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IN THE CELL THERE WAS one barred window, a rickety wooden chair, a short, narrow bunk, a stained commode, a cracked porcelain sink. And him.
“What happened to you?” asked Jack as the door clanged shut behind him.
Jerome Washington was sitting on the bunk, staring at the wall. The fact that his head was wrapped in a blood-soaked bandage and his face was bruised had prompted Jack’s question. Instead of a jail-issued garment, he apparently had on the same clothes he’d been arrested in. Denim, sweat-stained long-sleeved work shirt, worn dungarees, and old boots with the edges curled, like the man was melting from the bottom up. He was large and robustly built, and in his midtwenties. He was several inches taller than Jack and carried eighty more pounds. His hair was short, and a trim beard covered his jutting jaw and curved over his top lip.
Jack sat in the one chair and put his briefcase on his lap. “I’m Jack Lee,” he said. “Miss Jessup asked me to see you. I’m an attorney.”
Jerome moved slightly when Jack mentioned the woman, but he remained mute.
Jack unbuckled his briefcase straps and took out a legal pad and a pen. With his other clients, Jack had not taken notes during their first encounter. It could be intimidating, and he wanted the folks to tell their story in their own time and in their own way. But this was different, since he wasn’t even sure he was going to take the case. Despite what he had told Miss Jessup, he had never represented a Black client.
“You up for a few questions, Mr. Washington?”
For that he got not even a glance or a twitch.
“I’ve been told that you were arrested for murdering two people in Madison Heights. And that you’ve been before a judge and that no bail was set. Is that right?” Jack waited a moment. “How did you plead before the judge?” When Jerome still didn’t answer he said, “Did a lawyer go with you?”
All Jack heard was the screech of katydids outside the window. He glanced that way and saw the wink of a firefly right outside the bars, an insect far freer than this man.
“What you be doin’ here?”
When Jack glanced back the prisoner had leveled a darkly suspicious gaze on him.
“Miss Jessup said you needed a lawyer. Do you need a lawyer, Mr. Washington?”
Jerome made a show of looking around his cell. “What you think?”
“What happened to your head?”
“Cop bust it open.”
“Why? Were you resisting arrest?”
“Naw.”
“Why did he beat you up then?” asked Jack.
“Bumped into him.”
“Bumped? Why?”
“’Cause man say he gonna do things to my wife.”
“What sort of things?” asked a puzzled Jack.
Jerome looked directly at him. “Ain’t gonna say. But they all be bad. Real bad.”
“So you bumped into a cop?”
“Before that, he kept hittin’ me with that damn club when I ain’t do nothin’. And they already done cuffed me and I was on my knees. So why they keep hittin’ me?”
“So he provoked you into doing something and then beat you badly, while you were already in custody?” said Jack.
“Yes sir, he did.”
“Okay, I’ll make inquiries about that and see what I can do.” He looked Jerome over. “Why has no one come to take your clothes and issue you a prisoner’s outfit?”
“They say they ain’t have my size. They still lookin’.”
