Doug lifted a half-gallon Mason jar from the brown grocery bag beside his chair and carried it up to Dwight. "Major Bryant, I show you this jar and ask if you can identify it as being one of the jars you found in Mrs. Englert's basement on the night of June twenty-eighth."
"It is. That's my mark on the lid."
"I ask that this be entered as state's Exhibit A," said Doug. I nodded assent and he continued, "Did you open this jar?"
"Yes, sir."
"What does it contain?"
"Objection," said Ambrose, standing with ponderous dignity. "Calls for an informed conclusion this officer is not qualified to make."
There were snickers from the side benches that any Colleton County law officer couldn't recognize moonshine when he saw it.
Doug, too, had a grin on his face. "Your Honor, Major Bryant is a veteran law officer with many years experience. I should call him eminently qualified."
"So should I," I said, "but Mr. Daughtridge is technically correct. Major Bryant is not a chemist. Objection sustained."
"I'm prepared to introduce into evidence a detailed analysis of the contents by an Alcohol Law Enforcement agent," said Doug. "I thought in the interest of saving time and—"
Mrs. Englert had tugged at Ambrose's jacket and as he bent down to listen, the whole courtroom heard her exasperated whisper. "Why do you quibble so, Mr. Daughtridge? Everyone knows what it is. Get on with it."
"Your Honor," said Ambrose, "the defense will stipulate as to Major Bryant's expertise in this matter."
"Thank you," said Doug.
As Dwight confirmed that the jars had held untaxed liquor that was probably at least eighty proof, I thought about the things we weren't going to hear from the witness stand today. Things like how a silly combination of circumstances could cause a waste of taxpayer money. Ordinarily, Dwight would have emptied those jars down the nearest sink drain, and that would have been the end of it. But young Raeford McLamb was pushing to go by the book and Dwight knew if he overrode McLamb, he'd lay himself open to charges of kowtowing to the rich and well connected.
Now McLamb might have let someone else's liquor go down the drain; but three days earlier, Mrs. Englert had entered a complaint against his sister because his sister's cat occasionally used Mrs. Englert's herb garden as a litter box. McLambs are pretty clannish. Cut one and you've cut them all. If Mrs. Englert couldn't overlook a little cat urine, no way was Deputy McLamb going to overlook two jars of white lightning.
Nor could Doug overlook them once McLamb brought the ALE in on it. Not that there was any love lost between him and Elizabeth Englert either. As a Republican, she'd supported his opponents in both races.
"No further questions," said Doug.
I looked over at Ambrose. "Cross-examine?"
"No questions," he replied.
"The prosecution rests," said Doug.
"Mr. Daughtridge?"
Ambrose stood, straightened the front of his beautifully cut navy linen jacket, and smoothed his silver hair. "Your Honor, the defense does not dispute that two jars of untaxed liquor were found when and where Major Bryant has so testified. What I do dispute is the implication that these jars were attained by my client or that they were ever in her possession. The district attorney has not proved possession and I would therefore move that this charge be dismissed."
Doug was already on his feet. "Your Honor, is my worthy opponent suggesting that Mrs. Englert does not own the house? If so, I think we can have a copy of the deed up here in ten minutes."
"Motion denied, Mr. Daughtridge," I said. "Present your case.
"I would call Mrs. Elizabeth Englert to the stand."
Mrs. Englert crossed firmly to the stand. The bailiff handed her a Bible and when Ally Mycroft asked if she swore to tell the truth, her frosty reply suggested she felt insulted at being required to swear to veracity. Surely the whole world knew a Hamilton never lied?
As expected, she denied any knowledge of how those jars came to be in her basement. When Doug invited her to speculate on cross-examination, she declined. Yes, it was her house. Yes, under the terms of her late husband's will, she now owned its entire contents; but she had not brought every item into the house nor could she possibly know what else might lie hidden within its spacious confines.
Ambrose asked that his client be declared not guilty, while Doug argued that possession is possession is possession.
When they had finished, I sat back in my chair and regarded the participants. Mrs. Englert's eyes met mine and half-narrowed as it finally sank in that I and I alone had the power to prolong this public embarrassment. I suspect she was remembering her past petty snubs.
I hoped she was.
I leaned forward. "Mrs. Englert, the court sincerely regrets any personal emotional pain this incident may have caused you. In this court's opinion, you have been a victim of overzealousness, both on the part of the sheriff's department and the district attorney's office. Possession of untaxed liquor is a serious matter, as I'm sure you know; but you were clearly an unwitting possessor, therefore I find you not guilty of all charges."
I smiled sweetly. Never had revenge tasted so good.
"Thank you, Your Honor," said Ambrose; but Elizabeth Hamilton Englert suddenly looked like a person biting into an unpeeled persimmon. In three sentences, I had patronized her, implied that she was slightly stupid, and then put her in my debt for all time.
Top that, sugar!
Over on the side bench, Reid was grinning broadly and Dwight was trying not to.
As Ambrose escorted Mrs. Englert from the courtroom, most of the attorneys left, too.
No blood drawn from the new kid today. * * *
When we resumed after a fifteen-minute recess, Cyl DeGraffenried was back behind the prosecutor's table.
First up was a DWI revoked license and I gave him ninety days of active jail time. Even though it was my toughest sentence yet, I didn't give it a second thought. His daddy owns the largest building supply business between Raleigh and Wilmington, and I guess it was daddy's money paying for the services of Zack Young to defend him.
Zack's probably the best attorney in Colleton County, but I'd seen his client in this particular courtroom a lot of mornings over the last three years since he got his driver's license and I knew he'd had the benefit of doubt extended to him more times than one.
Zack gave notice of appeal and asked for bail.
I looked to Cyl, who stood and said, "Your Honor, he's only nineteen; he can't even buy beer legally, yet this is his fourth DWI. If you'll look at his record, you'll see that not only does he drink, he just will not stay off the road when he's drinking. So far, he hasn't killed anyone, but by the law of averages, he's overdue. The state recommends that bail be denied on the grounds that he does pose a danger both to himself and to the community."
For once I thoroughly agreed with her. "But we can't deny bail," I said before Zack could protest. "So how about we make this a half-million cash bond?"
Zack bolted upright. "Cash bond? Your Honor, my client's father may own Tri-County Supply, but even he can't raise that kind of cash money at the snap of his fingers."
"Good," I said. "Bailiff, take the defendant into custody."
Three rows back, a fortyish woman in a designer black-and-white polished cotton and white jade necklace rose with a devastated face as Zack came down the aisle to her. They went out together with Zack patting her shoulder.
Mrs. Tri-County Supply. But under the expensive dress and jewelry, a mother too, it would seem. * * *
We briskly disposed of the rest of the calendar before lunch and I was about to adjourn for the day when a Mexican hurried up to Doug from the back of the room, waving a shiny plastic card. His English was so poor that Doug couldn't understand what he was saying, nor why he kept waving the card toward me.