Judge Stone by James Patterson - 13

No further questions,” the DA said.

The defense attorney consulted with his client. Appeared to me that he was reassuring the man. Privately, I’ve always thought Chuck Rich’s intentions were good.

It was the execution that was faulty.

Like, for example, his very first cross-examination question.

Rich rose and stepped toward the witness stand. “Mr. Lindsey, have you read the interim agreement that the Justice Department has reached with the Alabama Department of Public Health?”

“No.”

Rich hesitated. As if he hadn’t expected that answer and didn’t know quite what to do next. “Well, are you familiar with it?”

The DA eased out of his chair and called out, “Objection, Your Honor, irrelevant.”

I checked out the jury, wondering whether they were familiar with it and knew what the defense attorney was referring to. They needed to be aware. “Mr. Reeves, I think it’s entirely relevant. Overruled.”

The DA regarded me with hooded eyes. Like he didn’t want to reveal his true assessment of me. “Judge, do I need to point out that neither the federal Justice Department nor the state Department of Public Health is a party to this lawsuit?”

I was running low on patience. “Counsel, approach the bench.”

Both attorneys walked over to my right side, so that the jury wouldn’t overhear. As soon as they stood before me, I snapped.

“Gentlemen, why is this federal civil rights matter being bandied about in state court?”

Reeves wore an innocent expression, phony as hell, as he said, “I’m just doing my job as prosecutor in this district, Judge.”

Chuck Rich had a desperate tone. “Judge, I told the DA he couldn’t proceed with this prosecution. This case violates the agreement that Public Health reached with the feds. The DA should never have filed this charge. The government is supposed to help people who are too poor to have sanitation systems.”

I flipped through the file. “So where’s your motion to dismiss, Mr. Rich? I don’t find any pretrial motions from the defense. Not one.”

“The DA told me not to file it! He said we’d resolve the issue at trial.”

Lord have mercy. “Mr. Rich, do you think it’s smart to take advice from the opposing party? Let’s clear that up right now. It’s not wise. He is your enemy.”

Reeves was smirking, and that pushed me into the red zone. I had to act.

As a rule, I tried to remain in my seat during jury trials. Truly I did. But sometimes it just wasn’t possible. I found myself rising, stepping down the stairs, with the black robe billowing behind me.

I approached the witness stand. “Mr. Lindsey, did you have any conversation with Fergus Pitt regarding the direct piping of sewage on his land?”

“I did.”

“What did he tell you?”

“He said that a septic tank had been installed on the property at one time. But the system failed. That’s when he installed the straight-piping system.”

“In your experience, have septic tank systems been known to fail in this region of Alabama?”

The engineer glanced at the DA. I caught him at it. I pressed closer to the witness stand. “Answer the question, Mr. Lindsey.”

He shrugged. He knew the jig was up. “Yes, they often fail.”

“It’s because of our soil, isn’t it, Mr. Lindsey?”

I’d switched on the lightbulb. The jury knew what I was talking about. Half of them were nodding.

The engineer said, “The soil in the Black Belt region of Alabama—soil that gave the region its name, because the rich, black soil was great for growing cotton. Unfortunately, the dense, claylike soil isn’t conducive to septic systems.”

“What would a septic tank cost that would withstand the soil we have here?”

He stopped to think. Looked off in the distance, calculating a figure. “Three times as much as an ordinary system.”

The witness was telling the truth about that. I’d had the system on my farm replaced a few years back.

“In your experience, the people in the Black Belt who are living without basic sanitation systems—is it because they prefer to be exposed to raw sewage?”

He was quiet for a moment. Maybe I’d shamed him. “No, Your Honor.”

“In your opinion, why have these residents failed to install sanitary systems?”

He shifted uncomfortably in the chair. Maybe he was coming around. “Because they can’t afford the cost.”

“Yes,” I said, placing my hand on my chest and taking a deep breath. We’d solved the puzzle. “They can’t afford to pay for it, because if they could, they would.”

I was on a roll, all fired up. “Anyone who’s lived with these conditions—or had family exposed, had an auntie living in a home where the system failed—knows what we’re talking about. Human waste bubbling up in the sink and into the bathtub when the heavy rains come. Kids can’t play out in the backyard, because the dirt will make them sick. And the smell!”

I was dizzy, just remembering. When I was a child, our septic tank failed. It happened in a bad year, when crops were poor, and we were poorer. The backup got so bad, we couldn’t use indoor plumbing. Had to use the ancient outhouse on the farm. Mama said we were lucky to have it.

The DA was sitting at his counsel table, disgruntled with me for taking over his witness. I figured I had uncovered the necessary information. So I climbed back up to my seat. Nodded at the defense attorney. Frankly, he appeared to be somewhat confused.

“Mr. Rich, you may continue cross-examination of the State’s witness.”

Chuck Rich whispered to his client. Fergus Pitt shook his head. Rich said, “No more questions, Your Honor.”

The State wrapped its case up pretty fast after that. And Chuck Rich put the defendant on to testify on his own behalf. Fergus did a good job of explaining how the system broke down over time. Described his efforts to seek repairs. He’d installed the straight-piping as a last resort, a Band-Aid while he tried to save up money to buy a new system, one that would work in Black Belt soil. But saving up thirty thousand dollars was an impossible task for a man whose annual income was around twenty-seven thousand dollars.

“The defense rests,” Chuck Rich said.

“Any rebuttal witnesses for the prosecution?”

“No, Your Honor.” Reeves’s voice was icy.

I shifted in my seat, leaned on my elbow to glare down at the defense attorney. “Does the defense have any motions?”

He was quiet—it worried me for a minute. Then Rich stood up and said, “The defense moves for a judgment of acquittal.”

I waved the attorneys up to the bench. “Please approach.” We’d need to argue the matter outside the hearing of the jury.

We waited for the court reporter to join us, so the discussion would be on the record. As soon as she was settled, the DA said, “I haven’t received a copy of any motion for judgment of acquittal.”

“Not required,” I said. “The motion under Alabama Criminal Rule 20 can be made orally or in writing.” I focused on Chuck Rich. “Mr. Rich, what are the grounds for your motion?”

His brow wrinkled. After a brief pause, he said, “The evidence that the DA presented isn’t sufficient to support a finding of guilt beyond a reasonable doubt.”

Those were the magic words.

I said, “Defendant’s motion is sustained. The State’s evidence was insufficient to support a conviction. We will dispense with closing arguments. I’m not submitting the case to the jury. I hereby find the defendant not guilty.”

I swiveled the chair to face the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen, I want to thank you for your time and attention today. It will not be necessary for you to retire to the jury room for deliberation.”

I’d hoped to get the jury free before the DA came out swinging. Wasn’t going to happen.

Reeves barely made it back to the counsel table before he got mouthy. “I object! What’s going on here? I have the right to a jury verdict!”

He most certainly did not. Furthermore, Reeves knew better. Under the Rules of Criminal Procedure, I had the power to throw the case out with a judgment of acquittal before it reached the jury. “Mr. Reeves, don’t be ridiculous.”

“I made a submissible case.” He actually pounded on the wooden counsel table with his fist. “I provided evidence from an independent third party licensed in Alabama. The engineer’s testimony proved up the allegations of the criminal complaint.”

I frowned down on him from my seat at the bench. “Where was the proof of criminal intent? You should be thanking me, Mr. DA. The State of Alabama got their butt kicked by the DOJ for doing exactly what you’re trying to do. And you think you have the power to defy the United States Justice Department, with an action down here at the county level? You’re familiar with the Supremacy Clause, right? I just saved you from some excruciating embarrassment.”

“Yeah, here we go. Because it’s always about you, isn’t it, Judge Stone?” Reeves was pale as death. I recognized his expression; it was one he’d displayed from time to time over the years. I anticipated that he would launch an attack on me without weighing the consequences.

He went on. “Every case has to be decided on the basis of your life, your personal history, the way it makes you feel. And you just take over the courtroom. You’re the defense attorney, the judge, and the jury, right? Well, I’m still the prosecutor in this district, and I’m sick of this game.”

I was shaking with anger. I had to tuck my hands inside the sleeves of my robe so that he wouldn’t see it. “One more word, Mr. Reeves. Just one more word. And I’ll hold you in contempt.”

I settled back in my seat, waiting to see which way it would go. He wanted to back-talk me, that was obvious. Reeves struggled to swallow it. Looked like he was going to lose the battle.

I gave him some incentive. Said to the bailiff, “Ross, when I say the word, you’ll escort Mr. Reeves to the county jail.”

That extinguished the DA’s fire. Reeves dropped back into his chair. He kept his mouth shut while I dismissed the jury. But I could feel the heat of his fury as I left the bench and went into chambers.