******
“What is happening? Am I going to lose?” Henry and Marshall had escorted Richard from the courtroom to the small conference room near the jail. Their client was panicked. All poise had fled. “Why is this happening, what is going on?” Richard raved on and on.
To that John Marshall had a simple response: “This is happening because you asked to be tried for murder. You are being given that opportunity, and this is what it looks like, Richard.” Henry opted to remain silent. He really didn’t know if he could trust himself to speak. He had been so proud of the calm, collected young man who had been eloquent yet succinct in the courtroom. This version of Richard was a mess and, frankly, causing significant anxiety for Henry.
“You did exactly as you should have done in there, Richard,” Marshall said, as if in response to something Richard had rambled. “We both agree that you did well.” Marshall nodded towards Henry. Richard looked first from Marshall and then to Henry with a look that could be called a sneer. Henry knew it wasn’t personal; Richard Randolph was panicking. As well a person should in his position.
“You were respectful and forceful. It was professional yet heartfelt,” Marshall smiled, completely ignoring Richard’s look of incredulity.
“That’s all fine and good, Mr. Marshall, but they didn’t let me go, did they?” Marshall’s eyebrows shot up, but Henry laughed.
“Mr. Randolph,” Henry pinched the bridge of nose. “Might I ask what in the hell you are talking about?” This use of the fiery pit in standard conversation seemed to shock both Marshall and Richard, a fact that surprised Henry and one he logged into his brain to use again for a similar effect. Only as necessary, of course, and for his client’s own good.
“I have done everything that could be asked of an honorable man, Mr. Henry. That is what in the hell I am referring to if you don’t know.” Henry’s stomach dropped. He absolutely hated when his cases degenerated to a point where he was arguing with his own client. It was a relatively common experience though, for what it was worth. Still fairly annoying in Henry’s opinion, but common, especially in high stakes cases. And a murder trial was fairly high stakes after all. It was just happening early in this case.
Taking a deep breath, Henry smiled, hoping to diffuse the tension that was mounting in the room. “I suppose I don’t know, Mr. Randolph. This was an arraignment. There was no finding of fact, only the opportunity for you to plead guilty if you so choose, thus obviating the need for a trial. There was never an option to walk out of the courtroom free today. We are just beginning.”
“I believe we discussed this just yesterday, Richard,” Marshall added. “Today was just the opportunity to enter your formal plea. Which you did beautifully.”
“Sirs, you can both keep condescending about my speech, but it doesn’t matter how well I did if I still find myself locked up in this God-forsaken place.”
Henry refrained from pointing out that the Cumberland County jail, particularly the room that housed Mr. Randolph, was hardly God-forsaken. He was likely still living much better than most men in the county. Richard was even attended by one of his own slaves even while in custody. Instead, Henry let his curiosity get the better of him and he asked, “What did you think would happen, Mr. Randolph?”
“Why, I’ve gone through all the steps, haven’t I, Mr. Henry?” Richard sneered. “You know I asked my brother-in-law William to duel me to prove my honor? I’ve done everything I can to prove my innocence. I must be the first person in the county's history to ask to be held and tried for murder!”
Marshall and Henry both nodded agreement; that was likely exactly the case.
“Well, here I am. I not only asked to be tried, I turned myself in, I stood in front of them today putting myself entirely at their mercy. I was a gentleman,” Richard continued, “just as you asked of me. I have done all I can do to prove my honor. In exchange the justices should have been equal gentlemen, heard my plea, and one-by-one stood up and said I had done enough. That was I was innocent and they should dismiss this matter. That’s what should have happened today! And you should have warned me that that wouldn’t happen.”
Henry thought he would have to pick his jaw off the table at which they were seated. He could see that Marshall seemed to be having a similar reaction. My God, either their client was irrational or totally and fully entitled and delusion. Or all of the above, really. Henry didn’t answer immediately as he pondered for a moment what it must be like to be from a part of society where you one hundred percent truly did not expect the world’s rules to apply to you. No, not even that—that would be monstrous. This was a feeling that some people were above the rules of society together, a separate group ruled by their own rules.
Henry had been staring at Richard as if he were a specimen in a zoo, a scientific oddity. “That is a beautiful sentiment, Richard, but that is not how the American legal system works. There is no special treatment for being a gentleman. You get to go through the same democratic process as any other man, the highest of the high or the lowest of the low. Lady Justice wears a blindfold, as you recall.”
Marshall had been pondering Richard’s diatribe himself, with a different angle. “We know this is upsetting, Richard, but I advise that you do not make enemies of your attorneys. You may find that you need us in this process.” Well, Henry thought, here again was a more aggressive side of the impassive Mr. Marshall. There was some comfort in knowing that Marshall shared Henry's anger with their client—misery loves company and there was often nothing more miserable than the practice of law.
And at this rate, this would be a miserable case indeed.
CHAPTER five
HENRY HAD A THEORY about being in a courtroom: Never, ever let them see you sweat. This was often a difficult aspiration to uphold. It made it all the more difficult by the humidity of the Cumberland County Courthouse. That, along with the press of people packed into the court to see the spectacle of the increasingly infamous Bizarre trial, created a pot in which Henry could stew. To his perfect horror, Henry had to pull out his handkerchief periodically to pat, discreetly, at his brow. Not only was this exactly the worst way to make an impression with the gentleman of the court, but Marshall seemed to be as cool as a December day. A Northern December day, specifically, complete with ice and snow.
“What is going to happen, sirs?” Richard had taken to using extreme deference with his counsel since he had been under lock and key these last few days leading up to testimony. If only he had listened to us before, Henry thought with a smirk. To Henry, specifically. Then none of them would have to be there.
Contrary to popular opinion, Henry did not relish walking into an open court. True, he was a great orator, a great attorney, but he had never gotten used to the growing sense of anxiety that accumulated about two days before a courtroom appearance. For the forty-eight hours leading up to opening argument, Henry became increasingly worried and irritated, imagining everything that could possibly go wrong so he could prepare in advance. If he was prepared for it, Henry could control that that particular outcome would not occur. Every attorney knows the only things that come up unexpectedly in court are the things you never saw coming. Even for a litigator the likes of Patrick Henry, a trial was no walk in the park.
But you still should never let them see you sweat.
“There is no way to know what will happen, young man,” Marshall answered Richard, who blanched a whiter shade of pale at the words of the more reserved of his counsel. Henry smiled a sneer that could have been slightly malicious—Richard couldn’t be certain just by looking, which was fine by Henry. “If only we knew, Mr. Randolph.” And if only Richard had paid the five hundred pounds owed to Henry before he had left Bizarre. “I’ll pay when I get back home, Mr. Henry, I promise.” Well, it certainly gave Henry the impetus to get an innocent verdict.
As Richard sat with his back to the vultures of Cumberland County—the newsmen, the housewives, and the odd person who found glee in the potential fall of t
he house of Randolph—Henry and Marshall were comparing notes when the bailiff entered through the door off the justices’ chambers and called for all to rise. Out of the door behind him filed the nine justices of the Cumberland County court. As the men entered the room, Henry, seated next to Richard, put out his arm and held his client by his forearm. To onlookers counsel was showing support for his young and visibly upset client. In reality, Henry could see that Richard was just a split second away from stepping out behind the defendant’s table to, presumably, address the panel of justices. Henry’s touch was a warning to his client. His client who apparently continued thinking he was smarter than his attorneys.
“No,” he grunted under his breath, through gritted teeth that perfectly mimicked a smile, directed at the justices. Now was the time to listen. The court directed the room to sit and for the Commonwealth to open their case. James Smith took to his feet, addressed the justices, and opened the inquest.
******
The Commonwealth’s Opening
This is a case about murder. And not just any murder, but the killing of an innocent babe, a child that had just drawn its first breathe. A child too little, too young to know it had arrived in this world for that one, solitary gasp of air. For, once it achieved that breath, the hand of its own father ended its life. A man who would kill a tiny baby, just born. A man who would kill his own child. A man who would seduce the sister of his wife, bringing that child about in a secret, incestuous relationship with a woman sworn to his keeping.
What kind of man would do such things? You needn’t look far, gentlemen. That man sits before you: Richard Randolph of Bizarre Plantation.
Look at him, gentlemen. Hiding behind his good name, feigning indignation at the charges. Why, he himself called for his own indictment to “prove his innocence.” Hubris goes before the fall. But this is no Greek tragedy, gentlemen. This is nothing more than a story of human folly and greed. A man who kills his own baby, a woman who would deceive her own sister.
But surely you are all aware of the great Randolph family—why some of you may be related to the defendant. Perhaps you have ridden out to Nancy Randolph’s family home, Tuckahoe, enjoying the hospitality of her parents. Fewer have been to the seat of Mr. Richard Randolph and his wife—Nancy’s sister—Judith. Bizarre Plantation is remote, quiet. There isn’t much to do in the form of entertainment. Likely that is the reason that the inhabitants have fallen so completely into debauchery.
Over the next few days you will hear testimony that sets out these dastardly deeds. Amongst other witnesses, you will hear the hosts of the Randolph party on the night in question, Mr. and Mrs. Randolph Harrison, owners of Glentivar. You will hear from Nancy’s aunt and additional family members privy to secret, private details about the defendant and his absent mistress. And what will you hear once all these people have testified? The truth about Bizarre and her inhabitants.
On October first of last year, Richard, Nancy, and Judith arrived at their cousin’s plantation Glentivar. Mr. and Mrs. Randolph Harrison were happy to see Richard and Judith and always found that Nancy was pleasant company. If there was anything strange in the young Randolphs’ behavior, the Harrisons didn’t notice it until it was too late. True, Judith seemed more withdrawn than she had ever been previously, but she had a young baby and was likely tired. Richard seemed animated and attentive to both young women, a loving family man to both wife and sister-in-law.
Who was to know the horrors that arrived along with this merry little party?
No doubt the Harrisons did not understand what type of degeneracy they had invited into their home. When we hear from each of the Harrisons, they will tell us that Nancy suddenly fell ill, needing to take to her bed. She complained of ‘stomach pains.’ No one will testify about the nature of those pains unless we hear from Mr. Randolph himself—most of the night Nancy wouldn’t let anyone but him into the room she was occupying. When Mrs. Harrison could finally check on her distressed guest, Nancy and Richard insisted that the candles be snuffed out before Mrs. Harrison enter. She couldn’t see a thing. Nancy was incoherent. Richard assured Mrs. Harrison that all was well.
Nothing was well, gentlemen. In fact, you will hear testimony that will clarify that once Mrs. Harrison left that room, Richard Randolph somehow delivered of Nancy a baby—his own baby—while his own wife slept in the room next door, just feet away. You will hear that Richard then caused that baby to die. His own baby. He then took the body of that poor innocent babe down the stairs in the pitch dark, went outside to the plantation shingle pile, and returned empty-handed.
That is the man sitting in this courtroom today. His accomplice, Miss Nancy Randolph has failed to turn herself over to this authority, but Richard sits here today. The man who took in his wife’s young sister to care for as his own. Once he had that young girl under his roof he seduced her, impregnated her, and eventually brought her—heavy with child—to Glentivar where he secretly delivered, murdered, and disposed of his own child.
Nancy Randolph will get her due, but now, before you, sits the man behind these foul deeds. You will hear testimony and argument setting out the facts behind the story I have told you today. You will likely hear clever rebukes and alternate versions from Mr. Randolph and his counsel. Once this inquest is over, I ask you to do the right thing for this community, for the dead child who cannot be here to defend itself. Yes, the Randolphs are founders of this community, pillars of the Commonwealth. And in this case, the Randolph before you is also a fornicator and murderer of children. Once this inquest is complete, I ask you to return a finding of guilty.
******
“That was egregious, I cannot believe that man would have the nerve to speak that way about me,” Richard Randolph fumed. Marshall put his hand up and attempted to shush his client while Henry observed Richard with interest. It was a common reaction for a defendant to be upset following a vitriolic opening statement—this one had been insulting, really—but it was not typical to be so personally affronted.
“Sir, as I recall, you requested to be tried for murder,” Henry smiled. “Might I ask again what you expected?” Henry noticed that Marshall also looked towards their client with curiosity. It seemed a reasonable question all around.
“Well, I suppose that it makes sense in that scenario, Mr. Henry. I have to admit that I didn’t really expect all, well, this.” Richard swept his arms around the small holding room that the court had given counsel to use to speak with their client while in custody. “I thought my good name would be enough if nothing else to at least allow me certain comforts during the process. Instead, I am actually in a real jail, being tried for murder. I am innocent, gentlemen. I understand that it must seem naïve to two professionals such as yourselves, but I guess I expected that they would treat me differently than the common criminal.”
Henry restrained himself from rolling his eyes. If this was an act for his attorneys’ sake, Richard sorely misunderstood his audience. “Would it be too much for me to suggest, Mr. Randolph, that many people may consider you to be a common criminal?” Richard blanched at Henry’s question but even though Henry noticed, he went on. “Rather, you are likely considered to be an uncommon criminal, and by that I mean one worse than one of the poor masses on the streets.”
Richard gulped as if he was having a hard time getting enough air. “Take a deep breath, young man,” Henry counseled. Deep breathing was the key to getting through mental distress Henry had discovered.
“Mr. Henry, what does that mean?” Richard whispered.
“It means that you draw in more air than typically, Mr. Randolph.”
Richard and Marshall stared at Henry for a moment. Eventually Marshall’s face began a tug of war with a wide smile he was obviously trying to hide. Richard, for his part, was increasingly upset. His anger, however, seemed to have morphed into a quiet resignation. “I mean, Mr. Henry, why am I an ‘uncommon’ criminal? Why would people think I am worse than a lowly criminal?”
“Because y
ou had everything that anyone on the street could ever want and yet you still committed heinous crimes, that’s why.”
“Alleged crimes,” Marshall interjected.
Henry nodded and continued, “It wouldn’t have been for hunger or justified revenge or any other reason that could be mitigated with just the smallest level of empathy. No, in your case, your crimes—excuse me, your alleged crimes—would be nothing more than nasty, coldhearted, and self-centered. That, young man, is why the prosecution is out to get you. And I have a sense the press and public are also sitting back salivating.”
“I am not a bad person, Mr. Henry.” Richard’s voice was now tiny, barely capable of being heard. “I am not the person they think I am.”
“Well, let’s do the best we can to prove that, or at least disprove the theory.”
The jailer took Richard out of the conference room before the men could finish their conversation. “Time’s up, gentlemen.” Henry nodded at Richard, hoping he had truly frightened the young man.
“That was harsh, Henry,” Marshall reprimanded Henry once their client and the officer had left the room. “He is obnoxious, but was it necessary to scare him to death as he is being taken to his cell?”
“John, bear with me. Would you agree that Richard was pulling out an attitude that was nothing short of imperious?” Marshall nodded his agreement. “Well, what is worse than a spoiled rich boy? That is rhetorical, of course. I will tell you: A spoiled rich boy who believes he is entitled to special treatment based on nothing other than his position in the world.”
An Unspeakable Crime Page 5
