Chapter I: Trash Can Calls a Friend
It all began a year ago, almost to the day. Caleb had been working late in his office; the one with the antique mahogany desk, the flags in the corners, the bookcases filled with worn law books and the green leather sofas and chairs. He was studying transcripts from a case, which he had heard a few days earlier and was jotting down his impressions on a yellow legal pad. His intercom crackled, breaking his concentration, and he heard Mildred, his secretary, announcing that Terrell Cloud was holding on the line, and that he was insisting on talking to him.
"Who?" he asked impatiently. Mildred had worked for him for years and knew better than to interrupt him while he was working on a case unless it was really important.
"Terrell Cloud." She repeated. "He says you were classmates in law school and that he urgently needs to talk to you. I wouldn't call him desperate exactly, but he said it was really important."
Caleb rocked back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment trying to visualize the caller. Lord, he thought, Terrell Cloud. What's it been? Ten years at least. Where the hell did he wind up? Kansas or Arkansas, naw, further, Oklahoma, maybe. What in the world could it be that's so important he has to call me up to talk about it? Probably the ten year reunion or something else equally inane."
Caleb sat up and dropped his pen in the open transcript to mark his place. He pressed the talk button on the intercom and asked Mildred to put the call through.
"Hello," he said, picking up the receiver on the second ring.
"Caleb?" a voice from his distant past responded uncertainly.
"Yep, it's me, Trash Can. Is that really you?" Caleb replied with a chuckle, confirming the connection. The vaguely familiar voice brought back a flood of memories. They had been close in school, but like so many others, they had scattered and had become absorbed with the practice of law and making money and babies, not necessarily in that order, and had drifted apart.
He smiled recalling how Terrell had acquired the nickname, "Trash Can." Exams in law school were a very big deal; there was only one per course, the final, so what ever you made on that one was what you got in the course. Exams made everybody up tight and nervous because so much was riding on them, but Terrell had elevated that anxiety to an art form. He would wind up and his stomach would be tied in knots, and the closer he got to exams, the worse he got, so, by the time exams day arrived, he would be a wreck. He would creep up the steps in front of the law school, white as a sheet, trembling and sweating like a death row inmate opening a letter from the Supreme Court, and, the minute he came through the front door, he would run all out for the nearest trash can to puke his guts out. He became so predictable, and proved to be such an inadequate sprinter, that the janitor started putting a trash can out by the front door just for him to throw up in, and then, somebody hung a sign with Terrell's name on the can. After that, somebody wrote "Trash Can Day" across the top of the exam schedule, which was posted on the bulletin board out in the main hall, and from then on, on exam day there would be a pretty sizeable crowd hanging around out front to cheer as Terrell went through his ritual. The rest, as they say, is history.
"It's me, Caleb." Trash Can replied somewhat plaintively. "You think I'll ever get past that nickname?"
"Course you will, Terrell." Caleb answered reassuringly. "Soon as you out live all your classmates."
"That might be tough to do, since I'm about ten years older than the rest of you guys."
"Yeah, but we're catching up with you, and, besides, we're droppin' like flies here lately. You heard about Richard Turklo, I guess?"
"Yes, I did. Motorcycle accident, wasn't it?"
"No, he survived that; snowboarding, hit a tree. Killed him instantly, just like Sonny Bono."
"That's awful." Terrell answered mournfully. "But, I don't remember Bono, was he in our class or the year after?"
"He was two years later, Trash Can." Caleb replied evenly, doing his best not to laugh.
"Oh, OK, I'll look him up in the yearbook."
"You do that," Caleb chuckled. Changing the subject, he continued, "Where are you nowadays, Terrell?"
"Sedalia."
"Sedalia?"
"Yeah, Sedalia, Missouri. Bonnie and I moved out here about four years ago. Her mom got sick and Bonnie wanted to be closer, so her dad, he has a U-Haul franchise here, set me up an office in the back of his business, and I've been practicing out of there ever since."
"How's business, then? Kind of hard starting over in a new place, isn't it?"
"Business has been pretty good. Mostly domestic relations, divorces and custody, stuff like that. Works out pretty good too, I get them the divorce and Daddy Warton, that's Bonnie's dad, rents `em a trailer to move their stuff with when they separate."
"Sounds like the perfect setup," Caleb replied agreeably, masking some growing impatience.
"How about you, Caleb? You been nominated for the Supreme Court yet?"
"Not yet, Trash Can, and, with my past, I don't think I could stand up to the vetting."
"You haven't been neglecting the FICA taxes on your housekeeper, have you, Caleb?" he asked jokingly.
"A little worse than that, Terrell," Caleb replied vaguely, "but surely you didn't call just to vet me out for the Supreme Court nomination."
"No, actually I need your help, Caleb."
"My help with what, Terrell?" he replied somewhat uncertainly.
"There's this woman I know, here in Sedalia. She's in trouble," he began, his voice dropping to a near whisper as though he feared being overheard.
"Excuse me?" Caleb snapped back incredulously, "I figured you were a little beyond getting women in trouble, Terrell."
"Oh, no," he gasped. "That's not it. She's not pregnant; she's in real trouble, maybe even in danger."
"Sounds like a problem for the police, Terrell, why don't you call them?"
"They won't lift a finger to help her, Caleb. It's a political thing. You know how it works, don't you. A person gets on the wrong side of somebody in authority and pretty soon every where they turn there're nothing but stone walls."
"Oh yeah, I know exactly what you mean," Caleb replied bristling a little, "never did care much for that kind of crap."
"I know you don't, Caleb," Terrell answered with a hint of admiration in his voice. "How many crooked sheriffs have you put away, now?"
"Oh, I don't know; two or three," he replied modestly.
"Well, what ever the number, you've acquired quite a reputation from it. You know what they're saying about you, don't you? That your methods are pretty unconventional most of the time, but that you're firm, fair and solid as a rock when you make up your mind."
"Well, thanks, Terrell, but I still don't see how I can be of any help to your woman friend."
"She's not a friend, Caleb, she's way too young and pretty for that. She's a client, and it's a long story. I was hoping you could give me a few minutes to fill you in and convince you to help."
Caleb glanced at his watch. It was nearly five o'clock, and his day was already shot. There was no way he could get back to the transcript and accomplish anything more before suppertime. And, Terrell had presented him with some pretty good bait with that business about the police ignoring his client's problems. That was just the sort of thing to peak his interest and get his blood flowing. And, for certain, playing to his vanity with that remark about his reputation was pretty clever. And then, old Trash Can had really set the hook with that "young and pretty" comment. Maybe the old fox wasn't as dim as he acted. After all, he had "aced" every law school exam he ever took, puking first, notwithstanding. Caleb pulled his chin in contemplation for a moment, wondering if he was about to be taken for a ride, and mentally flipped a coin. Heads it was; heads always comes up on the side of friendship.
"Hold on a minute, Terrell, I'll be right back," Caleb said after the pause, and he reached for the talk button on the intercom.
"Mildred, you can go on home. It looks like I'm going to be here a while longer. See you tomorrow."
"Good night, Judge. See you in the morning. Don't forget, you have that hearing on McPeak's Habeas Corpus petition at eight o'clock."
"I'll remember, Mildred. Thanks."
He switched the intercom off and returned the telephone receiver to his ear. He waited till he heard Mildred saying goodnight to the Sheriff's deputy stationed in the hallway outside his chambers and the sound of his outer office door closing, before he spoke.
"OK, Terrell, you have my undivided attention, so let's hear what you've got to say."
Caleb leaned back in the chair and settled in for Trash Can's long story. As it turns out, it was quite a story indeed, a sordid one with ramifications for many people, innocent and otherwise, not the least of whom would be himself. He had listened with mild interest in the beginning as Terrell filled in the background, but after the first quarter hour or so, he was sitting up and scribbling notes on his legal pad and was already three pages into the story.
Her name was Anne, Terrell said, but he wouldn't reveal her last name unless and until Caleb had agreed to help her. He said it was "too dangerous for her." She was young, only a few years out of college and was a teacher. She had been orphaned as a teenager and was sent to live in an orphanage. The operators of the orphanage were a sorry pair, named Caruthers, who had a few scrapes with the law, but nothing major until now. They forced the girl to participate in what became a criminal enterprise engaged in creating and distributing child pornography. She had run away, and, with help, went to college, got a degree and had pretty well started out fresh. She had worked a couple of teaching jobs and wound up teaching at a private boys school not far away. That's where her past caught up with her a while back. The Caruthers showed up at the school where she was teaching and sold some pictures of her to the headmaster there. They weren't sure at this point how the Caruthers tracked her down, although that wouldn't have been too hard to do if they were really trying to find her. Whatever, they showed up with pictures of her to sell. They didn't make any attempt to blackmail her themselves; she didn't even know they were around till Caruthers showed up in the headmaster's office one evening. She says Caruthers got thirteen hundred dollars for a handful of photos, which was about ten times what they were worth on the street, so she figures that the idea was for the principal to use them against her and blackmail her with them. As it turns out, she was probably right, 'cause the Caruthers were fugitives at the time. The postal inspectors were after them on child pornography charges but hadn't moved quickly enough, and they got away. Terrell guessed that the Caruthers were living out of their van, on the run, and that they figured they could make some quick, easy cash from the photos by selling them to somebody who had a use for them. Wasn't much later that the inspectors showed up at Anne's school looking for her and asking questions about her involvement in the porn ring, and that's when she came to me.
Caleb interrupted. "So what's the problem, Terrell? What's the danger to her?"
"She's afraid that the Caruthers are after her; that they'll try to kill her, or maybe kidnap her and carry her off somewhere where she can't testify against them."
"Is that realistic, or is she just a scared kid seeing bogeymen in the dark?"
