People are recording this,Bria thought.Making a video. Of me, being walked to a police car in handcuffs.
She hoped it wouldn’t be seen by anyone she knew.
Bria didn’t realize that the footage would be downloaded before she arrived at the sheriff’s department. That thousands of views would be recorded before nightfall.
She just concentrated on walking, moving her feet down the pavement, step-by-step. Trying not to collapse in front of the camera.
A thought drummed in her head.Can’t be happening. It can’t be happening. Not to me.
But it was.
She felt the sheriff’s hand cradle the back of her head before he shoved her into the back seat of the patrol car.
CHAPTER
12
Mary Stone
BULLOCK COUNTY COURTHOUSE UNION SPRINGS, ALABAMA
I opened the file that had been placed squarely in the center of the bench. Looked down at the top sheet of paper and read the charge in the case ofState of Alabama v. Fergus Pitt.
Fergus Pitt was on trial for committing the misdemeanor offense of posing a nuisance to public health by maintaining and using an unsanitary sewage collection and disposal facility on his property in Bullock County.
I sat back and gazed out over the courtroom. The DA and the defense attorney sat at their respective counsel tables. The accused, Fergus Pitt, sat at his lawyer’s left hand. Fergus is a neighbor. He lives on a tiny farm not far from my own. But we didn’t grow up together, not really. He is a half generation younger than I am.
I directed a question to both of the lawyers seated before me. “What’s a misdemeanor jury trial doing in my court?”
I’m no snob, Lord knows. And I’m not a judicial officeholder who’s all puffed up with her own importance. But I’m a circuit judge. I preside over circuit court and follow the judicial structure for criminal cases in Alabama state court. Felonies are tried in circuit court. Misdemeanors are tried in district court, by the district judge.
The DA rose halfway out of his seat. “Your Honor, the district judge is tied up in court over in Clayton this week. The parties—the prosecution and defense—agreed that you could preside over the case. Isn’t that right, Chuck?”
Chuck Rich, the defense counsel, nodded. “Yes, Judge. My client—”
Reeves talked over him. “And you’d called up a jury panel for the week. You have the prospective jurors sitting inside the courthouse today. They’re here. So you can’t claim that it will inconvenience you.”
There. That’s what I’ve put up with for nigh on six years. A DA shouldn’t be telling the judge whether she has been inconvenienced. It’s a reversal of the power roles.
He went on. “And it’s not like you’re unqualified to hear a misdemeanor case. I know you don’t generally hear misdemeanors, but this is a court of general jurisdiction. You may exercise jurisdiction over legal matters filed in district court.”
Reeves liked to toss his opinions at the bench, just like that. Speaking with more arrogance than propriety required. Just a little too sure of himself, acting like his knowledge was broader than my own. I wasn’t imagining the attitude. The DA was an ass.
Someday, he and I were going to throw down. And that particular morning was shaping up to supply the necessary push.
I was about to pop off. To kick the misdemeanor out of my court. Kick it so high it might fly all the way over to Barbour County in Clayton, Alabama, where they could take it up with the district judge. But before I opened my mouth, I caught a glimpse of the defendant, Fergus Pitt.
Pitt sat at the defense table, twisting an ink pen over and over in work-hardened hands. He looked nervous. And scared—scared to death, which you don’t generally see in misdemeanor cases.
I glanced down at the charge a second time. Read it over again, from start to finish. Considered airing my opinion about the criminal allegation made by the State. Decided against it.
Instead, I smiled and said, “I see. All right, then. Gentlemen, if y’all have agreed to have me preside over this case, let’s get started.”
Ross Carr, my bailiff, stood at the back of the courtroom. I said, “Bailiff, bring the jury panel into court for voir dire. We’ll start jury selection now.”
We had the jury picked and seated before noon. After the parties made brief opening statements, we took a one-hour lunch break.
Back in court at 1 p.m., I told the DA to call his first witness. Reeves led with his expert, Marcus Lindsey. Lindsey had come from Montgomery to appear. He was a good witness, made an impressive appearance on the stand. Articulate but not stuffy. And it was clever of the white DA to use a Black engineer in his case against a Black defendant. Our jury was three-quarters Black, a pretty fair representation of the county’s racial breakdown.
