Steven Womack - By Blood Written

It took a few seconds, but order was quickly restored. Forsythe looked out over the bench and glared at the defense table.

“Counselor, produce your client,” he ordered.

Talmadge stood quickly. “Your Honor,” he said, his voice breaking. Taylor had never heard him sound like he was losing it before. “Your Honor, I-I can’t. He was here a few minutes ago. He was in the bathroom. I-”

“Mr. Talmadge, I just gave you a direct order to produce your client. I’m going to hold you in contempt if he’s not delivered to this court immediately.”

“Y-Your Honor,” Talmadge stammered. “I’m sorry, but I can’t make somebody just appear if they’re not here.”

Forsythe turned to one of his court officers. “I want this building locked down immediately. Search the entire courthouse. Find him.”

The court officer fumbled for his radio, then bolted from the courtroom through the judge’s door.

“General Collier,” Forsythe said, “do you have any sugges-tion as to how to deal with this most unusual circumstance?”

Collier jumped to attention. “Your Honor, has the jury communicated to you that they’ve reached a verdict?”

“They have.”

Collier turned to the defense table, stared at Talmadge for a moment, then turned back to the bench. “Well, then, Your Honor, the state moves that the jury be brought into the courtroom to deliver its verdict!”

A murmur arose throughout the room. “Objection, Your Honor,” Talmadge shouted. “The defendant is not here. You can’t deliver a verdict without the defendant.”

“Objection overruled,” Forsythe snapped. “If the defendant’s not here, it’s his own damn fault, and if it’s not his own damn fault, I intend to find out whose fault it is. Bailiff, bring in the jury.”

Seconds later, the jury filed in, looking lost and weary.

Immediately, they spotted the defense table. The looks on their faces became even more questioning.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have an unusual circumstance here,” Forsythe said. “We seem to have lost our defendant.

However, this does not mean that the verdict cannot be delivered in absentia . So, Mr. Foreman, have you reached a verdict?”

The foreman, a thin man with gray hair and wire-rimmed glasses, stood. Before he could open his mouth, Talmadge was on his feet again.

“Your Honor, move for a mistrial, as the defendant’s absence is highly prejudicial.”

“The jury has already reached a verdict, Mr. Talmadge, before the defendant went missing. So how could it be prejudicial?”

“Move for a mistrial, Your Honor,” Talmadge answered weakly.

“Motion denied. Answer the question, Mr. Foreman.”

The thin man looked frightened as his glance jumped around the courtroom. “Yes, Your Honor. We have.”

“Would you hand your verdict to the clerk, please?”

The man held out his hand as the clerk approached and took the forms from him. She walked over, reached above her, and handed the papers to Forsythe. He scanned them quickly, his face expressionless, then handed them back to the clerk.

“Since the defendant is unable to stand and face the jury, his representatives will. Gentlemen, on your feet.”

Talmadge and his two underlings stood.

“Clerk, read the verdicts.”

“On count one of the indictment, a violation of TCA 39-13-202, first-degree murder of Allison May Matthews, we find the defendant guilty as charged …”

A muffled buzz filled the courtroom. Forsythe slammed his gavel down twice as the clerk continued.

Guilty as charged. Guilty as charged. Guilty as charged …

How many times, Taylor wondered, would she say that? A roar grew in her ears. She looked to her right and saw all the people around her staring at her. She looked up and watched as Forsythe banged his gavel over and over, almost in slow motion, his voice a roar now, too.

She felt herself swaying back and forth, as if the room were swirling around her.

Forsythe turned to the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen, as I explained at the beginning of this trial, this is a two-part process. Ordinarily, we would begin the sentencing phase of this trial now. But that’s not possible. The constitution requires that a defendant be present to speak to the jury about any mitigating factors in his favor, and as we can plainly see, that is not possible. There are constitutional grounds for delivering a verdict in absentia , but that’s as far as we can go right now. Therefore, I have no choice but to thank you for your long and difficult service to the court and to dismiss you at this time.”

The jurors looked at each other, almost in shock, as if to ask, “Can we really go now?”

Forsythe slammed his gavel down again. “General Collier, I will issue an immediate warrant for the arrest of the defendant on any charges you draw up. Just do it quickly.

And I assume the police are already in the loop on this, correct?”

“We’re on it, Your Honor. As we speak …”

“Fabulous.” Forsythe turned to the defense table. “And I’m going to hold you, Mr. Talmadge, in contempt of court.

You’re going to be spending the next forty-eight hours as my guest. Bailiff, take him into custody.”

Wes Talmadge, in his eight-hundred-dollar Armani suit, looked up at the judge in shock. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. His hands were shaking and he held them out, palms forward, as if to ward off the court officer walking up to him. Then his hands fell to his side in defeat.

“Court’s dismissed,” Forsythe announced, banging his gavel as he stood up. “All rise,” the court officer shouted, his right hand holding Wes Talmadge’s arm.

Taylor stood up, her mind blank, her vision blurring. People around her were jumping, scrambling to get out of the courtroom, yanking out their cell phones, shouting at each other. A half-dozen people jostled her, almost knocking her over as she stood there gazing out at the courtroom pandemonium.

He’s gone , she thought. He really did it.

Then she looked down at her own hands, held out in front of her, shaking slightly.

What do I do now? she wondered.

Then there was a hand on her elbow. She turned. A young, attractive Hispanic woman, dark-skinned, coal-black straight hair, stood next to her.

“Ms. Robinson?” she asked.

Taylor nodded blankly. “Yes?”

“Ms. Robinson, I’m Detective Maria Chavez of the Metro Nashville Police Department. You’ll have to come along with me now.”

“I will?” Taylor asked. “Why?”

“Because,” the young woman answered. “We have a few questions for you. I’m taking you into custody as a material witness.”

Monday evening, Nashville

The room was cold, the fluorescent light above her harsh.

An immense framed mirror dominated the opposite wall, but Taylor assumed it was a one-way mirror and that they were watching her from the other side.

Just like TV , she thought. Now I know what it feels like …

The room smelled stale, with the faint scent of body odor and cigarettes lingering in the air. She sat in a metal chair that was bolted to the floor. She’d been there almost half an hour and no one had entered the room. She hadn’t been allowed to call anyone or talk to anyone.

Suddenly the metal door burst open, and a man in a gray suit walked in with a clipboard in his hand, followed by the young Hispanic woman and Agent Powell. She recognized the detective from the trial, but couldn’t remember his name.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Ms. Robinson,” the detective said. “As you can imagine, this is a somewhat delicate situation for us.”