Turnbull: Based on a True Story

by Jonathan Jackson

Part V

  “Why is he saying that about me?”

  “Remember now, it’s very important that you be very quiet during the next few days,” the attorney whispered to Eldred as they sat in front of the court room. Eldred kept looking around at the crowd of faces gathering behind them. None of them seemed friendly and most returned his look with angry stares or muted hate-filled comments.

  “Eldred, did you hear what I said?”

  Eldred spun around on his attorney, angry. “I don’t need you to keep telling me that. I’m a grown man and can talk when I want to.”

  Stunned, the attorney thought for a moment. “Yes you are a grown man, but I want you to think about something you asked me about. Think about it whenever you decide you’re going to talk when I don’t tell you to.”

  “Oh yeah, what’s that?” He’s still angry, obviously in response to the hostility he’s feeling from the spectators.

  The attorney looks him in the eye to keep his attention, “Gas.”

  The angry energy drains out of Eldred’s face and he slumps in his chair. His attorney then tells him to sit up straight and have good posture. He didn’t need to wrinkle up his suit the first five minutes of the trial.

  “Now listen Eldred, remember what I told you. They are going to be saying a lot of things the next few days and they are going to point their fingers are you often. Just ignore it. The last thing we want is for you to say a word during this whole trial. ‘If you don’t say it, they can’t use it against you’ is how we’re going to work this,” his attorney warned, “for now.”

  The accused nods his head, already weary of all of the attention he’s been receiving. The bailiff comes out and bids everyone rise and goes through the motions of opening the court. Eldred leans over to look at the prosecutors and doesn’t recognize any of them. They didn’t look at all nervous or anxious. To them this was just another day at work. He understood that – nothing to worry about. He didn’t break into any more stores anyway.

  Just as the Judge made his way to his seat and prompted everyone else to be seated, Eldred forgot where he was. “Hey Mr. Sparkman, where’s the gold watch I brought from Nashville?”

  Mr. Sparkman, quickly grabbed his client by his arm and shushed him but not before drawing the attention of the Judge and the prosecutors. Once the imagined echo of Hardin’s voice died away the Jurors were led in and sat in their box. Eldred leaned over to his attorney and whispered in his ear, “Who are they?”

  Whispering very quietly back to Eldred’s ear, “Those are the Jurors. Remember, I told you about them. We had to come pick the few we wanted. They are the people I told you about that are going to listen to everything said and then decide what happens to you.”

  “They decide if I get gas or not?”

  “Yes, they do.”

  “I should be nice to them then.”

  “Yes, you should be nice – and quiet, but yes be nice.”

  “Ok. I’ll be nice.” Eldred looked at the Jurors after they were seated and he nodded to one of the men in the front row wearing a blue and green tie.

  “That’s a nice tie you have there.” He smiled wide to the Juror, “Ain’t I nice?”

  This drew an immediate slam of the gavel and reprimand from the Judge not to mention a few choked-back laughs from the gallery. Mr. Sparkman heard a comment from the crowd that stung quite a bit, “Looks like the simple leading the stupid.” He shrugged it off.

  “Oh, this is going to be a long week.”

  Eldred looked at him blankly.

  • • • •

  The Jurors all took their seats and tried their best to look stern, although to some it seemed to be a nuisance or a bore. The Judge looked them over a moment and gave the audience in the gallery a chance to settle before beginning the trial process. He slams down the gavel three times to make sure every eye in the room was on him.

  “Now before I start this proceeding, I want you people who are spectators to understand something. I will tolerate no nonsense from anyone. Any cat calls, or acting out of any kind will result in me clearing every last one of you out of this room for the duration of the trial. So keep quiet.” He points at Hardin, “That means you too. If you know what’s good for you. Mr. Sparkman, I’m sure you understand.”

  Jesse rises, “Yes your honor.”

  “Good.” Jesse sits back down.

  The Judge addresses the Jury. “I’m going to read your jury instructions to you. If you have questions, please hold them until we recess after openings. We’re going to be here a few days and we don’t want to leave anything out. You will also be provided written copy of these instructions for your deliberations.”

  “In the State of Tennessee versus Eldred Hardin the indictment in this case charges the defendant with the offense of murder in the first degree. This charge, however, embraces four distinct, felonious homicides – to wit: murder in the first degree, murder in the second degree, voluntary manslaughter; and involuntary manslaughter.”

  He continues, “The law makes it the duty of the court to give in charge to the jury the law relative to the case on trial and of the jury to carefully consider all of the evidence delivered to them on the trial, and, under law given them by the Court, render their verdict with absolute impartiality.”

  “The jury, in no case should have any sympathy or prejudice, or allow anything but the law and the evidence to have any influence upon them in determining their verdict.”

  “Murder is thus defined: ‘If any person, of sound memory and discretion, unlawfully kill any reasonable creature in being, and under the peace of the State, with malice aforethought, either express or implied, such person shall be guilty of murder.’ It is clear that malice is the essential ingredient of murder. Malice is the intent to do an injury to another; a design formed in the mind of doing mischief to another.”

  The judge pauses and studies the jurors, making sure they were absorbing what he was saying, but so far it seems that they were paying astute attention to him; the air of boredom or of impatience long since vanished.

  “A case of homicide cannot be murder unless at and before the killing the wicked intent, constituting malice aforethought, exists in the mind of the slayer. Malice is either express or implied. In homicide, express malice is malice against the person killed. Implied malice is malice not against the party slain, but malice in general, or that condition of the mind of the slayer which indicates a wicked, depraved and malignant spirit, and a heart regardless of social duty and fatally bent on mischief.”

  The judge went on for the better part of thirty minutes reading the jury instructions, and all through this process you could have heard a pin hit the floor. Everyone from the Bailiffs to the lady wearing the grey hat in the back left corner of the court room were enthralled with what they were witnessing and participating in, to one degree or another.

  Jesse looked away from the Judge for a moment to look at his client’s reaction. To his amazement, Hardin was sitting quietly, eyes closed and breathing slowly. Realizing his client was asleep and knowing the grave offense the Judge would take if he discovered this, he reached under the table and quietly squeezed Hardin’s leg, careful not to startle him.

  Hardin sat straighter, with a start and a snort that did draw the gaze of the Judge for a flicker of a moment. “Don’t go to sleep!” Jesse scolded very quietly. “That could be the death of you in front of this jury!”

  Hardin oriented on Jesse, eyes seemingly unfocused and then sharpening, “I’ll try not to. I ain’t been sleeping much lately.”

  Then the judge said something that greatly alarmed Hardin, “If you find from the evidence, beyond a reasonable doubt that the defendant unlawfully, willfully, maliciously, deliberately, and premeditatedly killed Theodore Blakely as charged in the
indictment, your verdict should be, ‘We, the jury, find the defendant guilty of Murder in the First Degree, as charged in the indictment, and fix his punishment at Death by Electrocution…”

  Upon hearing that, Hardin became animated; starting to rise from his chair, panic in his eyes and his mouth hanging open. Jesse did his best to restrain him quietly as the Judge continued, “…unless you are of the opinion there are mitigating circumstances, in which event you may commute the punishment to life in the Penitentiary or for not more than a definite period of time, over twenty years.

  The remainder of the jury instructions detailing lesser included offenses, presumption of innocence, reasonable doubt, and self defense were all completely lost on Hardin. He had been so worried about being gassed that he never considered the method of execution in Tennessee at the time was death by electrocution in the electric chair. He saw this form of death being much more terrifying than the gas chamber that he’d concocted in his mind.

  Hissing at his attorney, as quietly as he could, “You didn’t tell me they are going to electrify me!”

  “Electrocute, it’s electrocute, and we are going to try and prevent that.” He whispers back.

  Shortly after, the Judge wraps up the Jury instructions and then announces, “We are going to take a ten minute recess and then we’ll begin with opening arguments. Be back in your seats in ten minutes.” He slams down the gavel and exits through a door behind his bench.

  The gallery gets loud with people talking excitedly to each other. Deputies stand behind Hardin as much to prevent him from escaping as to prevent people in the audience from going after him. There had been persistent threats although no one had acted on them. The Deputies disliked the idea of protecting someone they thought to be a murderer, but it was their duty and they would do it well.

  Jesse turns to Hardin. “Now it is time for the other lawyer to start telling the jury about what you did. He’s going to tell a big story about how everything happened and he’s going to point his finger at you and tell them you are evil, wicked and all sorts of other things. You have to be quiet and act like it doesn’t bother you. Can you do that? The Jurors are going to be watching you for a reaction.”

  “I can do that. I’ll look straight ahead and think about shooting dice. I can do that in my head.”

  “Good, you do that. Now, when the other lawyer gets finished, I get a chance to go up there and tell those same Jurors our side of the story. Again, all you have to do is sit here and quietly pay attention. Do not talk out, do not get up. Just sit here. Can you do that too?”

  “I can do that. I’ll try playing cards in my head instead of dice.”

  The Judge came back in at nine minutes and fifty seconds of the recess and once the courtroom had returned to their seats, the Judge slammed the gavel. “The State may present their opening arguments.”

  “Thank you, your Honor,” said the stately attorney who stood from behind the other table and made his way to the podium.

  He greeted the Jurors warmly and thanked them for being willing to serve in their civil duties in the court room. He also did exactly as Jesse said he would. He, more-or-less repeated word for word the actions that transpired in Hardin’s jail-house confession and then informed the Jurors that it was a confession, witnessed and recorded by a stenographer. He reminded them of the requirements of the law and pointed his finger at Hardin at least twice, talking about malice, and evil and debauchery with a dead man’s money.

  Hardin did very well to sit still but it wore on him. “Why is he saying that about me?” He asked of Jesse.

  “He’s trying to convince the jury that you’re an evil person who should suffer punishment because of it.”

  “Oh,” was all Hardin could say.

  The prosecutor pointed his finger at Hardin one more time before he told the Judge he was finished.

  Jesse knew that the prosecutor was representing the government and was supposed to be representing the side of good and justice. He understood all of that, down to his core, but that man was still his adversary and he couldn’t find it in himself to see him any way other than that.

  He leans over to Hardin, “Now it’s our turn. You sit still and quiet, you hear?”

  “Yes sir.” Hardin hadn’t called him “Sir” very many times and it gave his attorney pause to consider that maybe his client did understand what was at risk here. He knew he was guilty of killing the man, but he did believe that he wasn’t in his right mind when he did it, or ever for that matter. All anyone had to do was to talk to him for a little while to draw that conclusion. It was up to him to convince the jury of the same thing; without letting him talk to them.

  He greets the Jurors in much the same way the prosecutor did. He appeared humble, just, and confident. Stepping back to the defense table, he takes a sip of water, clears his throat and begins.

  “Insanity, in order to excuse a person for crime must be of such a character as to deprive him of his reason, so as to render him incapable of distinguishing between right and wrong, or discerning good from evil.” He paused for effect and continued in the style of a preacher, laying emphasis on the words he wanted the Jurors to remember the most.

  “Or the insane or false illusions must be of such a character as to deprive him of his will power and have such control over him as to force him to do the act without the power to control his mind and will, and render him unable to resist the impulse to do the act.”

  He went on to say that if the Jurors suspected he did the killing without the ability to resist these false illusions and with reasonable doubt of the matter, they should acquit him.

  “Every person is presumed to be sane but the subsequent conduct of the defendant may be considered to ascertain whether or not he was sane or acting under insane illusions at the time of the killing but for no other purpose.” He noticed a juror roll his eyes and glance at a different juror as if looking for agreement.

  “A person may be wholly or partially insane. He may have insane or false illusions, that is, be led by some false notion or hobby and these illusions may be of such a character and have such a power and control over his mind and will as to deprive him of all power and by an irresistible force, compel him to commit a very grave crime, thus rendering the party wholly irresponsible for the crime he commits.”

  Still, Jesse could see doubt in the Juror’s expression. He continues, “But the fact that a person has illusions is not always the sign that he is insane to the extent that he is irresponsible for the commission of crime. Many persons of strong mind have illusions.”

  He pauses for a moment to again let the jurors absorb his last statement, hoping that a few of them could relate to exactly what he was saying and praying that they considered themselves to be strong minded despite these illusions. He delves into the most important part of his opening, “The question is whether the defendant at the time he committed the act knew its nature and character and that it was wrong.” He slams his hand down on the podium for emphasis, knowing he’d regret it later as his hand immediately began to feel the pain. He also hoped that his small bit of theatrics was sufficient to offset those of the prosecutor and is finger pointing.

  “Finally, considering the inability of the accused to determine right from wrong, good from evil and under the control of his impulses, he denies killing the deceased. He says that the deceased and a man by the name of Howard Wilson had a quarrel about a woman; that he thought there would be trouble and walked away; that he heard a shot but did not know who fired; that Harold Wilson then called to him to come back where he was and drive the deceased’s car back to Nashville.”

  Jesse stopped talking and thought to himself, in for a penny, in for a pound.

  “When the accused hesitated, Wilson fired the shotgun at him and several shot struck him in the head.”
Jesse could see the Jurors look at Hardin trying to discern the location or degree of injury. “He then drove the deceased’s car back to Nashville, in fear for his life, and left it but not burning it. He says he did not rob Doctor Blakely and he did not kill him.”

  Taking a deep breath, Jesse looked at Eldred who was staring at the wall straight ahead. He was probably playing out a hand of cards in his head, oblivious to what he was facing at that moment. He hoped the vacant look on Hardin’s face would be noticed by the Jurors.

  “If you believe that theory to be true and have reasonable doubt as to his guilt, you should acquit the defendant. Or, if you believe the defendant killed the deceased and he was insane to the extent that he could not discriminate between right and wrong, or discern good from evil or if you have reasonable doubt as to that then you should acquit the defendant. Search your hearts and your unwavering knowledge of right from wrong, unlike the accused who is unable. Thank you.”

  Jesse returns to the table and sits down.

  The Judge then takes over, “Mr. Sparkman are you finished with your opening?”

  Jesse stands back up, unbelieving at how exhausted he was just from that short speech. “Yes your honor, I am. Thank you.”

  “Very well then, Mr. Prosecutor you’re up first. Gentlemen of the Jury, the prosecution will present its evidence to you including witnesses. The Defense will have the opportunity to cross examine the witnesses. When the Prosecution rests, the Defense will then have the opportunity to refute the State’s case, present witnesses and allow the Prosecution to cross examine. When that is all said and done, you will weigh evidence, determine the facts of the case and render your verdict.”

  The Prosecutor was distracted by a suited gentleman who had entered the court room and leaned across the railing to whisper in his ear. They whispered briefly and the Prosecutor stood.

  “Your Honor, if it pleases the court, I would like to request we recess and reconvene tomorrow morning bright and early, and spend the day hearing the facts. I was just told of a medical emergency of a family member that greatly needs my presence.”

  “It does not please this court to delay this matter but seeing it’s a medical emergency, we will reconvene at eight o’clock tomorrow morning and see this trial through.” He slams his gavel. The Bailiff bids everyone to rise as the Judge exits.

  “Are we done now?” Hardin asks his attorney.

  “No we are just barely started. They are going to take you back to the jail. Keep your suit neat and I’ll come over and talk to you as soon as I get a bite of dinner.”

  “Okay. Bring me some pie if you think about it.”

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  • • • •

  The dim bulb flickered above the mirror in the tiny private bathroom behind the Judge’s chambers. Wrapped in silver trim, the mirror was showing its age, the reflective paint behind the glass beginning to look like marble. The porcelain sink hanging from the wall was just as old and the tiny bowl reflected many decades of men and women, figuratively and literally, washing their hands free of the cases they had represented in the adjoining court room.

  Jesse put his face in his hands letting the water he held there refresh him and drain into the sink. He held his breath for a few minutes and with eyes closed, he carefully dragged the towel from the rod and dried his face.

  Muffled with the towel pressed over his face he lamented what was about to happen in the court room next door. “Oh Eldred, I tried to tell you what would happen. Why couldn’t you just listen to me and stay in jail for the robbery. Stupid! Stupid kid! Now you’re going to be lit up like a light bulb.”

  He leaned his head back and stared into the glowing bare bulb over the sink, watching the slight tremor of the filament as is sparkled with electricity. He imagined his client would look just like that if he couldn’t provide a better than ever defense.

  Refolding and hanging the towel back on the rack, he straightened his tie. With a deep breath he drew open the door and made his way to the court room.

  To his back he heard, “Good luck tomorrow, Counselor.”

  Turning he saw the District Attorney General standing at the end of the hallway talking to the Assistant DA. He nodded and gave a slight wave. “Thanks.”

  He heard one of the entourage say, “Sparkman, that’s his name, Jesse Sparkman.” He put emphasis on the Spark, “How ironic.”

  Jesse cringed, not out of shame, but because he agreed. It was ironic.

  • • • •

  “I’m perplexed about a few things so far. Why didn’t the lawyer want Hardin to speak out during the trial? You would think that once the Jury got to hear that he was crazy it would be open and shut.”

  “One would think that, wouldn’t they? It’s not that simple but that tactic is used fairly often. It’s also very dangerous.”

  “Why?”

  “Once a person says something, anything, in a court, it is ‘out there’ and is subject to verification, rejection or acceptance. Once you open a door with testimony, you can’t very easily close it.”

  “I still don’t understand.”

  “Take for example Hardin and his previous crimes. He wasn’t convicted yet, but he was under indictment for them, while he was on trial for murder.”

  “Yes I remember.”

  “Suppose the attorney had him on the stand and did everything he could to show him in a good light and paint him as an innocent man. Hardin may blurt out that he’d never done anything wrong, which he may truly believe given his state, but then the prosecutor has the opportunity to refute that and establish the credibility of the witness and the testimony. He could then reveal that Hardin had many counts of burglary pending against him on another indictment.”

  “Oh I see. He would then be immediately suspect of the crime.”

  “Worse than that – everything he would ever say thereafter would be suspect and his credibility would be damaged. Imagine being caught in a real outright lie, not just an omission or a deception.”

  “That would be very bad.”

  “It could sink their whole defense, even if he was innocent. Also, for an equally important factor, which would seem trivial on the face – they needed the Jury to like Eldred and not think of him as a cold blooded killer. They needed to associate him with the simpleton or the slower kid they all knew who couldn’t possibly have a malicious bone in his body. If he antagonized the jury or made them feel like he was wasting their time, it could change the ‘flavor’ of the whole trial.”

  “So, Mr. Sparkman needed to prove Eldred’s craziness without actually having him on the stand.”

  “Exactly, but unfortunately it didn’t work out that way. Hardin did have to take the stand. It seemed that the defense wasn’t working against the prosecution, even though the evidence was mostly circumstantial—well except for that circumstantial confession he gave.”

  There was a scratching sound at a dark wooden door at the back of the office. The old lawyer stood from his chair, stretching his back. “Oh that feels good. We’ve been at this a long time.”

  He went to the front office door, opening it and looking out into the lobby. It was empty. “They’ve gone home for dinner already. It’s about time we did the same thing.” He then walked to the other door that I just assumed was a closet and opened it.

  The door opened onto an alleyway and seated on top of the step was a small dog who immediately invited himself inside and accepted a scratch between his ears from the old lawyer.

  “This is Oscar. Yes, he’s a stray and no, my daughter and secretary don’t know about him.”

  Closing the door behind the dog, he went to his desk and withdrew a biscuit and a piece of ham, offering it to the dog, who then took it to a corner and
lay down to eat.

  He wasn’t the most beautiful animal I’d ever seen. He had dark, coarse hair, a lot of which looked like it had fallen out with age and he moved slowly.

  Interrupted from my inspection of the dog enjoying his dinner the lawyer told me another story, “After reading that manuscript I already told you about, about the man and his dog, Sebastian the Peace Maker, I ran across that old thing in the alley as I was sneaking out for an early evening. I figured it was meant to be. He was old, hungry and tired and reminded me much of myself. He was also alone and needing attention, again much like me. So we started a routine.”

  I eased back in the chair, very interested in this side story.

  “For two years now, every night, he comes to that door and scratches to be let in. I’ll give him a little something to eat although he probably raids garbage cans around town. I tried to take him home but he ran away and showed up here the next night so I left it alone. He’s old and I wonder if he can handle the cold, so I let him spend the night in the office here. He leaves when I come back in the next morning and let him out.”

  “The two ladies out front don’t know about him and I prefer to keep it that way. Our arrangement works out well for him and me. Oscar has been good for me and I hope I’ve been equally good for him.”

  “We’re done here. Let’s go.” He takes his coat from the rack and puts his hat on his head, alarming me.

  “Wait!” I exclaim. “What about the trial?”

  “We’ll get to that later.”

  “You want me to come back in the morning at six again?”

  He gave me a queer look. “No I imagine eight will be just fine, like normal folk.”

  “I’ll go get a hotel room again.”

  Now he surprises me. “Not tonight. You’re going to stay at my house. I have some things for you to see and we’ll eat dinner. My daughter already told me she’s making meatloaf and you don’t want to miss it.”

  “Thank you,” was all I could say, greatly surprised by his offer and familiarity toward me.

  “Just remember,” He shakes a thick finger at me, “not a word about the dog.”

  We later arrived at his house but not before I learned that the next time I’ll refuse the offer of a ride in his European sedan. It was harrowing! The nicks and scrapes on the doors, fenders and bumpers were active visual testament to his need to walk, not drive. We made it alive, however, and his daughter greeted us at the door.

  • • • •

  “Eat up. They sent this up to you from the diner tonight. I suppose they are feeling sorry for you.”

  Hardin rolled over on his bed, and looked at the suit of clothes hanging just outside of his reach on a hanger. “It took me killing a man to look important,” he said to himself.

  “What’s that?” The Deputy asked, not sure of what he heard Hardin say, but very suspicious of what he thought he heard.

  “Nothin important, what’s for supper tonight?”

  The Deputy opened the basket and removed the warming towel over the food. “It looks like we’ll be having meatloaf and peas tonight.”

  “Is there any pie?”

  “No.” The Deputy answered plainly, all the while thinking that Hardin didn’t deserve pie in jail. He’s lucky to get the meat loaf and peas.

  “My lawyer will be here soon. He’ll bring me some pie.”

  “If I let him.” The Deputy prepared two plates, his of course had the largest portions of the choices servings. Eldred didn’t care. His mind wasn’t so much on a meal as he was hoping he could just think more of it. He was worried about his own mortality.

  The deputy handed him the plate through the slot and a spoon and napkin. “Can I have a coffee?” Without a word the deputy nodded and poured him a cup of the lukewarm drink.

  They both ate in silence for a few minutes.

  “What’s it like?” The Deputy asked him.

  Surprised that he was engaging him in conversation, Eldred answered with a mouth full of food and without much thought.

  “What’s what like?”

  “You know, k-k-killing a man.” The Deputy motioned toward the shotgun leaned against the wall, well out of reach of the cell and the prisoner.

  “I don’t know.”

  “W-W-What do you mean you don’t know? You confessed to killing him.”

  “I don’t remember what it felt like. One minute I was there, the next minute he was there, the next minute he was gone. You talk funny.”

  The Deputy was scheduled to leave work at the Sheriff’s office in two weeks. He had been called to active duty with the military and he was told it was to the Army Air Corps, probably in Italy. He had flown a plane a few times down in Georgia and told that to the recruiter. They told him he would probably fly planes for his country. He secretly hoped it would be a Mustang fighter or a B25 but he didn’t relish the idea of killing anyone and thought his slight stutter might just disqualify him. Glamorous jobs didn’t go to stutterers.

  “You didn’t feel n-n-nothing at all?”

  “Not that I recall.”

  “Did you even stop to look at his body? Did he…”

  “That will be enough of that!” The voice thundered from the front room as the Sheriff came through the door into the jail room. “You know you can’t question him like that.”

  The Deputy almost choked on his food and Eldred had stopped eating all together, wondering why the sheriff was there.

  “You’ll get your fill of that when you go overseas this spring.”

  “I wasn’t interrogating him Sheriff; just curious conversation over dinner is all.”

  “Well eat your dinner and don’t ask him any more questions unless his lawyer is here. Better yet, don’t ask him any questions at all. Let the investigator do that.”

  “Yes sir.” He gulped down his food. “Am I in trouble Sheriff?”

  “No, but anything you ask him and he tells you can’t be used in court – more or less. You have to follow procedure at all times.”

  “Yes sir.”

  The Sheriff didn’t want to go into the intricacies of questioning a prisoner with the Deputy, especially in front of the prisoner.

  “Hardin are you done eating yet?”

  Eldred looked at his plate and empty cup and stood up to hand them to the Sheriff through the slot in the bars. “Yes Sheriff.”

  The Sheriff turned to return the dishes to the kitchen but was stopped by Hardin.

  “They are going to kill me aren’t they Sheriff?”

  He wasn’t quite sure how to answer that and his Deputy was staring at him just as expectantly as Hardin was.

  “Son, it looks like that’s their intention. I don’t know any other way to say it.”

  Eldred thought about it for a moment. “I don’t suppose there is any other way.” He laid down with his back toward the two men outside of the cell and pulled the blanket up over his head and shoulders. His feet, uncovered, trembled.

  • • • •

  I pushed the plate back on the table, the few left over black-eyed peas rolling around in the creamy tomato sauce of the meatloaf. “That was great. I haven’t eaten that well in a long time, Mrs. Leonard.”

  “Now stop right there. You stop calling me Missus. My name is Molly and I expect you to call me by it.”

  “Yes, Ma’am. Thank you Molly.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  “Can we stop pussy-footing around here? Bring out that pie, daughter.”

  “It’s cool enough now I suppose. Give me a moment.” She poured her father a cup of coffee and went into the kitchen. He looked behind his back to see if she was looking and when he saw that
she wasn’t, he produced the silver flask from his pocket. He poured a few drops of the liquor into the coffee and then stopped to look at me. For a brief moment I thought I was finally going to get to refuse his offer, but it still didn’t come. He capped his flask quietly and returned it to his pocket.

  Nearing on precision timing, Molly exited the kitchen with three plates of buttermilk pie.

  “Now that looks good daughter! This young fellow doesn’t need it. I’ll eat his.”

  I know I must have looked shocked as they both laughed. “Papa he’s a starving college student. I’m sure you can remember those days – wait, they did have colleges back then didn’t they?”

  He “harrumphed” as you would expect of a British Nobleman, and then ate his pie. It was some of the best I’d had but that day was a lot of that; the best of pie, the best of intrigue, the best of drama, and the best of a little bit of rural criminal court history.

  • • • •

  Later, after dinner, when the old man was asleep in his chair in front of the television, I was helping his daughter clean up in the kitchen.

  “Does he ever lighten up?” I asked.

  “Oh he does from time to time. He really does when Oscar comes to visit him at the office.”

  “Oscar?” I feign ignorance.

  “You didn’t meet Oscar before you left? That’s odd. He brings him inside every night. He thinks we don’t know about him but we always make sure there is a biscuit and some meat in the refrigerator every day for him. Papa takes those for the old dog.”

  “I met Oscar, but I was sworn to secrecy. It looks like it’s no secret for me to violate at this point.”

  “No, no secret at all but don’t let on that we know. I think that’s part of the special intrigue of Oscar is that it’s his secret.” She put down her dish towel and took a deep breath, looking at me. I swallowed hard and I don’t know why; maybe it was because she was about to say something serious.

  “Is papa telling you what you need to know? He’s not being rude is he?”

  “He sure is – telling me what I need to know that is – not being rude. There is a lot more to all of this than I ever dreamed of and he seems to know everything.”

  I change directions for a moment, not wanting to be appearing to put her father on a pedestal. “Do you have other family in the law profession?”

  “No, not yet,” She replied. “I wish you could meet my daughter. She’s away at college. She’s working on a Master’s Degree in English Literature and planning on going to law school herself very soon.”

  She told him a little about her daughter and it turns out they go to the same college. “Does she know about the case I’m researching?”

  “Oh, no, no one does. Papa isn’t one to discuss his cases with anyone, especially this one. The only reason I am knowledgeable about the case is because I looked at the file after you called the first time. Papa had mentioned it before but never in any detail; not enough for me to remember outside of the effect it had on him.”

  She continued, “This case is what caused him to become a Judge himself for a little while. He enjoyed being a Judge but really disliked one aspect of it – you had to see everyone who came into the courtroom. There were just some people that he didn’t care to interact with. He called them the sick, lame and lazy – the perpetual whiners. ”

  “He wouldn’t deal with sick people?”

  “Not sick in a real, physical sense of the word. These were the people who were always claiming to be sick in order to take advantage of whatever system was in place at the time.”

  She told him several stories of her younger years, one in particular about a man who wore a neck brace everywhere he went so as to gain special attention from others. He had never even had a neck injury. Those were the people her father despised.

  “He went back to private practice law so he could personally select his clients.”

  “So he selected the murderer to be his client?”

  “No, he didn’t.” He was appointed by the Judge to take on the appeal of the case as the pro-bono attorney for the defendant.

  “He seems to have been so emotionally vested in the case, the way he talks about it.”

  “He became that way. The judge gave it to him for reasons that no one knows. We often wondered if it was because father was altruistic and forthright or if the judge was taking advantage of him being a fairly new attorney in the area. I doubt any of the older attorneys would have given it a second glance or even pursued it in earnest. No one wanted Hardin to get out of jail, not even papa, once he learned what he did and how he did it.”

  “That must be difficult; having an attorney who doesn’t truly want you to prevail.”

  “Yes, unless that attorney is my father. You see, no matter what papa’s personal feelings are about the case, he is a true believer in Justice and the Law. Papa is a devout Christian too, and feels it is his responsibility to right all wrongs, if they are within his influence.”

  “He’s a Don Quixote, jousting with windmills!”

  “No, even better; he’s straight out of ‘To Kill a Mockingbird.’ Now you know why it was important for you to read that book.”

  It dawned on me that the old lawyer, who I now have to call Judge, really did feel a kinship to the characters in the book. It seems that the qualities exemplified in the book were those that he wanted to be known for, himself.

  “I think I can relate to that.”

  “I was hoping you could. You know, I forced him to talk to you. He didn’t want to, but I didn’t give him the choice.” She patted me on the shoulder. “I’m glad now that I did. He seems to be different, already, just from spending a day with you.”

  “I’ve really enjoyed it myself! I’ve learned so much from him already. If I can make this book come together, it’ll be because of him.”

  “You’re really going to write a book now? We thought this would end up a newspaper piece; but a book – that’s ambitious.”

  “Yes, I believe so. Somewhere in the middle of the day, this went from an obsessive curiosity to me making notes on the layout for a book. I’ve never done it before, so I’ll be anxious to see what comes out of it.”

  “My daughter will be impressed. I do wish she was here so you could meet her. She’d love to know her grandfather was ‘book-worthy’ and not just some cob-webbed, mean-tempered, old lawyer.”

  I looked at some of the pictures on the mantle while we were talking. There were quite a few of a studious looking young blonde girl.

  “Is this her, your daughter?”

  “Yes. She’s been gone all semester. She’s had some sort of responsibility that she’s had to take care of at school so she could prepare to graduate.”

  “I know how she feels. I’m within a few months of graduation, myself.”

  “Oh really? Is this your graduate or undergraduate?”

  “It’s undergrad. I’m actually on a five-year plan that allowed for me being a rather ignorant freshman and not taking school seriously.”

  She laughed and admitted to the five-year plan for herself as well, only she blamed it on changing majors a couple of times. I pick up the framed picture, recognizing the face but not how I know her. “I must have seen her around campus.”

  “So your daughter is earning a degree in…” I trailed off to let her finish the sentence for me.

  “She’s getting her Master’s degree in English.”

  “Oh, that’s right, you already told me that.”

  “She was a prodigy of sorts. She took it upon herself to go to summer school two years in a row during high school and graduated high school a year early. Then she did the same thing in college and earned her Bachelor’s degree i
n a little over three years.”

  “What’s the rush?”

  “She wants to get to spend some time abroad after school and has this grand calendar planned out about when she will travel, when she’ll start law school. She even has her marriage and children planned out.”

  “Does she really expect to live by a schedule like that?”

  “No, but it gives her a base to work from.”

  “Will she visit soon?”

  “She’s not come home to visit one time this semester considering that she’s not all that far away.”

  “Have you gone to visit her?”

  Guiltily, “No I haven’t. I suppose I should.”

  “Well there you go,” I say with a flourish and a bow. I change the subject quickly however, as I don’t want to miss the opportunity to hear more about the case.

  “Did he take many cases like Hardin’s?”

  “No, he tried not to after that,” she smiled sadly. “He thinks it damaged his character and he’s spent his career since trying to make it up. I’ve told him over and over that what was done was right according to the law and that no matter which person the attorney was, it should have ended the same way.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “He feels like he owes something to the Doctor who was murdered.”

  “Again, I don’t understand.”

  “He’s not told you yet then. I’ll let it come from him but I think this is actually therapeutic for him. He is a truly good man. You’ll see.”

  “I’ve gathered that already. I just don’t know how to talk to him yet.”

  She burst out laughing, loud enough to wake her father in the next room. “Neither do the rest of us.”

  He grumbled from the next room, “What’s so all fired funny?”

  We both took it down to smiles and Molly showed me to my room for the night. I slept fitfully the whole night dreaming of the case and then waking to only think of the case. What must lawyers go through doing this? I don’t think I could ever get used to it.

  • • • •

  “Sorry I didn’t come in to see you last night. It got late and then I didn’t want to wake you only to tell you I had nothing to different to say.”

  “The Sheriff came in and fussed at the guard.”

  “Fussed about what?”

  “We were talking.”

  “About what?” Jesse was starting to become suspicious.

  “Turns out the guard is going to fight in the war in a month and wanted to know what it was like to kill a man.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him I didn’t know.”

  Jesse sat back for a moment considering this. Either Eldred was very crafty in thinking on his feet under pressure by denying that or he truly didn’t know. He was convinced that no matter what happened, Hardin was still crazy.

  “Well, I’m sorry I didn’t come in.”

  “I waited up for you but I wasn’t going nowhere, not while I’m rottin’ in jail.”

  You’re lucky that’s all that’s happening to you right now, Jesse thought to himself, and then silently chastised himself for thinking ill of his client.

  “Did you get enough rest?”

  “Nah, not really; I woke up a lot. I kept thinking about all those things he said about me.”

  “Remember, you can’t let it bother you. It’s going to get worse the next few days. There will be people you may not know, or even people you don’t remember talking about you.”

  Eldred pondered that for a moment and then asked, “If they don’t know me, how are they going to talk about me?”

  “They will be experts in certain areas or witnesses to things they think they saw you do or say.”

  He was silent after this for a much longer time. “So, anybody can say they saw me and tell them that – and they’ll believe them?”

  “Essentially, yes, but they have to swear to tell the truth before they say it.”

  Again, another long pause for consideration, “then why can’t I just swear too and tell em all that I didn’t do it?”

  “I wish it was that simple, I really do.”

  A deputy approached, “Sorry to interrupt but it’s seven o’clock. We need to get him fed, dressed and to court on time.

  “Of course,” Jesse responded. “Eldred I’ll see you in about an hour at the courthouse. Try and keep your food off of your shirt.”

  “I will.”

  • • • •

  “Alright, out you go Oscar,” said the old lawyer as he opened the back door of his office to let his overnight guest out for the day. Breaking his routine, the dog didn’t immediately leave but instead trotted over to where I was sitting and jumped up, putting his front feet on my knee.

  Strangest thing, that dog, he made eye contact with me and just like the lawyer the day before, I swear he was sizing me up. Apparently content that I was suitable, he gave me a very low but seemingly friendly “woof” and exited, wire-haired tail wagging high over his back.

  “I’ve never known him to not run out in a hurry in the morning but, you’re the first person who’s ever been in here when I do that. He must have needed to make sure you weren’t a burglar or something.”

  “I think he was sizing me up for a bite.”

  “I doubt he would have bit you. I’m not even sure he has any teeth.”

  “Probably so; I hope I passed the test.”

  The old lawyer laughed, “Well he didn’t hike his leg on yours so that’s a plus. I actually expected him to do that when he first went to you.”

  I laughed with him and he turned more serious but still much more casual than he was the day before.

  “Here now young man, I want you to take some notes on this case so you get them right,” he says handing me a note pad. “You may want to record it.”

  I know I looked confused at his sudden change of demeanor toward me and he did explain.

  “I’m about to talk about the trial and the sentencing. This isn’t where I come in just yet. I’m still twenty or so years away by this time, but something interesting did happen.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “Yes, so am I,” he fingering his own thick ears. “From my boxing days but that’s a whole different story.” I reminded myself to ask him about that too, when I had a chance.

  It seemed that he was putting off talking about the trial, so I let him have his room. I sat back in the comfortable chair with my note pad when I realized that we didn’t have any coffee. Saved by the bell! I provided the excuse he needed to not jump into the story of the trial so quickly.

  “Oh shoot! Wait! I have to go get us some coffee next door.”

  Apparently he’d not thought of it, but he was agreeable. He reached into his pocket and I stopped him. “These are on me. It’s the very least I could do.”

  “You’re right but I fear I may ask a larger favor of you later.”

  “It’s ok. I’ve got it.” I ran next door, saying good morning to the women in the office and then retrieving two large cups of black coffee.

  When I returned, I was surprised to see that he had taken off his coat and was sitting there in his shirt and suspenders. I was surprised because he even wore his suit coat to dinner in his own home the night before and then fell asleep in his easy chair wearing it.

  He tipped his liquor from the flask in his coffee, still not offering me any, as he began, “We were talking about the dangers of having a defendant testify in a trial, but we have to consider that it’s not just the Judge in this type of trial. There was a Jury present also. There are up to twelve people sitting in that court room, and more if you count alternates, depe
nding on the jurisdiction and the law of the land. These are not professional listeners or jurors. They are just like you and me and everyone else on the street, or at least they are supposed to be. Just like the rest of us, they are greatly influenced by so many things, temperature, smells, sounds, attitude, the atmosphere in a room, right down to what they had for breakfast that morning.”

  “Those Jurors are supposed to put all of that aside and then pay attention to only the facts of law presented and then make their decision based on what a reasonable person is supposed to do given the facts,” he shook his finger at me, “again excluding everything else. I tell you it’s never once, in the history of the courts of man, ever happened as it is supposed to. Human beings cannot completely exclude their senses and what they experience, even within a stuffy old court house.”

  “If your client picks his nose, a juror will see it. If the prosecutor looks overly confident or looks defeated, a juror will see it. If a person in the gallery laughs at something, a juror will hear it. It is imperative as lawyers, that we predict and control exactly what a juror hears and perceives before it happens. We want to win our case. We want to win it based on the facts, but there are those who will use external influence surreptitiously in the court room. That’s where the Judge comes in with his gavel. He keeps the order and makes sure the process is accurate and correct.”

  “I understand.”

  “So you see why Eldred and his lawyer were walking on a tight rope. He wanted the Jurors to understand that Eldred, while maybe not innocent of the homicide, was mentally unbalanced. If he pushed it too far, the Jurors would not look favorably on Eldred but instead start to see him as a true villain. There is a certain psychology to a jury trial.”

  “It’s like you said, ‘do what you can to control those influences’ and then you can focus on winning your case.”

  “Exactly. What Mr. Sparkman was hoping for were not outbursts and maniac behavior that would upset a jury and make them hate his client. He was counting on the blank stare of a man who the jury would see as retarded, simple-minded, and innocent even if only in spirit. If Eldred could have drooled some during this it would have galvanized his case just that much more.”

  “Also remember, that it was Mr. Sparkman’s belief that Eldred really was mentally deficient. He had tried to convince the court of that prior to the trial. His efforts to defend were sincere, even if he knew that his client did in fact kill the Doctor. He believed the malice, based in clear thought, was absent.”

  “So Mr. Sparkman knew Eldred killed the Doctor, he was just trying to get him off on a technicality?”

  “It’s not a technicality. That’s when someone somewhere makes a grievous error in judgment and usurps the judicial process. Some crucial step is omitted or is deviated from. That is the greatest travesty when someone who is guilty as sin is acquitted because of someone else’s error, either by accident or intent. Many lawyers find their reputation damaged due to such things, through no fault of their own, because people believe they are helping criminals and the unjust sidestep the law. It just isn’t true.”

  “I do understand.”

  “I’m not here to defend my profession. There are saints and sinners in every profession, including the ministry of all places. Mr. Sparkman was one of the previous. He was providing his client, who he believed incapable of knowing good from evil, effective counsel.”

  “I’ve never really even though of Mr. Sparkman as a bad guy in all of this, or the prosecutor. The whole process is fascinating.”

  “You continue to keep that open mind, especially when we start discussing my role in all of this Shakespearean drama.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Molly stuck her head in the office door to wish us both good morning. She looked at her father and her jaw dropped. “Papa, are you ok?”

  “Never better he replied. Does something look out of sorts?”

  “Uh, no, just asking,” She withdrew to the outer office and I heard her tell the secretary, “He took his coat off!”

  I also heard the reply, “You’re kidding!”

  • • • •

  “Mr. Sparkman, the morning is yours.” The Judge offered to Jesse. It was time for the Defense to put on their case but up until now it had been a real uphill battle. Jesse could tell by the eyes and the body language of the Jurors that they were taking in every single thing that the Prosecution was feeding to them. His cross examinations and objections and rebuttals had done little more than draw looks of ire and impatience from the Jurors.

  Jesse stands and buttons his coat. “Thank you your honor. Two of my witnesses have been precluded from testifying in this matter and offering what I would consider to be relevant and significant testimony as to the innocence of my client. I would like that issue preserved in the record.”

  The Judge looked peeved but grumbled back, “So noted.”

  “Thank you your honor. I would like to call Eldred Hardin to the stand.”

  Eldred looked alarmed and Jesse approached him. The prosecuting attorneys smiled knowingly, as if a spider waiting for a moth to fly into the web.

  “Mister Jesse, you told me you didn’t want me to talk in here. Now you do? I don’t know what to tell them!”

  “You’ll be just fine, just tell the truth and only answer with ‘yes’ or ‘no’ when asked a question, unless I specifically tell you to describe something.”

  Hardin rose from his seat and approached the witness box, very conscious of the hateful looks that were hitting his back from the spectators. Once he climbed in, he stood beside the chair and the Bailiff approached him with a well-worn Bible in hand.

  “Put your right hand on the Bible.” Hardin did so, but tentatively. “Do you swear that the testimony you are about to give is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

  Eldred lifted his hand from the bible and looked at the Bailiff. The Bailiff nodded for him to put his hand back and the Judge intervened.

  “Mister Hardin you must answer yes or no.”

  Eldred swallowed hard, “Yes or no.”

  There was a general chuckle around the court room and a few from the jury box. The Judge slammed his gavel down.

  “Is that a yes or a no, Mr. Hardin. Do you swear to tell the truth?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Good enough. Bailiff…”

  The Bailiff told Eldred to have a seat which he did.

  His attorney approached him and put his hand on the rail in front of him.

  “Would you state your name and address for the record please?” Eldred did so.

  Formality out of the way, the attorney became cheerful. “Good morning Eldred, are you feeling well.”

  Eldred looked at him and then at the Jury and back at the attorney who nodded to him.

  “No.”

  Expecting a positive answer, Jesse, asked for clarification. “I expected you to say that you were feeling well. Why are you not?”

  “I’m scared and I itch.” He said looking down toward his lap. There was another round of muffled chuckling around the room.

  Jesse was concerned at first that this may turn into a circus but he was gradually realizing that this may be to Eldred’s benefit. If they truly see him as simple, then they may be lenient.

  “Eldred tell me about how you were arrested.”

  “Is that a yes or a no”

  “No, that’s an answer I want you to describe. Tell us all the true story about when you were arrested.”

  “You see, Rodney and I were walking down the sidewalk and he looked in the Jewelry store window and said how much he’d like to have a gold watch.”

  “No Eldred! Tell us about how you were arrested
and accused of killing someone.”

  “Oh. I was with my lady. We had just finished dancing and went back to the place I was staying and this policeman showed up asking my name.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “Shayla got mad at him and tried to hit him but he said he was taking her to jail too and she ran offt,” A chuckle again.

  “And then what?”

  “He brought me back here.”

  “Did you ride in the front seat of the police car or the back.”

  “Neither one!”

  Innocently, Jesse continued, “What do you mean?”

  “He threw me in the back of the trunk and hit every bump in the road!”

  A Juror laughed but choked it back when the Judge gave him a stern look.

  “Then what?”

  “Here I am.”

  “Did you have any problems when you got to the jail here?”

  “No, they didn’t beat me up right away if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Did they feed you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you get to see a Doctor?”

  “No.”

  “So they treated you well?”

  “Yes. Decent enough.”

  “What happened that night?”

  “They wanted to hang me.”

  “The Sheriff wanted to hang you.?”

  “No, the crowd outside. I heard them all talking through the door and a couple of times a few of them would come around the jail house near a window and I heard them talking about doing things to me.”

  “Did they do bad things to you?”

  “No. The Sheriff stopped them, I heard.”

  “But you were scared weren’t you? You were scared for your life from the men inside and the men outside.”

  “Objection the prosecutor shouted as he rose from his chair. He’s trying to testify for his client.”

  “Sustained, keep it as a question Mr. Sparkman the Judge warned.”

  “I withdraw that question. Mr. Hardin, did you fear for your life in the jail?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Tell me how.”

  “They kept talking to me and telling me I was gonna die.”

  “Who did?”

  “Those people that I hear.”

  “Who were they? Do you know their names?”

  “I don’t know.” Eldred put his head in his hands. “He said if I ratted him out, he’d kill me.”

  “Who did? Who threatened your life if you ‘ratted’ him out?”

  “Hankie, Hankie Wilson.”

  “What would you ‘rat out’ Mr. Wilson for?”

  “He robbed and killed Dr. Blakely, not me.”

  The audience, as well as the jurors and judge sat up a little straighter and gave greater attention.

  “What do you mean, ‘he robbed and killed Dr. Blakely?’”

  “He was with us and argued with him about a woman. They liked the same woman. Hankie got mad and shot him.”

  “Now Eldred, this is important. Do you understand that? This is very important. You gave and signed a confession in the jail. Do you remember doing that?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Now you say that Hankie Wilson killed him, not you?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “What about that confession you gave and signed. There were witnesses there that heard it and saw you sign it.”

  “Wilson said he would kill me if I ratted him out.”

  “So did you confess to the crime?”

  “Yes, Wilson said he’d kill me.”

  “Did you kill Doctor Blakely?”

  Eldred paused for a moment and took a deep rattling breath. “No sir, I didn’t kill him.”

  A murmur arose in the court room and the judge tapped his gavel a few times, not slamming it like usual. He was apparently very interested in what was being said as well.

  “Mr. Hardin did you read the confession you signed?”

  “Not really.”

  “What do you mean by that? Either you read it or you didn’t.”

  “I don’t know how to read that good. I mean, I can read which smoking tobacco I want in the store, and I can sign my mark. I know how to read the names of some stores.”

  “So you really can’t read, then?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Was the confession, that you signed, read back to you?”

  “No, they just had me swear it was true and I marked it. Then they got all excited and took it away. Now, here I am.”

  On hearing this, the Judge gave a very stern look to the prosecutor, who shrugged and in turn slowly sought out the eyes of the Sheriff in the audience. He shrugged also. One of the Jurors saw this exchange and followed it with his own eyes.

  “Has Hankie Wilson been to see you?”

  Eldred said that he hadn’t but then stood up and looked around the court room, searching the faces.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Seeing if he’s here now. He said he’d kill me.”

  “The witness will sit down.” The Judge commanded and Eldred complied, seeming however, to have not heard a word he said.

  “Is he here?” Jesse asked curiously, wondering if gunfire would erupt from some unknown, already-blooded killer.

  “I don’t see him.” Jesse felt guilty for the relief he felt. If a Hankie Wilson did confront them in the court room, it would have put an end to this trial for sure.

  So it went on for most of the day and the prosecution had their opportunity to cross examine Hardin for a while too. Two different prosecutors took turns cross examining Eldred and in the end they seemed as frustrated as anyone else. They didn’t make or break their case through their cross.

  There were several clear answers but there were many of the continuing nonsense answers, all of which drew the amusement of some of the people in the court, despite the judge threatening to jail the ‘next person who laughed’ and fine the rest.

  Jesse couldn’t tell if he was hurting or helping his case with Eldred’s testimony but so far it didn’t seem if any real damage had been done. All he had to do was cast a shadow of a doubt on the Jury and they would have to acquit Eldred. Unfortunately, he also knew that the Jury had been hand selected and that there was no real due process involvement in the jury selection. He worried for his client’s life and he also grieved for his own reputation which was being tarnished by this trial.

  Eldred got to a point where he was having trouble differentiating between the murder he was on trial for and the small string of robberies he was accused of and indicted for, albeit not stood trial for. He asked about his gold watch at least twice and his lawyer was beginning to think that the stress of the cross examination was loosening Hardin’s controls on his immediate reality. The Judge called for a thirty minute recess but shortly after returning accepted the Defense’s position to rest their case and let Eldred out of the witness box.

  When the Judge dismissed Eldred and he returned to his seat, he looked exhausted. The Judge looked rather tired too as he slammed his gavel announcing that the court was in recess and would convene the next morning for closing arguments.

 

  • • • •

  “So he did testify. I thought the strategy was to keep him off of the stand?”

  “Yes, and it was. It was a very dangerous thing to do, but the State still held firm to the idea of a witnessed and signed confession to the killing. They argued that he was simply trying to distract the Jury away from the truth at hand.”

  “That he killed the doctor.”

  “Precisely.”


  “Who were the two witnesses that didn’t get called?”

  “I don’t know but I’ll be they were someone who could swear to where Eldred was or wasn’t. The thing is that Eldred admitted to being with the Doctor; admitted to killing him; and even in his later testimony admitted to being present when the doctor was killed. The only thing someone else could testify to was that they actually saw him witness, not commit the crime and his story didn’t include anyone else being there, by either accounting.”

  “Maybe they were figments of his imagination? Was he concocting them?”

  “Now you’re thinking.” The old lawyer said, pointing a finger at me. “This is the crux of the matter. Were these real people or someone that Hardin believed was there? Unfortunately they didn’t substantiate the crazy claim. There were actual people for the court to have refused to hear their testimony.”

  “So was he or wasn’t he really crazy?”

  “Don’t get ahead of me.”

  • • • •

  “Mister Jesse, I don’t understand any of this anymore,” Eldred whispered to his attorney as he sat back down with a great exhalation of air. Closing arguments were complete and there was great anticipation building in the room.

  “It’s all done now, Eldred,” he whispered back. “I’ve done all that I could to help keep you out of the harm. It’s up to the Jury now.”

  “Does that…” Eldred began to whisper back but was shushed by Jesse. The Judge was going to address the Jury.

  The Judge slams his gavel down three times, gathering the attention of everyone in the room. “Gentlemen of the Jury, you have heard the presentation of evidence by the prosecution and by the defense. Both the prosecution and the defense have rested in their cases. It is now up to you to determine, based on the evidence, what is fact and what is not. Rely on your charge and instructions at the beginning of this proceeding and refer back to them frequently if you find yourself questioning what direction to proceed.”

  Jesse looked over at Hardin, whose gaze was fixed on the Judge, and a slight line of drool was building at the corner of his mouth. Why couldn’t he have done that two days ago, he thought to himself. “Keep your fingers crossed and pray Eldred, even if you have never prayed before. You need God’s mercy right now to keep you out of the electric chair. I’ve done all I can do.”

  • • • •

  The Bailiff stuck his head in the door of the small room where Hardin and his attorney are sitting. They haven’t said much. Hardin just looks out the window high up on the wall.

  “The Jury is about to come back in.”

  “Ok thanks. That didn’t take long,” says Jesse as he looks at his watch, “just a few hours.”

  Hardin finally speaks, “At least they won’t make me breathe gas.” He smiles weakly.

  The Bailiff lets the attorney enter the court room first and then escorts Hardin to the table. The difference now is that there are a number of Deputies standing close by.

  They must be preparing for some trouble, Jesse thinks to himself. I hope this doesn’t end badly today. He is hopeful but not optimistic. He watched the Jurors eyes every time he spoke and they got angrier and angrier as the trial went on.

  “All rise” the Bailiff bid the court room, which they did as the Judge entered and sat behind his bench.

  “Be seated. Bailiff, bring in the Jurors.”

  The burly Bailiff opened the side door and bid the Jurors to enter to their seats. When they were all seated, the Judge had to bang his gavel once to calm the audience.

  He addressed the Jury, “You have had ample opportunity to view the evidence and consider your decisions. You have elected to return your verdict at this time.” He looks at the man seated in the first seat.

  “Mr. Jury Foreman, have you reached a verdict?”

  The man stands and wipes his hands on his pants legs. He appears nervous. “We have your Honor.”

  “He hands a folded piece of paper to the Bailiff who then hands it to the Judge.” The Judge reads it, his eyebrows arching slightly. Jesse sees this and a small ember of hope blossoms in his chest.

  “The verdict appears to be in proper order. Will the Defendant and his counsel rise?” Jesse and Hardin stand from behind their table.

  The Judge continues, “Mr. Jury Foreman, read your verdict.”

  The Bailiff hands the paper back to the Jury Foreman who takes it in hand, opening it. He looks directly at Hardin, a smile spreading on his face.

  “He’s smiling? What is this? He’s smiling?” Jesse says quietly with growing alarm.

  “We the Jury, find the defendant guilty of murder in the First Degree…” The spectators go wild and cheer. The Judge starts slamming his gavel for order in the court. Bailiffs start herding spectators out into the hallway as the Jury Foreman continues to read.

  “…as charged in the indictment, and fix his punishment at Death by Electrocution.”

  Hardin slumps in his chair and Jesse sits with him. The noise rises again with more celebration from the spectators. The Judge slams his gavel again, demanding order louder and issuing a threat of confinement to a few celebrating spectators.

  “Continue Mr. Jury Foreman,” the Judge orders.

  “What?” Jesse stands back up from his chair. “There’s more?”

  He drags Hardin up from his chair by his arm, shaking him, “Listen!”

  The Jury Foreman continues to read, “In light of mitigating circumstances the penalty of death is here-by waived and in its place a sentence of not less than ninety-nine years in the State Penitentiary.”

  The shouts of celebration in the courtroom cease as if a giant hand was waved across the mouths of every spectator. Confusion replaces celebration and the Judge orders the courtroom cleared immediately. The Deputies and Bailiffs move to the back of the room, ushering out the crowd, celebrating and angered alike, but not before they could hear Jesse Sparkman shout, “Yes!” at the front of the court room.

  Once the doors were closed and guarded by a Deputy, the silence in the room was overwhelming.

  “Your Honor,” Jesse shouted over the receding din, “If I may?”

  “Proceed Mr. Sparkman.”

  “Your honor we accept the Jury’s verdict for the moment but also request a new trial based on the grounds that I have previously filed and averred.”

  “Are you prepared to submit your motion at this moment?”

  “No your honor, I request a few days to prepare the motion for submission.”

  “Very well, we will expect your motion before the end of the day on Monday.”

  “Thank you Your Honor.” Jesse sat down with a great sense of relief washing over him. He had saved his life. Now he has to gain his freedom.

  The Judge banged his gavel once drawing attention, “Mister Hardin, please rise again.” Hardin and his attorney stood. “You have been given an unusual reprieve in light of your confession and in light of the facts. I suggest you make the best of it and amend your ways. You are hereby sentenced to 99 years of confinement in the Tennessee State Penitentiary where you will complete your sentence beginning within seven days, providing opportunity for your attorney to prepare his motions for relief.”

  “Mr. Jury Foreman and members of the Jury, we thank you for your service to our community and to our way of life. You are excused from duty. Please make yourself available for Jury polling and you may exit out the private exit should you so desire.” None of the Jurors rose or left. All were anxious to see this drama play out.

  He addresses the court officers in the rear of the room, “Deputies, give him a few moments with his attorney and take him into custody within our jail.”

  The judge slams the gavel, “This matter is closed, and
Court is adjourned.”

  • • • •

  Jesse pulled his collars up tighter around his neck and the cold wind blew dead fallen leaves around his feet. Now that the trial was over, the weather seems to have concluded that it was truly time for winter to arrive.

  The court house office door opened and a deputy emerged in his woolen coat, leading Hardin out, followed by a deputy holding a shotgun. Eldred didn’t look up at first, his eyes were on the ground, probably considering shooting dice, or remotely considering his fate in light of his brand new 99-year prison sentence. He took small, short steps due to the chains that surrounded his ankles. Those chains were attached to another chain that went around his waist and also joined his handcuffs. He was truly manacled for the ride back to the jail.

  The Deputies didn’t take offense at the attorney who approached Eldred. They both knew him to be his attorney in the trial and seemed to like him. During his interactions with them via the jail and the courthouse, he treated them with an extra level of dignity that they were unaccustomed to from the country folk that lived around them. They had numerous discussions after that about how different it must be to be a law man in a large city versus a small rural county. They’d heard horror stories about the altercations the city officers would be involved in, but they couldn’t be much worse than chasing moonshiners across ridge-lines in the middle of the night.

  Eldred walked past the attorney before he realized that he was standing on the sidewalk. He stopped and turned back.

  “How are you holding up Eldred?”

  Eldred looked past the attorney for a moment, at his mother standing inside of the courthouse, looking out at him through the glass pane of the door. His father was standing behind her, rheumy eyes downcast with disappointment and shame. Eldred shared a brief bit of eye contact with her for just a moment.

  “I’m alright Mr. Jesse. My ma and pa ain’t doing too good. I’m sure they are blaming theyselves for what I did.”

  “I’ll have a talk with them, if you think that will help.”

  “Yessir,” he mumbled, “but I think a preacher may be best for Ma. She’s been praying a lot for me and says she’s being punished for dropping me. I don’t know what that means but she needs the preacher.”

  Jesse knew exactly what she meant by being punished for dropping him. Through his meetings with the family and with Hardin, preparing for the trial, he learned that several times throughout his young life, Eldred had sustained head injuries. Once, only days old, his teenage mother dropped him when an angry neighbor came into the room and tried to take the baby away from her, claiming it was his grandson, which it wasn’t. In the struggle, Eldred was dropped. That was the first time. Later, he fell on his head crossing a creek, which ended up being his first real medical exposure to Dr. Blakely.

  “Mama said that if Dr. Blakely hadn’t saved me several times as a boy, he would still be alive today.”

  Jesse stood there, mouth open, unable to believe what he was hearing. That mother was grieving for everyone, not just herself.

  “I’ll talk to your mama for you. You take care of yourself in jail Eldred. In the meantime, I’ll work on getting you released and this conviction overturned. Do like the Judge said and take advantage of the reprieve.”

  “The what?” He asked.

  “Not getting electrocuted.”

  “Oh,” he paused, “I will.”

  “They’ll be holding you for about a week while they get a space ready for you in Nashville at the State Penitentiary. If you need anything between now and then, you know how to find me. I’ll be in touch with you. Even after you go in, let me know how you’re doing.”

  “I will.”

  The two shook hands and Jesse stood still on the sidewalk watching them lead Eldred to the waiting car. He looked up at the darkening early winter sky and breathed deeply of the cold air before returning to the court house to address Hardin’s parents.

  • • • •

  The Judge stands at the large window of his office overlooking the courthouse lawn. Loraine knocks on the door and the Judge tells her to come in.

  “Mr. Claude is here Judge. Do you want to see him?”

  “Yes, send him in.”

  She soon returns with the Clerk and they all three stand looking out the window onto a cold, gray December day. They watch as Eldred Hardin is lead from the courthouse in chains around his waist, wrists and feet. They watch as he is approached by his attorney and they awkwardly shake hands and exchange a few words before being led away.

  “That fellow there saved his life today.”

  “It was a good trial, Judge, although I never expected the outcome,” said Mr. Claude

  “Neither did I but I’ll sleep better tonight because of it. I was starting to wonder myself about the boy, but couldn’t say anything. He had such a blank expression on his face the entire time.”

  Loraine, the toughest of the three and the only woman present gave her two-cents, “Justice was done, regardless.”