Free Stone Cold by Joel Goldman Page B

visiting hours, and they had the room to themselves.
    “What up?” Dwayne said.
    “How’s your leg?”
    “It ain’t nuthin’.”
    “You know why you’re in jail?”
    He made a face like he’d thrown up in his mouth. “On account of that muthafucker Rossi. Man wants my ass.”
    “Did he tell you about the crack they found in your jeans?”
    “He tol’ me. It’s bullshit. Dope wasn’t even mine.”
    “I suppose you’re going to tell me that the cops put it in your jeans.”
    Dwayne rolled his eyes. “Not that they wouldn’t, but it belong to my mama.”
    “It was Odyessy’s crack?” Alex asked.
    “For a smart lawyer, you ax some dumb-ass questions. How many mamas you think I got?”
    “Fine. Why was your mother’s crack in your pocket?”
    “Better than bein’ in her pocket. All she gonna do is smoke it.”
    Alex raised her eyebrows. “Are you telling me that you were trying to stop your mother from using?”
    “Why you look so surprised? She my mama, ain’t she? I jus’ ’bout had her clean ’fore they arrested me for killin’ Wilfred. No way she could stay off that shit wit’out me bein’ there to stop her. I was gone more’n six months till you got me off. Plenty of time for her to get back to her old ways. We was jus’ gettin’ started over again when Rossi show up.”
    Alex sat back in her chair, the phone resting on her shoulder. Dwayne wasn’t the first client to tell her he’d been caught with dope that belonged to someone else. It was a drug dealer’s version of the squirrel-came-in-my-window-and-ate-my-homework excuse. Yet there was something about the way he told the story that made her believe him or, more to her amazement, want to believe him. Her mother had always told her that there was good inside every human being; you just had to know where to look. She wondered if Dwayne was hiding his goodness beneath the bodies of the Henderson family.
    “Why’d you run from Rossi?”
    “After the shit he pulled on me, it was run or throw down, and I wasn’t lookin’ for no trouble.”
    “You mean you were ready to let bygones be bygones?”
    He smiled. “Yeah. That’s me. I’m all about forgive and forget.”
    Alex shook her head, staring at the floor, not saying anything.
    “What you lookin’ at?” he asked.
    She raised her head. “I’m waiting to see how deep the bullshit gets.”
    Dwayne laughed. “See, that’s why I like you. That’s why you such a good lawyer.”
    “Because I can recognize bullshit?”
    “Nah. ’Cause you know what to do wit’ it.”
    She couldn’t argue with the compliment. There were times when bullshit was all she had to work with.
    “Thanks. You know the real reason you’re in here has nothing to do with the crack the cops found in your jeans.”
    Dwayne leaned forward, his face less than an inch from the Plexiglas. “What you talkin’ ‘bout?”
    “I’m talking about five dead bodies: Kyrie Chapman and the Jameer Henderson family. The good deed you did for your mother gave Rossi enough to hold you while he tries to nail you for their murders.”
    Dwayne edged away from the glass, his face hardening. “Don’t know nuthin’ ’bout that shit.”
    “Except you do know that they’re dead.”
    “I hear them cops talkin’ ’bout it. That’s all,” he said, his lips barely moving.
    “Then do yourself a favor. Don’t talk about it. With anybody. Your initial appearance is set for nine o’clock Monday morning. I’ll see you in court.”

Chapter Sixteen
    INITIAL APPEARANCES WERE HELD in the courthouse annex next door to the Jackson County jail. The buildings adjoined each other, making it possible for sheriff’s deputies to walk inmates from their cells to the courtroom.
    Conducted by associate circuit judges, first appearances were routine proceedings intended to inform defendants of the charges, appoint counsel to represent them if necessary, and set dates for arraignment.
    Judge Noah Upton was presiding over the