Justice Betrayed

Chapter One...

 

The arraignment of the man who killed Dan Colby should have been no different than that of any other accused killer in South Carolina.  But, somehow, judging from the parade of weather-beaten pickup trucks filing into the tiny town of Winslow, it had become the undisputed social event of the year.

From the first whisper that Dan Colby's murderer had been caught out on the interstate, everyone in the Lowcountry farming community began planning for the big day.  Cows were milked earlier than normal.  Chickens were hurriedly fed, and those farm animals that could fend for themselves were left to do just that.  Even the roadside peanut and vegetable stands closed.

Where the accused killer had come from was a mystery to all, even the police.  Rumors were rampant, springing up like native kudzu, choking out facts and reason, replacing reality with speculation and innuendo.

Never had an area police officer been gunned down so ruthlessly.  Never had the tranquility and sanctity of the quiet community been so violently violated.  And never had crowds come in droves, congregating in front of the hundred-and-fifty-year-old courthouse, baking in the one hundred and two degree heat, just to catch a glimpse of a killer.

Never, that is, until today.

But today, come they did.  Hundreds of Lowcountry dwellers.  Black, white, young and old.  They came simply to catch a glimpse of the man accused of gunning down their neighbor.  They came to see him bound over for a trial that wouldn't take place for a couple of more months.  The arraignment would last only minutes, but the courtroom began filling hours before the two o'clock scheduled start. 

Television reporter Cassie O'Connor stood, sweltering under the shade of a century-old willow oak, trying in vain to escape the blistering tentacles of a Lowcountry sun and the humid, superheated air that enveloped her like a barber's steamy towel.

"Miserable hell hole."  Her whispered remark was directed to no one in particular.   

"You say somethin'?" Jefferson Lee asked, as he walked up beside her and put down the television camera he was toting. 

Cassie slapped her neck, then blew a puff of air, using her extended lower lip to guide it up past her nose.  She swatted her hand in front of her face, then sneered at her cameraman.  "I said this is a miserable damn hell hole.  Something's flying around my face.  I can't see it, and it's driving me nuts."

Jefferson flashed a toothy grin.  "No-see-ums."

"What?"

"Gnats, tiny ones.  Folks 'round here call 'em no-see-ums. That's because . . . ."

Cassie hit Jefferson with a scorching glare.  "I think I can figure it out for myself," she said, swatting at the air again.  "How come they don't seem to be bothering you?" 

"Ain't rightly sure," Jefferson said.  "Guess I just don't let 'em worry me none."  

"Hmmm.  Now isn't that typical."  Cassie couldn't understand how Southerners didn't seem to get bent out of shape about anything.  Especially Jefferson Lee.  He had turned being laid back into an art form.

A couple of days before they had arrived too late to film the manhunt and the eventual capture of the man dubbed by some members of the press as the Lowcountry Killer.  Cassie's temper had gotten the best of her.  Missing the opportunity to capture key footage on what, so far, had been the only story of substance she had been assigned was the proverbial last straw.  Jefferson, on the other hand, had reacted with a typical shrug of his broad shoulders. 

"Something gnawin' at you?" he asked.

"Gnawing at me?  Why in the hell would you think something's gnawing at me?"  She waived at the air in front of her face again.  "The only thing gnawing at me are these damn can't-see-them-bugs."  Cassie felt her stomach beginning to sour.

"No-see-ums."

"Whatever!"

Jefferson stared thoughtfully for several seconds.  "Oh, I get it.  You're still mad about the arrest aren't you?"  A throaty laugh rolled from deep within his chest.  "There's gonna be other chances.  Ain't no need sweatin' the small stuff."  Cassie's face held a dark smoldering look as she stared back at her tall, black friend.

At six-foot-eight, muscled hard like a tower of dark ebony, Jefferson Lee was an imposing figure.  A former professional football player, who had blown out his knee in his second year with the New Orleans Saints, he had been forced into a career change and had learned his new craft well, winning several awards for his video coverage of major news events.  He was a native of the Lowcountry, so he knew the area and the ways of the people, and he served as a valuable, if not always appreciated, protective guide for his tempestuous, young, Yankee-born reporter.

Cassie was a five-foot-two-inch, twenty-six year old New Jersey redhead of Irish descent with lofty ambitions for network stardom.  Her strong-willed determination matched her fiery temper.  She and Jefferson had worked together many times in the three months Cassie had been in Columbia, and they matched up well, though most of their assignments had been public interest pieces, not the juicy investigative types that Cassie craved.

Cassie's eyes squinted from behind her dark sunglasses as she looked away from Jefferson at the horde of humanity scurrying toward the courthouse.  Late arrivers spilled out the massive oak doors, down the tall flight of stone steps.  Small children chased each other across the freshly-mowed lawn, weaving in and out of the roaming crowd, using the statue of the confederate soldier standing in the middle of the courtyard as home base for their game of tag. 

She wiped at the sweat trickling down the side of her face.  How the hell can they breathe in this heat, much less run and play?

"Guess I'll mosey over toward the jail," Jefferson said as he pulled a handkerchief from the back pocket of his denim shorts.  His sweat-soaked, navy t-shirt clung to his chest like a second layer of skin as he wiped the rivulets of sweat rolling down his own face. 

Despite herself, Cassie couldn't help but stare, albeit momentarily, at his sculptured chest.  No body fat.  None whatsoever. 

"Why would they bring their kids to see a killer?"  She asked.

"Those young'uns ain't interested in no murderer.  They're just tickled to have a bunch of playmates," Jefferson said, shoving the handkerchief back into his pocket.  He pulled at the front of his t-shirt. 

Cassie watched, sensing a twinge of a feeling from deep inside her that she knew she had to keep buried.  "But here? Today?"

"Other than Sundays, after church, most kids around these parts don't get to play with one another, what with their folks' farms being so far apart and all."

As Jefferson's explanation rolled around inside of her head, Cassie watched a barefoot girl, wearing a bright yellow sun dress, chase after a grimy-faced, barefoot boy, wearing only cutoff blue jeans and no shirt.  She watched the two kids race by blankets and quilts spread out on the courthouse lawn, where some of the women had placed baskets filled with all sorts of edible delights like fried chicken, cakes and cookies. 

Cassie crinkled her nose.  "Looks like a fourth of July picnic." 

"Welcome to the Lowcountry.  That's just the way folks are around these parts."    

"Hmmm.  Maybe we can salvage some kind of a human interest angle out of all of this chaos."  She rubbed her finger back and forth below her lower lip.  "Murder and a picnic--too weird."

"Way ahead of you," Jefferson said, flashing his trademark toothy grin.  "All you have to do is a lead and close, and we'll be set.  We can do that now, if you want."  He picked up his camera and hoisted it to his shoulder.  "You need to come out in the light a little more.  Maybe use the courthouse as a backdrop."

Cassie blinked with surprise.  She glanced down at her clothing, pasted to her wet skin.  She touched her hot cheeks, imagining how truly awful she must look.  "Unh-uh," she said shaking her head.  "Not on your life, buster.  I'm not going on camera looking like this."

"Suit yourself," Jefferson said with a shrug of his shoulders, a sly grin spreading across his face.  He placed the camera back on the ground.  "We can do a voice over and just show the video."

Cassie looked toward the closed door of the Sheriff's Office.  "What's taking these yokels so long, anyway?  All they have to do is take the dirt bag to the judge, let him set a court date, then we can go home."  She reached up and swiped a damp strand of hair off her forehead.  "Is that so hard?"

Jefferson chuckled.  He glanced at his watch, then reached down and grabbed the handle on top of his camera. 

"Now, now, Ms. Patience.  They bes coming out soon." 

Cassie recognized the tone as one mimicking the way black slaves were often portrayed in old movies.  "Cute," she said as he jerked the camera up to his shoulder and walked out from under the shade tree, "Real damn cute."

Cassie rolled her eyes and slapped at the invisible bugs biting her neck.  All she wanted was the big break she had hoped for when she left home.  She wanted to be discovered, but so far all she had been given were stories without any appeal.  And this one looked to be no different.  Or so she thought.

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