“Right,” Gardner said. “And Ralph the ant became attracted to a beautiful red flower that grew just above the entrance to the colony. The flower’s name was—”
“Alice,” Granville whispered sleepily.
“Correct,” said Gardner. “Anyway, each day the ants went in and out of their ant hole, and only one ant stopped to speak to Alice. ‘Good morning, Alice,’ Ralph would say. ‘Good morning, Ralph,’ Alice would answer. And this went on and on all summer…”
Granville was breathing heavily now.
“Well, there was a terrible drought. No rain for weeks. And Alice began to droop. She was thirsty. Sooo very thirsty…”
“So Ralph brought water,” Granville said. He was still listening.
“Right. Bucket after tiny bucket of water from an underground stream he brought. And finally Alice began to perk up—until one day she was brighter than any other flower in the garden. This attracted the attention of the owner of the garden, a lonely old woman who lived in the house. She came over to investigate this strange bright flower, and when she did, she found the ants. ‘Oh my goodness,’ she exclaimed, ‘nasty little ants.’ She ran back to the house to get her ant poison, and when she did, Alice began to cry. The old woman was going to hurt Ralph, the nice little ant who had saved her. She cried, and cried. So hard and so much that she dried herself out. Now she looked as droopy as all the other flowers, and the old woman couldn’t find her again. So……Gardner waited for Granville to say, “So Ralph and the ant colony were saved!” But he had gone over the edge. Deeply, and peacefully, it appeared, asleep.
“And so Ralph saved the flower, and the flower saved Ralph,” Gardner said, “and they all lived happily forever after.” God. if it could only he like that, Gardner thought as he kissed his son on the forehead and turned out the bedside light. Tomorrow was Armageddon. The old woman was coming with the poison. And all the tears in the world couldn’t keep her away.
twenty-two
The night was over, and the day dawned warm. A crew of sheriff’s deputies and court clerks had worked around the clock to convert Bowers Corner into a makeshift courtroom. Shelves were moved out, tables and chairs moved in. And by the time the sun had found its way to the base of the ridge line, the job was complete. The scene was set, and all they needed now was the players.
Gardner arrived at 8:30 to meet with the judge and review the deceptive manipulations of the defense attorneys. A crowd had already gathered outside the gabled building when he got there. Word had spread through town as to what was to happen, and there was a rush to queue up for a peek. The jurors were being held in a bus outside the store, but there was no hurry to get them inside. Their seats were reserved.
Judge Hanks came in through the rear door and took her place at a desk on a raised platform that they’d rigged as a bench. King, Jacobs, and their clients were already seated silently at the folding counsel table. Gardner nervously took up a position on the prosecution side. He hadn’t slept a wink, and it showed. His face was puffy and his eyes were bloodshot.
“How do you propose to situate your clients?” Judge Hanks asked.
King and Jacobs stood up. “We have to bring in the spectators, Judge,” King said. “Then we can make the substitution.”
Gardner said nothing. The procedure was preordained. There was no way he could stop it.
“Very well,” Judge Hanks said, motioning to the bailiff at the door. “Bring in the public.”
There was a noisy commotion as the crowd entered and picked through the folding chairs that had been set up as a gallery.
“Mr. King?” Hanks turned to him for the next move.
“Please allow my client to be seated in the crowd,” he said, walking to the front, “and allow this person to take his place at the counsel table.” King led a young man in the door and brought him toward the bench. He had dark unkempt hair, light eyes, and was dressed in jeans and boots. His bare arms were emblazoned with tattoos.
Jesus, Gardner thought. A ringer from King’s gallery of rogue clients. There was no facial resemblance to Roscoe, but the other characteristics were almost a perfect match. Gardner swallowed against the lump in his throat.
“Take a seat there,” Judge Hanks told the substitute. “And you,” she pointed to Roscoe, “you may he seated in the audience.”
Gardner tensed as Roscoe took a seat in the third row of the audience. By contrast, King had scrubbed him up, cut his hair, and put him in a suit. He looked like a college student, here to learn the workings of the law.
“Mr. Jacobs?” It was the New Yorker’s turn to make a substitution, and his ringer was at least as effective as King’s. Another clean-cut, pale-eyed, dark-haired man in his late teens or early twenties. Calm and poised. Dressed in a coat and tie. As refined in appearance as Starke himself. He took his place next to Jacobs as Starke hid far back in the fourth row.
Gardner tried to calm himself, but he couldn’t slow his heart rate or stop the flow of perspiration. If Granville could even come close to making an ID, it would be a miracle.
“Are we ready now, gentlemen?” Judge Hanks asked.
King and Jacobs checked the setup. Their clients were neatly camouflaged, and the decoys were in place. “Ready,” they said.
“Very well. Bring in the jury.” Judge Hanks made a few last-minute adjustments with her note pad and gavel, and the jurors marched in and took their seats to the side of the witness stand. And then they were ready.
“Call your witness, Counsel,” Hanks told Gardner.
The prosecutor stood. “Call Gr… Granville Lawson to the stand.” He barely got it out.
The bailiff went outside. Jennifer and Granville had followed in the other car. Their orders were to wait until sent for. Then they could come in.
A hush fell over the room as the door opened and Jennifer slowly entered, gently pulling Granville behind her by the hand. The boy’s face was white, his eyes clearly frightened. He was dressed in his Sunday school best. Blue blazer. Gray pants. White shirt and tie. He looked like a country gentleman. Gardner swallowed again. His heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest.
Somehow they made it up to the witness chair. Jennifer told him to raise his right hand.
“Do you swear or affirm under penalties of perjury that the testimony you are about to give is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?” the clerk asked.
Granville glanced at Jennifer, then at Gardner. Each gave him an encouraging “go ahead” with their eyes.
“Uh, yes,” Granville answered.
“Very well,” Hanks said. “Be seated, and state your name and address for the record.”
Granville sat down, but said nothing.
Jennifer walked over to the witness stand. She was wearing a red cotton suit and a string of pearls. As usual, she looked both professional and beautiful at the same time. “What is your name?” she asked softly.
“Granville,” the boy replied.
“Your complete name,” Jennifer said. “First and last name.”
“Granville Alcott Lawson.” There was a hint of pride in the response.
“Good. And where do you live?” Jennifer was standing close, shielding him from the rest of the room.
“With my mom,” Granville said. “Uh, I’m with Dad now, but I’m gonna go back to my mom’s tonight.”
“Okay,” Jennifer said. “And how old are you?” Take it slow and easy at first was the plan. Nonthreatening, irrelevant background. Slowly and gently get him acclimated. Then move to the hard stuff.
“Eight years old.”
“Okay, and—”
“Your Honor!” King was up, and he had fire in his eyes. “I would like to voir dire the witness on what he’s been told about today’s procedure!”
Gardner rose to his feet. This was a challenge to his integrity. “Approach the bench, Judge?” he asked.
“I fear that Mr. Lawson may have instructed the witness about the special arrangements we�
��ve made today,” King continued.
“Your Honor!” Gardner was angry now. King was playing to the jury.
“To the bench, Mr. King!” Judge Hanks roared.
The attorneys hustled up on the platform.
“Keep your voices down!” Judge Hanks ordered. “Now what’s your problem, Mr. King?”
King looked at Gardner. “I have reason to believe that Mr. Lawson may have tipped off his son as to the substitutions we’ve made here today. Told the boy to look in the crowd—”
“That’s a lie!” Gardner said, clenching his fist.
“Keep your voice down!” Hanks admonished.
“What do you propose that we do, Mr. King?” the judge asked.
“Let me question the boy,” the attorney said.
“No way!” Gardner snapped.
“Gentlemen, please! No more byplay. I’ll ask the questions. Now return to your seats!”
Gardner glared at King, and King glared back. Then they turned to their respective sides.
“Jury please return to the bus for a few moments,” the judge said. This procedure was not for their ears. When they had cleared out, Hanks looked at Granville. “I need to ask you a few questions,” she said.
“Okay,” Granville replied.
Gardner clutched his hands in front of him and stared down at the table.
“Did you talk to your dad about what was going to happen here today?” the judge asked.
“Uh-huh,” Granville said. “Uh, yes.” He remembered.
“And what did your dad say?”
Gardner held his breath. That was a loaded, open-ended question.
“To do my best,” Granville replied.
Gardner let out his breath.
“And did he tell you who would be here or where they might sit?”
Granville frowned. He didn’t understand.
“Did your dad tell you to look in a certain spot when you came into the courtroom?”
Granville stared up at the judge, and a light came into his eyes. “Yes,” he said.
Gardner’s heart sank. This was it.
King smirked on the other side. He smelled blood.
“And where did he say to look?” Hanks continued. If the answer was “in the back of the room,” it was all over.
Gardner’s heart froze.
“At Miss Jennifer,” Granville replied. “Only at Miss Jennifer.”
King stopped smiling, and Gardner took a deep breath. That was the right answer. The only answer.
“Anyplace else?” Hanks asked. “Did he ask you to look anyplace else?”
Granville didn’t hesitate. “No,” he said.
Judge Hanks looked at King. “I find no tampering, Mr.King. No tampering whatsoever. Now let’s get on with the case!”
Brownie was in the copilot’s seat of the state police chopper. He’d been moving at racing speed since yesterday afternoon, and now he was in the home stretch. His stomach jiggled against the seatbelt as they hit a downdraft. The weather was touch and go en route, with rainstorms and cumulus clouds across Pennsylvania. It was going to be rough, no matter what.
It was amazing, really, what he’d learned. The old lady had actually agreed to talk to him. She’d invited him into the mansion, sat him in a luxurious wing chair, and even served him tea. He’d hit her up front with the allegations, his suspicions. He laid out the evidence he’d gathered so far. And despite the fact that her own grandson was on the hook, she’d kept talking. There was no admission, no smoking gun, no actual evidence. But Brownie got his answer. The bizarre connection that tied the whole thing together. She didn’t come out and say it, but it was there, in the deep, deep sadness of her dark brown eyes.
Brownie conferred with the pilot, and a call was placed to police headquarters through a radio link-up with air traffic control. He’d telephoned his lab partner, Sam Jenkins, earlier, and instructed him to get a cellular phone out to Bowers Corner ASAP. In the rush since yesterday, he’d been unable to reach Gardner. And now they needed to talk. Even if the prosecutor was in trial.
“Sam?” Brownie tried to confirm that the call had gone through.
“Yeah, Brownie.” It was Sam.
“Where are you?” The connection was broken by static, but the words came through clearly.
“At Bowers. Like you said.”
Brownie put the mike to his lips. “Trial goin’ on?”
“Yeah. They’re all inside.”
Brownie clicked the mike again. “Take the phone in to Lawson. Put him on.”
There was a hesitation. “Okay,” Jenkins said. There was another pause, as background noise and mumbles came through the speaker.
Finally there was an answer. “Brownie?” Gardner’s voice was hushed and excited. “Where are you?”
“In the air,” Brownie answered. “I know you’re in trial, so I’ll make this fast.” There were more mumbles in the background.
“Granville’s testifying!” Gardner whispered, his voice clearly pained.
“How’s he doin’?”
“Just getting started. I can’t stay on long.”
“Okay,” Brownie said. “Here it is. I’m on my way back home. Got one more stop to make before I report in. But I need your authority to do something—”
“What?” Gardner gasped hurriedly.
“Dig up a body,” Brownie said.
The line seemed to go dead.
“Gard? Did you get that?” There were more mumbles in the background. “Gard?”
“Jesus,” Gardner said. He’d gotten the message.
“Just say it’s okay. That’s all. I need permission from the State’s Attorney. And that’s you.”
“Brownie…” Gardner was mixing in with the mumbles. “What… who…”
The transmission was breaking up.
“No time for that now,” Brownie snapped. “Just say it. Yes or no!”
The line cleared again for an instant. “Do it,” Gardner said, “but you’d better have a good explanation—”
“Don’t worry,” Brownie said. “It’ll blow your mind—” He stopped talking. The connection had gone to all static now, and the call was lost.
Brownie clicked off the mike and hung it on the hook. The hills of western Pennsylvania were rising below, and the Maryland border was fading under the fuselage. They’d be down soon, and the painful truth would finally be laid bare in the sun.
* * *
Jennifer stood next to the witness stand and looked into Granville’s eyes. “I’m going to ask you some questions,” she said. “About the day you went to the cave. Do you remember that day?”
“Objection!” King said, “leading!”
“It’s permissible to lead a child witness, Judge,” Jennifer said.
“I agree,” replied Hanks. “Overruled. Proceed, Counsel.”
“Do you remember going out to the cave with your classmates?” Jennifer repeated.
“Yes,” Granville said tentatively. The visit with Gardner had revived at least that much memory.
“And do you remember how you got out there?”
“Bus,” Granville said.
Gardner tried to listen, but Brownie’s call had broken his concentration. Dig up a body? What the hell had Brownie found? He looked at Granville, so small and vulnerable, trying hard to be strong. In a few moments, it would all be over. Brownie was racing at them from one end, Granville was crawling from the other. And their fate would meet somewhere in the middle.
“What did you see in the cave?” Jennifer asked.
“An angel,” Granville said. That part was clear.
“The Angel of Crystal Grotto,” Jennifer said.
“Object,” King said. “She’s testifying, not the boy.”
Hanks shot an annoyed look at the defense attorney. “Overruled!”
“Okay,” Jennifer said. “After the visit to the cavern, where did the bus go?”
A dark cloud passed over Granville’s head. His skin seemed to go paler, and
he began to shift nervously in his chair.
“Do you remember where the bus went after it left the cave?” Jennifer repeated.
Granville did not answer. The cave was as far as he’d been willing to go in his mind. Now he was being asked to travel further, and it was taking its toll.
Gardner felt a sweat line forming on his brow. This was agony.
“You went down the road…” Jennifer prompted in an expectant voice. “Down the road to visit…” She was leading heavily now, trying to get her witness to fill in the rest of the sentence.
“Judge!” King barked. “This is too much! Now she’s taken over the questions and the answers!”
“Quiet, Mr. King!” Hanks snapped. “Let her proceed!”
“After you left the cave,” Jennifer continued, “your teacher said you could make a stop before going home. Do you remember that?”
Granville was fighting a battle within. “Yes,” he finally said.
“And do you remember where the teacher said you could stop?”
Granville was biting his lip to keep from crying. The memory was eating through the barrier. “Bowers,” he said sadly.
Jennifer shot a look at Gardner. His face was as white as his son’s. There was fear, and anger, and shame. All mixed in. This was his idea. To put the boy through the wringer and squeeze out the past. He’d insisted on it, almost from the beginning. And now that it was happening, there was a feeling of regret. Gardner had gotten what he wanted. But now, at the eleventh hour, he was wondering if it was worth this much pain.
“So the bus made a stop here,” Jennifer said. “At Bowers Corner.”
Granville was holding on. “Yes,” he said, the words pushed out of his mouth by a convulsion in his chest.
“Now, I want you to come down here,” Jennifer said, pointing to a spot by her side.
Granville opened his eyes wide and stood up.
That brought King to his feet, and Jacobs right behind him. “Object!” they said. This was an obvious ploy to get the boy out in the audience.
“What are your intentions, Miss Munday?” Judge Hanks asked. She too had been caught off guard by the maneuver.
“I’d like him to go to the front door with me, and then retrace the steps he took on the day of the incident,” Jennifer said.
Silent Son Page 34
