Chapter 26
CHAPTER
After I wrapped up the guilty plea and left the bench, I was breathing hard. Like I’d just run up two flights of stairs. Or had stepped on a copperhead in the barn.
I charged into chambers, with Luna at my heels. She said, “Oh, Judge—thank the Lord, you got here in time. The governor’s office is calling back in just a few minutes.”
“Already?” I’d never spoken to the man before, now he was calling me every ten minutes. I closed the door and checked my face in the office mirror, to make sure I didn’t look a sight. “Is it a Zoom call?”
“No, a conference call. On the landline. With you and the governor and the Alabama attorney general.”
The state attorney general? Shit. It was getting worse and worse.
I unzipped the robe. No need to stay in uniform for an old-fashioned conference call, where no one could see me. “What’s the number, the ID info?”
“His secretary is setting it up. Very old-school. We don’t dial. They call us.”
“Wow.” It had been a while since I’d had a meeting that way. “Okay, then. I’ll wait.”
Luna left my office and was back at her desk before I had the presence of mind to ask. I called out, “Luna, what’s the governor calling about?”
She didn’t shout out the answer. She stepped back to my doorway and whispered, “State v. Bria Gaines.”
I tipped back in the big chair and closed my eyes. I wanted to take a moment to center myself, but I didn’t have that luxury. My desk phone rang. I hit the speaker and Luna’s voice came through. “Governor’s office on line two.”
I pushed the line and said, “This is Circuit Judge Mary Stone.”
A female voice responded. “I’ll connect you.”
A moment later, I heard two men laughing. About what, I had no clue. I coughed, to give them a heads-up, before I said, “Judge Stone here.”
“Judge! This is Governor Bert Lamar, up in Montgomery. We’ve got General Dick Winston on the call—he’s on the road, driving to Nashville for a meeting. You still with us, General?”
The dude wasn’t a general. Never even served in the military. That was a phony courtesy title that some people used to buddy up to the state AG. I wasn’t one of them. Dick Winston and I had some history. Of the bad variety.
“I’m here. How you doing, Mary?” Winston asked.
“Fine.”
I didn’t elaborate. There was an uncomfortable silence. The governor broke it off pretty swiftly.
“Judge Stone—may I call you Mary? I feel like I already know you. Because I’ve heard so many excellent things about you.”
Really? Privately, I was skeptical. But I behaved myself, answered politely. “Thank you, Governor, that’s very gratifying. Sure, you can call me Mary.”
“And you call me Bert.”
I said, “Right.” But it was BS. I wasn’t calling the man nothing.
“I’m serious, now. I know what’s going on in your circuit, the talk gets back to me.
What a fine job you’re doing on the bench.
Folks say you’re fair. Your courtroom is orderly, because you’re no-nonsense!
Making efficient use of the limited facilities y’all got in your circuit.
Everyone gives you high marks, Mary. Five gold stars! ”
It was flattering. I’d have liked to believe that he was sincere. But I’d been an outsider in Alabama’s power circles too long to be fooled.
My suspicions were confirmed when the AG chimed in. “Mary, I was telling the governor you do a hell of a job with what you’ve got. Hell of a job! But there’s limitations, you know what I mean.”
The governor’s voice boomed through the speaker.
“That’s it, limitations. Some matters outside of your control.
Up here at the capital, we’ve had serious discussions regarding those problems. That’s why we think it would be best for you to recuse yourself from that abortion case—State v.
Gaines. Seems like the trial should be moved to Montgomery or Birmingham. ”
I kept my voice steady. “Explain to me exactly why y’all believe I’m not qualified to preside over State v. Gaines.”
“Not qualified?” “Nooo! It’s not that!” “Nobody’s saying that!”
They were both speaking at once, garbling their fervent denials. The governor backed off and let the AG take over. Dick Winston had been a trial lawyer, back in the day. He talked fast, trying to make his case.
“It’s got nothing to do with your qualifications or your legal background, Mary.
Your record is stellar, stellar! It’s just that doggone county you’re stuck in.
You know what I’m talking about. Your courthouse hasn’t been updated, your security can’t provide the protection you need.
And the town lacks the necessary amenities for an event like this is shaping up to be. ”
Governor Lamar jumped back in. “You’ve got no hotel! Where will the media stay? How can you sequester a jury? Union Springs hasn’t got a decent goddamned hotel anywhere in the city limits!”
They were giving me a headache. I rubbed my temples. “We’ve got a motel to house a jury. It’s not part of a major chain, but—”
The governor cut me off. “Where will folks eat? All you’ve got to offer is one little ole McDonald’s. They gonna run out of Big Macs the first day!”
The AG piled on. “It will create a hardship for the community, Mary. They’ll be overwhelmed. And it will be a burden on your judicial circuit. You know this case is going to be a hot potato. It will eat up all your time.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but the governor was faster. “Isn’t there a school located near the courthouse? An elementary school? That’s problematic.”
I glanced out the window: There it sat, Union Springs Elementary School. The kids were out for recess. If I cracked the window open, I’d hear them on the playground.
The governor’s voice became warm, persuasive. Buttery, almost. “Let us take this burden off your back. You recuse, and we’ll bring it up here.”
“To Montgomery,” the AG said. Made sense he’d want it at the Alabama State Capitol building, where he had his office. He could keep the case tucked in his vest pocket.
The governor went on. “You can see the advantages, Mary. The merits of making the switch. In Montgomery, we have circuit judges with more years on the bench. More experience with major cases.”
I’d still been watching the little kids on the school playground. That comment pulled my eyes away from the window. “I appreciate your concern, gentlemen. Thanks for the offer. I’m turning it down.”
A moment of shocked silence before the governor said, “Don’t you want to take some time to think about it, Mary?”
“Don’t need to. My mind’s made up. It’s set.” I let them hear it in my tone. Firm, decided. I’ll show you who’s no-nonsense, I thought.
I heard a disgruntled sigh blow through the speaker. The governor said, “Well, then. If that’s your final word. I guess we can end this call, right?”
“Right,” I echoed. “Y’all have a good day.”
I would’ve cut off the call. But my cell phone was sitting on my desk, right in front of me. I was distracted when the cell phone screen lit up with a text, looked like it was from my friend Loucilla. So I reached for the cell phone instead of punching the button to end the call on the landline.
I heard the governor say, “You still there, Dick?”
“Yep.”
One second passed, maybe two. “Goddamn! That fucking bitch!”
Psychic abilities weren’t necessary to realize the governor was talking about me.
Dick Winston replied, “I tried to warn you, Bert. I’ve put up with shit from that uppity bitch for years.”
I decided it was time to speak up. “Umm, guys? I’m still here.”
Neither of the men spoke. No apology, reply, regrets. I heard two metallic clicks as they individually terminated the call.
There was a tentative knock on the door. I composed my face, sat up straight in the chair. “Yes?”
Luna peeked in. “I saw the light go out, from your call with the governor. Everything okay?”
“Sure.”
She grimaced. “They were pretty loud, Judge. I couldn’t help hearing it. You all right? You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
She looked doubtful. I was going to have to convince her. “Seriously, Luna, I’m fine. It’s good to know where you stand with people. They asked me to do something. I turned them down. So they called me names. That’s nothing new. Same old shit.”
“But it’s terrible!”
I waved a hand in dismissal. “It’s over, and I’m glad. What else can they do to me?”