“Don’t eat it here,” His eyes remained focused across the yard.
“What is it?” Jake asked.
The kid’s eyebrows pinched together and he glanced at Jake. “Do you care? It’s food.”
Jake was so hungry he would have eaten just about anything, but he also didn’t exactly trust anyone at the moment.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Don’t look at me when you talk.” Jake faced forward. “Find
someplace where the guards can’t see you. And stay away from T-Mac and Big Baby.”
“T-Mac?”
“The kid who tripped you. They’re the resident psychopaths.”
“Yeah, well, that could be a little difficult, seeing that I’m supposed to share a bunk with Big Baby.”
“You look like you can handle yourself okay; I’m just saying don’t get caught alone. And
never
go into the bathroom if they’re in there.”
“Why do the guards let them get away with it?”
“Because they act as the guards’ eyes and ears around here. In exchange they get to do pretty much whatever they want. Plus the guards aren’t supposed to inflict physical punishment…” He let that thought hang.
“Why does everybody around here take it? They can’t beat everyone up.”
“They don’t have to beat up everyone. They just have to catch one of us alone. And trust me; you don’t want to be the one. Like I said, stay out of the bathroom unless there are others with you.”
“What did they do? Why are they here?”
The kid shrugged. “I’ve heard rape, murder, arson. Who knows what’s the truth? What I do know is they’re crazy. So is Atkins. That boy is the poster child for roid rage. I don’t know what you did, but you pissed him off good, that’s for sure, the captain, too. You want to avoid that in the future.”
“What’s with that guy’s hair?”
“The captain? It’s a wig. Rumor has it he was involved in some accident as a kid and had his scalp pulled off.”
“So how do I get them off my ass?”
“Let them think they broke you. That’s what they want.”
“How do I do that?”
“Start by doing what they tell you. Just don’t make it obvious. They always pick the bigger kids and make an example out of them.”
A bell sounded. The kid rose. “Break’s over.”
“Why are you doing this?” Jake asked again.
“Most people would say ‘thanks.’”
“Thanks,” Jake said.
“Not everybody in here needs to be your enemy. I saw them bring you in the other day. You were in bad shape.” The kid started across the yard. “Come on. More classes. I’ll show you.”
Jake stuffed the napkin inside his coveralls and ran to catch up. “Hey? What’s your name anyway?”
“Just call me Bee Dee.”
“Bee Dee? What’s that stand for?”
“Big Dick. Remember, do not get caught with that sandwich. You do and I don’t know you. And if you tell them where you got it Big Baby and T-Mac aren’t going to be your only enemies.”
T
HE
L
AST
S
TOP
W
INCHESTER
C
OUNTY
, C
ALIFORNIA
Sloane had secured Griffin Knight’s full release, exposing his arrest as a trumped-up charge by Carl Wade and his Truluck band of brothers. He also had every charge but one dismissed against the second boy. Boykin sentenced him to a month at Fresh Start. If there had been any doubt before, there was none now: Sloane had made himself an enemy in Judge Earl Boykin. Boykin had left the bench “hotter than a wool sweater in hell” according to Molia.
In the courthouse parking lot Sloane tried to explain his actions to Molia and Lynch. “I just couldn’t stand there and let it happen without doing something.”
“That’s all well and good,” Lynch said, “but do you intend on sitting in Judge Earl’s courtroom every morning.”
Sloane had considered doing just that. He was staying in town after all, and if for no other reason than to be a burr in Boykin’s and Archibald Pike’s collective butts. But he also knew it got them no closer to getting Jake and T.J. released. In that regard, the morning had been a hollow victory, an act born from frustration. For the first time in his career Sloane felt utterly paralyzed by the judicial system.
“I’ll tell you what,” Lynch said. “I’ve worked with our Sacramento office on a couple of matters, and I know they have a group of bright young associates who’d love to get some spontaneous trial experience. They can rotate the assignment to cover the juvenile
calendar. I’ll make a call on the drive back and I’ll keep you posted on the appeal. We’ll get it filed Monday.”
After Lynch departed Sloane and Molia walked down the hill into Old Town in search of a place to regroup rather than drive back to their sauna at the Tristan Motel. On a sunny Friday morning The Last Stop diner was doing a brisk business, the dozen tables full. According to the plaque on the wall the building had at one time been the Winchester post office, the last stop west for the famed Pony Express. Inside, waitresses shouted orders and cooks in white hats snatched slips from a spinning rack, deftly working pots and pans. The hostess led them to a table beside a window that looked out on a small patio.
Sloane loosened his tie while surveying the menu, but he had little appetite. Molia hadn’t bothered to pick up his menu. He looked deep in thought.
“You all right?” Sloane asked.
“Just wondering if maybe we’re going about this the wrong way.”
“How so?”
“No offense. I know the courtroom is your domain, and I don’t mean to imply anything by what I’m about to say.”
“Just say it, Tom; we’ve been friends a long time.”
“You figure what, two to three weeks before we can get an appeal heard?”
“Unfortunately, Lisa seems to think so, even if it’s expedited.”
“So in the interim, what? We sit on our thumbs and do nothing? I’m not built that way, and I know you’re not either.”
“What’d you have in mind?”
“A contingency plan.”
“Such as?”
“What’s his deal in this?”
“Who?”
“Boykin. He could be a hard-ass within the law. A lot of judges are, and remember Barnes said Boykin is no dummy. Why is he stepping outside the lines?”
“Maybe it’s like you said last night—a guy like Boykin doesn’t pay much attention to things like rules. He doesn’t believe they apply to him.”
Molia nodded, sipped his coffee. “Maybe, but in my line of work people are usually motivated to do stupid things by something more tangible than ego.”
“Money?”
“That’s usually atop the list.” He put down his cup. “Think about it. Boykin can’t be sentencing these kids without others being complicit. The correctional officers have to make the arrests and the prosecutor has to convict. Even someone like the court reporter, Ms. Valdez, has to know this isn’t right. And where are the defense attorneys? Does no one in this county give a shit that kids are being unfairly sentenced?”
It was a good point. Pike had been completely unprepared to put on evidence in either case that morning. It was as if he didn’t expect he’d have to. “Keep going,” Sloane said.
“Okay. And now a recording gets conveniently erased?” Molia arched his eyebrows. “I’m beginning to think nothing in this scenario has been a coincidence, and that includes Wade stopping us on the way into town.”
“Agreed,” Sloane said. “I don’t think we can discount anything around here. But what did you have in mind? We can’t very well storm Fresh Start.”
“Boykin’s playing outside the law. I think we should do the same. I’m thinking you get that big friend of yours and his wife with the computer skills to start digging around, see what they can come up with on old Judge Earl and Archibald Pike.”
“Maybe Carl Wade while they’re at it?”
“Might as well invite them all to the party.”
“Okay. But what do
we
do until then?”
“We go back into friendly neighborhood Truluck and start asking questions, see what the locals have to say about Carl Wade arresting their kids and Judge Earl locking them up.”
“Speak of the devil.” Sloane nodded to the door.
Carl Wade removed his hat, holding the brim. His sunglasses were clipped to his shirt. He looked around, made eye contact, and walked over.
“You two seem to be having trouble finding your way out of town.”
Molia sipped his coffee. “What town would that be, Carl, that Disneyland recreation you work for? You might want to run on back there before that plastic badge melts in the heat and ruins your costume.”
Wade smiled, though he did not look amused. “You’re a funny man, Detective. They teach you that back in West Virginia, did they?”
Molia looked up from his coffee. “They taught me a lot of things, Carl.”
Wade looked to Sloane. “And I bet you think you’re real slick after that show you put on this morning. You both think you can come in here and upset the apple cart, that you’re better than us dumb country-folk, that the law doesn’t apply to you or your boys.”
“Actually, it’s the law we’re trying to have applied,” Sloane said. “Seems to us it’s you and that circus of a court that’s forgotten how to apply it. You made it too easy for me this morning.”
“I got news for you, you’re going to lose. A month from now you’ll be gone and I’ll still be here. So will your sons.”
Molia looked to Sloane. “Are we leaving, David?”
“Not me,” Sloane said. “I’m beginning to like it here. I’m thinking of hanging a shingle right there in Truluck, specializing in juvenile defense. How about you?”
“They say California is the land of opportunity, and it sure looks like they need a real law enforcement officer around here.”
Wade leaned forward, palms flat on the table. The weight caused the water in the glasses to spill over the rims. “Take a little friendly advice? Give up the Bob Hope and Bing Crosby routine. It isn’t funny. Move on. Let your boys do their time. Don’t keep poking the stick in the hornets’ nest. That’s how you get stung.”
Molia stood, knocking the coffee cups and water glasses over completely. The conversations in the diner came to an abrupt stop.
“Do we have a problem here, gentlemen?” The voice was deep, a smoker’s edge to it. Matt Barnes stood just to the right of the table. Sloane hadn’t even seen him enter.
Wade didn’t take his eyes off Molia. “This isn’t your problem, Sheriff.”
“My jurisdiction, Carl. That makes it my problem. I’d suggest you get on back to Truluck where you belong.”
Wade took a moment before he straightened. “You think about what I said.” Then he turned for the door.
“Carl?” Wade turned back. Molia tossed his hat like a Frisbee, hitting Wade in the chest. “Don’t want you to get in trouble for losing part of your costume.”
After Wade departed, Barnes looked around the restaurant. “Sorry to disrupt your meals, folks. Everything is under control.”
The hostess used a towel to absorb the water and coffee and refilled their cups. She brought a cup and saucer for Barnes, who sat silently considering Sloane and Molia. When she left he spoke over the rim of his cup. “You want to tell me exactly what you were hoping to accomplish?”
“At the moment, breakfast,” Molia said.
“I’m talking about what went on this morning in Judge Earl’s courtroom.” He looked at Sloane. “My deputy gave me the highlights.”
“Is there something against kids being represented by an attorney in Winchester County, Sheriff?” Sloane asked.
“You going to move here, take up the cause?”
“I’m thinking about it.”
Barnes lowered his cup. “Like I told you, Wade is a buffoon. Judge Earl is not.”
“Something stinks in his courtroom, Matt,” Molia said.
Barnes considered them with pitch-black eyes beneath silver eyebrows showing traces of black hairs. “You have evidence of that, Detective? Something I can take to the attorney general, maybe the judicial board of conduct?” His voice conveyed doubt. “What, you don’t think I’ve thought the same thing, felt the same way? You don’t think I’ve questioned a thing or two around here? Or do you think I’m just looking the other way, hoping to put in my time and leave it for someone else? This isn’t just Judge Earl’s town. This is my town. I was born and raised in this county. So while I may not like the prospect of the State doing a magic act and making Winchester and me disappear because of the legislature’s fiscal irresponsibility,
until it does, I still have a job to do, and I’m going to do it. As I already mentioned, I may not like the way things are run around here all the time, but I’m elected to enforce the laws. Judge Earl decides the consequences. And as long as the good citizens of Winchester County continue to put him in office, there’s not a lot that I or anybody else can do about it. You come up with something, something I can use, you let me know, and then we’ll both have something worth fighting over.”
W
INCHESTER
C
OUNTY
S
UPERIOR
C
OURT
J
UDGE
E
ARL
B
OYKIN’S
C
HAMBERS
Judge Boykin beat his staff into his chambers and closed the smoked beveled glass door with the words
HONORABLE EARL J. BOYKIN
stenciled in block letters. Those letters had been on that glass since the ceremony dedicating the reopening of the courthouse on July 4, 1898, three years after a fire destroyed the original building. His great-grandfather had chosen the site of the new county courthouse not for the spectacular 360-degree view, as most people now suspected, but for convenience. The old oak tree had been a short walk from the jail in the building’s basement, and that’s where the public hangings occurred. Even those citizens who didn’t come up the hill could watch the festivities and receive the message loud and clear: break the law in Winchester County and the law in Winchester County will break your neck.
The hanging tree did its job until a blight killed it in the 1920s. The stenciled letters on the door, however, remained, going on 114 years.
A knock drew Boykin’s attention. It wasn’t the interior door, but the door to the private staircase leading to the secure parking area.
“Come in,” he said.
Archibald Pike leaned in, looking tentative. “You busy, Judge?”