He called Nevin Noll, who walked forward with Millard Cantrell, a long-haired, radical, capital defense veteran from Jackson who Burch had worked with before. After their first three phone conversations, Keith despised the guy and knew they would not get along. Nothing about Noll’s prosecution would be easy. Noll answered the same questions, said he was not guilty, and that he had hired Mr. Cantrell for the defense. Cantrell, being a lawyer in front of a crowd, of course had to pipe up with a request for a bail hearing. His Honor was not pleased and in plain English made it clear that they were not there to discuss bail and that the issue might come later, after a proper motion by the defendant. He sent them back to their seats.
When Hugh’s name was called, he walked forward and stood between Joshua Burch and the district attorney. The courtroom artists sketched frantically as they tried to capture the scene. There were no other sounds but for the charcoal pencils scratching the onionskin pads.
The two had once been the same size. In their glory days as twelve-year-old stars they were roughly the same height and weight, though no one bothered to measure back then. As they grew, their genes took charge and Hugh stopped at five feet ten inches. His feet became slower and he grew thicker through the chest, a good build for a boxer. Keith grew four more inches and was still lean, but he didn’t tower over his old pal. Hugh moved with the assurance of a man who could take care of himself, even in a courtroom.
Judge Oliphant went through the same formalities. Hugh pled not guilty. Burch said almost nothing. Once back in their seats, Burch stood and requested a hearing on his motion to house the inmates in Harrison County jail. Burch had filed a proper written motion and Judge Oliphant had agreed to hear the matter.
As always, Burch loved a crowd and strutted around as if onstage. He whined that it was patently unfair to “hide” his client in a jail hours away, and even to move his client around so that no one, not even he, the lawyer, knew where his client was. It would be impossible to prepare for trial. He had never encountered such an outrage.
“Where do you suggest?” Judge Oliphant asked.
“Right here in Biloxi! Defendants are always housed in their home counties, Your Honor. I’ve never had a client taken away and hidden somewhere else.”
“Mr. Rudy.”
Keith knew it was coming and was ready for a smart-ass retort. He stood smiling and said, “Your Honor, if these defendants are released to the custody of the sheriff of Harrison County, they’ll be free on ten dollars’ bail within an hour and back at the Red Velvet drinking whiskey and dancing with the strippers.”
The tense courtroom exploded with laughter and it took a while for it to subside. Finally, a smiling Judge Oliphant tapped his gavel and said, “Let’s have some order please.”
He nodded at Keith who said, “Judge, I don’t care where they’re locked up, just make sure they can’t get out.”
* * *
The following week, a grand jury in Nashville indicted Henry Taylor and Nevin Noll for the crime of conspiring to commit a contract killing. Keith had convinced the district attorney there to get the indictments, even though there would be no effort to prosecute the two. They had enough problems in Mississippi.
Keith wanted to use the extra indictment as leverage against Taylor.
Chapter 48
The legal wrangling began in earnest. Three weeks later, in a bail hearing that lasted an entire day, Judge Oliphant denied releasing the three defendants pending trial, regardless of how many promises they made. Hugh was sent to jail next door in Jackson County, where the sheriff had no use for Fats and his gang and promised to keep his prisoner practically in shackles. It would be a thirty-minute drive for Joshua Burch, who still bitched at the unfairness. Nevin Noll was sent to the Forrest County jail in Hattiesburg to be closer to Millard Cantrell, from Jackson. Henry Taylor became the client of Sam Grinder, a tough street lawyer from Pass Christian. Taylor was sent to the Hancock County jail.