Free A Killing at the Creek by Nancy Allen

case.”
    â€œI wrote notes for it, everything you need to know, from A to Z. It’ll be a breeze,” he said, reaching out and massaging her shoulder. “Please?”
    â€œHow’s the bailiff today?”
    Emil Elmquist, the Division 2 bailiff, had the same contempt for deodorant that his boss had for temperature control. In the summer, Emil’s body odor was legendary.
    â€œNot so fresh, I must confess. Grab the counsel table at the far end of the courtroom.”
    â€œOh Lord,” she groaned.
    â€œTell you what,” Chuck said, backing away from her. “If you do me this little favor, I’ll talk Madeleine into taking you along with me tomorrow.”
    â€œAlong where?”
    â€œTo Oklahoma.”
    Elsie’s interest perked up. “You’re going tomorrow? I think I’m free.”
    â€œOkay, then. Ashlock is scheduled to collect evidence off the bus at the Tulsa Highway Patrol headquarters. Plus, he’s tracking the kid’s trail, and Madeleine’s sending me along.”
    Why didn’t Ashlock tell me about Tulsa? Elsie wondered, a little injured; but maybe he would have filled her in on the plan at lunch, had she been able to meet him.
    Chuck said, “I’ve got to tag along, because I’m supposed to make sure the case is airtight in case she files. Because it’s tough to convince a jury to lock a juvenile up for life.” He pretended to wipe away tears. “Boo hoo.”
    Elsie followed as Chuck attempted to get away.
    â€œWhat time are you going?”
    â€œFirst thing in the morning. Is it a deal? You’ll get to see the bus. All bloody .”
    With the back of her hand, Elsie wiped sweat from her forehead. She would have liked to shut down Chuck’s off-­putting wisecracks, but she stifled the impulse; she needed to ingratiate herself with him, so she could see what the Oklahoma evidence revealed. And she needed to prove to herself that the juvenile was a murderer, before she could prove it to a jury. “Okay. Deal.”
    â€œGreat, thanks,” Chuck said, dashing through the door before she could change her mind.
    Elsie followed, walked around the courthouse rotunda, and hurried into Judge Callaway’s courtroom, eager to seize the far counsel table. The bailiff was reading the newspaper as she entered. When he saw her, he folded the pages.
    â€œYou doing the change of venue?” he asked.
    â€œBoy oh boy, Emil. I won the prize.”
    â€œYou got witnesses in the hallway.”
    â€œThanks, Emil. I’ll go out there in a minute.”
    Elsie flipped the file open and scanned the contents. The defendant was charged with methamphetamine production. The case had received some play in the news, because the meth lab was discovered when it set fire to a local hotel room. Still, the coverage was far from extraordinary. The file contained copies of articles from the local paper, reporting defendant’s arrest and preliminary hearing. Both articles ran photos alongside the text. One showed the smoking interior of defendant’s hotel room. The other photo depicted defendant and his attorney entering the courthouse. Elsie didn’t think either story could be branded as sensational.
    Walking to the courtroom door, she poked her head out. “Any witnesses for State v. Maggard ?” she called.
    Several ­people raised their hands. One man rose from the bench, protesting that the subpoena didn’t make sense; he didn’t even know anyone named Maggard.
    Elsie approached him, extending her hand. “Let me see your subpoena,” she said. She scanned it, nodding. “You’ve been summoned for a change of venue hearing. The defendant claims he can’t get a fair trial in McCown County.” She smiled, turning to include the citizens nearby. “I don’t mean to be mysterious, but with a change of venue motion, we don’t need to consult before you testify. The