Blood Money (Joe Dillard Series No. 6) (7 page)

We checked in with one of the receptionists and were accompanied to a conference room that offered a panoramic view of Buffalo Mountain to the south. As we walked into the room, Charlie spotted a large, glass bowl filled with small candy bars: Snickers, Milky Way, Baby Ruth and Butterfinger. She walked over, fished two Butterfingers out of the bowl and sat down. She offered one to Roscoe, who shook his head. She wolfed one down and just as she was opening the second candy bar, the door opened and two men walked in, both wearing tailored, navy-blue suits, starched, white shirts and maroon ties.

“Must be the uniform of the day,” I heard Charlie mumble. I stifled a chuckle, because I was wearing the same damned thing they were wearing.

“Beg your pardon?” The older man was Nathaniel Mitchell. He was in his early sixties, tanned and fit, with a head of thick, meticulously-groomed, silver hair, a lantern chin, strong jaw, and lovely, ivory-colored teeth that were perfectly aligned. Mitchell was a mouthpiece for the rich and powerful in Northeast Tennessee. I’d met him at bar association meetings back when I used to attend and was well aware of his reputation as a shark. He always drove a brand new, silver Jaguar and carried himself with an arrogance that surrounded him like aerosol spray.
 

“I was just admiring your suit,” Charlie said.
 

The other man was Mitchell’s client, Zane Barnes, short and thin, in his early fifties with salt-and-pepper hair that had receded to the crown of his head. His face was pale and drawn, his nose ridged, his mouth small and tight. Zane Barnes was Roscoe’s son and his only living relative.
 

We went through the introductions while Nathaniel Mitchell and Zane took their seats at the table. Once everyone was settled in, I slid a copy of Dr. Holmes’s report across the table to Mitchell along with a document I planned to file in court asking the judge to dismiss the case. Mitchell slid a pair of reading glasses onto his nose and scanned the documents.

“My, my, you’ve been busy,” he said.

“Just wanted to give you a heads up,” I said. “It appears you may have been misled by your client. You have no case.”

Mitchell removed the glasses and smiled.

“All this tells me is that we’re going to have a swearing match between experts,” he said, “and my expert is as well-qualified as they come.”

“His examination was a fraud,” I said. “Once the judge hears the circumstances, I don’t think he’ll look too kindly on Dr. Heinz.”

“I’m aware of your reputation in the criminal courts, Mr. Dillard, but I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you in civil court. I bring that up because I’m sure, considering your many years of experience, that you understand how important relationships can be. You’ve spent a career building relationships with judges and attorneys and clerks in the criminal courts, and I’ve done the same in the civil courts.”

“Are you trying to tell me that you have the judge in your pocket?”

“I said no such thing, and I resent the implication. Although I will say that Judge Beckett and I go way, way back. He was a member of our law firm for ten years before he took the bench and we’ve remained very close over the years.”

“Good for you,” I said. “Maybe I should ask him to recuse himself since the two of you are such good buddies. Might interfere with his ability to remain impartial.”

“I’ve been practicing in his court for fifteen years and there has never been even a hint of impropriety. As a matter of fact, I feel certain that Judge Beckett would be outraged by any suggestion or insinuation you might feel compelled to make in that regard. You might even earn yourself a contempt citation.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve gotten sideways with a judge,” I said. “Probably won’t be the last, either.”
 

“Listen to us,” Mitchell said with a smug smile, “fencing like a couple of first-year law students at a beer bust. I assume you asked for this meeting so that we might attempt to find some common ground, some resolution that allows all of us to walk out of this room feeling that we’ve accomplished something worthwhile.”

“There is no common ground,” Charlie blurted. It surprised me, because I’d asked her to let me do the talking.

“There is always common ground, Miss Story,” Mitchell said. “Zane is willing to negotiate.
I’m
willing to negotiate. We’re willing to give something as long as we get something in return. That’s how this works.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Charlie said. “I may be a rookie, but I know when someone is being railroaded.”

“You act like this is personal,” Mitchell said. “I’m representing a client, that’s all, and he has a
case.
Your client is clinically depressed and suffers from dementia. He’s a danger to himself, and we have an expert medical opinion to back up the claim. What you need to understand is that the stakes are high for your client. If he loses, if the judge rules against him at trial, everything changes for him. He’ll end up in a long-term care facility.”

“That isn’t going to happen.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. We have a solid case, compelling evidence, which we will continue to build during the discovery process.”

“So far your only witness is a prostitute, just like you.”

Mitchell’s eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. I turned to look at Charlie, but she was so locked onto Mitchell that she didn’t even notice me. Mitchell put both hands on the table and stood. He nodded at Zane Barnes, who did the same.

“I see that I made the right decision in not hiring you, Miss Story,” he said. “Sometimes people just can’t overcome their genetic predispositions. Go ahead and file your motion to dismiss, Mr. Dillard. Schedule the hearing as soon as possible so we can get in front of Judge Beckett and see what he has to say.”

And with that, Mitchell turned and walked out of the room, followed closely by his client. The three of us – Charlie, Roscoe and I – remained seated while an awkward silence hung like around us like a thick cloud. After a few minutes, I said, “Did I just hear a young lady who hasn’t even passed the bar exam call Nathaniel Mitchell a prostitute to his face?”

“I’m sorry,” Charlie said. “He was just so… so…
holier than thou
.”

“Do you drink beer, Charlie?”

“What?”

“Beer. Hops and barley. Alcoholic beverage. Do you drink it?”

“Not very often. Occasionally, I guess.”

“Good. Meet me at The Purple Pig at seven o’clock tonight. I want to buy you one.”

Chapter 11

THE
Purple Pig was a honky-tonk sort of place in Johnson City, about a mile from the East Tennessee State University campus. Good bar food, cold beer, a jukebox and reasonable prices, karaoke on Friday nights. The same people telling the same stories at the bar night after night. It was like an old friend, one that’s dependable and never seems to change.
 

Charlie showed up right on time. Jack and I were sitting in a booth near the jukebox. We’d already ordered a beer and were talking baseball when she walked in. I noticed several heads turn at the bar as she passed by.
 

I’d asked Jack to come along for a couple of reasons. First, I wasn’t really comfortable meeting a beautiful, young woman at a bar, and second, I thought it might give them a chance to get to know each other a little better. Jack had ribbed me about playing matchmaker on the ride into town, but he didn’t say anything about not wanting to go.
 

The encounter between Charlie and Nathaniel Mitchell had jostled some kind of toggle inside me that caused me to want to find out what was driving her, what she wanted out of life, what she thought about the world and the people around her. Part of it was just curiosity, but there was also a more serious element. At some level, I knew I was sizing her up, taking stock of whether I thought she might make a suitable companion for my son.
 

Charlie ordered a Coors Light and I told Jack about our visit to Nathaniel Mitchell’s office.
 

“She called him a prostitute,” I said. “You should have seen the look on his face. If he’d had a gun and been able to get away with it, he would have shot her dead on the spot.”

“I apologize for that,” Charlie said. “I’ve thought about it all day and I’m really sorry. I should’ve kept my mouth shut. All I did was make things worse for Roscoe.”

“He wasn’t going to give us anything anyway,” I said. “He bills by the hour. The longer the case runs, the more money he makes. He might be a little more inclined to be nasty from now on, be a little more difficult to deal with, but the bottom line hasn’t really changed. In the end the decision about Roscoe will be made by a jury.”

“Do you really think it will go that far?” Charlie said. “You don’t think the judge will dismiss it?”

“I’ve been doing this for a long time, Charlie, and I can tell you one thing that is certain in the practice of law. You never know what a judge will do.”

“You don’t care for judges much, do you?” she said.

“Nah, don’t trust them. Just the fact that someone would want to be a judge is a character flaw as far as I’m concerned. Most of them are just educated bullies. So what about you, Charlie? We haven’t really gotten into why you wanted to get into law and what you plan to do once you pass the bar.”

“She’s an idealist,” Jack said. “Same as me. Same as you, too, without the cynicism. She’s going to do criminal defense and civil rights cases.”

I turned and looked at him, raised an eyebrow. “And you’re basing that opinion on?”
 

He looked over at Charlie and winked. “We’ve talked a few times,” he said.

“Really? At the office? On the phone?”

“We’ve texted some.”

“We had dinner together a couple of nights ago,” Charlie said.

“Is that right?” I said. “So you guys are dating already?”

Jack cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter.

“Not dating. That isn’t the way it works these days. We’re still in what you’d call the talking phase.”

“She just said you went to dinner. Wasn’t that a date?”

“Not really,” Jack said. “It was more like getting to know each other in a social setting, you know?”

“That’s a date.”

“No, it isn’t. I guess it used to be a date, but not anymore. The whole… I don’t know, I guess you’d call it protocol, of dating has changed. First you talk, then you date, then you agree to be exclusive, then you become boyfriend and girlfriend, and then you’re in a relationship.”

“Ah, I get it,” I said. “It isn’t really official until it’s announced on Facebook.”

“Exactly,” Jack said. “If it ain’t on Facebook, it ain’t legit.”

“So is that where you guys are heading? Toward an official Facebook proclamation?”

Jack shrugged his shoulders and looked at Charlie. She was smiling back at him, but I could tell I’d managed to make both of them uncomfortable.

“Charlie?” I said. “Is that what’s going on here? Do you intend to make my son your exclusive boyfriend and announce it to the world on Facebook?”

She took a sip of her beer and set the bottle back down on the table. The waitress had brought her a glass, but she wasn’t using it, which reminded me of Caroline. No glass for her, either. I liked that.

“We’ll just have to wait and see,” Charlie said.

I cut them some slack after that, and we spent the next hour talking about law and judges and Roscoe Barnes. Charlie was a delightful mix of intellect, beauty and country common sense. I kept thinking about how much she reminded me of my wife. I even found myself thinking at one point in the conversation that the two of them would make beautiful babies together. My next thought was, “Damn, Joe, you’re getting old and soft.”

Jack and I drank two beers, Charlie one, and we shared a pizza. I went to the bathroom, and when I came back, Jack had moved to the other side of the booth.

“We better head out of here,” I said. “Another beer and my blood alcohol count will probably be over the legal limit. You ready, Jack?”

“I think we’re going to catch a movie,” he said. “Charlie says she’ll drop me off at the house later.”

“Another date that isn’t a date?”

“Something like that.”

The check was sitting on the table. I picked it up and said, “I’ll take care of this and the tip. You kids have a nice night.” I walked out of the bar and was getting into my truck when Jack came jogging up.

“Hey, dad. You’re not mad, are you?” he said.

“Mad? Why should I be mad?”

“I didn’t mean to spring all this with Charlie on you. I probably should have told you on the ride in.”

“You’re a big boy, Jack. You can date whoever you want.”

“We’re not officially dating, but I’m glad you’re not mad.”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my wallet. “You need money?” I said.

“Nah, dad, I’m good.”

“You sure? Movies are expensive.”

“I’m sure.” He reached out and gave me a hug. “I love you, man,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Chapter 12

SHERIFF
Leon Bates pulled into my driveway the next morning at precisely seven o’clock. I’d called Leon the day before and asked him to come out and have a cup of coffee. Leon was an immensely popular and effective sheriff as well as being a consummate politician. We’d become close friends during my short tenure at the district attorney’s office. We’d gone through one particularly rough patch, but had renewed our friendship during a search for a young girl who had been kidnapped the previous year. Leon had helped me find and recover the girl and had gotten himself shot in the process. His wounds had healed quickly, however, and he’d climbed right back into the saddle.

We went through the ritual of allowing Rio, my German shepherd, to sniff Leon at the door. Nobody came through that door without the dog’s approval, and anyone who came to the house regularly knew the routine. Leon’s khaki uniform was draped over his gangly frame, and he was carrying his cowboy hat in his hand. He walked through the kitchen and sat down at the table while I poured two cups of black coffee.

“Where’s the missus?” he said as I handed him a cup.