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Jack sat on the Fiat’s thin seat, which was already starting to bake with the rising temperature, and looked at the other documents Reeves had given him.
An indictment for the first-degree murder of two people had been handed down by the sitting grand jury of Freeman County. Connelly had not asked for bail and the commonwealth’s attorney on the case, Justin Reed, had argued against any being set.
Jerome had pled not guilty, and that had been duly entered into the record.
Jack looked at the last piece of paper. Connelly had submitted his withdrawal from the case right after the arraignment, citing a conflict in schedule and doubt as to whether Jerome was truly indigent and thus entitled to a public defender.
Right, thought Jack. The man just didn’t want to get shot.
He looked at his watch and pondered next steps. The law did not move slowly in Freeman County, especially when a Black man accused of a violent crime against the white race was attached to one end of it.
Which means I don’t have much time, either.
CHAPTER 12
THE FREEMAN COUNTY SHERIFF’S OFFICE was housed in a dully painted cinder block building that rose three stories toward a heat-filled sky starting to cloud over, with the prospect of rain.
Jack parked next to a deputy sheriff’s patrol car. A racked shotgun pointed vertically rested in the rear, caged seat, like a single finger lifted in warning.
He entered the building, where he was immediately greeted by the comingling of sweat, cigarette smoke, and gun oil. A sign on the wall indicated the Colored waiting room was in the rear. He pulled down the now-illegal placard and threw it in the trash. Before last night he would have never thought to do such a thing.
He checked in with the front desk sergeant. “I need to pick up an arrest report.”
“You already got the one for the assault at the bar, Jack.”
“Got a new client.”
The man hooked his callused thumb to the left. “Then have at it.”
In Room 103 Jack found a uniformed man with black specs whom he didn’t know. He produced his bar card and the copy of his stamped appearance filing.
“Washington, Jerome?” the man said.
“That’s right.”
The man consulted a metal cabinet from which he pulled out a slender file. Inside were four pages of indifferent looking official paper in the requisite triplicate.
“Defense counsel gets the pink copy,” said the man.
“It’s also the least legible. Doesn’t seem fair when a man’s liberty’s at stake,” noted Jack.
“I don’t make the rules, son. I just do the filin’ and the fetchin’.”
He had Jack sign for them and then handed the pink pages over.
“And the arresting officers? Gene Taliaferro and Raymond LeRoy? I’ll need to speak with them.”
“Leave me your business card and I’ll tell them you need to talk.”
Jack did so and drove back to the courthouse, where the commonwealth attorney’s office was located on the second floor.
He made his inquiry, and the woman at the front desk had him wait while she made a call. “It’ll just be a moment, Mr. Lee,” she said after cradling the phone.
A half hour later a door opened and Justin Reed, the commonwealth’s attorney for Freeman County, dressed in a seersucker suit with a yellow bowtie, appeared. A smoky cigarette was clenched between two beefy knuckles. The man’s stern expression and stiffened posture gave Jack pause, for while the men were legal adversaries, they had known each other for years.
“This way, Jack,” said Reed.
Jack was led into a cluttered office reeking of smoke and sat down opposite the man he would likely be facing in court.
