Benjamin Meyers was more congenial. “If this isn’t a convenient time, Judge, we can do this later. I apologize for showing up like this, without asking leave.”
He sounded contrite. Which made me suspicious. Was the defense attorney able to divine my vulnerable emotional state?
Well, I couldn’t allow that.
“Come on in. Let’s keep it brief, though. The clock’s ticking, and folks got to eat.”
I waved a hand at the chairs in front of my desk. “Have a seat.” The court reporter and Meyers sat. The lawyers for the prosecution remained standing. Robert Reeves said, “Judge, you prejudiced the State in there.”
Didn’t see that coming. That man always knew how to gall me. “Did I?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Tell me when I did that.”
“When you let that girl state in front of the jury that she was raped.” The DA’s face was turning red. Embarrassment? Anger? It could be either. Or both.
Lindquist picked up the argument. “Judge Stone, Nova Jones’s claim that she was assaulted has no legal relevance. The girl is thirteen, so she can’t consent to intercourse.”
“Not in Alabama,” the DA said. His face was scarlet.
Lindquist was quick to respond. “Not anywhere I know of. In the United States, anyway. So it only served to confuse the jury. Any sexual act would be rape, whether she said no or not. But it introduced evidence of forcible compulsion.”
I struck a grim tone. “I’m aware. She’s your witness. You called her to the stand and questioned her under oath and then prompted her to provide inaccurate testimony. What are you saying that I did wrong in there?” I pushed my chair away from the desk, fixed them with a no-bullshit gaze. “I was sitting right at the bench when the DA made his opening statement. Reeves said the girl had been raped by a teenager in the back seat of a car. Do I recall that correctly?”
“Your Honor—”
It was Reeves, wanting to correct me, as was his habit. I cut him off.
“You prepared the jury for a rape scenario. Said she had sex atthirteen and was incapacitated at the time. But it’s first-degree rape in Alabama, whether there’s forcible compulsion or incapacitation. Explain how I prejudiced the State’s case. I’ve just been sitting in my chair.”
Lindquist murmured it, almost so softly that I didn’t catch it. “Not exactly sitting.”
“What’s that, Ms. Lindquist?”
She only looked guilty for one second. Then she recovered. “I was just observing that you spend a lot of time out of your chair. Leaving the bench, walking around the courtroom. That’s not something I’ve seen before.”
“No? Well, welcome to Bullock County.” I focused on her co-counsel. “Mr. Reeves, what relief are you seeking? If it’s a motion for mistrial, I’m going to overrule it.”
His red face had a pinched look. “We want you to instruct the jury to disregard Nova Jones’s outburst concerning her accusation of rape. The testimony took the State by surprise. The allegation hasn’t been investigated. What’s more, it’s irrelevant, inflammatory, and prejudicial!”
“Overruled. Is that all? Are we done yet?”
The DA and Lindquist made eye contact, exchanging an expressive look. The kind of look people share when they’ve been talking shit about you behind your back.
Reeves said, “Counsel for the prosecution demands that you recuse yourself from this case. You’re ignoring Alabama law. And your actions make it clear that you are not an impartial arbiter to preside over this case.”
I popped my fist on the desktop, using it like a gavel. “Overruled again! I’m on a roll, aren’t I? Got any more motions, Mr. Reeves?”
Thought I heard a snicker from Benjamin Meyers right before the defense attorney coughed into his hand.
But there was no levity from the other two attorneys. Lindquist tried to whisper something to Reeves. He shook his head at her, with his jaw tight, like he was trying to hold back angry words.
I checked the time. “I hereby declare this chamber conference is concluded. It’s 12:25, and I’m going to eat my lunch.”
The court reporter, Marlena, sighed out in audible relief. I’d known Marlena since we were girls in elementary school, and she’d always been at the front of the lunch line.
We’re Southerners. Mealtime is serious business.
