going to come in and see you. Do not say a word to them if they question you.”
“Ben, I swear to you, I did not do this,” he said as the bawling picked up.
“Regardless of if you did anything or not, do not say a word to them. You know how this works.”
“I have no idea how this works!”
“Well, we are in the rural South and you know how things work here. You’re guilty until proven innocent and you know it.”
“But I didn’t do it,” he yelled, weeping more and more as the conversation went on.
“I hear you, Dwight, but it doesn’t fucking matter, so don’t say anything until we are face to face, okay?”
Dwight breathed heavily, trying to reduce his emotional outburst. “Okay,” he sighed, “I-I-I… hear you.”
“I’m coming inside.” Then Ben hung up.
He got out of the truck and walked across the street and into the police station. A woman with the nametag Pam was sitting at the front desk, dressed in a pair of jeans and a Freeden Police 5K t-shirt from the annual event that took place each March.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“Here to see Dwight.”
She frowned, visibly convicting him in her own mind. “He doesn’t get visitors yet.”
“Pam, I’m an attorney.”
“Well, are you going to be his attorney?”
“Yes,” he said boldly as he cut her off. Ben worried about his reputation, but in this moment felt a greater sense of duty. He needed to talk to Dwight. He needed to get the facts.
She sighed in a disappointing manner, as if she was surprised Ben would be here to help him. Ben knew what this meant. This was just a small, subtle sign of what was likely to come.
“Just a moment, Mr. Bailey.” She got up from her seat and walked out of sight. Ben often harbored sarcastic thoughts about most everything, and rarely conveyed them into words unless around his closest friends. But still he thought, I bet her lazy ass has not gotten up from that chair all day.
He immediately felt guilty for thinking this; it was a product of the disdain he had developed over time for many of those in local public service – particularly leadership. Ben had once worked as an assistant district attorney but then left to start his own firm, Bailey and Associates. He had grown aggravated with the politics of the local justice system and government. He found himself to be considerably more entrepreneurial than his colleagues, too, and he wanted to work for himself. In addition, Dr. Henson and Rachel’s family, who all were very intertwined in local politics, had added to his frustration by working to influence the local justice system. He had wanted out and bought a building downtown that became the home of his law firm.
So here he was, likely to represent a man who surely would be convicted in the court of public opinion by morning. This case would be different from any Ben had tried before. If in fact Dwight did not do it, it would be the most difficult trial in his career. And a difficult uphill battle to fight.
Ben took a seat in the lobby. It had now been ten minutes or more since Pam had walked to the back. He wondered what would happen to his firm. Dwight was very successful in his career, but Ben knew he did not have the money to pay for a trial attorney. He looked down, sighed, and covered his face with his hands.
He knew his worries were selfish. He did not get in the business to only make money and gain notoriety, but he was very worried that this case would ruin his career and firm, at least in Freeden and the surrounding area. If it became public (and he knew it would) that his firm was defending Dwight, he worried that no one would ever hire them again. Defending a gay man accused of rape and murder in this town would be career suicide. And it did not matter if Dwight was guilty or not.
Ben had always been worried about the opinions of others regarding his association with a gay man. Now, he could not hide it. The town he had grown up in, if he defended Dwight, would see him standing by this gay man’s side. Freeden would exile him just as fast as he could blink when they found out he was defending Dwight Kerry.
“Mr. Bailey?”
Ben looked up and saw a police officer he did not recognize at the door leading to the back. He nodded his head to the officer to affirm that he was the man he was looking for.
“Come with me,” the officer said.
Ben picked up his briefcase and followed the deputy through the winding hallway of the cut-up building. The deputy stopped at an old, steel door with padlocks on it. He opened the door to a depressive sight: a dark room barely lit by one fluorescent light bulb, intended to be lit by eight, with Dwight crouched over in a chair, leaning awkwardly on the table in front him. He sobbed uncontrollably.
Ben walked in, and the door shut behind him and locked. Dwight looked up at Ben, lowered his head again, and continued sobbing. It seemed to Ben that Dwight’s depressive state was growing even worse, likely because Dwight knew no one had ever seen him like this. Ben had no clue how to comfort Dwight. He cared deeply about people, but he just did not do well with helping others cope in times of strife.
He sat down across from Dwight, setting his briefcase on the floor against the table leg. Ben looked up at Dwight and then looked away. Regardless of whether or not he did it, this was miserable to see.
They both sat across from one another, with not one word spoken for nearly ten minutes.
The sobbing stopped, and Dwight just breathed heavily for another two or three minutes. Finally, he spoke.
“I imagine…” he wiped away tears and tried to get himself together. “I imagine this is sad to watch.”
Ben, who had spent the last several minutes simply looking down to avoid the awkwardness of Dwight making eye contact, replied, “It is.”
“Well, damn,” Dwight wiped away the last of his tears, “try not to be too sensitive.”
“You know I’m not too good with stuff like this.”
“That’s why you became a defense attorney I imagine. Damn near emotionless, I see.”
“I have emotions,” Ben replied. “I just don’t know how to show them sometimes.”
“You’re risking a lot being in here with me, you know?”
Ben responded, “And what do you mean?”
He wiped at his face, trying to get it back to normal. “You know what I mean.”
Ben sighed. “Dwight, I have to set aside our friendship for just a moment and be totally objective, okay?”
Dwight looked down at the floor, chuckled in disgust, and said, “I know what you’re going to ask me.”
“I have to ask you, Dwight. Did you do it?”
“No.”
They both paused. The room was silent.
“Okay, any idea why they think you did?”
“I don’t know.”
“How did you know Braxton? Surely you knew him.”
“Of course I knew him! He was a student of mine.”
“What classes?”
“Music. He played the piano for the school choir, too.”
“Were you friends?”
Dwight teared up again. “He was one of my best students. An avid learner for sure. Intelligent, quiet, but so loving. He understood how to be loving and kind well beyond his years.”
“What else did you know about him?”
“He