Free A Killing at the Creek by Nancy Allen Page A

less we talk, the better.”
    Elsie gave a brief overview of the basic mechanics of a change of venue hearing. Sometimes, when there was a great deal of pretrial publicity, the defendant asked the court to order that the case be tried in a county where the community had not heard so much about the facts of the case, to ensure an impartial jury.
    After Elsie provided a thumbnail sketch of the hearing procedures, she walked back to the courtroom door. With a hand on the knob, she said, “I really appreciate you all coming today. It shouldn’t take long.”
    â€œI want to get back to work as quick as I can,” said the man who’d spoken up earlier. “This still don’t make much sense to me, why I’d have to miss work for some guy I don’t know nothing about.”
    Elsie gave him a conciliatory nod. “Appreciate it,” she said again. Then she returned to the courtroom, leaving the witnesses on the benches outside.
    As she rummaged for a pen and legal pad at her counsel table, the defense attorney, Billy Yocum, ambled into court with his client in tow. His genial expression disappeared when he saw Elsie.
    â€œWhere’s Mr. Harris?” he asked.
    â€œI’m filling in. How’s it going, Billy?”
    Elsie and the elderly attorney had gone around a time or two. Billy Yocum was old school, a master litigator who learned the trade from his time in the Prosecutor’s Office, decades earlier. Yocum had more tricks up his sleeve than a riverboat gambler.
    â€œWell, I don’t know. Seems like Mr. Harris should handle the hearing if he’s assigned to the case.”
    â€œBilly, you’re just going to have to get over it. I’m all you’ve got.”
    She slid back in the wooden chair, determined not to let Yocum rile her. Yocum was famous for turning tables on the prosecution, making it appear that the defense wore the white hat and the prosecution was the bad guy, rather than the other way around.
    He had countless tactics that infuriated her. At jury trials, after wrangling an evidentiary point before the judge at the bench—­and outside of the jury’s hearing—­Yocum would invariably claim victory for the jurors’ benefit. Whether the judge ruled in Elsie’s favor, or in Yocum’s, the old attorney would swing back toward the bench on the way to the counsel table with a jubilant: “Thank you, your honor! The defense appreciates your excellent ruling on that issue.”
    The first time it occurred, Elsie just stared at him with her mouth open, like she was catching flies; Yocum had managed to make himself look like a victor on an evidentiary point he had, in fact, lost to Elsie.
    Now that she was educated to the trick, she had become adept at beating him to the punch, chiming in with her own words of appreciation on behalf of the state, and punctuating the statement with an expressive wink to the jury. She had developed an array of nonverbal cues in her years as a trial lawyer and prided herself on her ability to connect on an unspoken level with the jurors. No one in the Ozarks could match her on that score—­with the possible exception of Billy Yocum.
    The bailiff emerged from the judge’s chambers and asked whether the parties were ready.
    â€œAll set,” said Elsie.
    â€œYes, sir,” said Yocum. “Tell Judge Callaway we can start any time.”
    The bailiff disappeared and Yocum’s client, a disheveled young man, said, “Does he stink?”
    â€œHush,” Yocum replied.
    The judge emerged from chambers. Elsie stood as the bailiff cried, “All rise!” After Judge Callaway took his seat, he invited the parties to do the same.
    Opening the file, Judge Callaway said, “What you got here, gentlemen?”
    Elsie frowned.
    The judge caught his gaffe and corrected himself, while Emil snickered in his bailiff’s chair.
    â€œI apologize, Ms. Arnold. I was expecting Mr.