Perfect Justice (4 page)

“Fine by me,” Payne said.

The judge thrust the bottle under Ben’s nose. What was this, some weird initiation rite? Well, when in Rome …

Ben raised the bottle and swallowed. The whisky seared his throat and made his eyes water. Tough drink for a guy whose staple was chocolate milk.

Ben passed the bottle back to Judge Tyler. “I apologize for my informal attire and unkempt appearance, your honor. Mr. Payne just contacted me about an hour ago and I haven’t had a chance to dress appropriately.”

The judge waved his concerns away. “Don’t give it a second thought, son. I don’t give a rat’s ass what people wear outside the courtroom. You could show up in swimming trunks for all I care.” He grinned. “Of course, little Amber might be somewhat shocked.”

Ben did his best to play along. “Nice little girl,” he said, nodding in her direction.

“That she is,” the proud daddy replied. “She’s our precious gift from heaven. Marjorie and I had been trying for years to have children. No luck. Then, just as we had given up hope, God sent us this perfect ray of sunshine.” He rubbed noses with Amber. “That’s what you are. You’re a perfect ray of sunshine.”

“You two haven’t been properly introduced,” the judge said, as he passed the bottle. “This here’s Henry Swain. You can probably get away with calling him Hank. I’ve known Hank since he was a pup. His father and I used to go deer hunting together.”

“I see.” Ben began to be concerned about this tight-knit little legal community. “You must be the district attorney.”

“That he is,” the judge answered for him.

“Good.” Ben rose to his feet. “Shall we go into the courtroom now?”

“No need for that,” the judge said. “I think we can handle this right here.”

“Here?”

“I don’t see why not. We like to handle cases informally in Reeves County, whenever possible. Tell you the truth, there’s not much I need to know. I’ve read the file.”

Ben was stunned. “You’ve read the district attorney’s file?”

“I like to know what’s going on.”

Ben thought it prudent not to comment. At least not yet. “Why has my client been denied bail?”

“That was my decision,” Judge Tyler said firmly. “This is a capital crime, after all, and your client has no permanent ties to this community. Not to mention the fact that some folks might like to throw a rope around his neck and swing him from a cottonwood tree. No, I think he’s best right where he is.”

“When I visited him, I wasn’t able to enter his cell.”

“That’s my order, too. We have good reason to believe he’s a dangerous character. I’m not letting anyone in there unless a peace officer is present. And since I assume you want to talk to your client in private, you’ll just have to do it from the other side of the iron bars.”

Ben drummed his fingers on the chair. “When’s the probable cause hearing, your honor?”

“I’m not much for those big dog-and-pony shows,” the judge muttered.

“But, your honor—the probable cause hearing is my chance to learn about the state’s case.”

“Hell, son, they’ll tell you whatever you want to know. There’s plenty of evidence. Hank’s got statements from half a dozen people who heard your boy threaten to kill that Vuong kid.”

“The fact that he made a threat doesn’t prove—”

“The boy practically confessed when the sheriff arrested him. And his motive is obvious. Do you know how Vuong died?”

Ben had to admit that he did not.

“He was killed by two crossbow bolts, one to the chest, and the other to his neck.”

Ben checked Payne for confirmation. “A crossbow bolt?”

“Yes,” the judge replied. “That’s what you call them big-ass metal arrows crossbows shoot. Made a mess of that kid, let me tell you. The killer fired from close range. And then planted a great big ol’ burning cross right over Vuong’s head. Piece of the cross fell down and caught the body on fire. Good in a way—the flames cauterized the neck wound. Unfortunately they also burned his body to a crisp. Those ASP sumbitches just don’t have no mercy in them.”

“Your honor, I believe you’re jumping to conclusions—”

“What other conclusion is there?”

Ben took a deep breath. There was no sense in alienating the judge. But he couldn’t let him walk all over his client’s rights, either. “I must insist that we have a formal in-court probable cause hearing. So I can cross-examine Mr. Swain’s witnesses.”

“He’ll give you the names of all his witnesses. You can talk to them whenever you want.”

Ben tried to remain composed. “Sir, I want a court reporter in here. So we can make a record for the appellate court to review.”

The judge leaned across his desk. “Mr. Kincaid, I’m afraid you are beginning to get on my nerves. Are you suggesting that you’re already planning to take me up on appeal?”

“I have to consider the possibility, Judge. This case just isn’t being handled according to the proper procedures.”

“Goddamn you big-city lawyers!” Tyler pounded his fist on his desk. “You’ve been in my chambers for less than ten minutes and you’re already telling me how I should handle my cases!”

“I have to do my job—”

“Fine. Do your job. But stay the hell away from mine.”

“My client has an absolute right to a probable cause hearing—”

“Not anymore.”

Ben blinked. “What?”

“Mr. Payne has already waived the hearing and agreed to proceed to trial.”

Ben spun around and faced Payne. “Is that true?”

Payne grinned sheepishly. “Did I do bad?”

Ben slapped his palm against his forehead. “I don’t believe this. …”

“I thought it would help move matters along. …”

“Judge,” Ben said, “I was retained to advise Mr. Payne on criminal procedure. If you aren’t going to follow the procedures, then I’m of no use to him. I’ll have to withdraw from the case.”

“That motion will be overruled.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. You asked to be admitted and I allowed it. I’ll not permit you to turn around a few minutes later and withdraw. What is this, some kind of game to you? In, out, in, out. I don’t allow lawyers to do the hokey-pokey in my courtroom.”

“You can’t force me to stay on this case!”

“Mr. Kincaid, I suggest that you refrain from telling me what I can and cannot do. If you do not proceed with this case to the full extent of your abilities, I will hold you in contempt of court. And let me inform you that our sheriff takes my contempt orders very seriously. Got it?”

Ben bit down on his lower lip. “Got it.”

“Now let’s not have any more of these improprieties.”

“Improprieties? From me?” Ben knew he should remain silent, but he just couldn’t. “I came here expecting an impartial hearing, and instead I got a judge who won’t follow procedure and a DA who’s baby-sitting!”

Tyler’s jaw clenched tightly shut, but he still managed to speak. “Let me put a bug in your ear, Mr. Kincaid. You may think we’re just a bunch of hicks out here. You may think I’m some redneck judge who doesn’t know what he’s doing. Well, I went to law school just like you, mister. I run a clean courtroom, and your boy’s going to get a fair trial, whether I particularly care for him or not.”

“I never meant to suggest—”

“Let me tell you something else. This town wasn’t always the happy hamlet I’ve lived in the past thirty years. Back in the Fifties and Sixties, we had the KKK crawling all over us—protests, race riots, lynchings. It was a hellhole. Town barely survived.”

Judge Tyler swiveled his chair around and gazed out the window. “Maybe I wasn’t as strong back then as I should’ve been. Maybe I didn’t do all I could’ve done. Well, I’m not making that mistake twice. I’m not letting this … ASP gang tear apart my town. I’m—”

“ASP is not on trial, Judge—”

Tyler rose to his feet. “Mr. Kincaid, do not interrupt me again!” He allowed an uncomfortable silence to pass before he returned to his seat. “Since your client’s friends came to town, they’ve been terrorizing folks and frightening everyone half to death. If this continues, pretty soon Silver Springs won’t be a safe place to raise precious little girls like Amber anymore. Well, I’m not going to let that happen. Not again. Do you understand?”

Ben nodded. He sure as hell did.

C
OLONEL NGUYEN SAT ON
the makeshift porch of his home in Coi Than Tien and gazed up at the stars. The sentinels of the night. So calm, so unchanging. When he was younger, he knew the names of all the constellations. He knew where to find the brightest stars in the sky and how to follow their progress. Now he had no time for such amusements. Now when he looked at the sky, it was only to wonder if there could really be someone up there, someone overseeing this cruel and bitter world.

He glanced at his wife, Lan, and their eighteen-month-old daughter, Thuy, whom they called Mary. Their four-year-old, Huong (Holly), was already asleep. Lan held Mary in her lap and rocked her gently. Mary’s tiny eyelids were fluttering; soon she would be in the land of dreams. Her face was the very image of contentment; it made Nguyen’s heart swell. If only life could always be thus. If only contentment was not merely for those blissfully unaware.

The porch wasn’t much of a porch, just as their home wasn’t much of a home. It was a Quonset hut, actually, bolted together from surplus corrugated metal. The porch was no more than a thin stretch of dirt; Nguyen had built a wooden railing around it to create the illusion of a real porch.

It embarrassed the Colonel to have his wife and children live in such conditions. Back in the homeland, his family had been wealthy, important. They had the best of everything. But that was a different country, a country that no longer existed. And it was a long time ago. So long now that, as he gazed at the stars and cast his mind back, he could barely remember it.

Lan eased out of her rocking chair. Mary’s soft, rhythmic breathing assured them she was soundly sleeping. Lan tiptoed inside the hut to put her down for the night. Nguyen couldn’t help but smile; he loved nothing more than watching his wife and daughters. When he recalled how close he had come to losing his wife, to never having any children at all, he shuddered.

Back in Vietnam, Nguyen had been one of the most important men in the South Vietnamese army. He had personally served in the Airborne and in Special Forces; he had commanded a unit of over twenty thousand combat troops. His men had seen some of the bloodiest action in the entire bloody war. Many of the most critical South Vietnamese victories came as a direct result of Nguyen and his soldiers.

When Saigon fell to the North Vietnamese, Nguyen reluctantly fled the country. He hated the thought of leaving his homeland; he could not imagine being separated from the soil of his birth. But the North Vietnamese had not hidden the fact that they intended to “chastise” high-ranking South Vietnamese officers, particularly those responsible for critical military victories. Nguyen had two choices: flee Vietnam or face incarceration, torture, and death.

The Americans were precious little help. Nguyen didn’t blame them personally. They were caught short like everyone else when Saigon fell, as their many plans and schemes were destroyed. In the utter turmoil and chaos that followed, he was separated from Lan. He managed to get out before the fall; she didn’t.

Colonel Nguyen made his way to America and took a series of hard-labor jobs—sweeping floors, washing dishes, shoveling out horse stalls. Most of his spare time was devoted to trying to get Lan to America. He contacted all the proper agencies and authorities; no one could offer any assistance. He became more and more despondent as he became more and more afraid he would never see her again.

In the meantime Lan had somehow managed to evade the Vietcong rover packs more than ready to exact revenge upon the families of high-ranking officers who had slipped through their fingers. In time, she managed to fight her way onto a boat full of refugees.
Boat
was a generous description given by the press;
raft
would have been more accurate. She was shoulder-to-shoulder with a hundred castaways desperate to escape Vietnam or the harsh refugee camps established in Thailand and other Asian countries. But Lan never complained. She was certain that the boat, any boat, would take her to her husband. To freedom.

She was bitterly disappointed. Her boat drifted up one coast and down another. No one would take them in. They were shunned as if they were lepers or murderers. She could not understand it; she had committed no crime. She was trapped offshore, with no money and no means to contact her husband, even if she knew where he was. She became bitterly sick and filled with despair. She was ready to die.

Finally, the American government agreed to accept a limited number of the refugees. Lan’s boat was brought in and its occupants were identified. One of the agencies Nguyen regularly visited contacted him. He flew to Florida to meet her. Since he was by that time already an American citizen, she was able to enter the United States. He immediately took her to a Miami hospital—just in time. According to the doctors, if she had not received medical treatment, she would have soon died of pneumonia.

Lan returned from the house and snuggled close to her husband. “She’s asleep.”

“Good.” He put his arm around her. “I am so happy that we are together.”

“As I am, my husband.”

Those were more than just pleasantries to Nguyen and his wife. To people who had been separated so long and so horribly, the words had real meaning.

For years, the Nguyens drifted from one temporary home to another, finally settling on the Gulf Coast in Porto Cristo. A number of Vietnamese had emigrated there and become shrimp fishers. Lan loved the idea; the climate and terrain reminded her of the homeland they both missed so dearly. After more than a year, and countless troubles, they began to make a go of it. The business actually showed a profit.

That’s when the trouble began.

At first it was just locals—white fishermen whose income diminished as a result of the increased competition. They complained that the Vietnamese
stole
shrimp by violating fishing regulations. The charges were not altogether unfounded. The Vietnamese did not at first understand the complex regulations, and couldn’t always afford to comply when they did. Meetings between the various factions were held, but no agreements were reached. It seemed the white men would accept nothing less than total withdrawal by the Vietnamese. Finally, when Nguyen and the others wouldn’t agree to abandon their new home and livelihood, someone called in the KKK.