Gardner shifted a pillow behind him. “Totally,” he said, then he looked at Jennifer. “I almost went over the edge, didn’t I?”
“Yes.”
“Not very professional.”
Jennifer shook her head no. “You can’t lose it like that in front of the jury.”
“I know,” Gardner said, “so I’ve been thinking…”
Jennifer blinked her eyes. “What?”
“You do the honors…”
“As to what?”
“The direct examination of Granville. You handle it.”
Jennifer frowned. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Gardner replied. “You take it.”
“When did you decide that?”
Gardner sat up. “This afternoon, while we were in court. And I’ve changed the order of witnesses. I want Granville to lead off.”
“What?” Jennifer was astounded. “The first witness?”
Gardner stood and began to pace in front of the couch. “He’s on the verge. I can feel it. He recognized something in there today. Just a little push. That’s all it will take. Dr. Grady said that once the dam breaks it will all come out. There’s a crack now. It won’t take much more to bring it down completely.”
Jennifer frowned. “Are you sure? That’s a real gamble. What if he can’t do it?”
Gardner stopped pacing. “He will. I have a plan to make it happen—”
Suddenly, the phone rang.
Jennifer answered. “Brownie!” she exclaimed, then she handed the phone to Gardner.
“Gard, I hope you’re not mad,” Brownie said, “but I had to split this afternoon. I’m in New York.”
“New York?” Gardner sputtered. “God, Brownie, I need you down here. In case something comes up. Things are moving fast at the trial.”
“I’m onto something,” Brownie said. “My theory—”
“Still on that?” Gardner asked. “Thought you’d given up.”
Brownie chuckled. “I never give up.”
“Yeah. Tell me about it.”
“Like I said before, Gard, there might be another side to this thing. I almost got it rooted out.”
Gardner let out his breath. “We start testimony tomorrow, Brownie, and I’m putting Granville on the stand.”
There was silence on the other end.
“Brownie?”
“I heard you.” He sounded disappointed. “You do what you gotta do, but just…” His voice faded.
“What?”
“Keep an open mind. If I’m right about this, you might have to make some adjustments.”
“We’re committed,” Gardner said.
“So am I,” Brownie answered.
twenty-one
The morning after Granville’s qualification hearing, the trial officially began. Gardner and Jennifer were present and ready, and the defendants were at the defense table with their lawyers. Miller was stiff and sullen, Starke more relaxed. Granville was sequestered in the prosecutor’s office. And the courtroom was packed with potential jurors, talking quietly as they waited for something to happen.
Judge Hanks entered and wasted no time in starting the clock. “We can select the jury this morning, go to opening statements after lunch, and be ready for the first witness late this afternoon. Let’s get moving.”
So the jury selection began, and in an hour and a half the overtly biased people had been weeded out. That left a group from which the final twelve would be selected. A cluster of farmers, retailers, housewives, and retirees. Gardner scanned the array, and came to a conclusion: one juror was as good as any other in this case. Addie and Henry could have been grandmother and grandfather to the entire bunch. And Granville the son. These people were going to convict if the evidence was there. The final roster would make very little difference.
For the next hour the parties took their strikes, each side dismissing jurors with prejudices, each side keeping jurors they thought might vote their way. And for the most part, the selection was smooth. As the lunch hour approached, the jury box was full.
“Is the jury as now constituted acceptable to the state?” the judge asked.
Gardner checked the two rows of serious faces. It was a snapshot of a church picnic, law and order all the way. “Acceptable, Judge,” he replied.
“Mr. King? Mr. Jacobs? Is the jury acceptable?”
They looked at their jury rosters. Each had remaining strikes. If they used them now, the procedure could go another two hours. “Acceptable,” they finally said.
Jennifer nudged Gardner’s arm. “Why didn’t they use all their strikes?” she whispered.
Gardner shook his head. “They didn’t need to use any,” he replied. “King and Jacobs are banking on the fact that Granville can’t do it. Who’s on the jury won’t make any difference.”
Jennifer focused on Gardner’s somber expression. “And you’re sure he can.”
Gardner closed his eyes. “He has to,” he said.
The lunch break zipped by, and court reconvened at 2:00 P.M. Under Judge Hanks’s blitzkrieg schedule, opening statements were to begin immediately. And that put Gardner in a dilemma. If he told the jury he was going to prove a fact, and during trial he didn’t deliver the goods, the case was dead. At this point he was caught between conflicting theories: the Miller version and Brownie’s Starke hypothesis. And then there was Granville. His testimony was still an unknown. Gardner was not in a position to tell the jury anything specific about the state’s case. How could he? He didn’t know himself.
So Gardner decided to give a generic opening statement. He introduced himself and Jennifer to the jury and gave a procedural rundown of how the case would proceed. He told them to listen to the evidence, to be fair, and to pay attention throughout the trial. And then he predicted that they would reach a verdict that would do justice to the memories of Addie, Henry, and Purvis Bowers. Then he sat down.
King went next, and gave his own generic response. The state didn’t have any evidence. The state never had any evidence. There was no case at all against his client. The whole thing was a sham. A disgrace. And a travesty. “If they had anything they would have told you about it in opening statement. But they don’t, and they didn’t!” End of story. “You will acquit!” King predicted. Then he sat down.
Judge Hanks turned to Joel Jacobs. “You now have the right to make an opening statement.”
Jacobs stood up and smiled. “I’d incorporate the comments of Mr. King and apply them to my client,” he said.
“Anything else?” the judge asked.
“No, Your Honor.” The message was clear: my man has nothing to worry about.
“Very well,” Judge Hanks said, then she turned to Gardner. “Call your first witness, Mr. Prosecutor.”
Gardner swallowed and stood up. This was it. The moment of truth. “I have a motion, Judge. With respect to the witness, Granville Lawson.”
Hanks leaned forward. “What is it, Counsel?”
“I move that we transfer the trial to Bowers Corner, and take the witness’s testimony there.” Gardner had concluded that there was only one way to be sure Granville’s memory would come back. He had to return to the scene of the crime.
Brownie was upset. His appointment at the hospital had not panned out. He had arranged to meet a lady named Anna Gleason in the records section, but she’d not shown up for work today, and no one knew where she was.
“Can you call her?” Brownie asked.
The red-haired receptionist gave him a blank look. “We’ve called already.”
“And?” Brownie didn’t have time for a runaround.
“And she didn’t answer.”
“Give me her home address,” Brownie said.
The redhead shook her curls. “Can’t do that, sir.”
Brownie pulled out his police ID and slapped it on the counter. “I’m a cop!”
The girl studied the badge. “Do you have a summons?”
Brownie tried to hold his temper, but it was s
lipping away. “No. I do not have a summons.”
“Then we can’t give out any information at all.”
“Thanks a lot,” Brownie said sarcastically. Then he ran down the hall to the pay phone. He didn’t have time for this. He’d hoped to get the truth from Anna Gleason, a records custodian at the Sacred Heart Hospital for the past forty years. Brownie had worked his charm on the phone, and convinced her that the privacy rule could be bent a little to solve a murder case. But that avenue was closed, it seemed. Ms. Gleason was AWOL. He’d have to shift to plan B. Rather than going for the documentation, he’d have to go to the source. Right now, there was no other choice.
Brownie picked up the phone and dialed a number that he’d been saving. This was not what he’d envisioned. A direct confrontation. But maybe, if they were lucky, it might work.
“Starke residence,” a voice answered.
“I need to speak to Mrs. Starke,” Brownie said.
“May I say who’s calling?”
“This is Sergeant Joseph Brown, county police in Maryland. It’s very urgent that I speak with her.”
“Just a moment, sir,” the voice replied. There was a hush as the line went quiet and the servant went off to find the lady of the house. She was an eighty-five-year-old widow who lived in lonely opulence. Florence Eggers Starke, wife of the late Lieutenant Wellington Starke, Jr., IV Starke’s grandmother. The keeper of the family secret.
Gardner’s request to move the trial to the crime scene had taken King and Jacobs by surprise. They conferenced hurriedly, then King stood up. “No way, he said.”
“Are you objecting?” Judge Hanks asked.
“Yes,” King answered, “most vigorously. And Mr. Jacobs as well.”
Hanks seemed nonplussed. ‘Do you have any legal authority as to why it cannot be allowed?”
King stared at Gardner. This guy was crazy. Forcing his own son back to the murder scene, he was obviously ready to do anything to win the case. “It would prejudice our clients,” King finally said.
“But do you have any case citations that forbid it?”
King shook his head no.
“Your objection is noted, Mr. King,” Judge Hanks said. “What about you, Mr. Jacobs? Do you have anything to add?”
Jacobs stood up. “As Mr. King said, going to the scene would be very detrimental to our clients’ position, not to mention a logistical nightmare. Please do not permit it.”
Hanks turned back to Gardner. “Any response, Mr. Prosecutor?”
“It is permissible under the law,” Gardner replied. “And I’m sure the move can be made with a minimum of hassle.”
Hanks nodded. “Under the circumstances, I would be inclined to grant the state’s motion,” she said, looking at the clock on the far wall. “It’s three forty-five now. Too late to get things set up. Let’s suspend the proceedings and meet out at Bowers Corner at nine tomorrow morning.”
Gardner had not expected it to be this easy, with King and Jacobs almost speechless, and Judge Hanks so accommodating. They were actually going to give him a chance to pull it off.
Judge Hanks pounded her gavel and was about to leave the bench when King spoke up. “Not so fast, Judge!”
Hanks paused.
“We have to discuss logistics. Mr. Jacobs and I have some concerns about the witness’s contact with our clients.”
Judge Hanks sat down again. “What do you mean, Mr. King?”
“I mean that we do not want the thing set up so there will be unfair suggestiveness,” King replied. “The whole case hinges on identification. If the boy comes in and sees a traditional setup, defendants up front, et cetera, he’ll be tipped off as to whom to pick…” He looked at Gardner. “Mr. Lawson may try to pull something. I move that my client be allowed to mingle with the audience. I don’t want him isolated up front, sticking out like a sore thumb.”
“I ditto the request for my client,” Jacobs said.
“That sounds reasonable,” Judge Hanks replied. “What’s the state’s position?”
Gardner crossed his arms. He’d maneuvered well, but the defense had countered brilliantly. Maryland law allowed defendants to hide in a crowd so that the witness could not assume that the person next to the lawyer was the one to choose. “Object,” Gardner said weakly. There was no legal way to stop it.
“Overruled,” Judge Hanks said. “The procedure will be permitted.”
She was about to rise when King spoke again. “One more thing, Judge…”
Hanks settled down in her chair. “What?”
“I would like to substitute another person at the counsel table for my client.”
Gardner groaned inwardly. It was bad enough to move the defendant away. But to substitute another person doubled the chances of a misidentification, especially if the substitute looked anything at all like the defendant himself. Again, the countermove was deadly.
“I join that request,” Jacobs said.
Judge Hanks looked at Gardner. He was at a loss for words. Upon request, a look-alike could be seated at the counsel table prior to a witness’s entry into the courtroom. “Objection,” Gardner repeated.
“Overruled,” Hanks said. “Counsel will be permitted to scat nonparticipants at the counsel table. Now I want to meet the bailiff and the sheriff in chambers to discuss the physical arrangements for tomorrow. We’ll need tables and folding chairs. I want the place set up and ready for trial by nine A.M.… Court’s adjourned!”
King and Jacobs left the courtroom.
After they’d gone, Gardner slumped in his chair. “I think I screwed up,” he said to Jennifer. “Granville’s not going to be able to do it. Not under these circumstances…”
Jennifer touched his arm. “Why don’t you wait then. You can still change the order of witnesses.”
“I could…” Gardner mumbled, “but—”
“Maybe Brownie will come through,” Jennifer interrupted. “He’s convinced he’s on the right track.”
“What track?” Gardner said, “He’s never clued us in as to what he’s looking for. Instead, he’s off to New York, and we’re no closer on that end than we were before. And now we’re committed—”
“We?” Jennifer touched his chin and raised it.
“We. Me. Granville. This is the end of the line. He’s either going to do it, or he’s not. The more we wait, the worse it gets…”
It was 9:00 P.M., and Gardner had tucked Granville in bed. The boy’s head peeked out of the fold in the sheet, and Gardner sat beside him. He had on a pair of Space Raider pajamas, and his baseball glove lay on the night table. “Try to get some sleep,” the father said.
“Not sleepy,” Granville replied grumpily. He had been told what was going to happen tomorrow, and he was scared and restless.
“Try closing your eyes,” Gardner said.
Granville kept them open.
“Don’t fight me, Gran.” Gardner needed him rested. A bleary look at the mixed-up courtroom would be disastrous. “You have to go to sleep.”
There was no movement in the eye department. “Dad…”
“What, son?” Gardner could sense another “do I have to?” question.
“What’s gonna happen?”
Gardner smoothed the blond hair back from his son’s forehead. “You mean tomorrow?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I told you,” Gardner said softly. “We’re going to go out to Bowers Corner.”
Granville blinked.
“And we’re going inside…”
The eyes blinked again. then clamped shut.
“And Miss Jennifer is going to ask about the day when you got hurt…”
The eyes squeezed tighter.
“And if you remember anything… or if you recognize anything, or anybody, then you tell the judge. That’s it. I’ll be right there…”
Granville opened his eyes. “But what if I can’t…”
Gardner stroked his son’s head. “That’s okay. If you can’t, you can’t…”
>
“Will you be mad?”
Gardner peered down into Granville’s widened eyes. “No. Of course not. You do the best you can do. That’s all. I’m not gonna be mad, no matter what.”
“But the bad guy,” Granville whispered. “Will he get away?”
Gardner’s pulse began to race. Granville had never said anything about a bad “guy” before. “What do you mean, Gran?”
The boy shut his eyes again. “If I don’t remember, then the judge can’t put the bad guy in jail.”
Was it a question or a statement? Gardner didn’t know, but the context was correct. If Granville could not make an ID, the killer would walk. “Oh, no,” Gardner lied. “The judge is gonna hear from some other people. They’re gonna help too.”
“So why do I have to do it then?” Granville was back to the eternal why. The best question of all. If the bad guy was going to be punished anyway, why did Granville have to go back to Bowers Corner?
“Because I want you to,” Gardner said. “You have to try to remember, so you can forget.” That was the clinical prescription. Dredge it up. Get it out. And then forget it.
“Huh?” It was too advanced a concept for the boy.
“The bad dreams. The scared feelings you’ve had. Once you remember, they’ll all start to go away.”
“But…” Granville was still fighting it. “I’m still gonna be scared.”
“Maybe,” Gardner said, “but it won’t be as much. And slowly, it’ll all go away. And then you won’t be scared anymore.”
Granville closed his eyes again, and this time there was a more peaceful cast to his face.
“Ready to go to sleep?” Gardner asked.
“Can you tell me a story?” That was a sign that the answer was yes.
“I suppose so,” Gardner said. “Which one do you want?” There was a well-stocked arsenal to choose from.
“The ant,” Granville said.
“You mean the ant and the flower,” Gardner answered.
“Uh-huh.”
“Okay.” It was one of the boy’s favorites. “Once upon a time there was a little worker ant who lived in an ant colony in a big, big garden. The ant’s name was—”
“Ralph,” Granville said. He was sinking deeper into his pillow now.
Silent Son Page 33
