The Sacrifice (11 page)
The judge repositioned his glasses and quickly looked through the papers. He closed the file and handed it back to the D.A.
“Why shouldn't an alleged incident like this involving a sixteen-year-old be handled in juvenile court?”
“Your honor, there is more to this case than the charges outlined in the juvenile court petition and accusation filed by our office. We intend to file additional charges of criminal conspiracy to commit murder.”
Scott took a step forward. “Your honor, we've not been notifiedâ”
“Hold on, counsel, I'm not going to spend all morning on this case. Ms. Davenport, I'm setting a hearing on Mr. Ellis's motion to remand this case to juvenile court at ten o'clock in the morning. You'd better show me more than the information in this file if you want to prosecute this young man as an adult. I will postpone arraignment until that time.”
Lester followed Scott to a small bench against the wall near the other prisoners. The young man was obviously agitated. “Why didn't you ask him to let me out?”
Scott's jaw dropped. “Didn't you hear what the D.A. said? They're going to charge you with conspiracy to commit murder!”
“I didn't try to kill anyone, and they can't prove anything serious against me.” Lester looked suspiciously at Scott and jerked his head toward Lynn Davenport. “Someone told that D.A. about my beliefs.”
Scott didn't connect the suspicion in Lester's eyes to himself. “Anything is possible.”
“Did you talk to her?” Lester asked through clenched teeth.
“Not about that. Remember, everything you tell me is confidential. All I did was try to convince her to send the case back to juvenile court.”
“She's prejudiced,” Lester said.
If it hadn't been a serious situation, Scott would have burst out laugh- ing. He glanced quickly at Lester to see if the young man with the swastika tattooed on his arm realized the utter hypocrisy of his statement.
“We'll find out more tomorrow. In the meantime, keep your mouth closed and your hands by your side.”
When he returned to the office, Scott stopped by Mr. Humphrey's office and told him the latest developments.
“And that's where we are at this moment. Judge Teasley scheduled the hearing on my motion to remand the case to the juvenile court for ten o'clock in the morning.”
The older lawyer finished writing a few notes on a legal pad. “Do you know any facts supporting the conspiracy to commit murder charge?”
Scott shook his head. “No, but the kid is a cauldron of rage and bigotry. He's capable of anything.”
“You can probably assume the D.A. is coming from a different angle. She has something unrelated to what you already know.”
Scott grunted. “She's not volunteering any information.”
“What was the judge's attitude?”
“I'm not sure what he was thinking. All I could tell was that he wanted to move through his calendar.”
Mr. Humphrey leaned back in his chair. “When Wayman Teasley was the D.A. he was tough but fair. He would work out a deal on a case if it didn't need to be vigorously prosecuted, but when he thought a defendant needed to go to prison, the accused could forget a plea bargain unless he agreed to substantial jail time. You know that thing he does with his glasses?”
“Yes.”
“They used to say each twirl equaled five years in the penitentiary.”
Mr. Humphrey looked over at the bookcase beside his desk. “Are you up to date on criminal procedure, including the discovery rules?”
“I'm getting there, but the practical aspects of the case have me worried. I don't want to overlook something basic because of my inexperience.”
“Hmm.” The older lawyer reached for the daily calendar he kept in a leather binder on his desk and turned the page to the following day. “I was planning on taking a day off tomorrow to go fishing on Lake Norman, but the fish never bite when I play hooky from work. If you want, I'll help you out. You've carried my briefcase during a few trials. Now, it's time for me to carry yours. Copy the file, and I'll review it before court in the morning.”
Scott walked upstairs to his office. Leland Humphrey was a wise mentor. He'd let Scott enter dangerous and unknown territory, then reached out and offered a helping hand. At 11 A.M. Scott's stomach growled. He'd skipped breakfast in order to get to the office earlier. His stomach rumbled again, and his phone buzzed.
“Kay Wilson on line six.”
Scott picked up the receiver. “How are you?”
“Okay. I'm calling between classes. Do you have any time to get together and talk before we meet with the team tonight?”
Scott looked at his calendar. “I'm busy all afternoon.”
“Me, too, but on Thursdays I can take a full hour for lunch because it includes my planning period. If you come by the school at noon, we can eat in the faculty dining room.”
Scott swallowed. Another meal at the school. “Could we go off campus?”
“I don't have time for that. I'm sorry, if you can'tâ”
“No,” Scott said. “I can make it. Do you want me to come to your trailer?”
“No, I'll meet you at the office. You'll need to sign in when you get here.”
Thursday's menu featured tacos with applesauce and carrot cake. Scott hadn't eaten applesauce in years. He considered it an appropriate food only for those too young to have teeth or too old to keep them.
“They normally give two tacos,” Kay said as they stood in line, “but I can ask them to give you an extra one.”
“No, I'm not too hungry today. But an extra scoop of applesauce sounds nice.”
Kay didn't catch the irony in Scott's voice and spoke to the kitchen worker behind the counter. “Please give him extra applesauce.”
Scott followed Kay to the same dining room where he'd eaten with Dr. Lassiter. The applesauce was runny. It had spilled over the divider in his plate and come to rest against the shell of one of his tacos. If he didn't eat the taco soon, it would start to get soggy and fall apart.
They ate at a table for two. Several teachers glanced up when he entered the room.
Scott leaned forward and whispered, “Where's Mrs. Willston?”
Kay smiled. “She doesn't come in here very often. I think she brings fruit from home and eats it in her classroom.”
“This applesauce would be perfect for her.”
“There's Mr. Fletchall.” Kay motioned toward a short, heavyset man with only a few strands of hair clinging to the sides of his head. “Were you in his trigonometry class?”
Scott turned his head slightly to get a better look. “For one semester. What happened to his hair?”
“It's been subtracted. Do you want to go over and say something to him?”
“He wouldn't recognize me with my eyes open. I slept through most of his classes.”
Scott rescued his taco from the onslaught of the runaway applesauce and took a bite. It wasn't too bad.
“I've talked with the students who came to the meeting,” Kay began. “All but two said they were coming back.”
“Good.”
“What's your plan for tonight?” she asked.
Scott didn't have one. He'd been too busy at the office to think about the meeting but quickly improvised: “Do you think the students have read the facts of the case and looked over the witnesses' statements?”
“Yes. I've heard them discussing it among themselves.”
“Okay. I'll talk to them for a few minutes and then assign them different roles. Everyone will be a witness, and I'll do the questioning. I should be able to tell who would be good in a role by their responses to my questioning.”
“Would it help if I told you some of my thoughts about the kids before you hold tryouts?”
“Sure.”
“Of course, you remember Dustin.” Kay opened a folder and started with additional information about the football player. She continued summarizing what she knew about the strengths and weaknesses of each student. While she talked, Scott finished his tacos and chased down as much of his applesauce as he could capture with his spoon. He couldn't put faces with all the names.
“Is Yvette Fisher the one with dark hair and big, innocent eyes?” he asked.
“No, that's probably Janie Collins. She's a country girl who needs a double dose of confidence. She is one of my best students but doesn't realize how bright she is. Next is Alisha Mason.”
“Yes,” Scott nodded. “The tall, black girl.”
“That's right. Her mother is assistant principal of the middle school. Alisha turned me down when I first talked with her, but I guess she's changed her mind. She always has a lead role in school plays and would be great in an important witness role. She and Janie are good friends, so it would be good for them to work together.” Checking her list, Kay said, “One more student. Franklin Jesup.”
“That's one I remember. He must be a speed-reader. He had questions about the materials by the end of the first meeting.”
“Frank probably has one of the highest IQs in the school. His father is a business executive, and they live in a big house on the golf course. Frank is a little moody, but he's probably bored and unchallenged. I'm hoping he will respond to you since you're a lawyer.”
Without a weather report, a gathering storm isn't seen until dark clouds billow on the horizon. The plans of darkness for Catawba High School were not yet visible, and no one was available to forecast the future. The clear lines of demarcation that characterize spiritual conflict in the heavens are often blurred and fuzzy by the time they reach the earth. No one knew about the darkness beyond the horizon. No one knew how soon or how quickly it would grow and take shape. No one knew that random relationships held the potential for extraordinary significance. No one knew that choices made in the present would have exponential importance in the future.
They have no lawyers among them.
S
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T
he second meeting of the Catawba Mock Trial Team began that evening at 7 P.M. Janie Collins, Dustin Rawlings, and Alisha Mason were present. The first time Kay passed around an attendance sheet, Frank Jesup wasn't in the room, but two minutes later his tires squealed outside as he parked beside the modular unit.
Scott pointed to a slender, brown-haired girl with high eyebrows who was sitting very straight and attentive in her chair. “Your name, please?”
“Yvette Fisher.”
“Please stand up.”
Yvette slid out of her seat.
“Have you read the materials?” Scott asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Including the witness statements?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. You are no longer Yvette. You are now Betty Moonbeam.”
Yvette looked puzzled. “The passenger in the car? I thought it was Barry Moonbeam?”
“The rules of the competition do not dictate the gender of the witnesses. We may use Barry; we may use Betty.”
Yvette stood up a little straighter and said, “Okay, I'm Betty Moonbeam.”
“You've got that right,” Frank Jesup said as he slid into his seat.
“No comments,” Scott said. “You'll regret it when it's your turn.” He turned back to Yvette.
“Betty, you are now under oath. Did you go to an end-of-the-year cookout and picnic at Sarah Rich's house?”
“Uh, yes. I was there.”
“How did you get to the party?”
“I think I went with Ralph Risky.”
“How do you know Ralph?”
“We go to school together.” Yvette hesitated. “But I'm not sure how we know one another.”
“Make something up,” Scott said.
Yvette thought for a moment. “Okay. He plays football, and I'm on the flag corps that performs at halftime.”
“Good,” Scott said. “You added facts about the witnesses not on your sheet. That's fine if it doesn't affect the important points of the problem. The judges like creative witnesses so long as they don't cross the line into creating facts that affect the legal issues in the case.”
