Murder in Southern Virginia: Read the Excerpt of David Baldacci’s A Calamity of Souls
In the cell there was one barred window, a rickety wooden chair, a short, narrow bunk, a stained commode, a cracked porcelain sink. And him.
“What happened to you?” asked Jack as the door clanged shut behind him.
Jerome Washington was sitting on the bunk, staring at the wall. The fact that his head was wrapped in a blood-soaked bandage and his face was bruised had prompted Jack’s question. Instead of a jail-issued garment, he apparently had on the same clothes he’d been arrested in. Denim, sweat-stained long-sleeved work shirt, worn dungarees, and old boots with the edges curled, like the man was melting from the bottom up. He was large and robustly built, and in his midtwenties. He was several inches taller than Jack and carried eighty more pounds. His hair was short, and a trim beard covered his jutting jaw and curved over his top lip.
Jack sat in the one chair and put his briefcase on his lap. “I’m Jack Lee,” he said. “Miss Jessup asked me to see you. I’m an attorney.”
Jerome moved slightly when Jack mentioned the woman, but he remained mute.
Jack unbuckled his briefcase straps and took out a legal pad and a pen. With his other clients, Jack had not taken notes during their first encounter. It could be intimidating, and he wanted the folks to tell their story in their own time and in their own way. But this was different, since he wasn’t even sure he was going to take the case. Despite what he had told Miss Jessup, he had never represented a Black client.
“You up for a few questions, Mr. Washington?”
For that he got not even a glance or a twitch.
“I’ve been told that you were arrested for murdering two people in Madison Heights. And that you’ve been before a judge and that no bail was set. Is that right?” Jack waited a moment. “How did you plead before the judge?” When Jerome still didn’t answer he said, “Did a lawyer go with you?”
All Jack heard was the screech of katydids outside the window. He glanced that way and saw the wink of a firefly right outside the bars, an insect far freer than this man.
“What you be doin’ here?”
When Jack glanced back the prisoner had leveled a darkly suspicious gaze on him.
“Miss Jessup said you needed a lawyer. Do you need a lawyer, Mr. Washington?”
Jerome made a show of looking around his cell. “What you think?”
“What happened to your head?”
“Cop bust it open.”
“Why? Were you resisting arrest?”
“Naw.”
“Why did he beat you up then?” asked Jack.
“Bumped into him.”
“Bumped? Why?”
“’Cause man say he gonna do things to my wife.”
“What sort of things?” asked a puzzled Jack.
Jerome looked directly at him. “Ain’t gonna say. But they all be bad. Real bad.”
“So you bumped into a cop?”
“Before that, he kept hittin’ me with that damn club when I ain’t do nothin’. And they already done cuffed me and I was on my knees. So why they keep hittin’ me?”
“So he provoked you into doing something and then beat you badly, while you were already in custody?” said Jack.
“Yes sir, he did.”
“Okay, I’ll make inquiries about that and see what I can do.” He looked Jerome over. “Why has no one come to take your clothes and issue you a prisoner’s outfit?”
“They say they ain’t have my size. They still lookin’.”
“I understand you were arrested by the officers because they had a reasonable belief that you had committed a crime?”
“Guess ’cause I be there.”
“And I also understand that you went before a judge or magistrate and that no bail was granted. Did a lawyer go with you?”
He nodded. “Some white man. Don’t ’member his name.”
“Was he a public defender?”
Jerome shrugged. “Don’t know.”
“What did he say to you?”
“He say, ‘You got money for a lawyer?’ And I think he mean right then. So I says no. Then we went to the courthouse and they ask me how I…”
“How you plead?”
“Yeah. And I say I didn’t do nothin’ to nobody.”
“Did your lawyer request bail?”
“He ain’t say nothin’ ’bout that. But the judge say I gotta go to jail.”
“Did the commonwealth’s attorney mention an indictment?” Jerome shook his head. “I ain’t never hear that word.”
“What did the man who went with you to court look like?”
“Skinny, short. Got red hair. Loud voice.”
“George Connelly? That ring any bells?”
“Yeah. You know him?”
“Yes. I’ll talk to him to get more details. Has he been here to see you?”
“Naw.”
Jack wrote down a few things. “Did they take any bodily fluids from you? Like a urine sample?”
Jerome looked offended. “Naw. Why they wanna do that?”
“To see if you might have been intoxicated or on drugs.”
“I ain’t either one.”
“Have you ever used narcotics?”
Jerome fidgeted and glanced nervously away.
Jack said, “If I’m your lawyer, everything you tell me is confidential. I can’t reveal it to anyone.”
“Took drugs in ’Nam. Army give ’em to everybody.”
Jack thought of his brother. “I’ve heard that.”
“But I ain’t never take nothin’ since I been back.”
“How long were you in Vietnam?” asked Jack.
“Two years. Feel like twenty.”
“Were you questioned by the police after you were arrested?”
“Two white dudes in suits got me in a little room. Say I killed them people and if I don’t want to die in the chair, I better tell ’em how and why I done it.”
“And what did you say?”
“I ain’t say nothin’. They started screamin’ at me, pushin’ me, smackin’ me and such. But I just looked at the wall and pretend I ain’t where I am. Finally, they got tired out and put me in here.”
Jack noted how stiffly Jerome was keeping his left leg. “Did the police hurt your leg, too?”
“Happened in ’Nam. Got shot there. Ain’t much good, hurts all the time, but least I’m alive.”
“You got a Purple Heart then?”
He said, “I got me lots of medals. So what?”
“Now, why were you at that house when the people were killed?”
“I worked there,” replied Jerome. “Drove ’em ’round in the car. Worked in the yard, the garage, the house, fixed stuff needed fixin’.”
“So like a handyman. How long had you worked there?”
“’Bout a year now. Big property, got lots to do keepin’ it goin’. But Mr. Leslie want to keep it all goin’ good.”
Jack glanced up sharply from his notes. “Mr. Leslie?”
“Yeah, Mr. Leslie and his wife, Miss Anne.”
Jack felt his skin grow cold despite the stifling heat of the room. “Leslie and Anne Randolph?”
“Yes sir. Good people, least they was.” He lowered his troubled gaze to the floor.
Jack didn’t personally know the Randolphs, but he certainly knew of them. They were one of the most prominent families around. And he did know their youngest child, Christine. And this man was accused of ending their lives. It must have been in the local news. But he hadn’t read a newspaper or watched TV because he’d been shut up in his office over the weekend working on various cases. His parents hadn’t mentioned it and he wondered why not.
He composed himself and said, “Can you tell me what happened?”
Jerome lifted his gaze. “You say Miss Jessup send you? But maybe you with the cops gettin’ me to say stuff so’s I end up in the chair.”
Jack handed his business card to Jerome. “I’m a lawyer in private practice. My office is on Marshall Street. And, despite what the police told you, Virginia has stopped executing people for now. There hasn’t been one done in five years.”
Jerome stared uncertainly at the card. “Where it say where you is?”
Jack pointed at the address. “Right there. Marshall Street.” He paused, something occurring to him. “Um, can you read, Jerome?”
Jerome stuffed the card into his shirt pocket. “What you wanna know?”
“Let’s get the big one out first. Did you kill them? You can tell me and I can never reveal it.”
“No sir, I didn’t.”
“It would be helpful if we can provide evidence absolving you of the crime.”
He frowned. “What that mean?”
“To show you couldn’t have killed them and then they’ll have to let you go.”
Jerome snorted. “Let me go? What drugs you on?”
“The state has to prove your guilt.”
“Uh-huh, sure they do,” Jerome replied bitterly, looking away. “You’re a citizen with rights.”
Jerome stared at Jack and his look was withering. “No, I’m a n—— to every white person walkin’ down the street lookin’ at me like I don’t belong here. Did they fight for this country? Did they get shot up? I did. I was. And this still ain’t my country for why I don’t know.” Finished, he dropped his gaze and studied the floor.
Jack waited for a few moments to break the silence. He knew every word Jerome had spoken was the absolute truth. And he also knew it would not help his case in the slightest. “So tell me about that day at the Randolphs.”
His head slowly swinging back and forth Jerome said, “I was in the garage cleanin’ the car. They got them a big old Buick. Mr. Leslie like it spic ’n’ span.”
“Okay, then what?”
“I done finished cleanin’ it. Then time for me to get on home.”
“What time was that?”
“Clock on the car say six. ’Member the hands pointin’ up and down.”
“So you finished up and then what?”
“Went to the house get my money. They pay on Friday. Forty dollars cash for the week. Good money. Good money.”
“So you went to the house, and then what?” Jack asked patiently. “I knocked on the back door, but ain’t nobody answer. I knock again. Ain’t hear nothin’. Then I see the door open a little bit. I poke my head in, and say it’s me.”
“And no answer?”
“Naw.”
“Did they sometimes go out?”
“Just for a walk, but it real hot that day and they stay inside. But they real good ’bout payday. So I think maybe they ain’t hear me.”
“So you poked your head in and called out?”
“Yes sir. But nobody answer me. So’s I walk on in. I don’t like bein’ in the house like that, but I don’t know what else to do ’cause I need my money. Pearl be expectin’ it. I look ’round for ’em in the kitchen, front room, and then the eatin’ room.”
“But you did find them? And they were…?”
Jerome looked up into Jack’s face and his lips trembled. “He be on the floor. Miss Anne, too. Blood every damn place, and all over them.”
Jack nodded. “What did you do?”
When Jerome next spoke, his voice cracked. “I pretty sure they dead, but I still wanna help ’em. I try to get Mr. Leslie off the floor. But he too heavy. I’m real strong, but I got the bad leg and Mr. Leslie is a big man who like his food all right.” He stopped. “Leastways he did.”
“And Miss Anne?”
“Oh, she right small. So I done set her upright in the chair. She a fine lady. She ain’t got no use bein’ on the floor like that.”
“You did all that but you don’t have any blood on your clothes?”
Jerome looked down. “No sir. Blood all dried up when I get there.”
Jack made a note of this. “And when did the police arrive?”
“’Bout same time I puttin’ Miss Anne in the chair. Got the guns out and tell me to get away from her and to get on the floor.”
“Did they read you your rights? To remain silent, right to an attorney?”
“Man say stuff off a little card. I ain’t unnerstand none ’a it.” “Did you give them a statement? Talk to them?”
He shook his head. “My momma always told me colored man talk to the police they won’t never find him again. That why I ain’t talk to none of ’em.”
“Do you know what killed them?”
“Knife, most likely. They all cut up.”
“Did you see a knife?”
“No sir.”
“Miss Jessup said you’re married to Pearl?”
He nodded. “Got us three kids, two girls and a boy. Elijah, Kayla, and Darla Jean be the baby.” A wobbly tear suddenly bloomed in his right eye. “I ain’t never gonna see ’em again, am I?”
“You’ll see them, Jerome. I can arrange a visit here if you want.”
Jerome shook his head fiercely. “No. Not with me all locked up like some piece ’a trash. I don’t want ’em to see me that way.”
“Okay. We can talk about that later. Now, do you own the place where you live?”
Jerome looked at him funny. “Naw. Why?”
“Just for purposes of posting bail.”
“What that do?”
“It means you might get out of jail pending your trial. I’ll look into it even though the court initially denied it.”
“Okay.”
“You ever been arrested before?”
“No sir, never.”
“Good. I’m also going to look at the arrest report and find out what I can. Then I’ll be back to see you again, hopefully tomorrow. Now, I’ll need a retainer.”
“What’s that?” he said suspiciously.
“My fee to represent you.”
“You talk to Pearl. She handle the money. She real smart with all that.”
“Okay, but I need to know how it was left with the other lawyer, George Connelly. You said he hasn’t been here. Have you heard from him at all?”
“Last thing man say to me is I better get me ’nother lawyer ’cause he ain’t mine no more.”
Jack thought, What the hell is going on? “I’ll talk to Pearl, but do you officially retain me as your attorney?”
“How much you cost?”
“My rate is five dollars an hour.”
“Five dollars! An hour,” he exclaimed.
“It’s the going rate, Jerome. But I will pack a lot into those hours, I promise.”
“How long you reckon it take?” asked Jerome anxiously.
“If I were a public defender, the rate for a felony trial for murder would be about two hundred and fifty dollars.”
“Sweet Jesus!” exclaimed Jerome.
“And depending on the facts there may be nothing I can do for you, Jerome. I won’t sugarcoat this. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”
“Damn,” he said as tears formed in his reddened eyes. “Okay, if you wanna be my lawyer, I hire you, sir.”
“You can call me Jack.”
“What your last name again?”
“Lee.”
“I’ll call you Mr. Lee.”
Jack nodded as he slipped a paper from his briefcase. “Okay. If that makes you more comfortable. I have this document for you to sign, saying that you agree that I’m to be your lawyer.”
He handed the paper and a pen to Jerome.
“Where I gots to sign?” Jack indicated the line and Jerome carefully made an X on the signature line. Without looking at Jack he handed the pen and paper back.
“That’s fine, Jerome, thank you. Now, you are to say nothing to anyone except me. Not the police or the jailers or another prisoner. Do you understand? Nothing.”
Jerome nodded.
“My phone number is on that card I gave you. The police have to let you call me. Don’t let them tell you that you can’t. All right?”
“Okay, Mr. Lee.”
Jack rose and Jerome stared at the wall again, the tears trickling down his face and his big hands balling and unballing, his huge chest swelling and then emptying of air.
The jailer came at Jack’s call and led him back down the hall. “You know the Randolphs?” asked the jailer.
“I certainly know of them.”
“Old Virginia stock. Back to Jefferson himself,” said the jailer proudly, as though the Randolphs were part of his family. “And that colored man killed ’em.”
“He’s accused of killing them. Nothing has been proven yet.” The jailer looked at him like Jack was speaking in tongues.
Outside Frank Lee was standing next to the Fiat, smoking. “How’d it go, Jacky?”
“Just get in the car, Daddy.”
Frank Lee stamped out his Camel and climbed in. Jack put the Fiat in gear and they drove off. “Well?” said Frank.
“Why didn’t you tell me that Leslie and Anne Randolph were murdered on Friday?”
“What?” exclaimed Frank.
“They’re the ones Jerome is accused of killing. You say you didn’t know?”
“No. Your momma and me took Lucy to that special doctor over in Richmond. Left Friday night after I got off work, and got back late Sunday night. Didn’t see the TV or read a paper. Murdered? The Randolphs?”
“Yes. The Randolphs.”
“So what do you think after meetin’ with him?”
“I think I have a better chance of becoming president of the United States than Jerome Washington has of ever walking out a free man from this.”
About the Book
Jack Lee is a white lawyer from Freeman County, Virginia, who has never done anything to push back against racism, until he decides to represent Jerome Washington, a Black man charged with brutally killing an elderly and wealthy white couple. Doubting his decision, Lee fears that his legal skills may not be enough to prevail in a case where the odds are already stacked against both him and his client. And he quickly finds himself out of his depth when he realizes that what is at stake is far greater than the outcome of a murder trial.
Desiree DuBose is a Black lawyer from Chicago who has devoted her life to furthering the causes of justice and equality for everyone. She comes to Freeman County and enters a fractious and unwieldy partnership with Lee in a legal battle against the best prosecutor in the Commonwealth. Yet DuBose is also aware that powerful outside forces are at work to blunt the victories achieved by the Civil Rights era. Lee and DuBose could not be more dissimilar. On their own, neither one can stop the prosecution’s deliberate march towards a guilty verdict and the electric chair. But together, the pair fight for what once seemed impossible: a chance for a fair trial and true justice.
Over a decade in the writing, A Calamity of Souls breathes richly imagined and detailed life into a bygone era, taking the reader through a world that will seem both foreign and familiar.
By clicking 'Sign Up,' I acknowledge that I have read and agree to Hachette Book Group’s Privacy Policy and Terms of Use
