No Team To Root For (16)
XIX It was 4:30 pm when Sam Ingles pulled the cruiser into the Ge-rald County Courthouse parking lot. Both Sam and Darrell got out of the police car first then came back serving as escort to let Barrett out. They moved quickly, aware of the fact that in thirty minutes there would be a swarm of attorneys and legal secretaries ending their work day. Barrett knew Darrell wanted to beat the rush. The courthouse building itself was an old and recently restored all stone structure. It was built in 1920 and occupied one square city block. There was a new bronze plaque next to the front door that read AND JUSTICE FOR ALL. Barrett remembered passing the impressive building many times when he was in Columbus. He had only been inside to register his optometry license. And by no stretch of his imagination would he ever have expected to be mounting the wide concrete steps as a murder suspect. As the three men walked down the long musty and dimly lit hall-way, Darrell said, "Now, Doc, you got to understand. My orders come from the county prosecutor. And as much as I would like not to have to lock you up, I got no choice." Darrell put his hand on Barrett's arm. They stopped abruptly in the middle of the deserted hallway. "You do understand that." It was more of a statement than a question. "Just be glad I didn't cuff you." "Darrell, I have to ask you something." The two men were face to face. "Go on, Doc. I'm listening." Barrett cleared his throat several times. He felt close to another panic attack. "What happens if you can't find Claypool? Or worse yet, what happpens if you do find him and it turns out he didn't do it? Am I still the only suspect? Help me out here, Darrell!" Shot --- suddenly --- Un-fucking believable! Two young men in dark three-piece suits walking toward them stopped and stared at Barrett. When he ignored them they moved on. "Well --- " Darrell took off his cap and scratched his head again as he carefully measured his words. " --- I don't think I can com-ment on any of that." The three men then picked up their pace. Barrett wanted to re-spond. He needed some encouragement. He needed a sympathetic ear. He could see he would get neither. And why should he, he thought, these men are nothing to me --- less than nothing! And besides all that, he knew he wasn't thinking logically. He wondered if his brain cells had been jumbled. He hoped things would get bet-ter. He was beginning to have his doubts. "Like I said, Doc," Darrell put his cap back on. Sam continued to look away. "I would suggest you call Joe Calvin." Darrell then glanced disconcertedly at his deputy. "He does have one phone call. Right, Sam?" "Right!" Sam's yellow teeth showed through his smirk. "Now, I personally wouldn't use Joe." Darrell scratched the back of his neck again. "Did I already say that?" Barrett only nodded in response. "Just see what Joe says." Darrell continued, "Maybe he'll refer you to a real lawyer." Barrett wondered what Joe Calvin would say if he knew the local police chief did not consider him a real lawyer. It was the same horseshit as when people would refer to him as not being a real doctor. It was something Barrett loathed! The sheriff and his deputy led Barrett to a quiet empty room al-most at the end of the hallway. In the center was a large round badly scratched brown wood table. It sat on a worn tan shag throw rug. On top of the table was nothing but an old black rotary tele-phone. The beige bare walls were stained and chipped. The only window had bars. There were two smaller tables against the far wall that were in as bad a shape as the one in the center. Cobwebs were everywhere and everything was covered by a thin layer of dust. Barrett could see that this room had not been utilized in quite some time. Then he suddenly thought, and for no apparent reason, how much Janet would have hated this room. Barrett and Sam stood on opposite sides of the doorway while Darrell consulted a small notebook in his hip pocket. Then he slowly dialed the phone number. "Hello, Joe. Darrell Saltz here." Darrell took out a handkerchief and wiped off the receiver. "Yeah, fine. And the misses? Well that's fine. Listen, I got Doc Jessop here --- right --- the eye doctor. He has a real situation here and needs to talk to you. Yeah --- okay." Then Darrell put his hand over the mouthpiece and whispered, "Now remember what I told you." He motioned to his deputy and they both went into the hall leaving Barrett alone. "Hi, Joe --- yeah, fine --- listen. I have a serious problem." Barrett Jessop then proceeded to tell Joe Calvin as candidly as possible about his brief relationship with Jodi Bartless. And yes, the last time he saw her she was very much alive. Bar-rett included all he could up to and including his arrest. He was careful not to mention anything concerning Janet! 'I'll tell you the truth, Doc." said the attorney, "This sort of thing is a little out of my territory. Not that I couldn't handle it but --- it's just a little out of my territory. See, I do mostly wills, trusts, traffic fines --- little stuff like that. This here big stuff is just a little out of my territory." If he says 'out of my territory' one more time --- "But," continued Joe, "I got this cousin of mine --- on my father's side, that is. He lives somewhere in New York. And he is the best trial lawyer anywhere. Yes sir, he is the best!" Calvin cleared his throat. "He's retired now --- well partially retired. But, he does owe me a favor. Yes sir!" "Really?" Barrett didn't know if he was supposed to get excited or not. "See, I helped him with a case once. I mean a very big case. It was somewhere near Cleveland --- I think." Barrett was getting tired and now wished he had never called the local attorney. I can't believe this room has no chairs! "It seems that this kid --- oh, age nineteen or twenty --- I forget his name. But anyway, he was accused of killing both of his parents. Can you imagine that? Killing both of your parents?" Barrett knew Joe Calvin was going to tell him the entire story whether he wanted to hear it or not. "But I was able to find someone who said that this kid was somewhere else the night of the murder. So this kid --- Jesus! I wish I could think of his name. Well, anyway, now this kid has got an airtight alibi." Barrett winced at the word 'alibi'. "His testimony," continued Joe, "really screwed up the case that the district attorney had put together, see? And this kid ends up beating the rap. Now Miles --- that's his name --- my cousin, that is. Miles Garrison. So Miles, who as I said represented this kid, says to me, 'Joey' --- he always called me Joey. 'Joey', he says, 'I owe you one big favor'!" Joe Calvin paused to catch his breath before con-tinuing his long narrative. "Now I'll tell you, Doc. To this day I'm not sure whether or not this kid's alibi was legit or not. But it does-n't matter. The kid --- damn! I wish I could think of his name. The kid is free. Free!" Barrett could almost see Calvin beaming at the other end of the line, but was too distraught to be impressed. Joe Calvin continued. "Miles and I never discussed it much, but this courtroom victory got Miles a lot of money and a lot of notoriety. Miles to this day loves notoriety." The attorney paused a second. "Now it seems like this kid had some kind of a trust fund come due. This fund was up in the millions. Miles got a big chunk of it. And I got a --- small portion., which was okay. But Miles at age forty-two retires! Can you beat that? Some of us work our asses off all our lives and Miles Garrison retires at forty-two!" Calvin paused again. This time Barrett took advantage of the brief silence to ask re-signedly, "Will he take my case?" His mouth suddenly got dry. Why did I ask that? What the hell am I doing here? What if I don't survive this? "Oh, I don't know. Maybe. If he ain't too busy, that is. He don't do much these days, unless it's a challenge. A case he can really sink his teeth into. Like --- oh --- maybe a famous personality. Or a crime of passion --- so to speak. Like the one you're involved with." Barrett again winced at Joe's casual choice of the words 'crime of passion'. "Or," continued the local attorney, "if he wants to repay a favor --- if you get my gist." "Yeah, Joe. I get your gist." I don't believe this is happening! "Do you have his number handy?" What am I doing? Barrett Jes-sop was out of patience. He began to pace. His mouth was dry and he couldn't breathe. He only wanted to throw the telephone against the wall as hard as he could and then be transported in time to a dif-ferent century! At this point, he didn't care if Calvin's cousin took his case or not. "Sure." Joe went on nobly. "But better yet, why don't you let me call him? He might be more inclined to take your case if I asked him." Barrett suddenly felt both frustrated and relieved. "Thanks, Joe. Goodby." He finally stopped pacing and slammed down the re-ceiver. The noise brought Darrell and Sam back into the room. "Listen, Darrell, I know I'm only allowed one phone call. But I have to call Marie at the office and let her know I won't be in for awhile." If ever! Barrett spoke only to Darrell. "I reckon we can stretch a point." He turned to his deputy. "Can't we Sam?" "Yeah, we can stretch a point." Sam's beady eyes continually darted in every direction. "Don't matter no way." Then he shook his head slowly. "Nope! It sure don't." "Okay, Doc." said Darrell. "You call Marie. Sam and I will be right outside the door. Barrett closed his eyes, took a deep breath and lifted the receiver. He felt like his head was in a vise and bees were buzzing all around it. "Un-fucking believable!" He spoke louder than he meant to. "What?" asked the sheriff poking his head around the corner. "Nothing, Darrell. Nothing!" He began to dial his office and for a split second couldn't think of his own telephone number. How stupid can it get? When is this all going to end? "Dr. Jessop and associates. Marie speaking." Barrett always had Marie add the word 'associates' because he felt it made the office sound like a bigger operation. Then she would introduce herself to give it that 'personal' touch. "Hello, Marie." Barrett took a deep breath. "Listen, I won't be in for awhile." He again felt weak and nauseous. Where are the fuck-ing chairs? "Please don't schedule any appointments until I call you." "Something is wrong. I can tell by the tone of your voice. If you want --- " "Marie! Don't ask me any questions right now. Please! Just do what I say --- for the time being anyhow." Barrett's mouth was still dry. He spoke slowly. "Okay, Dr. Jessop. If you say so." Marie sounded confused and frightened. "I do say so." Barrett tried to speak gently and sound optimistic. It was impossible! "Goodby, Marie." "Okay, Doc. Let's go." said Darrell. He and Sam were back in the room. "I hate to do this but until you and your lawyer go be-fore the municipal judge, you got to go to jail." Darrell paused. Sam remained silent. "Sorry, Doc. But that's the law." Then the sheriff and his deputy escorted Barrett out of the room and proceeded down the hall. Barrett walked between them. They walked slowly. The eye doctor stopped unexpectedly and grabbed Darrell's arm with both hands. He was shaking all over. "Darrell, I --- I'm scared shitless!" "Hey, Doc." Sam asked mockingly, "You having one of them --- anxiety attacks?" "Oh hell, Doc." Darrell gently removed Barrett's hands from his arm. He spoke consolingly. "Just try and take it easy. You'll be all right." "Jesus Christ, Darrell! How can I take it easy? I read all the time about these horror stories regarding prison life." He took out a handkerchief and wiped his face. "How you get --- fucked in the ass. Or --- or knifed for no reason. Or --- " "Now look ,Doc." Darrell continued to try and be as comforting as possible. "You'll be in your own private cell --- and only for a day or so." He gave Barrett a friendly hit on the arm. "No one is gonna bother you. You shouldn't believe all that shit you read!" Barrett nodded his head, but for all intents and purposes, he re-mained unconvinced. How in the living hell did I end up in this abominable mess? Fearing his fate and knowing his future was in the hands of a se-lect few, Barrett slowly and deliberately resumed his stroll straddled between the two policemen. The three finally stopped at the end of the hallway in front of a large desk. There were two police officers at either side of the desk and one seated behind it, seem-ingly involved in some in-depth paper work. "Excuse me." said the sheriff in his most professional tone of voice. "Just hold on there." The policeman that was seated spoke to the papers on his desk. "Be with you in a minute." After several minutes had elapsed, Darrell asked impatiently, "Could you please --- ?" "I said in a minute!" The policeman interrupted rudely. "Not in a minute, Goddamn it!" roared Darrell. He had both hands flat on the desktop. "Now!" With that the cop stood up. Barrett thought he could easily have stood seven feet and weighed three hundred pounds. But the size difference didn't seem to be a factor. Darrell stood his ground and didn't flinch one bit. His reputation was that he was basically a soft spoken guy, but was not afraid to stand up to anyone --- regardless of size. And now he had proven it. Barrett couldn't believe it. Two plain clothes men then walked up to the desk and the large policeman sat down. They spoke quietly with one of the men point-ing in Barrett's direction. Barrett surmised they were in the legal process of finding him a new temporary home. After the extended conversation had ended, Darrell Saltz with Sam Ingles closely behind, walked up to Barrett. "This way, Doc." he said as he led the terrified optometrist down a different and nar-rower hallway. At the end of the hall were a large number of cells. Most seemed to be vacant, but with a minimum amount of illumina-tion, it was hard for Barrett to tell. "In about an hour they'll be bringing you some new clothes --- jail garb." said Darrell casually. When the sheriff saw the distraught look on Barrett's unresponsive face, he talked in a lighter vein. "This cell is one designed for the nicer element." Darrell's attempt at easing the tension was unsuccessful. Then he patted Barrett on the back. "I'll try and find this Claypool for you, Doc." He nodded to Sam and they left. Barrett stood with his hands at his side appar-ently frozen on the spot. He stared vacantly into the empty cell, guessing its size at about seven by nine. It had a small cot in one corner and a toilet in the other corner. And that was it! The floor was a dirty concrete and the walls were a nondescript gray. A far cry from what I'm used to! Barrett realized he was walking uneasily and unsteadily into a section of society that represented the misfits. The unaccepted! The residents here were, for the most part lowlifes that sucked the life blood from the veins of humanity. This was evil personified! How could I possibly belong here? Yes, he had committed a heinous crime! But, he thought, some-times external forces take control of our mind and our body. And consequently our vision becomes hazy and our thought processes become irrational. So we act purely on emotion --- not reason. Still, in his own mind, he felt what he did was justifiable homicide --- wasn't it? He was no hardened criminal. He was no incorrigi-ble. He was a professional --- a pillar of the community. How could he possibly be a part of all of this? Too fucking bad --- Doctor Jessop! Barrett sat down on the edge of the cot. He was drenched with sweat. Then he heard the cell door close and lock. He stood up and looked through the bars. He saw only more jail cells. He heard only his own heart beat. They had all left him to deal with his dilemma in his own private way. Barrett sat back down and put his face in his hands. Now what? As he was sitting on his cot, a bizarre and frightening thought suddenly struck him. Would he be made to pay for a crime he did not commit as a means of punishment for one he did commit? Would this be society's way of 'getting even' with him for not con-forming to its social structure? Un-fucking believable! Again Barrett began to shake all over as he continued to sit and ponder his precarious future, knowing it was totally out of his hands. Then he got down on his knees to pray. It was something he had not done in a very long time. He tried to fight back the tears. "Dear God --- " "Hey you!" The deep resonant voice belonged to someone in a cell twenty feet away and across the hall. "Hey you! You deaf, or what?" Barrett stood up slowly and put his face to the cell door. He looked in the direction of the voice. There was just enough light for Barrett to see someone short in stature with large dark and hairy arms and a large dark and hairy face. "Why you in here, whitey?" The other voice belonged to his cell mate --- a tall ugly looking man with a bald head and a huge scar under one eye. They both had their faces up to the bars and were looking directly at Barrett. "Hey! Whitey!" said the short man. "Hey! You unfriendly son-of-a-bitch!" echoed the taller one. They began to make 'cat calls' and hissing sounds. then they stopped for a second, talking softly to each other. Barrett could make out the words 'fucking' and 'nice ass'. His skin felt numb, with tiny needles poking him up and down his spine. All the horror sto-ries he heard were going to come true! He decided to talk to them instead of ignoring them. Maybe then, he thought, they would quit taunting him. "I --- I'm here for a crime I didn't commit." "Hey! Hey!" said the short one, "It talk!" "You is right. It do talk!" echoed the tall one. "Yeah, well no shit, whitey! We here cause of a crime we didn't commit neither!" continued the short one. "See man. We is innocent too!" "We is here due to a --- misunderstanding." added the tall one. Then they both laughed hysterically and began to hit the bars with their hands. "Ain't this a bitch!" said the short one derisively. "We is all inno-cent." Then after a short pause, the tall one asked, "So why you think we is in here, mother fucker?" The laughter stopped. Barrett started to answer them even though he knew it would be a major lesson in futility. It was another no win situation. Either way they would taunt him unmercifully. It was the beginning of the end. And unless some sort of miracle happened, he was doomed! He sat down on his cot and once again put his face in his hands. He then began to cry softly and quietly. After awhile the two derisive men finally shut up. Barrett put a pillow under his head and lay down. Who was she --- really? * XX "Okay, Jessop." A small elderly white haired man weighing no more than one hundred twenty pounds, and wearing a policeman's uniform, called out his name as he opened the cell door. "You are Barrett Jessop, aintcha?" The patch on his left arm read 'GUARD'. "Yes! Yes, that's me." Barrett felt as if someone had clubbed him over the head. He couldn't find one spot on his entire body that did-n't ache. He attributed the deplorable way he felt to sleeping, or try-ing to sleep, on the hard and lumpy undersized cot in his cell. He si-lently vowed never again to complain about sleeping in the spare room --- a castle by comparison. "You got a visitor." said the white haired guard. "A real slick looking dude." The short hairy man re-newed his derisive taunts. "See you later --- sweetheart!" "Yeah. See you later, you sweet little thing." added the tall bald one. Then they started with their cat calls and kissing noises. "Don't listen to those two scumbags." said the guard as he let Barrett out of his cell and down the hall. "They're both on their way to Lewisburg." At the end of the hall Barrett stopped. Standing next to an open door was a small man in a three-piece suit. "If you need me," said the guard, "just holler." Then he walked away leaving Barrett and the 'slick dude' alone. "Barrett --- Jessop?" the man asked. He cocked his head, his eyes narrowing. "Uh --- yes." Barrett answered apprehensively and quizzically. "I'm Miles Garrison. I believe you talked to my cousin --- Joey Calvin." "Yes. Of course." The two walked toward each other and shook hands. Miles' hand-shake was firm as Barrett had expected it to be. Other than that, Miles Garrison was nothing like Barrett had pictured. In fact, his conjured up 'Greek God' image was not even close. In reality, he was, about five feet six and weighed maybe one hundred forty pounds. His thick black wavy hair was slicked back neatly. His closely shaven face was as smooth looking as a newborn's. He had a small nose, narrow face, and deep-set dark brown eyes. He wore a three-piece gray pinstriped Italian suit. His silk paisley tie matched the handkerchief in his jacket pocket. His nails were immaculate and his shiny outrageously expensive looking English leather shoes put Ralph Sharkey to shame. "I'm here to represent you in your case against the state regarding the death of one --- " He consulted a small notebook he had in his hand. " --- Jodi Bartless." Then the attorney put the notebook in his inside jacket pocket and led Barrett to an empty room with two chairs and a small desk in the center. A ceiling fixture provided the barest of light. They sat down facing each other. "Now I will tell you right from the start that you have to be totally honest with me. That's extremely important." Miles leaned in, his arms folded on the table. "Because unless you're honest, I cannot properly repre-sent you." Barrett thought Miles' stare would drill a hole through the center of his eyeballs. "Now, is that understood?" "Yes." Barrett cleared his throat. "Yes it is." Then he unbuttoned the top button of his gray jail shirt. "Uh --- look, Mr. Garrison --- " "Call me Miles. I hate formality." The attorney sat back in his chair. "Okay, Mr. --- Miles." He cleared his throat again. "Can --- can we discuss your fee first?" Barrett began rubbing his hands to-gether. "You'll pay me what you can afford. Money is not important." "Well --- I appreciate that, but ---" "Why don't we discuss all that sort of mundane business later." Miles took the notebook out of his pocket and laid it on the table. "For now, I need you to tell me exactly what happened. Tell me everything. Don't rush. Take your time and try to be as accurate as possible" He then took out a gold Cross pen and held it over the pad. He looked at Barrett, waiting. Barrett talked as Miles wrote. Yes, he had tried to establish a re-lationship with Jodi. He avoided the word 'sexual'. But it didn't mat-ter. A glance from Miles told Barrett that his intentions were no se-cret. He continued. Yes, he was at her apartment the night of her death. Yes, the cleaning lady had seen him. And yes, he must have dropped his watch and inadvertently stepped on it. But no! He did-n't kill her. When he left her apartment she was alive. Barrett then went on to say that he got home at 11:30 and went right to bed. When he arose the next morning, he found his wife, Janet, dead. She died during the night as a result of a sleeping disorder. They slept in twin beds. Barrett hadn't noticed until morning. Miles paused, staring at Barrett again. Then he nodded and con-tinued to write. He finished his story, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes tightly. He was suddenly back in the master bedroom. "Thump --- thump. Thump --- thump." He envisioned Janet's ashen face and lifeless limbs. "Thump --- thump. Thump --- thump." A short crisp cry came out of his mouth. "Acchh --- " Then he felt a strong grip on his arm. "Barrett --- " He opened his eyes and saw Miles looking at him sympathetically. "Look, Barrett, I know this is a terrible ordeal for you --- to re-live a moment like that. So if you want to rest --- " "No. No --- it's --- okay." Barrett took another deep breath. "You're sure?" asked Miles frowning.
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