Jimmy
Jimmy
Other books by Robert Whitlow
Life Support
Life Everlasting
The List
The Trial
The Sacrifice
Jimmy
RObERT
WHITLOW
© 2005 by Robert Whitlow
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any meansâelectronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or otherâexcept for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of Thomas Nelson, Inc.
Thomas Nelson, Inc. titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail [email protected].
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
Publisher's Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Whitlow, Robert, 1954â
Jimmy / Robert Whitlow.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-1-59554-063-8 (hc)
ISBN 978-1-59554-159-8 (tp)
1. Children with mental disabilitiesâFiction. 2. GeorgiaâFiction. I. Title.
PS3573.H49837J56 2005
813'.6âdc22
2005012847
Printed in the United States of America
07 08 09 10 11 RRD 6 5 4 3 2
To those who love children with special needs. Heaven
knows your sacrifice and holds your reward.
“Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of
mine, you did for me.”
âMatthew 25:40
NIV
Contents
T
he defense calls James Lee Mitchell III to the witness stand.”
Hearing his name, Jimmy looked up in surprise. For once, it sounded like Daddy was proud of him. Mama leaned close to his ear.
“Go ahead. All you have to do is tell what you heard, just like we practiced this morning at the kitchen table. Your daddy is counting on you.”
“But Mamaâ”
“Mr. Mitchell, are you intending to call your son as a witness in this case?” the judge asked.
Mr. Laney jumped to his feet. His freckled, round face flushed bright red, and his voice rose in protest.
“Your Honor, I discussed this with Mr. Mitchell as soon as I received his list of potential witnesses. This is highly improper. His son is mentally limited and not able to provide competent testimony. Parading him in front of the jury is inflammatory, prejudicial, and inherently unreliable!”
Tall, with light brown hair and dark, piercing eyes, Daddy responded smoothly.
“Judge Robinson, I believe the district attorney misstates the legal standard for competency to testify in the state of Georgia. It is whether a witness understands the nature of a judicial oath. Age and intelligence are not the final arbiters of the capacity to offer probative testimony. That determination rests with the Court, and I'm prepared to lay the foundation necessary for this witness to testify. The fact that he's my son is irrelevant.”
Mr. Robinson removed the pen clenched between his teeth and peered over the edge of the bench at Jimmy. The young boy stared back through thick glasses held in place by large ears. Jimmy shared the same hair color as his father, but his eyes, like those of his birth mother, were pale blue. Average in height for a sixth grader at Piney Grove Elementary School, Jimmy ran his finger inside the collar of his shirt and pulled at the tie around his neck.
“How old is he?” the judge asked.
“Twelve,
but he'll be thirteen in a few weeks,” Daddy replied.
“His chronological age is not an indicator of his mental capacity,” Mr. Laney responded quickly. “We're not dealing with a normalâ”
“Gentlemen,” the judge interrupted. “We'll take up the competency determination outside the presence of the jury. Bailiff, escort the jurors to the jury room.”
Jimmy watched as the people sitting in chairs on the other side of his daddy left the courtroom. One black-haired woman wearing a cobalt-blue dress looked at him and smiled.
Pointing in her direction, he whispered to Mama, “Does that lady in the blue dress know me?”
“That's Mrs. Murdock. She's a teacher at the high school.”
“I hope I'm in her class when I go to high school. She looks nice. What does she teach?”
“She teaches English.”
“Oh,” Jimmy said, disappointed. “I already know English.”
As soon as the last person left and the bailiff closed the door, Mr. Robinson spoke.
“Mr. Mitchell, proceed with your evidence as to the competency of this young man to testify.”
Jimmy watched Daddy pick up a legal pad and turn to a new page.
“Admittedly, Your Honor, Jimmy is mentally limited. However, that doesn't automatically eliminate his capability to offer testimony with probative value in this case.”
“What kind of testimony?” Mr. Laney asked. “The defendant is charged with felony possession and intent to distribute over two pounds of cocaine. To bring in an impressionable child who can be manipulated in an effort to distract the juryâ”
“Don't jump ahead, Mr. Laney,” the judge interrupted. “That goes to the weight assigned to his testimony, not the competency issue. We're going to take everything in proper order, and you'll have ample opportunity to raise your objections.”
Mr. Laney, his face still red, sat. Jimmy poked his mama's arm.
“Is Mr. Laney mad at Daddy?”
“Not really. They'll still play golf on Saturday, but he doesn't want you to tell what you heard.”
“Why not?”
“He's doing his job.”
That didn't make sense, but Jimmy could tell that Mama didn't want to talk. He looked at the man sitting at the table beside Daddy. His name was Jake Garner, and Daddy was his lawyer. Garner had long black hair and a very realistic drawing of a blue-and-red snake on his arm. The tail began at the man's elbow and coiled around his arm before disappearing under his shirt. Jimmy stared at the drawing and wished Jake would roll up his sleeve so he could see the snake's head. Jimmy wasn't afraid of snakes; he'd seen several while walking in the woods with Grandpa. He knew not to pet them or pick them up.
“Mama,” he said in a whisper. “Will that drawing of a snake on Jake's arm wash off in the shower?”
“No,” she answered. “It's a tattoo. It's permanent.”
Jimmy thought a moment. “Could I get a tattoo of Buster on my arm?”
“No. Hush.”
Mama turned toward Daddy. Jimmy scooted back against the wooden bench and sat on his hands. He'd never talked to Jake Garner and didn't know about cocaine. But he knew what he'd heard Sheriff Brinson say to Detective Milligan.
Daddy kept talking. “Before asking Jimmy any questions, I thought it would be beneficial to offer expert-opinion testimony from a psychologist who has evaluated him. I'd prefer that both the jury and the Court hear this testimony.”
The judge shook his head. “That's not necessary, Mr. Mitchell. Whether this young man is competent to testify is for me to decide. Proceed.”
Daddy stepped back. “Perhaps you'll reconsider after you hear what the psychologist has to say. The defense calls Dr. Susan Paris to the stand.”
Jimmy hadn't seen the psychologist with blond hair and bright red fingernails slip into the courtroom. He turned around and saw her sitting beside Sheriff Brinson.
When Jimmy first met Dr. Paris, he was shy around her, but after she fixed vanilla wafers with peanut butter on them, they'd gotten along fine. She gave him a test at the beginning of each school year. Jimmy's friend Max told him that tests should be given at the end of the school year to find out what a student learned, not in September to find out what had been forgotten over the summer. But Jimmy didn't argue with Dr. Paris. Eating perfectly prepared vanilla wafers with peanut butter was a small price to pay for having to fill in little circles with a number-two pencil.
Dr. Paris walked to the witness stand. When she passed Jimmy, he glanced down at her hands. Her fingernails were so red they looked wet. She took the witness stand and raised her hand. She looked calm and pretty.
“I do,” she said after the judge asked her a question with God's name at the end of it.
The psychologist reached into her purse, and Jimmy entertained a hopeful thought that she'd brought some vanilla wafers into the courtroom. But all she did was take out a tissue.
“Please state your name,” Daddy said.
“Dr. Susan Elaine Paris.”
“What is your profession?”
“I work part-time as a school psychologist for the Cattaloochie County Board of Education and maintain a private practice focused on children and adolescents here in Piney Grove.”
“Please outline your educational and professional qualifications.”
“I received a BS in psychology from the University of Virginia, and I earned a master's and doctorate in clinical psychology from Vanderbilt University.”
“Are you licensed to practice child and adolescent psychology in the state of Georgia?”
“Yes.”
“How long have you been licensed?”
“Five years.”
Daddy paused. “Your Honor, we tender Dr. Paris as an expert in the field of child psychology.”
“No objection,” Mr. Laney said.
“Proceed,” the judge said.
“Dr. Paris, have you had the opportunity to evaluate my son, Jimmy Mitchell?”
“Yes, as part of my regular duties for the school system, I give Jimmy a battery of tests each fall to determine his status and help formulate an educational plan for the teachers working with him. I also have access to the evaluations conducted by Dr. Kittle, my predecessor.”
Jimmy had forgotten Dr. Kittle's name. She had white hair and didn't paint her fingernails at all. Jimmy leaned close to Mama.
“What happened to Dr. Kittle?” he whispered.
“She retired and moved to the beach.”
Jimmy liked the beach but not the ocean. Even small waves terrified him.
“Can you summarize Jimmy's general mental status?” Daddy asked.
“Yes. He has below-average general intellectual functioning with deficits in adaptive capability. Age-appropriate IQ testing has consistently revealed a verbal, performance, and full-scale IQ in the 68 to 70 range. An IQ score less than 59 indicates a severe deficit. Over 70 is dull-normal. Thus, Jimmy is in between mental retardation and the dull-normal category.”
Jimmy squirmed in his seat. He didn't understand everything the psychologist was saying, but he recognized the word
retardation
. Mean people used that word when they talked about him.
