Free Joe Dillard - 02 - In Good Faith by Scott Pratt Page A

and for the pleasure he took in browbeating and bullying attorneys and defendants. I saw him draw in a deep breath, but then he sat back in his high-backed leather chair and began to contemplate the ceiling. Finally, he leaned forward and looked at the audience.
    “Perhaps Mr. Dillard is right,” he said. “Perhaps I acted hastily, even unreasonably. But I hope you good people will give me credit for recognizing my mistake and for dealing with it in a reasonable and appropriate manner. Mr. Dillard, after these fine people vacate the courtroom, I’d like to see you in my chambers. Sheriff Bates, the charge against you is dismissed with my apologies.”
    The courtroom erupted again in cheers and applause. As Glass made a hasty exit, dozens of people surged forward, clapping Bates on the shoulder and congratulating him on his victory. I was pleased for Bates, but I knew that the rift between Glass and me had just been raised to a new level. There was no way I was going back to his chambers. He hadn’t ordered me to come to his chambers. He’d said, “I’d like to see you in my chambers.” I took that as a request, and chose to deny it. I wasn’t in the mood to listen to any more of his threats. I just wanted to bask in the glow of kicking his belligerent ass in front of three hundred people. I slipped out the side door and took a seat in the jury room. I left the door open and waited until I saw Bates pass by.
    “Hey, Leon,” I said as I caught up with him in the hallway, “congratulations.”
    Bates stopped and turned around, a wide grin spread across his face.
    “Brother, I ain’t never heard nobody talk to a judge like that,” he said. “You got the cojones of a Brahma bull.”
    “Thanks,” I said. “Let’s just hope I never give him a chance to cut them off.”

Thursday, September 18
    When I got back from lunch that same day, there was a note stuck to my door from Lee Mooney asking me to come to the conference room as soon as possible. I walked in to find Mooney sitting at the table with a young man I didn’t recognize. On top of the table was an evidence box.
    “There’s the man right now,” Mooney said as he stood up. “We were just talking about you. I heard you handled yourself very well in front of Judge Glass this morning.”
    “I don’t think I’ll be invited to his retirement party,” I said.
    “Shit, he’ll never retire,” Mooney said. “The only way he comes off of that bench is in a casket. But don’t worry about it. You made plenty of other friends today, especially Sheriff Bates. He thinks you’re a one-man dream team. Come on over here. I want to introduce you to someone.”
    The young man at the table stood up and offered his hand. He was a good-looking kid, late twenties, around six feet tall with short, straw-colored hair, blue eyes, and a square jaw.
    “This is Cody Masters,” Mooney said. “Investigator Cody Masters from the Jonesborough Police Department.” I vaguely recalled hearing or reading the name somewhere.
    “Joe Dillard,” I said, returning the smile.
    “Have a seat,” Mooney said. “We’ve got a little problem, and we think you’re just the man to solve it. Cody has a case coming up for trial next month, and I want you to handle it. It’s a sexual abuse case that got a lot of publicity a couple of years ago. You might remember it. What did they call it in the papers, Cody?”
    Masters blushed a little and dropped his head, obviously embarrassed.
    “The Pizza Bordello case,” he said.
    “I remember that,” I said. “The guy who owned Party Pizza in Jonesborough. What was his name?”
    “William Trent,” Mooney said.
    “Wow, that’s still around?”
    “Afraid so, and it’s set for trial on October fourteenth. Can you do it?”
    “You’re not giving me much time to get ready,” I said. “Who was handling it before?”
    “Alexander,” Mooney said. “But after the disaster with Billy Dockery, we can’t afford to take another beating