket and gives it a good twist. “Corny, you go up there and stop this shit, right now. Got it? Shut it down, or I swear to God, I’ll make it hurt for you so bad you’ll still be crying ten years from now. Go!”

Williams pushes him away and returns to her seat, breathing hard, realizing that the courtroom has gone quiet, and that most people are staring at her.

Not the judge or the district attorney or that black Army lawyer.

Her.

She sits down, watches the huddle up there, the Army lawyer speaking, waving an arm around, and Corny doing the same thing, and the old fool Rollins listening to them both, rubbing at his face, nodding, and speaking loudly: “All right, I’ve heard enough. Mr. Slate, you may return to your spot. Captain Pierce... all right, then.”

Murmurs from the people around her, and even that big, tough staff sergeant over there, in handcuffs and wearing a Ralston jail jumpsuit, looks confused.

“Sheriff Williams,” the judge says.

She stands up, now confused as well. “Your Honor?”

He crooks a finger at her, and she nods, stumbles for a moment, and walks through the open gate of the bar and then up to the bench. The judge of course is sitting higher than her, and she feels out of sorts and exposed. She doesn’t like the feeling.

Rollins covers the bench’s microphone with his hand and in a low voice says, “Emma, just a bit closer. There. You know what?”

She shakes her head. “What’s that, Judge?”

He smiles, his teeth yellow and stained. “I heard what you said a while back, when I adjourned for a recess, and you said I needed a rise, too. Right?”

With horror she realizes she’s gone too far and says, “Judge Rollins, please, I apologize, I meant—”

He shakes his head, his greasy-looking smile wide and confident, close enough that she’s able to smell his peppermint-scented breath. “This may be your county, Emma, but this is my goddamn courtroom. I’ll run it the way I see fit... especially if it pisses you off. Now go sit your fat ass down so we can see what the hell Afghanistan has to say.”