Grave Sight

I'd been in court before, for this or that, so it no longer surprised me that it wasn't like Perry Mason reruns or the more recent Judge Judy. People wandered in and out. Prisoners were removed and brought in. Between cases, there was a low buzz of conversation. There was no reverential air, and there were very few dramatics. Justice was conducted as business-as-usual.

When their name was called, people went up to the podium in front of the judge's bench. The judge read out the offense, asked if the plaintiff had anything to state, then (after discussion) told the plaintiff what his fine was.

"Isn't this more like traffic court, or something? This doesn't seem serious enough," I whispered to Phyllis. She'd been listening to the judge carefully, getting his measure.

"Those warrants were bullshit," she said, just as quietly. "He's just going up for the taillight. This is unbelievable."

It took an hour for the judge to work down the list to Tolliver. Tolliver looked tired. Every now and then he'd look toward me, and he tried to smile, but I could tell it was an effort.

Finally, the clerk called, "Tolliver Lang."

Tolliver wasn't handcuffed or shackled, thank God. He went up to the podium, with one of the jail guards accompanying him.

"Mr. Lang, I see here that you were initially charged with outstanding warrants from Montana, and that you had a problem with a rear taillight." The judge didn't seem to expect Tolliver to answer. The judge had a frown on his narrow face. "But the officer who gave you the ticket for the taillight—Officer Bledsoe? Is he here?"

"No, your honor," answered the clerk. "He's on patrol today."

"Amazing. He says now he made a mistake about the warrants?"

"Yes, your honor," said the city attorney. "He apologizes for the mistake."

"This is a very serious error," said the judge. He frowned at the papers some more. "And very strange. What about the taillight?"

"He stands by the taillight, your honor," said the attorney, with a straight face.

"How long was this man in jail?"

"Two nights."

"In jail two nights for a broken taillight."

"Uh, yes, sir."

"You didn't resist arrest?" For the first time, the judge addressed Tolliver directly. I could see Tolliver's back straighten.

"No, sir," Tolliver said.

"Have you ever been arrested in Montana?"

"Yes, sir, but the charges were dismissed."

"That's a matter of public record."

"Yes, sir. And it was over a year ago."

"Mr. Lang, do you want to bring charges against Officer Bledsoe?"

"No, sir. I just want out of the jail."

"And I can understand that. You'll be released, no bail, just pay the fine for the taillight. You don't contest that, I guess?"

Tolliver was silent. I was sure he was debating about telling the judge that Bledsoe had broken it with his nightstick.

"No, your honor."

"Okay, broken taillight, one hundred fifty dollar fine," the judge said, and that was that. The jailer led Tolliver back through the side door where he'd entered, I assumed to return him to the jail and start the release paperwork. "Someone here to pay the fine?"

I held up my hand.

The judge barely glanced at me. "Through the door behind the clerk," he said, inclining his head in the right direction. On shaky legs, I made my way to the back of the court and through the door, where I was faced by a phlegmatic woman in khakis and a T-shirt, and an armed Hollis in full uniform. The woman was sitting behind a small table holding a cash box. I guess she needed Hollis to guard the money and make sure someone angry about paying a fine didn't decide to take it out on her.

"It all came out all right, then?" Hollis asked, looking genuinely relieved.

"Yes," I said, handing over the papers the clerk had given me, along with one hundred fifty dollars in cash. She filed the money and stamped "PAID" on the papers, handing them right back to me. I wanted to say something else to Hollis, but I couldn't figure out what, and there was someone right behind me waiting to make her own payment. So I smiled at him, happy for the first time in days, and went back through the courtroom, which looked just as full as it had when the morning began. The lawyer was waiting for me outside in the cavernous hall.

"Thanks, Phyllis," I said, and I pumped her hand.

Phyllis smiled at me. "All I did was show up and let the court know I was here," she said. "If you were to ask me what happened, it sounds like someone told Bledsoe to back off, not to make an issue of what he'd done."

"Maybe he did it on impulse, thinking he'd please someone, and then found out he hadn't."

Maybe it was his cousin Paul. Maybe it was his boss, the sheriff. Maybe it was the lady who owned half the town, Sybil. Maybe...

"Let's go over to the jail," Phyllis said. "I saw the van leave. I'll wait with you until they process him out, just to make sure."

We went into the jail again, and I asked the woman behind the counter where to wait. She pointed at the chairs in the same reception area where I'd waited so nervously to see Tolliver the day before.

It took a long time to process out a prisoner, and Phyllis Folliette stayed with me faithfully. Of course, I knew she was billing me for her time, but most lawyers would have given me a pat on the back and sped on their way to their office. She pulled something out of her briefcase to study when I showed I'd rather be silent. I sat with my eyes closed, letting the world go by, and I thought about all the people I'd met in Sarne, how closely they all seemed co

I let the incidents of the past week flow through my mind, not trying to sort them out. I thought it might help to make a list. That would be our program for tonight, maybe.

Then I heard footsteps I knew, and I opened my eyes. Tolliver was coming toward me, and I jumped up. We hugged, hard and fast, before I introduced him to Phyllis, who was looking at him with some curiosity. Tolliver thanked her, and she again protested that she hadn't done anything at all other than show up.

"But you called the sheriff yesterday," Tolliver said. I was eyeing him anxiously, but he only looked tired and in need of a shower.

"Yes, I did that," she said, smiling slightly. "I figured it couldn't hurt for the sheriff's department to know that someone from out of town was keeping an eye on the situation, someone with a little legal clout. Don't worry, you'll be billed for it."

"It was worth the money," I said, and after shaking our hands, Phyllis got back into her BMW and left Sarne. Lucky Phyllis.

While we drove to the motel, I explained to Tolliver about his room, and he said, "I don't care. I'm going to have a shower and some decent food, and then I think I'll sleep for a few hours. Then I'll get up and shower again and eat more decent food and sleep again."

"And this, after being in jail all of thirty-six hours! What if you'd had to stay in all week?"

He made a big production of shuddering. "You wouldn't believe how bad that jail is. I think they're trying to feed the prisoners on a dime a day, or something."

"You've been in jail before," I said, a little puzzled by his violent reaction.

"I wasn't worried about you getting hurt then, and I wasn't worried the whole town was in on some kind of conspiracy."

"You feel that?"

"I would have felt better if the most prominent lawyer in town and the sheriff hadn't been big buddies, and both involved in the deal that brought us up here. I couldn't sleep in the jail; the guy in the cell with me was brought in extremely drunk, and he snored and stank. I lay awake so long I convinced myself that something would happen to me in there, and they'd say I'd slipped on a bar of soap and banged my head, or accidentally tripped with my head in a noose. And then they'd get you."