Doug Quinn Writes

Excert From Blue Heron Marsh: A Webb Sawyer Mystery

Readers have been asking Douglas Quinn if they could read an excerpt from his novel Blue Heron Marsh: A Webb Sawyer Mystery, so here it is. For those of you who have already read this novel, please forward this excerpt on to your friends. This and other books by Douglas Quinn are available online from www.amazon.com.


Note: This scene takes place in the courtroom of a small North Carolina town/county seat.


Finally, Monday morning came and I was rousted out of bed early and told to wash up for court. I did the best I could in the sink. I wondered if my bruises on my face were turning black and blue. The bruise marks on my arms and side had. Over the weekend I had washed out my short-sleeved shirt and t-shirt as best as I could in the sink and left them hanging from the faucet knobs to dry. I asked once again for a change of clothes in which to appear in court and was ignored. No breakfast was served, either.

The same deputy who had let me make my call came to get me for arraignment. He took me over to the court house where I sat around for a little over an hour while the judge raced through everything from domestic violence to traffic cases to a short hearing on a child custody case. Finally, my name was called. The charges were four counts of assault and malicious destruction of property. Somewhere along the line the charge of solicitation for unnatural acts had gone away. It was all ridiculous and I told the judge so.

"Those four boys forced their way into my room and attacked me," I said. "There would have been no destruction of property had that not happened. And, in fact, any destruction was done by them."

"Very interesting," the judge, whose name plate said he was Judge McElweeny, said.

"What’s your plea, Mr....Sawyer?"

"Not guilty," I said.

"Of course," he said, yawning. "Are you represented by counsel?" he asked.

I looked around as if searching for my lawyer, then said, "I don’t see anyone who looks like a lawyer standing nearby, so I guess not."

"Don’t be a smart-ass," the judge said, "or I just might add contempt of court to the charges. We’ll make sure you’re represented when you appear for trial. Bail?" he asked, addressing the city attorney.

"Ten thousand dollars cash bond," the city attorney said.

"What?" I shouted.

"Be quiet, Mr. Sawyer," the judge said, glaring. Then looking smug said, "We’ll just make it twenty-thousand for Mr. Smart Guy," the judge said, banging down his gavel. "Next case."

When the deputy walked over to get me and I was trying to figure out how I was going to get myself out of this mess, I noticed a woman with graying dark hair. She was off to my left on one of the back benches. She was staring at me with inquiring eyes. Her eyes followed us as the deputy led me to the prisoner’s door on the side of the courtroom. But before we reached the door, there was a clamor at the rear of the courtroom. When both the deputy and I turned to look, we saw the doors flying open and a bear of a man came storming in with an angry look on his face.

Ben Straker!

Earlier, at the jail, I’d called the restaurant number and they said he was off fishing and they’d give him my message. I’d wished I’d called his cell phone number and tried to make another call, but the deputy, who was already nervous, hadn’t let me.

Straker came in shaking his finger at the judge, shouting, "Raymond, what in the hell is going on here? You trying to railroad my friend with a bunch of trumped up charges? That idiot sheriff of yours doesn’t have a damned lick of sense in that pea-brained head of his." Then he pointed to the city attorney. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself buying the line of crap that fatso feeds you." Then back to the stunned judge, growling, "Raymond, if you ever want to catch another fish in the Uwharries, you and I better have a sit-down and get this straightened out."

Everyone in the court room froze. The judge sat there for a second with his mouth hanging open. Finally, he banged his gavel down, called a one hour recess, and headed for his chambers with Ben Straker hot on his heels. I was still standing there with the deputy, hands cuffed behind my back, when Ben turned and said to the deputy, "And you take them damned cuffs offa him and take him back to the jail and get his stuff outta hock. He’d better damned well be waiting for me when I get there, too." Then he stared at me and said,

"Anybody in the sheriff’s office do any of that to you?" meaning the cuts and bruises.

I shook my head no. Then Ben Straker disappeared into the judge’s chambers, a cell phone in his left hand, his right hand punching in a number. The non-plussed deputy looked at me with fear in his eyes, unlocked the handcuffs, and asked me if I would follow him back to the jail. I told him there’d be no trouble from me. As we left I could hear shouting coming from behind the court room. I wished I could have been there to hear what was going on. It didn’t sound pretty.



Join Douglas Quinn during his Virtual Book Tour, now in progress. Read an interview of him by Brenda Kay Wynn at www.chronclesofelydir.spaces.live.com and for you budding writers an article on his blog page about the importance of creating entertaining and memorable characters at http://bookmarket.ning.com/profile/obxwriter?viewAsOther=1

Douglas Quinn on 01.19.08 @ 08:37 PM EST [link] [No Comments]