The Client

III - Guess My Name

On the day of his preliminary hearing, an angry mob was waiting for Lester Crowe at the door of the Hernando County Justice Court. There were at least thirty people, mostly men, yelling and cursing as the deputies lead Lester across the street from the jail. When they saw him up close, his appearance only provoked them further. His beard was longer now, spilling down onto his neck, and his ratty, oily hair obscured his eyes. The orange jumper, which still bore a deep red stain on the front, didn't help his cause.

When Lester made it across the street and onto the sidewalk in front of the small courthouse building, the crowd began hurling insults.

"Murderer!"

"Dirty piece of shit!"

"Give him the needle!"

Lester walked with his head held high, never looking to either side. If the insults bothered him, he didn't show it. His face was somber, but I thought I caught the slight hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. It wouldn't surprise me if he was actually enjoying himself. When he reached the crowd, they parted and allowed the deputies to lead him through. Thankfully, there was no violence. When I met him at the door, he gave me a sly wink before being led inside.

The Hernando County Justice Court was extremely small. The single hall was lined with people waiting to be called into the courtroom on their cases. I followed Lester through, trying not to step on anyone's toes. The courtroom was not like the ones you see on television. It was painfully small; fifteen steps heel-to-toe would get you from the door to the far wall. In the back, twenty office chairs were arranged in two rows of ten and were filled with people. In front of that were two tables, one for the prosecution and one for the defense, which could barely seat two people each. Several more office chairs were lined up against the far wall for the defendants who'd been brought over from the jail. The officers who'd been subpoenaed to testify on cases stood against the wall by the door, waiting. With so many people tightly crammed into such a small space, there wasn't much room for ventilation. Two fans spun furiously on the ceiling but failed to relieve the smell of sweat and body odor permeating the room.

Once the deputies who'd brought Lester over left, I asked the bailiff if I could take him to a private room to talk. He nodded. The Judge would be on the bench soon, so I only had a couple minutes. I gestured for Lester to follow me and led him out of the courtroom and into an empty office across the hall. I shut the door.

"You can sit down," I said.

Lester shuffled over to a faded leather chair and plopped down. He looked like hell.

"We're gonna have to do something about your appearance for the next hearing, Lester. I don't mean to be rude, but don't they have showers over there?"

He grunted. "Showers, powers, flowers, sours. Which one of these does not belong?" He started spinning his neck in a circle like a yoga instructor stretching for her class.

"Lester, can you focus for me?"

He stopped and looked up at me. Sometimes I couldn't tell whether Lester was truly crazy or whether he just liked making me nervous. "Okay, Jack. What's next?"

"That's better. Because you're in jail, you're entitled to a preliminary hearing. The State will call the investigator assigned to your case as a witness and will question him about the facts that led to your arrest and charge. All the State has to show is that there is probable cause to believe you were involved in the murder. As I said before, it's an extremely low burden."

"I already know what they have."

"Yes, you've said that, but this is for the judge's benefit. After the investigator testifies, I can cross-examine him. Once that's done, the judge will bind the case over to the grand jury and we'll wait on indictment."