illuminated it. Herzog wore his customary ashen gray poplin suit and hangdog look. Neither inspired a lot of confidence in me. Waiting, I sized up the oak jury and witness boxes before the elevated bench—they all looked empty as a coffin, me soon to fill it.
“What happened to your head?” asked Herzog, seeing my lumps.
He was my lawyer and didn’t know of my concussion and hospital stay? “I tripped on a bar of soap in the shower. That’s the official reason. Anyway, did Mama Jo and Edna ride up with you?”
“Yes, they’re sitting three rows back. Don’t gawk at them. Exercise some restraint.” He made a fussy adjustment to his necktie’s knot.
“Did Cobb and his dad Jerry come?”
“Yes, I topped off my tank at Kuzawa’s A-frame, and we rode together. He shared his ultra-liberal politics with me. He’s opinionated.”
“He’s a warrior,” I said, proud to defend Jerry Kuzawa before a fear hit me. “Did the guards screen you with metal detectors?”
Herzog blinked. “Why should they?”
Sweat oozed under my orange jumpsuit. “Cobb and Mr. Kuzawa strap Glocks. I guarantee it. I just hope this deal goes in our favor.”
“They brought Glocks into a court of law?” Herzog massaging his temples sighed. “This is bad—very bad.”
“Maybe not so much,” I lied. “We’ll see.”
“At any rate, your muster of support is impressive. Your popularity, however, doesn’t ensure your freedom. Do everything I tell you.”
“I got you. Who is this judge?”
He crooked a finger behind his necktie and loosened it. “Judge Yarrow has the reputation of a maverick. She always speaks her own mind.”
That didn’t bode well for us. “Did you say you’ve defended a murder case?” I asked him.
“Um, well, I . . .”
“All rise. Court is in session,” said the bailiff.
He prodded me in the ribs, my cue to stand. The punctual judge sashayed through a portal door marked as “Private.” She hitched the folds to her black robe, and I saw her red sneakers climb the carpeted steps to the dais. She liked comfort over formality. Judge Yarrow was also a fright. Her face was a peened triangle of tin. My closer look saw her scar tissue came from old second-degree burns. Despite confined by her court’s chains, I felt sympathy for her.
“Be seated and quit ogling,” he told me. I resented his bossy attitude.
“Just mind your shit, and I’ll watch mine.”
“Counselor,” said Judge Yarrow, cutting our sidebar short. “Is your client prepared to post bail at this time?”
His chair scraped over the floor as he arose. “Good morning, Your Honor. Yes, he is.”
Judge Yarrow’s stare gravitated from him to me. Fright welled up behind my breastbone. “Have you run afoul of the law before, Mr. Fishback?”
“Nope,” I replied.
Her frown stamped the crow’s-feet at the corners to her eyes and lips. He leaned to me, his whispering mouth at my ear. “It’s ‘No, Your Honor.’”
“Now you tell me.” I looked back at her. “I mean no, Your Honor.”
“That’s infinitely better. How do you plead on the count of first degree murder?”
“Not guilty.” He elbowed me, a not-so-subtle reminder on courtroom etiquette. “Your Honor,” I added.
“Do you deny Ms. Sizemore died in that sleazy motel room?” Judge Yarrow’s scars compressed into a truculent glare.
“Ashleigh was still breathing when we fell asleep, Your Honor.”
“No doubt she was. Are you mocking the Court?”
“Your Honor, permit me to clarify,” said Herzog. “Mr. Fishback means Ms. Sizemore had no reason to fear for her safety. After all, they were friends.”
“It seems to me they were more than friends.” Judge Yarrow’s scowl berated him as I heard a titter circulate through the Peanut Gallery.
Things had already run to shit. Bail was a pipe dream. Judge Yarrow the maverick had all but shipped my ragged ass back to the jug. Resigned to my fate, I listened in on Herzog.
“They both indulged,
“What happened to your head?” asked Herzog, seeing my lumps.
He was my lawyer and didn’t know of my concussion and hospital stay? “I tripped on a bar of soap in the shower. That’s the official reason. Anyway, did Mama Jo and Edna ride up with you?”
“Yes, they’re sitting three rows back. Don’t gawk at them. Exercise some restraint.” He made a fussy adjustment to his necktie’s knot.
“Did Cobb and his dad Jerry come?”
“Yes, I topped off my tank at Kuzawa’s A-frame, and we rode together. He shared his ultra-liberal politics with me. He’s opinionated.”
“He’s a warrior,” I said, proud to defend Jerry Kuzawa before a fear hit me. “Did the guards screen you with metal detectors?”
Herzog blinked. “Why should they?”
Sweat oozed under my orange jumpsuit. “Cobb and Mr. Kuzawa strap Glocks. I guarantee it. I just hope this deal goes in our favor.”
“They brought Glocks into a court of law?” Herzog massaging his temples sighed. “This is bad—very bad.”
“Maybe not so much,” I lied. “We’ll see.”
“At any rate, your muster of support is impressive. Your popularity, however, doesn’t ensure your freedom. Do everything I tell you.”
“I got you. Who is this judge?”
He crooked a finger behind his necktie and loosened it. “Judge Yarrow has the reputation of a maverick. She always speaks her own mind.”
That didn’t bode well for us. “Did you say you’ve defended a murder case?” I asked him.
“Um, well, I . . .”
“All rise. Court is in session,” said the bailiff.
He prodded me in the ribs, my cue to stand. The punctual judge sashayed through a portal door marked as “Private.” She hitched the folds to her black robe, and I saw her red sneakers climb the carpeted steps to the dais. She liked comfort over formality. Judge Yarrow was also a fright. Her face was a peened triangle of tin. My closer look saw her scar tissue came from old second-degree burns. Despite confined by her court’s chains, I felt sympathy for her.
“Be seated and quit ogling,” he told me. I resented his bossy attitude.
“Just mind your shit, and I’ll watch mine.”
“Counselor,” said Judge Yarrow, cutting our sidebar short. “Is your client prepared to post bail at this time?”
His chair scraped over the floor as he arose. “Good morning, Your Honor. Yes, he is.”
Judge Yarrow’s stare gravitated from him to me. Fright welled up behind my breastbone. “Have you run afoul of the law before, Mr. Fishback?”
“Nope,” I replied.
Her frown stamped the crow’s-feet at the corners to her eyes and lips. He leaned to me, his whispering mouth at my ear. “It’s ‘No, Your Honor.’”
“Now you tell me.” I looked back at her. “I mean no, Your Honor.”
“That’s infinitely better. How do you plead on the count of first degree murder?”
“Not guilty.” He elbowed me, a not-so-subtle reminder on courtroom etiquette. “Your Honor,” I added.
“Do you deny Ms. Sizemore died in that sleazy motel room?” Judge Yarrow’s scars compressed into a truculent glare.
“Ashleigh was still breathing when we fell asleep, Your Honor.”
“No doubt she was. Are you mocking the Court?”
“Your Honor, permit me to clarify,” said Herzog. “Mr. Fishback means Ms. Sizemore had no reason to fear for her safety. After all, they were friends.”
“It seems to me they were more than friends.” Judge Yarrow’s scowl berated him as I heard a titter circulate through the Peanut Gallery.
Things had already run to shit. Bail was a pipe dream. Judge Yarrow the maverick had all but shipped my ragged ass back to the jug. Resigned to my fate, I listened in on Herzog.
“They both indulged,
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