299 Days: The Visitors (15 page)

“Pardon me,” one of the jurors said. He was a Baby Boomer-looking guy who was a “cabin person.” Grant recognized him as one of Snelling’s followers. Great.

Grant hadn’t wanted to tell Ryan to only pick people who agreed with him because that wasn’t a jury of the defendants’ peers. Now he was kind of wishing he had.

“Back to that part about us not agreeing with the law,” the juror said. “What if we don’t agree that you are carrying out real laws?”

Not this again, Grant thought. He realized that, despite last night’s vote, there was still a divide out at Pierce Point. He also knew he had to play the hand he was dealt.

“A fair question,” Grant said. He was trying to remember who this juror was; he was blanking on his name. He remembered that he was a soft Snelling supporter, not a loud one.

“If the jury believes that the law is unjust, or in your case, I guess, the law is non-existent, then the jury can find the defendant not guilty,” Grant said.

“So, if it takes all twelve of us to convict,” the juror said, “if only one of us disagrees with the law then they’re not guilty?”

“C’mon!” someone in the audience yelled. “You guys lost the vote. Let’s get on with it.”

Grant put his hand up to the person who yelled. “No, the juror makes a good point.” Grant realized he had an opportunity now to show the audience, and especially the soft Snelling supporters, how fair and just the Patriot system was.

“A single juror preventing us from convicting someone is one of the great strengths of this system,” Grant said to the juror. “It’s a magnificent way to protect liberty and I’m proud we have it here.”

The juror, who was polite and thoughtful, said, “Thank you. That answers my question.”

Grant was ready to proceed. He had a bad feeling that this trial was going to be a waste of time because the Snelling juror would just vote to acquit the defendants. But oh well. A trial is a process – a political process, in this case, to show the residents how fair the new system is. Even if it means dirt bags going free. Besides, Grant thought to himself, if the defendants went free, one of the residents would probably “accidentally” shoot Frankie.

“Do the defendants have counsel?” Grant asked, knowing the answer. Ronnie shook his head. The others didn’t respond.

Grant looked at Rich and said, “Please state the charges.”

Josie cringed. She was ashamed that people would hear what she did to her own daughter. Frankie didn’t care. He was a combination of catatonically depressed and fully aware he would die very soon. He just didn’t care. Brittany started to sob. Ronnie sat there, silently. He would take this like a man. He had been beaten by his father since he was a little kid and knew how to take it without giving someone the satisfaction of knowing you were hurting.

Rich had always been interested in law. He aced the legal and criminal procedure parts of his law enforcement training and had picked up a lot of law from being a cop for so many years. He and Grant had talked about the charges before the trial. He knew it probably wasn’t common for the prosecutor to consult with the judge about what charges to file, but this wasn’t a common time.

“The people charge Brittany Franks and Ronnie Williams,” Rich said, “with grand theft and, separately, with the knowing possession of stolen property. Grand theft being theft of items more than $100 pre-Collapse.”

Brittany and Ronnie looked up at Rich. They were relieved that this was all they were being charged with. Theft? That was nothing. They wouldn’t even get arrested for that by the old government. This was no big deal, until they figured out that if they wouldn’t be arrested for this in the old days, but now they were sitting in a trial, maybe the Pierce Point people took this theft thing more seriously. Their initial relief turned to dread.

“In addition to theft,” Rich said, “the people charge Brittany Franks and Ronnie Williams with felony murder, the killing of Denny Ellis during the commission of a felony, which is possession of stolen property worth more than $100 pre-Collapse.”

Murder? The crowd was stunned. Brittany and Ronnie didn’t kill anyone. Grant could see the crowd’s confusion about why thieves were being charged with “murder.”

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” Grant said, “felony murder is a common law doctrine that if a person commits a felony and any person is killed in the act, intentionally or accidentally, that the person committing the non-murder felony can be guilty of felony murder. It’s the common law’s way of further discouraging people from committing felonies.”

Grant hated the felony murder rule. It was overkill, in his opinion. But, it was the common law and it was constitutional. This was one other reason to have the jury decide the sentence: If they thought it was too harsh, they could find a person guilty but not impose a sentence on them. This was yet another check and balance to get a fair result instead of giving the judges, who were the government, all the power.

Well, Grant thought, the felony murder rule might be a good thing here, after all. It would probably give Brittany and Ronnie a reason to testify against their former housemates. This would mean Crystal wouldn’t need to testify. Either the jury, or Grant overriding the jury, could make sure Ronnie, or especially Brittany, would not be executed for merely stealing some property and being in a meth house when a fellow meth head got killed.

“The people charge Josie Phillips,” Rich said, “with rape of a child, grand theft, and felony murder involving the death of Denny Ellis during the commission of another felony, which is her knowing possession of stolen property.” Dang. Rich sounded like a real prosecutor.

Josie started wailing and screaming. Then her chest, still tender from the puncture wound, started to hurt as she screamed, which quieted her down.

“Frankie Richardson is charged with the same,” Rich said. Frankie just sat there.

After a few seconds, Frankie sat back in his chair. Felony murder, huh? He had heard about that when he was in the joint. The cops never charged that anymore. It was some old thing, but now these rednecks were charging him with “murder” just because Denny got shot by that Asian guy. That’s fair, he thought to himself, sarcastically. Whatever. This trial was a show for the rednecks out there. He was surprised they hadn’t shot him out at the house. He shrugged. He’ll sit through this and then they can get it over with.

“Please proceed,” Grant said to Rich.

He was wondering if Rich could do this, but based on what he’d seen so far of Rich’s prosecutorial skills, he figured Rich would do a great job. Rich was a smart guy and, given that Grant didn’t do criminal law when he was a lawyer, Rich probably had much more experience with this from being a cop than Grant had. When the laws were simple and the Constitution was applied, deciding people’s guilt or innocence and imposing a sentence was much easier than the pre-Collapse system that grew more and more complicated as time went on. The old system required hundreds of thousands of prosecutors, judges, public-defender attorneys, court staff, probation officers, social workers, jail guards and administrators. It really was an industry more than a system. A white-collar “jobs program” that had the extra benefit of making the population feel safe. It was gold for politicians: a jobs program with voters feeling safe—and, as an added bonus, a reason to constantly raise taxes for more “public safety.” No wonder it turned into such a hideous bloated mess.

Rich put the neighbors whose property had been stolen on the stand. They talked about the constant problems at the Richardson tweaker house. Once a witness started repeating and speculating, Rich would cut them off with a polite, “thank you,” and then he would move on to the next question.

Since there was no defense attorney, Grant had an obligation to do more than just run the trial. He needed to take on a few of the tasks of the defense attorney to make sure things went fairly; not to get the defendants off, but to make the trial fair.

To prevent hearsay testimony, Grant asked the witnesses if they actually saw any of the defendants stealing their property or having their property at the house. The third man said he saw a young man running from his property, saw the same young man dead at the Richardson house after the raid, and he found his property there at the house.

The other crime victims answered that they did not see the defendants stealing the property, but did find their items at the Richardson house after the raid. They also said they saw all the defendants handcuffed at the Richardson house when they found their property there.

“The people call Brittany Phillips,” Rich said. There was a murmur in the crowd.

Grant said, “Ms. Phillips, you are not required to testify and the jury is instructed not to consider your choice to remain silent as an indication of guilt. It is entirely your choice.”

Brittany started to cry. All of her friends, who had all been to jail many times, had always told her not to talk, but she couldn’t just sit there. She had to tell the people staring at her why all this had gotten out of control. She was terrified of that “felony murder” thing. She didn’t want to die. She had to tell her side of the story.

Brittany went to the witness chair. “My name is Brittany Amber Phillips,” she said. She started crying again. It was so hard to admit all the bad things she’d done. Giving out her full name brought her an intense feeling of shame. Especially her middle name, which reminded her of when she was a little girl before things got so bad with her mom, the drugs, stealing, and the other thing she did for money to get high. For an instant, she saw herself as a little kid in her jammies watching cartoons with her younger brother. And laughing. But that little girl was gone. A monster named Brittany had taken over. Brittany wanted the people there to know this wasn’t her fault. That it wasn’t her fault Denny died. It was the Asian cop who shot him. She had to talk. Even though she knew she was supposed to remain silent.

She told a heart wrenching story about a terrible family life. All the usual things. She started “hanging out with the wrong people” as she put it. One thing led to another, and about six months ago, she started living out at the Richardson house and “partying.” It sounded like a sappy anti-drug afterschool special, but it was her life.

She admitted stealing the items. She said that Ronnie, Josie, Denny, and Frankie came out with her on stealing trips to the surrounding homes.

Ronnie looked pissed that he’d been ratted out, but he quickly went back to not showing any emotion. He had expected Brittany to fold. She had always been the “goody goody” of the group.

Josie started crying again. Frankie didn’t show any emotion.

There is the whole case, Grant thought. Her testimony sunk all of the defendants. Brittany knew that she had doomed herself and all her friends. Well, former friends.

“Do I get some lentils?” she asked Grant.

“Do you mean leniency?” he asked.

“Yes, leniency. You know, a break?” she asked. Her lip was quivering.

“That’s for the jury to decide,” Grant said.

She started crying again. “OK,” she finally said. “I just want to say I’m sorry. I’m only twenty-four. I don’t want to die. Can’t I get a second chance? I’ll never do this again. I want to get married and have kids. I want to have kids who don’t turn out like me. Have a normal life. Is it too late for that?”

That was a good question: Was it too late? Grant was glad it was up to the jury to decide. He would let her go, but he knew that was wrong.

Rich was thinking the same thing. If the jury decided to execute Brittany, which would surprise him, Rich would ask for the felony murder charge to be dropped. If that somehow didn’t work, he knew that Grant would not let her be executed for this, but he wouldn’t show this mercy until he heard what Ronnie had to say. Maybe Ronnie would try for the same deal.

Rich pointed at Ronnie. Grant asked Ronnie, “Would you like to testify, sir?”

Ronnie shook his head. He knew he was done for, thanks to Brittany. He looked at her and slowly shook his head, which made her cry some more.

“How do you plead?” Grant asked Ronnie. Grant suddenly remembered that he never asked the other defendants for their pleas. Oh well. He was freestyling this first trial. At least he was making this up on defendants who Grant personally knew were 100% guilty, which took the pressure off.

Ronnie stared at Grant and said, “Whatever.”

Grant said, “I will take that as a ‘not guilty.’”

Ronnie shrugged. He thought it was extremely unfair that he was a “murderer” just because he stole some stuff and the cops shot some dude on a raid. But, whatever. No one had ever treated him fairly and he didn’t expect anyone to start doing it now. Besides he was so sick from the meth withdrawals that he didn’t really care anymore.

Grant looked at Brittany and asked, “How do you plead?”

She quit crying, sat up straight, and said confidently, “Guilty.” At least she would die telling the truth, she thought. She actually smiled a little. It was a huge relief to say the word “guilty.” Grant could sense her relief and realized that Brittany was truly repentant. He would not let her be executed, even if that meant overruling the jury.

“Is the prosecution ready to proceed with the charges against Ms. Phillips and Mr. Richardson?” Grant asked Rich.

Rich nodded. “The people call Ronnie Williams.”

Ronnie looked surprised. Rich swore him in.