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The guard glanced at Fielding. “I’ll be right outside the door. Ring the bell when you’re ready to leave.”
Marsh nodded, and then as soon as the guard stepped out of the room, Barrett leaned forward.
Marsh leaned back and folded his hands in his lap.
“What’s going on?” Barrett asked.
“Jeremiah Raver is dead. Killed by one of his money-laundering associates. The FBI and the ATF are in the process of taking down the whole ring.”
A cold chill went all the way up Barrett’s spine. His preacher man was even dirtier than he could have imagined.
“What does this mean for me?” he asked.
“Legally, it changes nothing of your charges. Technically, it will make you look even worse in the eyes of a jury, being a known associate, even though you might have had no knowledge of the illegal activities...other than agreeing to go kill an innocent woman.”
Barrett’s eyes narrowed.
“You’re my attorney. You’re supposed to help me wangle the legal system.”
Marsh Fielding shrugged. “And that’s the other thing. The man who hired me to be your attorney is deceased. He had yet to remit a retainer. Do you still want to go to trial, or do you want to change your plea?”
Barrett was stupid about some things, but not the legal system. He’d screwed himself and he knew it.
“What’s my best bet?” he asked.
“Plead guilty and have a bench trial...let the judge rule in your sentence, rather than a jury.”
Barrett sighed. “Will you do that for me before you quit?”
“Yes. I’ll stay with you through the sentencing. It’s my own fault for doing this without the retainer.”
“Thanks,” Barrett said.
Marsh shrugged. “It’s what I do.” He hesitated, and then stared Barrett straight in the eyes. “May I offer a word of suggestion?”
“I’m listening,” Barrett said.
“You’re going to be inside for quite a stretch. It would behoove you to think of something else to do with what’s left of your life besides cause other people trouble. That’s all. I’ll let you know when we have to appear before the judge. In the meantime...the byword is low-key.”
And then he was gone.
Barrett was taken back to his cell and left to ponder the lawyer’s advice.
Farrell Kitt was down at the pigpen feeding hogs, and his wife, Judy, was in the house making supper.
Their kids were outside playing in the yard, and Farrell could hear their playful squeals and laughter. He couldn’t quit thinking about how close he’d come to losing all of this, and how gullible he had been, believing Jeremiah Raver’s claim that he’d had a vision from God, ordering him to send Jade Wyrick back to the hell from whence she’d come.
There was a part of him that still believed the woman should have never been born, but he hadn’t counted on her calling their bluff and calling them out. He couldn’t bring shame upon his family. Thank God no one knew.
He headed back to the house with a bounce in his step, looking forward to a good meal. Judy was still angry with him, but he knew in time she’d get over it.
He was walking toward the house when a car drove up into his yard. Moments later Judy came out of the house with their two-year-old on her hip. The kids who were playing all stopped and stared.
The visitor was Junior’s teacher, Mildred Pete.
Farrell started walking faster, hoping Junior, his eldest, hadn’t gotten into trouble at school today. Junior had his moments, and was sometimes a little hard to handle.
Judy was already at the car talking to the teacher when Farrell walked up.