I sat on the edge of the seat, as if I was prepared to jump right out of it. Because I wasn’t at all convinced that I wanted to stick around.
I looked around that table with my eyes narrowed. “Must be something important going on. Locking yourselves in here. Dragging me off the bench.”
“It’s a matter of significance,” Otis said. He was shiny with nervous sweat, all the way up to the top of his bald white head. “We want you to reconsider a judgment call you made.”
“Not a court judgment,” Tariq added, speaking quickly. He was young, one of the up-and-coming Black leaders in the county. “Just a lodging arrangement. More like an administrative matter. Which would rest more squarely in the commission’s domain. That’s what we’re thinking.”
Michael Price had nothing to add. Par for the course with that dude. He rarely opened his mouth. I often wondered how he managed to get reelected. Maybe it was the passivity. He never said or did anything that could make anyone mad.
“What are we talking about?” I demanded.
Reeves answered. “The jury,” the DA said. The commissioners nodded.
Reeves took a breath. “Judge, you indicated months ago that you intended to sequester the jury. We didn’t hold a hearing, you just announced it in a conference.”
Five pairs of eyeballs on me. I set them straight. “Yeah. I’msequestering the jury. I’ve made that clear from the beginning, even when the governor and the attorney general tried to talk me out of it. We’re putting them at the Red Cedar Motel. My bailiff has alerted the management. They’ve set aside enough rooms for us.”
Otis Post wiped a hand over the crown of his head. “Don’t we have a say in this?”
I made a noise in my throat. Shook my head. “Hell no, you don’t. This is not a surprise. I didn’t spring it on you. Luna called and left word with y’all when we talked to the motel.”
Tariq frowned, looking thoughtful. “Judge Mary, you know our finances in Bullock County. We operate on a fine line. If we have to feed and lodge a jury of twelve during this long trial, it’s going to be a burden.”
“More than twelve. There will be two alternates,” the DA said. “And security, too. Sheriff says he’s been asked to assign two deputies to remain with them.” Reeves sounded huffy about it, like the money would be coming from his own pocket.
I turned on Reeves. “Why are you discussing this case with me outside the presence of opposing counsel? Where’s Benjamin Meyers? Why isn’t he here? You trying to woodshed the judge, Mr. Reeves?”
“It’s county business,” Reeves said. Didn’t look a bit sorry.
Shameless.
I turned to the sheriff. “And Mick? You got a dog in this fight?”
The sheriff grimaced, scratched the back of his neck. “I just need to know what y’all decide. So I’ll know how many of my personnel I’ll be devoting to the trial.”
The DA scooted his chair forward. Had the nerve to point his finger at me. “Judge, sequestration isn’t just expensive. It’s gonnabe bad for the trial. Think of all the prospective jurors you’re knocking out of contention! Lots of people’s circumstances prohibit them from being locked away for a week at a time, or longer. Nursing mothers. Single parents. Farmers with livestock to tend to. You should understand that, Judge. How many head of cattle you got on your place?”
It was a rhetorical question. I didn’t answer him.
Instead, I checked the clock on the wall. My fifteen-minute recess was over, and I’d never made it to the restroom. Time to wrap up this conversation.
“Have you men all lost your goddamn minds?”
The swearing jarred them. Even Michael Price’s eyes bulged. I was glad to see it. Showed the guy was listening.
I went on: “Y’all know what’s been going on in our community since the DA filed this case. The level of press attention it’s received. The people marching in the streets. Bullets flying, folks trampled. We have to contain this jury, so we’ll know it hasn’t been contaminated. The jury must be sequestered. There’s no way around it.”
“Who’s supposed to pay?” the presiding commissioner demanded, raising his voice at me.
I wasn’t about to stand for that.
I rose from that chair. Looked down at the shiny dome of his head. “Maybe you can pay by economizing on your personal expenses. Quit turning in per diems. Skip some of the state conferences.”
“What?” “You serious?” They were blustering now, protesting, talking over one another.
Meanwhile, outside the courthouse, things were getting loud—again. Somebody talking into a bullhorn, accompanied by a coupleof other people. We could see them, right through the window of the commissioners’ office. I stepped closer to the window, raised the aluminum blinds to get a clearer view.
While the man talked into the bullhorn, a woman shook out an American flag. A good-sized one, probably three feet by five feet. She handed it off to the guy with the bullhorn. While he held it up with his free hand, she flipped a butane lighter. Set the flag on fire.
