Deadly Justice Read online

  Flinging down the sheaf of papers Judge Arthur Anthony scrambled to his feet. The massive oak podium shook under the hammer blows of his gavel.

  “Shut up!” he bellowed his face blood red and his jowls shaking. "Billy, clear the court room."

  Someday his raging would end in a massive coronary. At 85, he still retained his throne in Hartman County, Texas. He ruled his courtroom like a kingdom. His word was law.

  “Want me to leave the press?” the bailiff asked after the last spectator filed out. The jury sat in stunned silence. Not a one of them dared uttered a sound. They had just found the defendant innocent. Judge Anthony overruled.

  The judge sighed. “Billy what did I say?”

  Wincing Billy Harrow repeated the judge's order.

  “Then,” Anthony said, his voice rising to a crescendo, “get them out.”

  “Yes sir,” Billy said herding the media through the double doors

  “Hey,” a male reporter from Dallas 10 said, “you can't do this; we have freedom of the press.”

  “Get out of my courtroom or you'll have the freedom to go to jail.”

  They left reluctantly. Billy closed the doors and locked them.

  “Jury too?” Billy asked nearly cringing.

  “Yes take them out for all the good they did.”

  Without a word, the nine men and three women left the courtroom.

  The judge leaned over, his hands gripping the edge of the bench. He glared down at the defendant. The man's orange jumpsuit stood out like a road construction cone.

  “Let's be honest, Mr. Card,” His Honor said, clearing his throat. Richard Card grinned at Anthony. “By giving you the death sentence, I have prolonged your miserable life by several years.” The judge's voice was unexpectedly calm. “Our good sheriff could have and should have blown you away when he arrested you. How I wish he had. It would have saved us the trouble of a trial. And a great deal of money.”

  Card kept grinning.

  “Money I could have used to buy a new desk. You think I need a new desk Billy?”

  “Yes your honor.” Billy said, his eyes glued on the defendant.

  With a wave of his hand, the judge motioned to Phil Graham. Graham's eyes hadn't left Card since he entered the courtroom. His arm encircled his wife, Betty. Tears coursed down both their cheeks.

  “This heart-broken father would gladly tear you apart with his bare hands if I allowed him the opportunity. I'm almost inclined to let him.”

  Gene Drummy, hopped from one foot to the other, waving his hands frantically in the air like a child in need of a bathroom break.

  “Your honor, I must object,” Drummy said his tone barely masking his indignation.

  Gray-haired and heavy-set, Judge Anthony looked like someone's grandfather. Many had fallen under the illusion that he was a pushover. They made the mistake only once. Drummy had taken the case pro bono believing it would enhance his career.

  The judge's eyes bored into the Fort Worth attorney like drill bits. “Shut up Mr. Drummy, you've had your say, now I'm going to have mine.”

  “But your honor,” Drummy said as if speaking to a child, “this is highly...”

  “One more word out of you sir and I'll hold you in contempt.” Drummy's mouth pursed like a fish out of water. “Do I make myself clear? Just nod your head if you understand.”

  The attorney did so. “Good. Now Mr. Card where were we?”

  Richard Card smiled showing a mouth full of rotten teeth. “You was a telling' me I'm gonna live,” Card said almost laughing.

  “No, you ungrateful pond scum, you're going to die. But not for a very long time. After this scavenger of a lawyer has drained every cent your poor parents can borrow and whatever he can get from some other misguided souls.”

  Drummy reddened, clamping his jaws so tightly his lips became a thin white line. Prosecutor Lucas Mann chuckled; the only other sound in the deadly still courtroom was Mrs. Graham’s weeping.

  “Then you sir,” the judge said “will be strapped to a gurney and given what you so richly deserve. I only hope I live to see the last breath leave your stinking body.”The judge sat down, his weight causing the chair to groan. “If I had my way, we would march out onto the lawn of this fine court-house throw a rope over the limb of one of our magnificent oaks and stretch your neck. Each one of us would then stretch your neck until your copse was as cold as that little girl you raped and murdered.”

  “Really judge,” Drummy spoke without thinking.

  “Billy, show Mr. Drummy what the inside of our holding cell looks like.”

  “What about Card your honor? We only got the one, “the bailiff asked. The judge smiled.

  “Mr. Drummy won't mind spending some more time advising his client. I wouldn't want to infringe on Mr. Card's right to counsel.”

  “You can't put me in there with him, please,” Drummy said his hands trembling.

  Card grinned at the attorney. “This is gonna be fun,” he said leaning his face an inch from the lawyer's. The stench of his breath almost curled Drummy’s hair. His face drained of color.

  Taking each man by the arm Billy guided them through the side door. After escorting them to the holding cell, the bailiff returned to the courtroom.

 

  “Billy keep an eye on them. We wouldn't want anything to happen to our illustrious big city lawyer.” The two men smiled at each other. Phil Graham led his wife to the door. The bailiff unlocked it for them. The media people milled around in the hallway. To the grieving couple they resembled a pack of hungry wolfs.

  Billy opened the side door a crack and peeked into the cell. The attorney was pressed into the corner clutching the bars his entire body shaking. Card's hands were running over the man's back. His mouth an inch from the lawyer's ear, he whispered rapidly, his words running together. A moan escaped from the attorney's trembling lips. The front of his pants was wet. Billy almost laughed out loud. Teach him to come into our town and defend a predator. As Card's hands moved lower, Billy, opened the door.

  Hartman County Courthouse looked like a cross between a southern mansion and a Roman fortress. The building resulted from a dispute between city and county officials in 1899. The vast lawn sported black oaks almost a century old. To soften the harsh appearance of the structure the garden club planted flowerbeds at each point of the compass.

  On the broad concrete steps, Drummy prepared for the media after his brief incarceration. He held his briefcase in front to conceal the wet spot.

  Still fuming, the lawyer planned his revenge against Anthony and baliff Harrow. The old man would wish he had never messed with him.

  Drummy's salt and pepper hair, Armani suit and Rolex watch gave him the air of a distinguished gentleman. Nothing about his appearance revealed his connections to the Mexican mafia. As soon as he left this hick town, he would call Miguel.

  For now, he would answer whatever questions were thrown at him.

  “Will Judge Anthony's actions be the basis for your appeal?” A cute blonde from the local CBS affiliate asked sticking her microphone in Drummy's face. Drummy liked blonds. His girlfriend and his wife were blonde.

  “No,” the lawyer said, feigning patience. “Unfortunate as they were Judge Anthony's words, will only spur us forward. Our motion will be based on Mr. Card's innocence, not the ramblings of a senile old man.”

  Several more questions were shouted at the attorney. Before he could formulate a reply, a series of pops echoed fr
om the other side of the courthouse. Veteran reporters dropped to the concrete. Those never in a crossfire turned their heads, looking for the source.

  Abruptly a police officer bolted out of the glass courthouse doors.

  “Everybody down!” He shouted.

  Cameras still rolling, the rest of the reporters dropped to the steps. The officer ran to a patrol car idling at the curb. Wrenching open the door, he jumped into the passenger seat. The driver accelerated the cruiser, laying rubber. Seconds later the car disappeared around the corner. Silence covered the crowd. The only sound was the reporter’s heavy breathing.

  “There a Mr. Drummy here?”A deputy asked from the top step.

  “I'm Gene Drummy,”the lawyer said getting to his feet.

  “Better come with me. I think your client is dead.”

  Brushing himself off, Drummy said, “If he's dead, he's no longer my client.” He picked up his briefcase and vanished into the rising crowd. The deputy threw an obscene gesture at the retreating attorney.

 

  A boisterous CNN news hound was the first on his feet.

  “How many shots were fired?" Others began to shout questions. "Do you have the shooter in custody?” “Was Richard Card killed instantly?” “Was anyone else injured?” The deputy gave them a withering stare.

  “Leave! All of you get out.”

  “The public has a right to know.”

  A veteran reporter with the Dallas Morning News elbowed his way to the front. “Let me speak to whoever is in charge.”

  The deputy smiled at him. “That would be Judge Arthur Anthony. Anyone still on county property in two minutes will be arrested for obstruction of justice.”

  “What are you going to do, arrest all of us?” A reporter said laughing.

  A line of deputies joined the first.

  “Yes,” the man said, resting his hand on the butt of his service pistol. After much grumbling, they left to piece together a story.

  Chapter 2