will be part of the trial record.” He looked keenly at Archer. “And I must say, the evidence against you is quite compelling.”
“Would one of those witnesses be Jackie Tuttle?”
“Yes.”
“She’s gone. Left town.”
“So I understand. And while her testimony is not critical to our case, we have put out notices in as many places as we can think of for her to return and testify. I like to cover all bases.”
“Well, good luck with that.”
Brooks gazed at him suspiciously. “You haven’t done any harm to her, have you?”
“Other way around, actually. And while you’re at it, try to find Ernestine Crabtree.”
“The parole officer?”
“Yeah, she’s skipped town, too. I wonder why?”
Brooks looked at him skeptically and shook his head.
“Hey, Mr. Brooks, one more thing.” From his pocket Archer drew out the onion skin copy of the letter he’d found in Tuttle’s shotgun. He passed it between the bars to Brooks.
Brooks looked at it and then glanced sharply up at Archer. “Where did you get this?”
“Mr. Tuttle gave it to me. But he sent the original to you, right?”
“Yes.”
“And what do you intend on doing about it?”
“I represent the law, Mr. Archer. So I intend on following it up. Mr. Tuttle was a very important man hereabouts and his word carries great weight. And that’s the other reason I want her back here. And if she doesn’t come back, I have ways to track her down. One way or another, justice will be served.”
“Okay.” Archer put out his hand for the letter.
“I’m not sure I should give this back to you.”
“You already have the original of it, and I might need it for my defense.”
“How so?”
“I don’t need to tell you that, do I?”
“Well, actually no.”
“Okay then.”
He reluctantly passed the copy back to Archer.
Archer slowly put the paper back in his pocket and said, “Hey, do I get a lawyer, or what?”
“Yes, if you can afford one. If not, well…” He shrugged.
“Yeah, that happened to me last time. I didn’t have a lawyer because I didn’t have any money. Doesn’t seem right that justice should depend on how much you have in your wallet.”
“The U.S. Supreme Court has actually agreed with you, Mr. Archer. Under the Sixth Amendment a criminal defendant is entitled to a lawyer provided by the government if he can’t afford one.”
“Well, then?”
“But, at the current time, that rule only applies in federal court criminal prosecutions, not state court, except in very special circumstances—none of which you meet, unfortunately.”
“Well, hell, I can be hanged if I’m convicted. What’s more special than that?”
In the face of this, Brooks seemed to take pity on Archer. “I can recommend someone who comes relatively cheap.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me, Mr. Archer. I’m going to do my best to see that you hang.”
He walked off. Archer sat back down and leaned against the concrete wall, desperately wanting a smoke. But they’d taken his Lucky Strikes and matches along with the gun.
An hour later a stringy, beady-eyed, bald-as-a-billiard-ball gent in a dark blue worsted suit with a porkpie hat in hand walked up to the cell and peered through the bars. He had a battered leather briefcase in his other hand.
“Hey, Archer?” he said.
“Yeah?”
“I’m Jervis Donnelly. Hear you need a lawyer.”
“Okay. What do you charge?”
“For you, my best rate, a hundred bucks.”
“And what do I get for the C-note?”
“Got some ideas.”
“I’m listening.”
“Gonna plead you guilty and see if we can get you life in prison. That way you avoid the noose. A damn good deal, considering. I’m filling out the paperwork now. I’ll take fifty bucks now and the other fifty when the court approves your life sentence.”
“What’s your next idea?”
“You being funny?”
“You see me laughing, mister?”
“Come on, Archer. You know you did it. Just take your medicine. This way you get three squares and a roof over your head till you croak. And they’ll teach you how to make license plates. Most folks would love to have that deal.”
“Well, I guess I’m not like most folks, then. I came back from the war looking for something more than three squares and making damn license plates.”
Donnelly shrugged. “You don’t listen to my advice, what can I do?”
“You can get lost is what you can do. Go on, beat it.”
Donnelly’s beady eyes became beadier. “You need a lawyer, Archer. Nobody else will take your case. Me, I’m a nice guy. I got empathy.”
“But you won’t even put up a fight?”
“Hell, son, I’m not a magician. I can’t change the damn facts. And you’re a dirty ex-con on