Four hours of preparation down the drain. That’s the time I’d spent yesterday afternoon and evening pouring through case law while anticipating being on the hot seat presenting my best argument for saving the Hunt House from the greedy hands of Ray Archer and the City of Boaz.
I shook my head in disbelief as I descended the courthouse steps and headed across the street to my Explorer. Why had Judge Broadside demanded my appearance for a sixty-second hearing where I didn’t say a word? Heck, he hadn’t even acknowledged my presence. My aggravation was barely assuaged by the fact Broadside had ruled in my client’s favor.
After the short hearing, I’d wanted to quiz Micaden, but that had to wait. The second the judge called his next case, Micaden leaned toward me, instructed me to meet him at his office in an hour, and quickly disappeared through a door marked ‘Attorney/Witness Rooms.’
Since I had time to kill, I used my iPhone and found Jamoka’s, a great local coffee shop. Lucky for me, it was on East Main Street, less than a block away. For forty minutes, I enjoyed an organic blend, Moka-Java, and responded to a few student emails. At 2:50 PM, I left and drove to Boaz.
As Tina led me into Micaden’s office, he was standing and staring westward through an enormous window. The glass served as an outside wall. The blinds were fully open, allowing the blazing afternoon sun easy entry into a room that was too hot for my liking.
“You can sit.” Tina pointed to two wingback chairs in front of a giant wooden desk. “He’ll be back shortly.” I looked at her, confused. Before I could say anything, she retreated through the doorway into the hall.
It felt like five minutes, but it was probably one. “I remember when I was a kid. I rarely wore a coat, even in weather as clear and cold as today.” The tall and fit Micaden with his unruly shock of salt & pepper hair closed the blinds and sat behind his desk. “But, enough about the past and my aging body.” The two of us had been friends from a distance in high school. He was always cordial, but since he played football, we didn’t share the same social circles.
“I still cannot believe Judge Broadside. Did you have any inkling he would rule against the City?” I asked, still thinking I was in a dream.
Micaden placed a stack of documents inside a folder and laid it on the credenza to his right. “I’ve learned to never be surprised by anything that happens around here. But don’t forget, the Order is conditional.” He was right. Judge Broadside had stated he would reconsider his ruling if the City produced credible evidence Rylan’s would have a significant impact upon the local economy. The deadline was December the 24th.
“Do you think….” Micaden lifted and waved the palms of both hands. I stopped talking.
“Let’s leave the Hunt House for now. You said before we entered the courthouse you wanted to discuss another case after the hearing, one that is rooted in our high school days.” Micaden was more of a no-nonsense, get-to-the-point type of attorney than me. That’s saying a lot.
“That’s right.”
“You’ve got me intrigued, so let’s hear it.” Until yesterday, I had been only vaguely familiar with Micaden’s story. While I was in Charlottesville, Virginia, my freshman year, he had nearly lost his freedom. While Kyla and I unloaded hay, she revealed that a jury had acquitted him in a double-homicide case where two girls from Douglas attended the same high school graduation party as Micaden.
“I appreciate you meeting. First, I must know you don’t have a conflict of interest.” My words sounded elementary, even condescending, given I addressed them to an experienced criminal defense attorney.
“I would be the first to tell you.” Micaden opened his middle desk drawer and removed a yellow legal pad and pencil.
“Let’s start with Ray Archer.” Again, Micaden did his palm thing.
“Done. No conflict. I wouldn’t have associated with you on the Hunt House case if there was.” It was small, but I think Micaden was drawing a barn at the top of his pad.
“Right. What about Rachel, my late wife?”
“No.”
“Kyle Bennett?” I was trying to be terse.
“No. I suspect you can figure out that I wasn’t an attorney when I knew Kyle, and the same for Rachel. And I never saw or talked with her again after she moved away in the tenth grade.” Micaden paused. “Strike that last statement. I saw her at our thirty-year reunion. That was 2002. I cannot remember if I spoke with her, other than maybe saying hello.”
I dropped the bomb and filled in the details as Micaden would allow. “Here’s why I need your help. I believe Ray Archer killed Kyle Bennett.”
Micaden’s response surprised me. “Me too, but believing something, without evidence, is not worth a cup of coffee.” I should have said, ‘Ray Archer killed Kyle Bennett, and here’s why.’
“You’re absolutely correct.” I knew I was taking a risk to bring up conflicts of interest again, but I had to. “Do you know of any reason to end our conversation?”
Micaden continued to doodle for a few seconds and then said, “no, but again, if I sense a potential conflict, I’ll let you know. Can we move along?”
“Okay.”
“Since you are an attorney, I assume you have some proof, something more than a dream that has persuaded you to accuse, albeit privately, Ray Archer of murder?” Micaden laid his pencil down and stared at me.
He let me talk for several minutes. I shared most of what I’d learned from Rachel’s diaries and that I had located the murder weapon. “I’m hoping you have a good connection to have the pistol tested.”
“Tested for what?” At first, I thought Micaden was joking, or at least being condescending. However, he had a valid question.
“I guess I was hoping for fingerprints, Ray’s fingerprints on the Smith & Wesson.”
“Okay, I’ll stipulate.” Micaden was ready to hypothesize and play the devil’s advocate. “I’ll also stipulate it was Ray’s fingerprints that your expert used to conduct his analysis.”
“Okay. I see your point. That wouldn’t be enough for a prosecutor to go forward. Ray and his counsel would pursue several avenues of rebuttal, including that someone had tampered with the pistol, it was his and a present from his father, and the two of them had used it frequently for target practice.”
Micaden added another possibility: “Or, Ray admits the pistol discharged accidentally and killed Kyle Bennett.”
“Right again. The list is almost endless.”
“You mentioned Rachel’s diaries. I’m confident an impartial judge would admit them under a hearsay exception, assuming a proper foundation. But, and here I’m speculating. What if Rachel wrote things the defense could use in their favor? For example, Rachel had mixed in some creative writing. Let’s say, a fictional story about the wind, the sun, a tiger, anything that she personified.”
“Oh my. I agree. Ray’s lawyer could say Rachel was a loony, always making shit up. I can hear him now, ‘Rachel killed herself, that proves she was crazy.’” I hadn’t been down this trail and felt like a dumbass. It felt like I was dull and had never practiced law. Truth was, I hadn’t tried a case in nearly twenty years. Being a professor was nothing like the daily battle of facing opposing counsel figuratively trying to cut your throat.
Micaden nodded in agreement and returned to his drawing, pencil in hand. But then he laid it down. “Sorry I sent us down a rabbit hole. Here’s something we should have already discussed. Why in God’s name would Ray want to kill Kyle Bennett?”
The answer was one reason I was here. Fortunately, I was smart enough to know that the old saying, ‘he who represents himself has a fool for a client,’ is remarkably accurate. Even though I was not here as a criminal defendant, I was personally and deeply embedded in this entire ordeal. I had no choice but to be totally honest. “Ray Archer got Rachel pregnant early in the tenth grade. It seems both wanted to keep it a secret, and at least Ray wanted Rachel to have an abortion. Somehow, Kyle found out about the pregnancy, or the pregnancy and the planned abortion, and tried to extort money from Ray.”
Micaden let me stop when I chose. “At sixty-six, it’s difficult to understand teenagers, but I can imagine a popular teenage boy with a bright future might take risky steps to protect his reputation.” Tina stuck her head in and said she needed to run to the post office and for Micaden to listen for the phone. “Come to think of it, this is prime territory for a father, Ray’s father, to be a heavy influence. I’m not speaking of persuading Ray to kill Kyle, but simply of wanting, maybe needing, Ray to persuade Rachel to get an abortion. To silence the matter forever.”
“I’ve had the same thoughts, but it gets more complicated. Rachel’s diaries are a little confusing, directly conflicting, but my current position is that before she and her family returned to China, around New Year’s Day in the tenth grade, she lied to Ray about having the abortion.”
Micaden drew a rudimentary ocean liner underneath his barn. “Look at it both ways. Rachel had an abortion. Rachel did not have an abortion. Can both be true?”
“That’s easy. No.” I shared how I had a crush on Rachel since I’d first seen her in the ninth grade. I also shared how we met at the University of Virginia during the first semester of our sophomore years. “There was no baby.”
“You want another straightforward answer?” It was sadly refreshing to be discussing these harrowing circumstances with such an experienced and intelligent professional.
“Absolutely. What else could I say?”
“Rachel didn’t have an abortion but gave the child away. Adoption.”
“You may be right, but here’s the rub, the thing that has torn my life apart since discovering the first set of diaries. Rachel took an overdose in April 2019. She almost died. The reason she tried to kill herself, so she said, was her regret over the abortion. She told me about Ray getting her pregnant. One thing she didn’t say was when she got the abortion. Looking back on those conversations, she led me to believe it was before she returned to China.”
“So, Rachel lied to you?” Micaden was polite, but in no way did he coddle.
“I have to say yes. I can’t see it any other way.”
“You’re missing something. I don’t know what it is, but, and you know this, there’s always one more fact we need to know. Especially, at the beginning of a case.”
I almost laughed. “There is, and it’s a good one. I wish, oh how I wish. Let me tell you about last night’s dream.” Micaden returned to his sketching. I think he rolled his eyes when he looked at his notepad. “Kyle Bennett showed up at his memorial service. And, you know who was with him? Rachel. Neither could stop laughing about the biggest punk ever perpetrated.”
Without looking up, Micaden said, “I doubt that’s the missing fact.” I heard the same ding I’d heard when I’d entered the office and when Tina had left to run errands. Micaden continued, “I was leaning more the other way, you know, bad news. Don’t you think it’s time we address the elephant in the room?” I glanced at the notepad. That had to be what he had just drawn.
Without greeting, or verifying whether I was still present, Tina started talking in the hallway a few steps before reaching Micaden’s office. “You need to warn me when you’ve pissed off an entire city.” She walked through the door and next to the desk. “That way I’ll be better prepared.”
“Okay, what happened this time?” Micaden asked, as though this was a daily occurrence.
Tina laid a box at the edge of Micaden’s desk. Based on its size, I guessed it contained a book. I wondered what genre my old classmate liked to read. “Dan Brasher, I like Dan, but he sure likes to talk. His wife, sister, somebody related, works in the Clerk’s office. He said she’s a busybody. I wanted to say, ‘oh please, it must run in the family.’ Apparently, news of Judge Broadside’s ruling has hit the streets and people are mad, including Ray Archer, who’s being pressured to up the ante for the other nine landowners. I don’t know how he knows so much. He said more, including we might want to board up our windows, but you get the drift. I’ve got a hair appointment so I’m out of here.”
Tina left. Micaden paused until he heard the front door ding. “She’s a great secretary and paralegal. Don’t overreact, the locals raising a ruckus are harmless, just looking for a pot to piss in.”
I hoped he was right. Micaden started opening his package while I pondered whether the locals might have more than piss in them. I wondered how they would respond when they discovered the man who was the city’s financial savior was destined for a cross, one he wouldn’t survive.
The book was Grisham’s latest novel, A Time for Mercy. Kyla had a copy lying on her coffee table. I’d read the back copy. The author’s legendary character, Jake Brigance, and Clanton, Mississippi, were back. Micaden grabbed the book from his credenza and tossed it inside his briefcase. “Let’s get back on track. I had asked about the lost and lumbering elephant.”
“Okay, I guess there could be more than one, so where do we start?” I made it appear I didn’t have a clue what Micaden was referring to. But I did.
“Lee, you came to me seeking legal advice and counsel. I’m sure you’re hoping I can bring something positive to the table. You are asking me to use my knowledge, connections, and resources, to assemble enough evidence to present to the DA. Am I correct?”
“You are.”
“How about a hundred dollars an hour? I’ll give you the high-school-friend discount.”
“I agree. Thanks for your generosity. How much for the retainer?” I knew how this worked.
“None, just pay my monthly invoice within ten days of receipt. Cash is welcome.” Micaden laughed. “And no written agreement required.”
“Okay, we have a deal.” I stood and offered my right hand. We shook, and I sat.
“Now, officially, as your attorney, you know I’m required to be a bloodhound after the truth. There is nothing, and I mean nothing, off the table.”
“It has to be this way.” I could almost hear the thunder, feel the wind, and see the lightning from what Micaden was about to say.
“I assume you have given some thought that your deceased wife might be an accessory to the murder?”
It was something I had resisted since the beginning, since I first learned from Rachel’s diaries that Ray had killed Kyle. To me and what I knew about the only woman I’d ever truly loved, there was no way she was a criminal. “I’ve avoided it like the plague. Rachel didn’t have a mean bone in her body.”
“You think that. You believe that. But don’t expect me to get on board that boat right now. We must question everything. Remember, all the knowledge you have that implicates Ray Archer comes from Rachel’s diaries. There, she directly admits her knowledge, and indirectly, her involvement.”
I ignored Micaden’s statement. “Can we talk about another elephant in the room?”
“What’s wrong with my elephant? We’ll have to pursue it at some point. The defense won’t let us avoid it. Shit, the DA will ask the same thing.”
“You’re right but help me scope this out. I’m at a standstill, which is obvious since I’m coming to you asking for help. I don’t know what to do next. Last night I almost poured the whole can of beans on Kyla, but I didn’t. Question. Who could I talk to, what could I try to verify? I’m sounding rather ignorant.”
“Join the club, but I have an idea. Attorneys should avoid becoming investigators. You know, becoming a witness in your own case. I suggest we hire a private investigator. Let him do what he does best and let us do the same.” Micaden drew a large P and a large I, then he printed something beside it I couldn’t make out.
“Do you have anyone in mind?” Dollar signs streamed across my eyes.
“Connor Ford. He’s across the street.” Micaden pointed his left thumb over his shoulder.
As usual, I had a bag of questions. “Can we trust him? What’s his experience?” I should have expected Micaden’s waving palms.
“We’ll be here until midnight if we play your conflict-of-interest game. Not being condescending, but Connor’s as good as they come. He’s helped me on a dozen or more cases in the four years he’s been here. I guarantee you’ll like him and his work.”
I had no choice but to trust Micaden’s judgment. I had complete confidence in the salt and pepper haired man across the desk. Since I’d called him the first time, I’d done a lot of research, including reading several cases he’d tried. Micaden was unique, a loner who could make a jury dance if he wanted to. And he was not part of the good-old-boy system. I’d characterize him as almost a radical. “Let me know the cost.”
“I will. I’ll talk to him this evening or in the morning. And here’s a big bonus, which might be a starting point. Connor, unlike me, has a good connection with a Marshall County detective, Mark Hale. The two worked together as cops years ago in Dothan. Now, they swap information when it’s legal, but don’t ask me to draw that line. Regardless, I’m thinking Connor might gain access to the initial file. It’s buried somewhere. It must exist. Damn, a young man has been missing for half-a-century.”
“Exactly.” I stood. I’d been here long enough. Micaden had checked something on his iPhone twice in the last fifteen minutes. It might have been the time. “I best go. Kyla is insisting we eat out tonight at a place called The Shack.”
Micaden stood, and the two of us walked into the hallway. He stopped me when I reached for the doorknob that led to the waiting room. “Here’s a final thought for today. You mentioned your reluctance to disclose this story to Kyla. You might rethink that. Isn’t she friends with Ray’s wife? Lillian?” I didn’t know how Micaden knew this, but I suspected it had everything to do with life in a small town.
“Best of friends.” I pondered his suggestion. “Not a bad idea. But she’s recently moved out of what’s called the Lodge.”
“Wiley Jones’ place. Was. Where someone murdered him a year ago. Just think about it. What Lillian might know, from years past, might give us a lead or two.” Micaden reached above my left shoulder and swung the door farther open.
“I will. I removed a business card from my wallet and handed it to Micaden. Other than the law school, you can reach me on my cell. It’s written on the back. Thanks for your time.” I walked across the waiting room and opened the outside door.
“The Corbett place.” I turned back toward Micaden, wondering if his cell had vibrated a call. His hands were empty. “That’s Lillian’s new digs. Ray bought it several years ago and had it remodeled. She moved in last Saturday. By the way, I live about a mile further south on Cox Gap Road.”
I gave a slight nod and left. All the way home, I kept opening and closing my hands, gripping and re-gripping the steering wheel, trying to figure out if I was inside a dream. An image of me standing a few feet from a train that had just arrived at the long-gone Boaz railroad station. Slowly, the passenger train pulled away, leaving me with an unobstructed view of the raised platform attached to the ticket office. There, all alone, was Lillian, clutching a heavy suitcase and looking all around for the person she was supposed to meet.
When I turned left into Kyla’s driveway, I apologized to Rachel for having such thoughts.
Richard L. Fricks 