The Sacrifice (20 page)
When the students reassembled, Kay announced the primary and secondary roles for each member of the team. Everyone would learn two rolesâeither two witness roles or a lawyer and a witness part. As they broke up for the night, Janie came forward to Kay's desk.
“Frank offered to give me a ride home tonight, Mrs. Wilson. That will save you a trip, and we can begin talking about the case.”
“Are you comfortable with Frank as your partner?”
Janie looked over her shoulder at Frank who was laughing with Dustin. “I don't know him very well, but I can get along with almost anybody.”
“I'm sure you'll be okay, but if you have any problems, let me know.”
Janie enjoyed the fifteen-minute drive to the trailer park where she lived. Frank put down the top of his sports car, and she laughed as the evening wind swished through her hair. She'd never been in a convertible before. It was ten times better than riding in the back of her uncle's pickup truck.
Later in the week, Scott was sitting at his desk making notes about an appellate decision that might help him in Lester's case. He finished and looked out his office window. He hadn't been able to shake Perry Dixon's suggestion that he check the status of Kay's divorce. He decided to take a break and walk to the courthouse. There was no harm in doing a quick check of the public records.
Fall and spring were the best seasons in the Piedmont area of North Carolina. Summer was too hot. Winter too wet. Today, a hint of coolness was edging its way into the air, and Scott enjoyed the pleasant stroll down Lipscomb Avenue.
Passing through the labyrinth of halls and offices in the new section of the judicial building, Scott entered a large open room that contained the official records for the Blanchard County District Court. The two district court judges had jurisdiction over several types of cases, but the bulk of their work was domestic disputes. Divorce cases marched in columns down the pages of the district court docket books:
Jones v. Jones, Harris v.
Harris, Thomas v. Thomas, Melrose v. Melrose.
On and on the names went until they all ran together, and the individual tragedy each entry represented became lost in the overwhelming tide of marital disintegration.
He found the volume containing the most recent filings and opened it. On the first page was an entry for
Jesup v. Jesup.
Scott suspected that by the time Frank's parents divided up the marital pie, the court's file would be six inches thick. He turned back several pages before finding what he was looking for:
Wilson v. Wilson.
Scott jotted down the case number on a slip of paper and took it to one of the assistant clerks, a young woman seated at a brown metal desk.
“I'd like to see this file,” he said.
The clerk took the slip from his hand and disappeared in between tall lateral filing cabinets that filled the back two-thirds of the room. She returned with a thin folder.
“Are you the attorney for one of the parties?” she asked.
“No, I'm just checking the status of the case.”
Scott stepped away from the counter. Inside the file was a Complaint for Absolute Divorce filed on behalf of Jackson Kilpatrick Wilson, Plaintiff versus Kay Laramie Wilson, Defendant. It was a garden-variety divorce. The parties had been living as husband and wife in Blanchard County for more than six months, were separated, and had no children. Jake asked for the division of marital property, an absolute divorce, and “such other relief as the Court deems just and proper.” The complaint was verified, and Scott inspected Jake's signature, trying to determine from the handwriting something about him as a person. The quick scrawl across the bottom of the page revealed nothing.
The answer filed by Kay's lawyer was brief. She didn't deny anything except the request for divorce. She didn't want the marriage to end. Her denial had forced Jake to jump through another legal hoop, and his lawyer had already filed the necessary pleadingâa Motion for Summary Judgment. Attached to the motion was an affidavit from Jake repeating his request for dissolution of the marriage. It takes two people to make a marriage, but only one to end it. Kay could sign a counteraffidavit, but the motion would be granted, and an order of absolute divorce signed by the judge. A brief notation would follow in the docket book. Case closed. Marriage terminated.
Unless Jake changed his mind.
Scott closed the folder and silently handed it back to the clerk. He turned down the hallway that connected the new building to the old courthouse. When he came to the courtroom door, he stopped and looked inside. It was deserted. He sat on a bench and rested his right arm on the back of the smooth wood. The room was as quiet as a church sanctuary, and the walls made no effort to speak. Today, Scott wasn't trying to listen to the sounds of past trials. The voice he wanted to hear was within him.
Scott had walked to the courthouse out of curiosity, but he hadn't been completely honest with Perry Dixon. The possibility of a relationship with Kay Wilson had crossed his mind after their breakfast meeting at the Eagle. The more he was around her, the more his interest increased. When he read the words on the pleadings and saw Kay's clear intention to save her marriage, it caught him off guard. Scott didn't know how he should react. Ann Gammons had recently handled a case in which an estranged couple reconciled the morning of the final divorce hearing. Anything was possible, and Kay was still married until the judge signed the order ending it.
Scott had to be careful. Even if he could sway Kay in his direction, he wasn't sure he could trust her feelings. The instability of a rebound relationship was not mythical. Scott wasn't naive. He'd been burned badly in a similar situation toward the end of law school and didn't want to repeat past mistakes. He tapped his fingers on the back of the bench. Yes, he had to be very careful.
On Thursday night at the mock trial practice, Scott and Kay separated the students and spent the evening working with them on their respective parts. Kay took the witnesses to one end of the classroom and worked on acting skills. Scott's group of lawyers sat in a semicircle in front of him and focused on the simplified rules of evidence that applied to the mock trial competition. The time passed quickly. Kay looked at the clock on the back wall and stood up.
“Let's stop for the night,” she said. “Some of you probably have some homework to do before tomorrow.”
The students grabbed their backpacks and headed for the door. Frank again offered to take Janie home.
After the young people were gone, Scott asked, “How did it go?”
“Good. And you?”
Scott put his materials in his briefcase and snapped it shut. “Frank and Janie are way ahead of Dustin and Yvette. When Frank has something to focus on, he's an impressive young man.”
“What about Janie?”
“She'll eat the other lawyer's case like a piece of fried chicken. I've decided her backwoods accent gives her an advantage. It will lull the opposition into thinking she's dull and impress the judges when she drawls out a sharp, insightful question in that high voice of hers. I wouldn't want to face a lawyer like her in front of a jury in a rural county.”
Kay counted on her fingers. “You're safe for another eight years. That's when she'll graduate from law school.”
“It could happen.”
Kay picked up her brown satchel. “Are you going to the football game tomorrow night?” she asked.
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
They stepped outside. It was already dark. The days were getting shorter.
“Would you like to ride together?” she asked.
Scott put his hand on the railing for the wooden steps that led up to the modular unit and faced her. He didn't speak for several seconds.
“Let's ride together,” he said simply. “But it's not a date. That probably wouldn't be right. I just want to be your friend.”
“Of course.”
Kay followed Scott's vehicle out of the school parking lot. He'd been so cool toward her when he arrived at the school that she'd considered not mentioning the game. But loneliness is a relentless enemy. It's never satisfied by yesterday's companions. Scott made her smile, and his lightheartedness was a tonic to her soul. So, she brought it up.
She wasn't prepared for the way he looked at her on the steps outside the classroom. It was very different from anything else she'd seen in his eyes, and a wild thought flashed through her mind that he was going to say he didn't want to help with the students because he didn't want to see her again. But it wasn't a look of rejection. It was a look of attraction.
Kay sighed. Scott may have been hiding a renewed romantic interest in her, or he may have simply wanted to set the parameters for the present. Whatever his motivation in avoiding the word
date
and using the word
friend,
she knew things could quickly change. She needed to be careful.
The bomber did his best work in the middle of the night. He wasn't limited by adult supervision, and if he slipped out of bed at 2 A.M., no one noticed. He began accumulating what he needed for his first tests and kept the materials well hidden. It wasn't as hard to obtain information and supplies as he first suspected. “A free society is a porous wall against terror.”
Even when he wasn't working on the project, he thought about it as he daydreamed in class. Nothing in school had ever captured his attention so completely. Initially, the other problems in his life increased his frustration, but he decided they were the perfect camouflage. People would think he was focused on the obvious negative circumstances and not realize the direction from which the greatest danger would come.
The darkness watched. Its confidence grew.
If a man desire the office of a bishop, he desireth a good work.
1 T
IMOTHY 3:1 (KJV)
A
fter finishing his morning coffee, Scott opened the Garrison file and found the phone number for Bishop Alfred Moore, the pastor of the church that used Montgomery Creek for baptism services. An African-American man with a slow, deep voice answered the phone.
Scott introduced himself and said, “I'm a lawyer investigating the incident when shots were fired during the baptism service. I would like to talk with you about what happened.”
“Are you with the district attorney's office?”
“No, I represent the juvenile who's been charged with the crime. He's being prosecuted as an adult.”
“I see.” Bishop Moore paused. “The district attorney told me I didn't have to talk to anyone representing the defendant.”
“That's true,” Scott admitted. “But it's your choice. There is no legal prohibition against answering questions. I'm simply trying to make sure my client has a fair trial.”
“Of course, that's all you want to do. It's all about a fair trial. You're not trying to get your client off the hook even if he's guilty.”
Scott didn't want to debate his role as a lawyer in the American criminal justice system with an African-American preacher.