The Summer House(106)
How many times has Pierce heard those words, from scared defendants he’s represented over the years, facing minor offenses that would ruin a career, or after a drunken brawl that got out of hand or a mistaken case of auto theft. All those defendants, looking to him to find some obscure phrase or reference in a law book to set them free.
You’ve got to do something.
The judge says, “Staff Sergeant Jefferson, I’m going to take a few minutes to repeat myself here, just so there’s no misunderstanding. Now. Before I pass sentence, I need to confirm once more, for my own peace of mind, that you are here of your own free will.”
“I am, Your Honor.”
“That you’re not under the influence of alcohol or drugs.”
“I am not, Your Honor.”
“That no threats or pressure have been made upon you to enter this guilty plea, correct?”
Just the slightest bit of a hesitation that Pierce notices from Jefferson, a slight tensing of the Ranger’s shoulders.
“Not a single threat or mention of pressure, Your Honor,” he says.
Something is not right.
Something is wrong.
You’ve got to do something.
He steps forward, trying to formulate something he’ll say after yelling, Your Honor, please! when his iPhone suddenly chimes.
Incoming text.
The judge stares at him, the district attorney turns to look at him, almost everyone in the courtroom is now looking at him.
He brings up the iPhone, slides his fingers across, sees the text, and shakes his head in amazement.
By God, he is going to do something.
Chapter 100
Afghanistan
I FIND MYSELF awake again, my left hip and legs still twisting and burning and crawling with pain. I look up, see chiseled rock and stone. I’m in a place, somewhere.
I spit, blood still in my mouth.
What the hell has happened?
The foreign voices continue talking out there, and I wish I had spent some time learning Pashto back in the day.
It might have been useful.
Might have been.
The voices grow louder. I now remember what’s happened in the last long minutes, and as I hear the footsteps of the men coming toward me, I close my eyes and it goes dark again.
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!”