Chapter 21. Passing Judgment
PASSING JUDGMENT
WHITNEY
“Sorry,” I said to Detective Alonzo. “I didn’t think I could ignore Bess’s question about my pink face without making things weird. Am I in trouble?”
“The furthest thing from it,” she replied as she opened her door. “You were a big help in there, and you did just as I asked. Kept your mouth shut about the investigation. Sit down and let me pick your brain. I want to hear what other ideas you’ve got.”
An investigator was asking me for input? Squee! I opened the door and slid into the passenger seat.
Alonzo rolled down the windows to let in some fresh, cool air and pulled out her notepad. “Your other theories include…?”
I told her about the electric co-op theory.
“I haven’t found any direct link to an employee or anyone on the co-op board, but Tyler did a piece on fraud at other electric cooperatives and interviewed some of the staff and board members at Middle Tennessee Electric.
Maybe one of them thinks he uncovered something and got nervous.
If the killer came after him in a utility vehicle that day, no one would have batted an eye.
Electric crews were everywhere.” Including the crew that had seen Quentin Sanderson speeding away.
Her brows rose. “The call records on Yee’s phone show that he contacted the co-op just after eight the morning he was killed.
I spoke to the staff there. A woman in the billing department told me he’d called to ask her about a summer day camp where kids can learn rock climbing.
When Yee had been out there conducting interviews for his podcast, he’d seen a photo on her desk of her six-year-old son climbing a wall and they’d briefly talked out it.
Tyler wanted to get the name of the camp to pass on to his girlfriend so she could sign up her son this summer.
The woman seemed to be telling the truth, and she seemed too na?ve to be behind any financial shenanigans.
She got her job at the co-op right out of high school and is basically a paper pusher without any formal accounting training.
She’s a young single mom, though. Maybe she’s being used by someone higher up and doesn’t realize it, or maybe she’s afraid to lose her job and is going along just to keep her paycheck and a roof over her head. Maybe I need to dig a little deeper.”
“I read through the minutes from the co-op board’s meetings,” I said. “Nothing jumped out at me, but they weren’t especially detailed. Their next meeting is this Thursday. I was planning to attend to get a feel for things.”
“Good idea,” she said. “I’ll sit in on it, too, see if my presence makes anyone nervous.”
I reminded her about the trial on Wednesday in Kingsley Atkinson’s defamation suit against his brother and Tyler Yee.
“Another good idea. I can take Atkinson by surprise there, though his attorney may advise him not to speak to me. I take it you’re planning on attending the trial, too?”
“As long as you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. I’ll see you there. Now scoot. I’ve got places to be and people to see.”
I climbed out of her car and got into my SUV. I cued up Tyler’s podcast about Kingsley Atkinson so I could take another listen, then headed back to Leipers Fork.
When I arrived at the barn, Buck was removing the existing boards from the exterior.
Many were aged and rotting. Others had been installed more recently.
It was a patchwork of mismatched wood that had to be entirely replaced for a uniform look.
My mind went to the Ship of Theseus, an idea I’d heard about back in a college philosophy class.
The theory posed the question that, if every part of a ship was replaced over time, did it retain its identity as the original ship, or was it a new and different ship?
Of course, the theory didn’t fully apply to the barn.
While we might be replacing old wood with new, the antebellum dry-stack foundation was the original foundation and would remain, bridging the centuries, connecting people to the barn’s significant history.
I set to work, following along behind Buck, replacing the old boards he removed with new ones.
We’d completed two of the sides by the end of the day, and we finished the remaining two sides on Tuesday.
There were no more gaps to let sunshine, rodents, and bugs into the barn, though all of these could easily enter through the barn door.
Replacing the door was the next task on our list, followed by framing the individual apartments, then plumbing, electrical, insulation, drywall, and flooring.
With Kingsley Atkinson’s lawsuit going to trial tomorrow, Buck would have to start without me.
Fortunately, his brother Owen was between carpentry jobs and available to come out to help.
On Wednesday morning, I showered, applied makeup, and fixed my hair.
I had no idea how long the trial would take today.
It didn’t seem like a particularly complicated case.
Either Randolph Atkinson had lied about his brother or he hadn’t.
But even simple cases could take time to resolve, and I didn’t want to spend hours in a dress and heels.
I put on a blue blouse, a pair of loose black pants, and black flats, dressy enough for court but still comfortable enough to sit in for a few hours.
For now, I could still wear my normal clothing, so long as the items weren’t fitted.
But my baby bump was growing, and it wouldn’t be long before I’d have to switch to maternity clothes.
Colette was much shorter than me, so I’d never fit in her pants, but she’d lent me several cute dresses and tops that she’d worn when she was pregnant with Mari.
Collin looked up from his coffee. “Be careful, Whitney. If Kingsley Atkinson killed Tyler Yee, he might come after you, too. He could be the one who left the scarecrow in the barn.”
“I could take my big wrench for self-defense.”
“You’d never get it past the metal detector.”
“Oh. Right. Guess I’ll have to rely on the old knee-to-the-nuts.” I mimed grabbing Kingsley Atkinson by the shoulders while swiftly raising my knee to deliver some serious misery.
Collin’s frown told me he wasn’t impressed. “Stick to Alonzo. Since she’s law enforcement, they’ll let her keep her gun.”
An hour later, I arrived at the courtroom.
Although a uniformed bailiff stood near the judge’s bench, the bench was empty.
The parties and attorneys were setting up at their tables.
At the plaintiff’s table sat a man in a suit.
His back was to the gallery. When he turned his head to survey the activity behind him, I recognized him from the online photos as Kingsley Atkinson.
He didn’t seem to recognize me, though. Unfortunately, with his back to me, I couldn’t tell if he was wearing his Redeemed pin.
I was dying to find out, but I couldn’t venture past the swinging gate separating the counsel tables from the gallery without drawing attention to myself.
Kingsley appeared relaxed and confident as his attorney pulled documents and a legal pad out of his briefcase.
In light of the fact that Tyler was gone now, I’d assumed only Randolph Atkinson and his attorney would be at the defense table, but a pretty woman in her late twenties sat there, too.
She had light brown skin and dark brown hair, as well as dark circles under her eyes that said she hadn’t slept well in days.
The two rows behind the defense table were filled with people who seemed to know each other.
They chatted softly, one or another of them casting an occasional angry glance at Kingsley.
The group resembled each other. Context clues said they were Randolph’s family.
If Kingsley had a family, it appeared they hadn’t come to support him.
A few other people sat scattered about the room.
My guess was they, too, had legal matters scheduled on the morning’s docket.
With many cases being settled on the courthouse steps, it only made sense for judges to double-or even triple-book themselves to keep the court running efficiently, even if it meant parties and their attorneys had to wait.
As I glanced around, I noticed a woman with a press badge around her neck that was similar to the one Yee had worn.
She must write about legal matters, or maybe politics. This case involved both.
I slid onto the bench in the front row behind Kingsley and his lawyer, close enough that I might be able to overhear their discussions if I tried hard enough. The firm wooden bench had me yearning for the cushioned comfort of the pews at the Redemption Fellowship.
Detective Alonzo arrived a few minutes later, and slid onto the bench next to me. She angled her head toward me and whispered, “Is he wearing the pin?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered back. “He was already seated when I arrived.”
She looked around, getting a lay of the land. The young woman at the defendants’ table glanced back and spotted Alonzo. She raised a hand in greeting. The detective raised a hand in return. Once the woman turned back around, Alonzo whispered, “That’s Bianca. Yee’s girlfriend.”
No wonder she looked so sad and exhausted.
Randolph’s lawyer was a woman in her sixties.
She said something softly to Bianca and Randolph, then stood and approached the plaintiff’s table.
She held out a hand to Kingsley’s attorney, who stood to shake it.
When she extended her hand to Kingsley, he remained seated and crossed his arms, refusing to offer his hand to her.
He probably thought he was acting tough, but he came off as an obstinate child.
“Do we really need to take up the court’s time with this?” she said to Kingsley’s lawyer. “Given that your client has filed seven lawsuits in the past five years, you’re more likely to end up with a sanction than a judgment against Randolph.”