The Sacrifice (54 page)

“That's why we want you to talk to the judge before we go any farther into the case,” Harold said. “It's time y'all earned the money I paid you.”

Scott barely kept himself from laughing out loud.

“What if Judge Teasley won't agree to the deal previously offered by the D.A.?” Mr. Humphrey asked. “What then?”

Harold shrugged. “I guess we'd need to do some more talking.”

“Okay,” Mr. Humphrey said. “Scott, find out if the judge is in his chambers and ask if we can see him before the jury comes back in.”

Lynn Davenport was sitting at the prosecution table writing on a legal pad when Scott reentered the courtroom.

“Don't leave,” he said. “We have something to discuss with the judge if he's available.”

“What is it?” she asked.

Scott enjoyed being nonresponsive and blunt. “You'll find out when we present it to him.”

The door to the judge's chambers was to the left of the bench. Scott went down a short hallway to the anteroom. The judge's secretary wasn't at her desk, so he walked to the open doorway and peeked inside. Judge Teasley was reading the business page of the Charlotte paper. A half-eaten sandwich was on the corner of his desk. A can of Cheerwine sat on a fancy coaster.

“Excuse me, your honor.”

The judge closed the paper. “Yes?”

“We would like to meet with you before the jury is brought back into the courtroom.”

“All right. Is the D.A. here?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I'll be out in a minute.”

Scott returned and reported to Mr. Humphrey. In less than a minute the judge, wearing his black robe, came into the courtroom.

“Ms. Davenport,” he said, “counsel for the defendant has a matter to discuss before we begin.”

Leland Humphrey stood. “Your honor, the defendant would like to discuss the possibility of a guilty plea to certain aspects of the charges.”

Lynn Davenport was on her feet in an instant.

“There is no outstanding plea offer. The defendant didn't accept a timely offer and forced the state to prepare for trial.”

The judge spun his glasses once. “Go ahead, Mr. Humphrey.”

“Thank you, your honor. As you know, Lester Garrison was sixteen years old at the time this incident occurred. He is now seventeen years old. He has no history of problems in juvenile court and is a junior at Catawba High School.”

The judge interrupted. “Ms. Davenport, do you have a copy of the juvenile court file available?”

“Yes, sir.”

The D.A. took the thin folder up to the bench and handed it to the judge. Everyone waited. The juvenile court file contained information about Lester's background, home life, and any prior run-ins with the police. When the judge finished, he nodded to Mr. Humphrey.

“What is your proposal?”

Leland Humphrey knew it was time to get directly to the point. “Guilty to assault with a deadly weapon without intent to kill or inflict serious bodily injury because no one was hurt. He will also plead guilty to the criminal damage to property. We ask you to sentence him for six months in the boot-camp program for youthful offenders followed by two years on probation under the first offender act with the provision that his record be expunged if he completes all probationary time without incident.”

Before the judge could reply, Lynn Davenport said, “The state vigorously opposes this request, your honor—”

“Just a minute,” Judge Teasley said, twirling his glasses once. “Ms. Davenport, is it true that no one was injured?”

“Uh, yes, sir. However, this defendant is part of a larger racist conspiracy. The state believes there may be additional charges that will be brought against him. And my withdrawn offer provided for three years on probation.”

“How do you respond?” the judge asked Mr. Humphrey.

“When and if any other charges are filed, they will have to be evaluated on their own merits. Today, there is nothing else before the court. The defendant will be in custody for the next six months if the state wants to obtain an indictment, and he can be brought back for trial. Given successful completion of the boot-camp program, two years on probation would be an adequate time to continue supervision.”

“Ms. Davenport?” the judge asked.

Lynn Davenport spoke with biting intensity. “Your honor, this was a serious criminal offense. Although no one was hurt, the defendant placed the lives of more than a hundred people, including small children, in jeopardy by firing gunshots in the direction of a large group of people. The sentence suggested by defense counsel is a slap on the wrist. This defendant needs to understand that endangering the lives of other people carries serious consequences. Counsel's request also undermines the state's ability to administer its cases. A plea bargain was offered and rejected. Now, as we are beginning trial, the defendant suddenly wants to turn back the clock and revisit a deal that was previously refused.”

Listening to Lynn Davenport's argument, Scott knew what the judge would do. He pulled the legal pad containing the notes for his opening statement closer to him. This had been an interesting interlude, but he'd better get ready to proceed.

The judge nodded and turned to Lester. “The defendant will please rise.”

Lester rose to his feet beside Mr. Humphrey. Startled, Scott joined them.

“Mr. Garrison, I have considered the arguments of your lawyer. Do you realize the seriousness of the charges that have brought us here today?”

Lester was appropriately subdued. “Yes, sir.”

“Someone could have been killed.”

Lester blinked without responding.

“Do you understand the proposal your lawyer has asked me to consider?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You've heard the charges against you. Did you fire shots from a handgun in the vicinity of the people at the church?”

Scott looked sideways at his client. Lester was silent for several seconds before answering.

“Uh, yes, sir.”

The judge stared hard at Lester, then continued, “Do you realize that if you choose to plead guilty, I do not have to accept the recommendation of your lawyer as to your sentence?”

Harold Garrison blurted out, “Then he ain't pleading guilty.”

“Who are you?” the judge asked sharply.

Still seated, Harold answered, “His father.”

“Mr. Garrison, stand when you address the court.”

Harold lumbered to his feet. “I was just—”

The judge cut him off. “Let your son's lawyers speak for his interests. That's why they are here.”

Harold opened and closed his mouth.

Leland Humphrey spoke. “Is the court inclined to adopt our suggestion as to sentence?”

Lynn Davenport stood, but the judge silenced her with a look. He then stared hard at Lester. Scott closely inspected the judge's face, trying to guess what was coming. The glasses remained motionless.

“Having considered the proposal of counsel for the defendant and the arguments in opposition by the state, the court believes that the proposed plea and sentence satisfies the interests of justice and holds out the possibility of rehabilitation for the defendant. Given the defendant's young age, the court is reluctant to send him into an environment with the general prison population and finds that the boot-camp program for youthful offenders administered by the North Carolina Department of Corrections is an appropriate disposition. Defendant's request that his plea be accepted under the first offender act is also granted.”

Scott was in shock. He barely heard the judge ask Lester the additional questions required when a defendant enters a guilty plea.

When the judge finished, Mr. Humphrey said, “Your honor, may the defendant remain free under bond until space is available in the boot-camp program? He is living at home and attending school as a condition of the pretrial bond.”

The judge looked toward the D.A.'s table. “Ms. Davenport, how soon do you think a place will open up in the program?”

“One or two weeks, your honor. We can call this afternoon. I'm concerned that the defendant—” The D.A. stopped. “That's it.”

“Very well. The defendant will remain free on bond upon the same terms.” The judge motioned to the bailiff. “When the jury returns, bring them in and I'll advise them that the case has been resolved. I'm sure they'll be happy to learn that they're free until tomorrow morning.”

No one spoke on the walk back to the office. Scott had said everything he could think of—twice.

Outside the front door of Humphrey, Balcomb and Jackson, Mr. Humphrey said, “Lester, we'll let you know when you have to report to begin your sentence. You should have at least twenty-four hours' notice.”

Scott added, “In the meantime, go to school and stay out of trouble. No fighting.”

Lester shrugged. “I'm not stupid.”

Scott bit his lower lip and didn't allow himself to debate the truth or falsity of Lester's comment. The facts spoke for themselves. The Garrisons went around the corner to the parking lot. Scott and Mr. Humphrey went into the building.

“Can we debrief?” the younger lawyer asked.

“Of course. Come into my office.”

Scott slumped down in a chair.

“What happened? I never guessed Lester would want to plead guilty and was more shocked when the judge went along with the sentence.”

Mr. Humphrey ran his thumb down the inside of his right suspender.

“I'm not sure I can unravel Lester, but bravado in the office doesn't necessarily transfer to courage in open court. I've seen it happen in all sorts of cases. The client boasts about a strong case before walking into the courtroom, then reality hits, and he decides to take something certain rather than gamble on the unknown. The judge is easier to fathom. He looked at Lester's age and the fact that no one was hurt. Wayman Teasley is not interested in prematurely increasing the general prison population of North Carolina by adding a seventeen-year-old boy to the mix.”

“And Kendall?”

“Is a contradiction wrapped in an enigma.”

“What do you mean?”

“Real life isn't always neat and tidy, and the truth doesn't come wrapped with a bow before the commercial break at the top of the hour.”

“So, we'll never know the truth?”

“Never is a long time. But there are a lot of unresolved controversies in the closed files stored at the firm's miniwarehouse.”

Mr. Humphrey leafed through his phone messages and picked one up.

“This looks interesting. Now that you've increased your criminal law experience you might want to give this man a call. The note says that he's been charged with bigamy. He's been married four times in three counties without bothering to get a divorce in between. Bigamy cases are rare, so this would be a unique opportunity.”

Scott grinned. “If it's okay, I'll pass. He sounds like another contradiction wrapped in an enigma.”

42

Or have we eaten on the insane root that takes the reason prisoner?

M
ACBETH
, A
CT 1
, S
CENE 3

A
fter his long morning in court, Scott had trouble diving back into routine office work. He wandered downstairs to the kitchen for a drink of water, then went into the room where the firm kept its fax machine, postage meter, and copier. Several incoming faxes were lined up on the counter. He glanced at the cover sheets. When he reached the last one, he stopped. It was from a clinical psychologist in Charlotte to Ann Gammons. The subject of the evaluation—Franklin Jesup Jr.

Scott picked it up and started reading. It was an extensive report. Frank had an IQ that placed him in the top 2 percent of the population. He was moderately depressed, which was not surprising considering the breakup of his parents' marriage. He was angry with his mother and didn't like his little sister very much. But the information that began on page three of the report made the hair on the back of Scott's neck stand up.

In a battery of tests designed to reveal forms of subtle, hidden psychosis, Frank Jesup Jr. revealed a dark side to his personality that harbored the potential for violent behavior. The psychologist didn't rely solely on the results of an initial test. He ran a second series of tests, then a third more sophisticated sequence that contained complicated cross-checks making it virtually impossible to manipulate—even for someone as intelligent as Frank. The results were uniform and consistent.

He concluded that Frank needed immediate psychiatric treatment, possibly hospitalization, and removal from the public school setting. According to the psychologist, Frank Sr.'s influence on his son was very negative, and the relationship between them needed to be monitored closely.

Scott picked up the report and went upstairs to Ann's office. The only female lawyer and a partner in the firm, Ann worked at the opposite end of the building from Scott. Everything in Ann's office was first-class: beautiful cherry desk, original watercolor paintings of scenes from the Outer Banks, a large oriental rug on the polished wooden floor. Leland Humphrey would have been paralyzed in Ann's world. There wasn't a single stack of papers to rummage through in the entire room.

Her door was open, and Ann was on the phone. She motioned for Scott to sit down in one of the blue leather chairs across from her desk while she finished the call. She hung up the phone and ran her fingers through short black hair streaked with gray.

“Weren't you and Leland trying a case today?” she asked.

“The client pleaded guilty, so I'm delivering faxes.”

Scott handed her the report.

“Frank Jesup Jr. was one of the students on the mock trial team I coached at Catawba High. I saw this downstairs and brought it right up.”

Ann scanned the report. As she did, her eyes grew bigger. Scott waited until she finished and put it down.