Leapholes (2006) (14 page)

Hezekiah rose and said, "Judge, I think it is fair to point out that Mr. Coolidge was not the loser. He refused to abide by the results out of principle, not sour grapes."

The judge cast an angry glare. "Hezekiah, you will have your turn to dispute the evidence. I am simply reading the charges."

"My apologies, Your Honor." Hezekiah returned to his seat.

The judge continued, "As I was saying, it is alleged that the defendant refused to abide by the agreement. He took the five vaccines and tried to stretch them into six. It is alleged that, as a result, the vaccines became ineffective. Four of the six persons died. It is further alleged that if Mr. Coolidge had abided by the agreement, those four persons never would have died."

The judge rubbed his nose and laid the printed indictment aside. "Those are the charges. How do you plead, young man?"

With a little prodding from his lawyer, Ryan rose and said, "Not guilty, Your Honor."

"Then we shall proceed to trial. Ms. Baldwin, is the prosecution ready?"

The young prosecutor rose and nodded respectfully. "We are, Your Honor."

"Is the defense ready?"

Ryan took a breath. He'd never done this before, so he wasn't sure what it felt like to be "ready." But he knew that the time for research and preparation had ended. Ready or not, the trial was going to begin.

"Ready, Your Honor," said Hezekiah.

"Splendid," said the judge. "We will begin with opening statements. The prosecution shall have the first opportunity to state its case to the jury. We will then follow with a statement from the defense. Ms. Baldwin, if you please."

"Thank you, Your Honor."

The prosecutor seemed very sure of herself as she approached the jury. She wore a powdered wig, just like the judge, but she somehow managed to look distinguished and presentable in it, not silly in the least. She stopped a few feet before the jury, and even before she opened her mouth, she seemed to command their respect. The trial hadn't even begun, and already Ryan was worried sick.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," she said in a voice that filled the cavernous courtroom. "To understand what Ryan Coolidge did wrong, you need only look at the case of the William Brown.

"It is an old case, a reliable legal precedent. On the nineteenth day of April, in the year 1841, the American ship William Brown hit an iceberg in the North Atlantic while en route from Liverpool to Philadelphia. It was loaded with Irish and Scottish emigrants. Roughly half the passengers went down with the ship. The rest piled into two lifeboats. One was so badly overloaded that it began to sink. Faced with crashing waves and a driving rainstorm, the captain knew that if he didn't do something to lighten the load, they all would drown. It may have been his intention to cast lots to determine who should go overboard. We don't know for sure. But we do know that the system broke down. The crew started throwing passengers overboard without casting lots. In all, fourteen men were tossed into the sea and died."

Ryan was momentarily confused by the prosecutor's version of events. Then he realized that the system of casting lots must have broken down after he was thrown overboard.

The prosecutor stepped closer to the jurors. "When the survivors were rescued, a crewman was brought before the court on criminal charges. The prosecution argued that the crew had no right to throw anyone overboard. The court agreed, and the crewman was found guilty. The crime, however, was not in throwing passengers overboard. It was in the way the crew had done it. They failed to abide by a system of casting lots. I'll read you the words of the very learned judge in that case: 'When the selection has been made by lots, the victim yields to his fate. If he resists, force may be employed to coerce his submission.'"

Ryan felt butterflies in his stomach. The prosecutor spoke so eloquently, so forcefully, seeming to have the jury in the palm of her hand.

She continued, "The point here, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, is simple. Ryan Coolidge was in the Infectious Disease Control Center with five other people. All of them had been exposed to the deadly BODS virus. The doctors had enough vaccine to save five. The group agreed to select the survivors by lot. As the very wise judge stated in the old case of the William Brown, 'when the selection has been made by lots, the victim yields to his fate.' Ryan Coolidge broke that law when he refused to enforce the results of the lots that had been drawn. He broke the law when he tried to turn five vaccines into six. Because he broke the law, four people are now dead. I ask you, therefore, to find Ryan Coolidge guilty of manslaughter."

Ryan felt numb. Having heard those words from the prosecutor's lips, he couldn't imagine what his own lawyer might say in his defense. He had, of course, understood the significance of his travels to the William Brown with Hezekiah. The point had been impressed upon him as soon as the captain ordered the passengers to cast lots. From that moment forward, he had known that this old case was the entire basis for the charges against him.

Only now, however, seated in a court of law, did the full weight of the potential consequences come crashing down upon him. He still believed that he had done nothing wrong. Yet he couldn't possibly see how a jury could acquit him. He had done exactly what the prosecutor had accused him of doing. He refused to accept the results of the lots they had agreed to cast.

The prosecutor returned to her seat. The judge looked across the courtroom, his gaze coming to rest on Ryan's lawyer.

"Hezekiah?" the judge said in a stern voice. "What statement do you wish to make for the defense?"

"None, Your Honor."

Ryan did a double take. He was certain that his lawyer had misspoken.

"Excuse me?" said the judge. He, too, seemed confused.

Hezekiah glanced at Ryan, then looked back at the judge. "I intend to let Mr. Coolidge present his own case."

Ryan nearly gasped. He didn't want to argue his own case. Surely he was no match for the skilled prosecutor. But Hezekiah seemed to be entirely serious.

"A bit unorthodox," said the judge. "But certainly not against the rules. Mr. Coolidge, you may address the jury."

Ryan rose slowly and faced the jury. He felt certain that his movement was stiff and amateurish compared to the prosecutor's glide.

Hezekiah whispered, "Move closer to the jury, Ryan."

Hezekiah gave him a nudge of encouragement, but Ryan's feet wouldn't move. He spoke between clenched teeth and said quietly, "What the heck am I supposed to say?"

"Say what you felt when you were in that hospital."

Ryan still didn't move, and it seemed to take a moment for Hezekiah's wisdom to sink in. But finally, it did. It was as if a warm blanket had suddenly wrapped around him. It took away his goose bumps and made him feel at ease. Hezekiah's advice made such good sense. Say what you felt when you were in that hospital.

Ryan approached the jury slowly. He still wasn't sure what he was going to say. But he remembered clearly how he felt when they had decided to cast lots. He remembered the look on Kaylee's face when she learned that she was the loser-- when she learned that her fate was to die as a teenager. No, h
e d
idn't know what he was going to say. But, somehow, he knew where to find the words. Hezekiah had shown him the way.

Ryan looked straight at the jurors and spoke from the heart.

"The prosecutor is right," said Ryan. "We did cast lots. And I refused to go along with it. But why did I do that? The reason is simple. We all know right from wrong. This felt wrong. I know what the judge in that old case of the William Brown said. But was that old judge sitting in that lifeboat with those passengers? Did he look into the eyes of the people who were thrown overboard? Was he there in that disease control center with me? Did he look into the eyes of a teenaged-girl who had lost the game we were playing--a game of life and death?

"No," said Ryan. "That judge was not there. The prosecutor wasn't there either. That's why they are able to think the way they do. But there's another way. We all agree that saving ourselves is only natural. But sometimes the bravest thing we can possibly do is to save others. Even at the risk of sacrificing ourselves."

The courtroom was stone silent. Slowly, right before his eyes, the strangest thing started to happen. Ryan blinked once, and again, not quite believing his eyes. He noticed a change among the jurors. At first it was subtle, a mere adjustment in their facial expressions. But then he realized that the change was more profound. The appearance of each juror was actually changing. They weren't simply looking at him differently. They literally looked different. Their faces changed. Their hair changed. Even their clothing changed. It wasn't just one or two of them. It was all of them. Right before Ryan's eyes, all twelve members of the jury had physically transformed into passengers from the William Brown--twelve of the fourteen "losers" on the lifeboat who were thrown overboard to their deaths.

Ryan turned and looked at Hezekiah. "How did that happen?"

Hezekiah smiled proudly. "You did it, Ryan."

"What did I do?"

The judge interrupted, but he too, was smiling. "Very powerful argument, young man. And a very important lesson for all of us. Just because a case is old does not mean it's right. Sometimes, legal precedent is wrong. Casting lots to save lives is a horrible thing. It appears to me that you have persuaded this jury on that point. You have made this jury stand in the shoes of the victims of the William Brown. There is no better way to rip a wrongly decided case from the law books than to see the world from a victim's point of view. The eyes of the victim are the law's immortal soul. This case is dismissed."

The prosecutor jumped to her feet. "But Your Honor, I haven't even presented any evidence yet."

The judge shook his head, then gestured toward the new jury--twelve people whom Ryan had completely transformed. They were still wearing the immigrant clothing of the victims of the William Brown. They still bore the pitiful faces of twelve innocent victims. "You've lost the case before it has even begun," the judge told the prosecutor. "This boy is a true Legal Eagle."

With a bang of the gavel, the case was over. Ryan was acquitted.

"Yes!" shouted Hezekiah, his voice filling the courtroom like a pipe organ.

"I won?" said Ryan.

"Justice prevailed," said Hezekiah.

"You're such a nerd."

"I can't help it. I'm a Legal Eagle." He put his arm around Ryan's shoulder. "Come on. Let's you and I go celebrate."

Chapter
17

Ryan and Hezekiah left the courtroom together. On the first floor of the courthouse was a noisy cafeteria with booths and counter space. They found a booth in the back where they could talk privately over french fries and chocolate milkshakes.

"You were fantastic, Ryan. Even the judge thought so."

Ryan chuckled. "Yeah, what did he call me? A real Legal Eagle."

"That was quite a compliment," Hezekiah said in a serious tone. "What he was really saying is that you are definitely a potential candidate for the Society."

"The Society?"

"The Society of Legal Eagles, of course. I'm a member. That old judge is a member. You have to be a member in order to earn leapholes."

Ryan plunged an extra straw into his thick milkshake and took a double-barreled mouthful. "Society of Legal Eagles, huh? Sounds kind of goofy to me."

"Sure it's goofy. On the laugh-out-loud meter, it's right up there with the Mouseketeers. But it shows we have a sense of humor. Believe me, Ryan: You don't ever want to meet a lawyer who takes himself or herself too seriously."

"Like the prosecutor in my dad's case. Boy, was that guy ever full of--"

"Watch your language, young man."

"HimselfI was going to say he was full of himself."

"Oh, of course. A lawyer like him would never be invited into the Society."

"He still won the case. He got my father to confess. Dad's in jail now."

"I'm sorry about that."

Ryan waited for him to say more, hoping that perhaps Hezekiah would continue the discussion they'd started in the hallway before trial. But the old lawyer was stone silent. Ryan said, "Why would my father have confessed if he wasn't guilty?"

Hezekiah selected a french fry from the plate, but he didn't eat it. He just wagged it like an extra finger as he spoke. "My guess is that this is something very hard for him to explain."

"I'd love to hear him try."

"Have you told him that?"

Ryan shrugged. "Yeah, sort of."

"I'm serious, Ryan. Have you sat down with your father and told him you want to understand what he did? Have you given him that chance?"

Ryan was silent, staring down into his milkshake.

Hezekiah said, "Or have you been too angry to even listen?"

"I just can't understand why he would have done that. People don't confess to things they didn't do."

"It's not unheard of, Ryan."

"It just doesn't make sense."

"The system isn't perfect. You proved that today. You showed the judge that the William Brown was a bad decision. Just because a case went one way or the other doesn't alway
s m
ean it went the right way. There are bad decisions handed down every day."