The Sacrifice (42 page)

Before Lester responded, the door opened and Harold Garrison walked in.

“We need to talk to Lester alone for a few minutes,” Scott said. “Wait in the reception room.”

“He's trying to get me to say that you did it,” Lester blurted out.

“Did what?” Harold's eyes flashed.

“Wait a minute,” Scott said.

“Fired the shots on the creek,” Lester finished.

Harold took a step toward Scott. “You snake! I ought to—”

“Hold it!” Mr. Humphrey commanded. “Mr. Garrison, be quiet and listen.”

His face red, Harold stayed put.

Mr. Humphrey continued, “Our job is to defend your son, and if you were involved in this incident, you need to hire your own lawyer.”

“I paid you to fight for my son, not turn him against me and force him to lie!”

“Would it be a lie if he said you were with him on the creek?” Scott asked.

Harold looked down at Lester. “Go ahead. Tell him.”

Lester shrugged. “The truth?”

“Yeah.” Harold nodded.

Lester sighed. “No, he wasn't there.”

“Then who was with you?” Scott asked.

Lester stared at the glass-topped table. “It was my cousin Kendall. He lives in South Carolina and came up for the weekend. He has black hair. We took my pistol down to the creek to mess around. We heard the people from the church singing and decided to sneak up on them. Kendall popped a few shots in the water and up in the air to scare them.

He wasn't trying to hit anybody. We just wanted to see them run.”

Scott sat back in his chair. “Why didn't you tell me this before?”

Lester looked at his father and didn't answer.

“Did you put him up to this?” Scott asked Harold.

“I don't guess it matters.”

“How can I get in touch with your cousin?” Scott asked Lester.

Harold answered. “We don't want him dragged into this.”

“But he's the one who ought to be on trial!” Scott protested.

“Are you deaf? I don't want him dragged into this,” Harold repeated.

“But why?”

“I guess that's our business, ain't it?”

“Lester, do you know—”

“You heard what he said,” Lester interrupted. “I don't want Kendall's name mentioned, either.”

“Leave him out of it, period,” Harold added.

Several thoughts flashed through Scott's mind. None of them made sense.

“Don't we have to be in court in a few minutes?” Harold asked.

Mr. Humphrey nodded. “Let's go. I have a few notes in my office.”

“I'll get the rest of my file,” Scott said.

Scott followed Mr. Humphrey out of the reception area and through the door that separated the public and private parts of the building. As soon as they were alone, Scott hit his left palm with his right fist.

“This is crazy! All Lester has to do is tell the truth, and he's off the hook. What is going on here?”

Both of Mr. Humphrey's eyebrows stretched toward the top of his head. “That,” he said, “is a question I'm not sure we will be able to answer today. Cousin Kendall may be as real as Bishop Moore, or he could be as fictitious as John Doe. Harold knew we suspected him, and creating a convenient relative may be their response to the questions we asked the other day about a dark-haired accomplice.”

“What do I do?”

Mr. Humphrey smiled grimly. “Welcome to the enigmatic life of a trial lawyer. Stick to your theory of the case because the Garrisons won't give you anything else to work with. We don't always know the truth or understand the motivations behind what our clients tell us. That's why there will be two sides arguing in the courtroom, and the right to make a final decision will rest not with us or the D.A. but with the jury. That's their job. You do your job.”

Mr. Humphrey was right. Scott was back to advocating a position that was possibly more true than he'd suspected—the wrong person was on trial.

The four men walked out the front door of the office and down the sidewalk toward the courthouse. Mr. Humphrey was right. It was an exquisite morning. Cool air, low humidity, bright sunshine. A great day for a walk along a creekbank.

The streets around the courthouse were clogged with an equal number of cars and trucks. The Ford dealer in Catawba had sold more pickup trucks than cars every year since opening his dealership in 1959. People parked along the street on all four sides of the block where the courthouse complex rested. There wasn't an empty parking space all the way down the street past the Eagle. Bea Dempsey didn't mind if the folks going to the courthouse left their vehicles in front of the restaurant. A trial week provided some of the best lunch crowds of the year.

Several clusters of men and women were talking and smoking cigarettes before walking up the steps to the courthouse. Smoking maintained a strong following on tobacco road. A few people glanced at the entourage that walked silently up the sidewalk. It was obvious that Scott and Mr. Humphrey were attorneys. It was equally apparent that one or both of the Garrisons would therefore be involved in the proceedings scheduled to begin inside at 9 A.M. Several men greeted Mr. Humphrey, who shook hands and slapped a few backs on his way up the sidewalk to the front of the building. Scott was feeling less lighthearted.

The courtroom was beginning to fill up. Lynn Davenport was not in sight. The foursome walked down the aisle and past the bar to the defense table. Scott showed Lester where to sit in the farthest seat from the jury box.

“Don't unpack yet,” Mr. Humphrey said to Scott. “Let's meet a few people.”

Leaving the Garrisons by themselves, the two lawyers walked past the low wooden railing that divided the courtroom. Mr. Humphrey was as jovial as a good-natured farmer at the county fair and didn't appear to have any more pressing responsibility than deciding whether to buy peanuts or popcorn. He introduced Scott to so many people in such a short period of time that names became a blur.

“I hope they leave me on your jury,” one older man said to Mr. Humphrey. “I served on a case you tried where the lady said the light never turned red and plowed into the side of the chicken truck. You did a dandy job.”

Mr. Humphrey moved on and whispered to Scott, “I don't remember what he's talking about.”

One of Mr. Humphrey's nieces, a secretary for a local CPA, was on the panel. She would be excused for cause. Several former or current clients were in the courtroom. Trying a case against a lawyer like Mr. Humphrey, who had grown up in Catawba and practiced law in Blanchard County for forty years, was a challenge. The D.A. would either have to use most of her strikes to remove jurors who knew Leland Humphrey or try to convince those who did that in this case Mr. Humphrey's client was in the wrong. Scott saw an African-American man who looked familiar.

“Who is that?”

The older lawyer followed Scott's finger. “That's James Dillard. You may have seen him at Bishop Moore's church.”

Scott remembered. The tall, thin man was in the Hall's Chapel choir. “He's not on the witness list.”

“Then he's in the jury pool. I think I remember seeing his name.”

“Would we want to strike him?” Scott asked.

“That's a good question. Since you're arguing that Alisha Mason and Bishop Moore are telling the truth, he might be a keeper. Let's explore it with him when you question the prospective jurors.”

It was almost 9 A.M., and the jurors who had been outside smoking snuffed out their last cigarettes and came into the courtroom. Scott and Mr. Humphrey rejoined their client. Scott leaned over to the Garrisons.

“Do you see any friendly faces?”

“There's one guy I used to work with years ago,” Harold said. “We didn't get along. He was a jerk.”

Lester looked nervously over his shoulder and shook his head.

Lynn Davenport and another lawyer from the D.A.'s office came in a door beside the judge's bench. They were followed by a deputy sheriff who called out in a loud voice, “All rise! The Superior Court of Blanchard County is now in session, the Honorable Wayman Teasley presiding.”

There was a rustle as the room responded to the command. Judge Teasley strode into the courtroom and took his seat behind the bench.

“You may be seated.”

The judge welcomed the jurors, then turned to one of the assistant district attorneys.

“Proceed, Mr. Johnson.”

There were several uncontested matters to be handled. Two men and one woman pleaded guilty to writing bad checks. A man with a scruffy growth of gray beard pleaded guilty to his fifth DUI while driving without a license. He was sentenced to five years in prison. Two more people entered guilty pleas, but Scott wasn't paying attention. He was organizing all his paperwork on the table so that he could find anything he needed in a matter of seconds.

Assistant D.A. Johnson sat down, and Lynn Davenport stood up.

“Your honor, at this time we call for trial
State of North Carolina v.
Diaz, Barrera, and Contraras.
”

Judge Teasley looked at the defense table. His eyes wide, Scott was staring across the room at Lynn Davenport.

Two lawyers in the front row behind the railing stood up.

“Ready for the defendants, your honor.”

33

If a man will begin with certainties, he shall end in doubts.

F
RANCIS
B
ACON

M
r. Humphrey began putting papers in his briefcase.

“What happened?” Lester hissed.

M “They called another case for trial,” Scott replied. “We need to move out of the way.”

“I thought you—”

“Later,” Scott cut him off.

Scott joined Mr. Humphrey in quickly cleaning off the table. The lawyers representing the men charged with kidnapping stood waiting with their clients for them to leave.

When he snapped shut his briefcase, Mr. Humphrey spoke up, “Your honor, may we approach the bench?”

The judge nodded. Scott followed Mr. Humphrey. Lynn Davenport joined them.

“Judge, the D.A. told Mr. Ellis that the Garrison case would be number one on the court's calendar.”

The judge took off his glasses. “Is that true, Ms. Davenport?”

“Yes, sir. But we learned over the weekend that several key witnesses in the Diaz case may not be in the United States at the next term of court. There was no opportunity to advise Mr. Ellis.”

“I see,” the judge replied. “Gentlemen, the state has the right to call the cases it chooses for trial.”

“Of course, your honor. I was merely seeking clarification,” Mr. Humphrey said.

“Ms. Davenport, when do you anticipate reaching the Garrison case?”

“Two weeks, your honor. You have a small jury pool coming in, and we can handle it at that time.”

“Very well.”

The lawyers left the bench and led Harold and Lester into the hallway. Scott explained what had happened.

“So, we have to come back in two weeks?” Harold asked.

“Yes,” Scott answered. “The judge lets the district attorney's office decide which cases to try.”

“I want to get this over with,” Harold said.

Scott looked at Lester, who didn't say anything. “How about you? Are you disappointed?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“The delay will give us more time to prepare”—Scott paused—“and you can think about the situation with your cousin.”

“There's no use bringing that up again,” Harold said sharply. “I told you to drop it.”

Scott's eyes narrowed. “I'll mention anything I think necessary.”

Mr. Humphrey stepped in. “That's all for today. You fellows can leave, and we'll be in touch in a few days.”

The Garrisons walked down the hallway toward the front door.

“The battle has started,” Scott said. “But it didn't begin in the courtroom.”

“Let the situation cool down. Lester will be reconsidering his decision now that it's out in the open. I wouldn't be surprised if you get a call from him by the end of the week.”

“There's no reason to stay here,” Scott said. “I'm going back to the office.”

“I need to review a file,” Mr. Humphrey said. “I'll see you later.”

Outside the courthouse, Scott saw a familiar figure walking away from the annex. She was dressed in black.

“Kay!” he called out.

She turned her head, saw him, and stopped. He walked quickly to where she stood.

“How did it go?” he asked.

It was obvious she had been crying. She was clutching a rumpled tissue in her hand. Her voice revealed her anguish.

“How can a lifetime commitment be obliterated so easily? So quickly!”

Scott had no answer. Divorce was a cold statistic until it touched someone you knew.

She continued, “We waited about fifteen minutes to see the judge. Jake sat with his lawyer; I sat with mine. We didn't talk, but the lawyers seemed to have a good time discussing bass fishing. When they called the case, we went in to see the judge. It took less time than trading in a used car. After it was over, I asked my lawyer a question, and when I turned around, Jake was gone. No good-byes. Nothing.”

Scott sensed the rising flood of emotion in her might burst out again into the open. He asked the first question that popped into his mind.

“Where are you going now?”

Kay managed a weak smile. “That's a very big question. It's hard for me to think beyond my next breath. What did they tell you in boot camp? ‘When the going gets tough, the tough get going.' In a few minutes, I'm going back to school to teach my classes. Those kids need me even if Jake doesn't. Beyond that, I may go back to California; I may go to Maine. I guess I can go anywhere I want. I'm not sure.”

Scott wanted to suggest that she stay in Catawba but didn't. Kay wasn't looking for practical advice; she just needed to vent.