Southern Discomfort Part 5

"Whatever's up can't be too bad if your own cousin didn't warn you," the preacher comforted.

"Don't bet on it," the pragmatist said sourly. "He's left you holding the sack at the end of more dirt roads than one."

"Fair's fair," said the preacher. "Just remember how many snipe hunts you've taken him on."

Suppressing a grin at the memory of sticking Reid with the Castleberry sisters-grandmothers now but still at each other's throats under an unbreakable trust that would yoke them till they died-I waited for the bailiff to finish his Oyez, oyez routine and took my chair.

Only five or six people were scattered around the courtroom beyond the rail, yet the attorney's bench was jammed. And there crammed in amongst all the seer-sucker and linen suits was Dwight Bryant in his summer uniform as detective chief of Colleton County's sheriff's department. He appeared a little embarra.s.sed and wouldn't meet my eyes even though I've known him all my life from when he was a gangly teenager shooting baskets down at the barn with my older brothers.

What the h.e.l.l-? I looked at my calendar. Nowhere was Dwight listed as a prosecuting witness.

I turned to Ally Mycroft. "Did you forget to give me some add-ons?" I asked coldly.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Your Honor," said that whited sepulcher as she handed up the proper sheet.

I barely had time to scan the amended form when Doug Woodall said, "Line three of the add-ons, Your Honor. State versus Elizabeth Hamilton Englert."

Immediately, Ambrose Daughtridge, the county's most courtly silver-haired attorney, entered through the double doors at the rear of the courtroom, his hand on Mrs. Englert's elbow, as if she might trip on her way down the aisle to the bar of justice. Ambrose couldn't have been more lofty and dignified than if he were escorting her to a concert, but I thought I detected a slightly self-conscious expression on Mrs. Englert's patrician face, the sort of look she might wear if she'd arrived at the concert after the conductor had begun the first movement, so that she now had to inconvenience those already seated and wrapped in music. Ambrose shepherded her to a chair at the defense table as Doug began reading the charge.

I kept my face serene and interested, but inside I was seething. Those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. Reid and Dwight. Wait'll I get my hands on you, I promised them silently.

The other attorneys might think it funny that Kezzie Knott's daughter was going to have to pa.s.s judgment on one of Dobbs's most prominent women for possession of untaxed liquor; but of those present, only Reid and Dwight knew that Mrs. Englert had personally squashed the matrimonial designs her son had on me a few years back. A bootlegger's daughter had been deemed an unsuitable vessel by which to convey Hamilton-Englert genes into the twenty-first century.

Not that I would have had Randolph Englert as a present on a Christmas tree, but it should have been my decision, not his mother's. Unfortunately, Reid and Dwight were both there in the lounge of the Holiday Inn the night Randolph suggested that we cool it for a while till his mother came around. I told him our relations.h.i.+p was already cold enough to keep his reptilian relatives in hibernation till the next glacier hit town; then, just in case he still had any hots for me, I dumped an ice bucket in his lap and walked out.

Next day Reid left a package of Frosty Morn frozen sausages on my desk. Said it was Dwight's idea.

Soph.o.m.oric enough to be something Dwight'd think up-especially when you look at how teeny those sausages are.

Doug finished reading the charge: unlawful possession of untaxed liquor.

"How does the defendant plead?" I asked.

Ambrose came majestically to his feet. "Not guilty, Your Honor."

"Call Major Dwight Bryant to the stand," said Doug.

Theoretically, I could have disqualified myself since I'd already heard Dwight describe the circ.u.mstances under which he'd found two half-gallon Mason jars of white whiskey in Elizabeth Hamilton Englert's bas.e.m.e.nt. On the other hand, Ambrose would be hard put to find a judge in the district who hadn't heard. Any time the mighty get humbled, the story goes around faster than blue mold through a tobacco field, particularly when circ.u.mstances were this ridiculous.

From time out of mind, Hamiltons had led the fight for an alcohol-free county. Every generation threw up at least one preacher or congressman or state senator who'd ride that hobbyhorse far as he could to the exclusion of all others.

Englerts tended to be less vocal but generally more adamant about the evils of drunkenness. Every Englert generation threw up at least one backslider.

Elizabeth Hamilton had unwittingly married her generation's backslider.

Not that Lawrence Englert was intemperate by normal standards; just that by Hamilton-Englert principles, anybody who looked upon the wine when it was red (or whiskey when it was white, for that matter) was a potential degenerate perched atop the slippery slopes of h.e.l.l.

So Mr. Englert in his day, like his son Randolph in this generation, had done his drinking on the sly. He had cultivated a connoisseur's taste for smooth apple brandy. I don't know that my daddy supplied him-Daddy tells me he hasn't touched a bra.s.s worm in years-but they had been known to go hunting together a time or two, and Mr. Englert always tipped his hat to him when Daddy came to town.

Anyhow, Mr. Englert died a couple of years ago and Mrs. Englert's rattled around in that big house all by herself ever since.

On the night in question, she thought she heard someone downstairs and she'd called the sheriff's department rather than the town police, whom she considered incompetent.

Dwight happened to be around and at loose ends that night, so he went along for the ride. "Never hurts to have an Englert appreciate special services the law can provide" is what he told me back when it happened. Not what he was testifying now, of course, when Doug asked him to describe what he'd found upon arriving at the Englert home.

"Mrs. Englert called to us from the upstairs window and then came down and let us in."

"Us?" asked Doug.

"Myself and Deputy Raeford McLamb, who was on duty that night."

"What did you do then?"

"First we searched the ground floor thoroughly and examined all the doors and windows for signs of forced entry."

"And did you find any?"

"No, sir."

"What did you do next?"

"Mrs. Englert stated that she thought the noises she heard might have come from the bas.e.m.e.nt, so we went downstairs and again conducted a thorough search."

"What did you find?"

"No indication of an intruder, but shortly after we entered the bas.e.m.e.nt, the central air conditioner switched on and we heard a rustling noise in one of the ducts. We later ascertained that a piece of trash had fallen into the vent and was causing the noise that Mrs. Englert mistook for an intruder."

"What else did you find around that air conditioner unit, Major Bryant?"

"Objection," said Ambrose. "The prosecution is leading the witness."

"Sustained," I agreed.

"I'll rephrase," said Doug. "Did you find anything else that night?"

"Yes, sir. Deputy McLamb drew my attention to two half-gallon jars of clear liquid behind the air-conditioning unit."

"Permission to approach the witness, Your Honor?" Doug asked.

"Permission granted," I said.

Doug lifted a half-gallon Mason jar from the brown grocery bag beside his chair and carried it up to Dwight. "Major Bryant, I show you this jar and ask if you can identify it as being one of the jars you found in Mrs. Englert's bas.e.m.e.nt on the night of June twenty-eighth."

"It is. That's my mark on the lid."

"I ask that this be entered as state's Exhibit A," said Doug. I nodded a.s.sent and he continued, "Did you open this jar?"

"Yes, sir."

"What does it contain?"

"Objection," said Ambrose, standing with ponderous dignity. "Calls for an informed conclusion this officer is not qualified to make."

There were snickers from the side benches that any Colleton County law officer couldn't recognize moons.h.i.+ne when he saw it.

Doug, too, had a grin on his face. "Your Honor, Major Bryant is a veteran law officer with many years experience. I should call him eminently qualified."

"So should I," I said, "but Mr. Daughtridge is technically correct. Major Bryant is not a chemist. Objection sustained."

"I'm prepared to introduce into evidence a detailed a.n.a.lysis of the contents by an Alcohol Law Enforcement agent," said Doug. "I thought in the interest of saving time and-"

Mrs. Englert had tugged at Ambrose's jacket and as he bent down to listen, the whole courtroom heard her exasperated whisper. "Why do you quibble so, Mr. Daughtridge? Everyone knows what it is. Get on with it."

"Your Honor," said Ambrose, "the defense will stipulate as to Major Bryant's expertise in this matter."

"Thank you," said Doug.

As Dwight confirmed that the jars had held untaxed liquor that was probably at least eighty proof, I thought about the things we weren't going to hear from the witness stand today. Things like how a silly combination of circ.u.mstances could cause a waste of taxpayer money. Ordinarily, Dwight would have emptied those jars down the nearest sink drain, and that would have been the end of it. But young Raeford McLamb was pus.h.i.+ng to go by the book and Dwight knew if he overrode McLamb, he'd lay himself open to charges of kowtowing to the rich and well connected.

Now McLamb might have let someone else's liquor go down the drain; but three days earlier, Mrs. Englert had entered a complaint against his sister because his sister's cat occasionally used Mrs. Englert's herb garden as a litter box. McLambs are pretty clannish. Cut one and you've cut them all. If Mrs. Englert couldn't overlook a little cat urine, no way was Deputy McLamb going to overlook two jars of white lightning.

Nor could Doug overlook them once McLamb brought the ALE in on it. Not that there was any love lost between him and Elizabeth Englert either. As a Republican, she'd supported his opponents in both races.

"No further questions," said Doug.

I looked over at Ambrose. "Cross-examine?"

"No questions," he replied.

"The prosecution rests," said Doug.

"Mr. Daughtridge?"

Ambrose stood, straightened the front of his beautifully cut navy linen jacket, and smoothed his silver hair. "Your Honor, the defense does not dispute that two jars of untaxed liquor were found when and where Major Bryant has so testified. What I do dispute is the implication that these jars were attained by my client or that they were ever in her possession. The district attorney has not proved possession and I would therefore move that this charge be dismissed."

Doug was already on his feet. "Your Honor, is my worthy opponent suggesting that Mrs. Englert does not own the house? If so, I think we can have a copy of the deed up here in ten minutes."

"Motion denied, Mr. Daughtridge," I said. "Present your case.

"I would call Mrs. Elizabeth Englert to the stand."

Mrs. Englert crossed firmly to the stand. The bailiff handed her a Bible and when Ally Mycroft asked if she swore to tell the truth, her frosty reply suggested she felt insulted at being required to swear to veracity. Surely the whole world knew a Hamilton never lied?

As expected, she denied any knowledge of how those jars came to be in her bas.e.m.e.nt. When Doug invited her to speculate on cross-examination, she declined. Yes, it was her house. Yes, under the terms of her late husband's will, she now owned its entire contents; but she had not brought every item into the house nor could she possibly know what else might lie hidden within its s.p.a.cious confines.

Ambrose asked that his client be declared not guilty, while Doug argued that possession is possession is possession.

When they had finished, I sat back in my chair and regarded the partic.i.p.ants. Mrs. Englert's eyes met mine and half-narrowed as it finally sank in that I and I alone had the power to prolong this public embarra.s.sment. I suspect she was remembering her past petty snubs.

I hoped she was.

I leaned forward. "Mrs. Englert, the court sincerely regrets any personal emotional pain this incident may have caused you. In this court's opinion, you have been a victim of overzealousness, both on the part of the sheriff's department and the district attorney's office. Possession of untaxed liquor is a serious matter, as I'm sure you know; but you were clearly an unwitting possessor, therefore I find you not guilty of all charges."

I smiled sweetly. Never had revenge tasted so good.

"Thank you, Your Honor," said Ambrose; but Elizabeth Hamilton Englert suddenly looked like a person biting into an unpeeled persimmon. In three sentences, I had patronized her, implied that she was slightly stupid, and then put her in my debt for all time.

Top that, sugar!

Over on the side bench, Reid was grinning broadly and Dwight was trying not to.

As Ambrose escorted Mrs. Englert from the courtroom, most of the attorneys left, too.

No blood drawn from the new kid today.

When we resumed after a fifteen-minute recess, Cyl DeGraffenried was back behind the prosecutor's table.

First up was a DWI revoked license and I gave him ninety days of active jail time. Even though it was my toughest sentence yet, I didn't give it a second thought. His daddy owns the largest building supply business between Raleigh and Wilmington, and I guess it was daddy's money paying for the services of Zack Young to defend him.

Zack's probably the best attorney in Colleton County, but I'd seen his client in this particular courtroom a lot of mornings over the last three years since he got his driver's license and I knew he'd had the benefit of doubt extended to him more times than one.

Zack gave notice of appeal and asked for bail.

I looked to Cyl, who stood and said, "Your Honor, he's only nineteen; he can't even buy beer legally, yet this is his fourth DWI. If you'll look at his record, you'll see that not only does he drink, he just will not stay off the road when he's drinking. So far, he hasn't killed anyone, but by the law of averages, he's overdue. The state recommends that bail be denied on the grounds that he does pose a danger both to himself and to the community."

For once I thoroughly agreed with her. "But we can't deny bail," I said before Zack could protest. "So how about we make this a half-million cash bond?"

Zack bolted upright. "Cash bond? Your Honor, my client's father may own Tri-County Supply, but even he can't raise that kind of cash money at the snap of his fingers."

"Good," I said. "Bailiff, take the defendant into custody."

Three rows back, a fortyish woman in a designer black-and-white polished cotton and white jade necklace rose with a devastated face as Zack came down the aisle to her. They went out together with Zack patting her shoulder.

Mrs. Tri-County Supply. But under the expensive dress and jewelry, a mother too, it would seem.

We briskly disposed of the rest of the calendar before lunch and I was about to adjourn for the day when a Mexican hurried up to Doug from the back of the room, waving a s.h.i.+ny plastic card. His English was so poor that Doug couldn't understand what he was saying, nor why he kept waving the card toward me.

It was the bailiff who finally recognized him. "Tuesday," he reminded me. "Driving without a valid license. You gave him till today to bring you a North Carolina license."

"Jaime Ramiro Chavez," said the preacher. "The man you were never going to forget."

"Welcome to the bench, Judge Knott," said the pragmatist.