The Sacrifice

by Robert Whitlow

  “Didn’t you know Ralph Risky had been drinking when you got in the car to leave Sarah Rich’s house?” one student asked the girl playing Betty Moonbeam.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “You’re lying under oath.”

  Scott jumped in. “Time-out. What’s happening here? Any objections? What can the lawyer do?”

  Frank Jesup raised his hand. “Two things. The defense lawyer is being argumentative, and the question has been asked and answered. Either objection would be proper. If Betty won’t directly admit that she knew Ralph was drinking, it would be better to ask questions showing she had the opportunity to know the punch had been spiked and that Ralph was around the punch bowl with his buddies with a glass in his hand.”

  Impressed, Scott said, “That’s right.”

  Another problem came up because the students knew the facts too well and neglected important background information. The temptation to bypass the basics and go directly to the controversial parts of the case proved to be a pitfall.

  “Testimony is telling a story,” Scott said. “Even though the time allotted for each witness in the competition is short, you need to ask questions that create visual images so the judge or jury can see the events happening in their minds as they listen. Don’t try to jump too quickly to the end of the story. The judges in the competition know something important is coming, and if you create a sense of anticipation, it will increase the impact of the information you bring out.

  “By telling a story, you can also help a favorable witness get into character and increase their credibility. If Betty Moonbeam is your client, make sure everyone in the courtroom can feel her pain and suffering and the devastating effects of the accident on her life. If you’re cross-examining Pete Pigpickin, don’t let him avoid the embarrassing details about the night he spent in jail after driving a quarter-mile the wrong way down a one-way road. You want to convince the judges that Pete couldn’t be trusted to ride a bicycle in public, much less drive a truckload of barbeque.”

  While Scott talked, Kay sat at her desk and reviewed the preference sheets turned in by the students. She made a list of her recommendations, and when Scott gave the students a five-minute break, she motioned for him to come over. She slid her notes over to him.

  “What do you think?” she asked in a low voice.

  Scott pulled a chair up beside the desk and read the paper. “I agree that Janie should be encouraged to step out of her comfort zone and take one of the lawyer roles even though she didn’t ask for it, but I don’t think she and Alisha should be co-counsel. Alisha plays the best Betty.”

  “I have Dustin and Frank together as lawyers. Who would be with Janie? Yvette?”

  “Mix it up a little bit,” Scott suggested. “Dustin and Yvette would complement one another. She’s more aggressive; he’s more laid back. He can give the opening statement and she can do the closing argument.”

  “That puts Frank and Janie together. I guess they would complement one another in the same way.”

  Scott hesitated. “I don’t know about Frank. He may be hard to control.”

  “I’m not a lawyer, but it’s obvious that he has the quickest legal mind in the room, and Frank needs something to sink his teeth into right now. I found out yesterday that his parents are separated. Maybe this program can give him something positive to focus on.”

  “But he’ll run over Janie.”

  “Not if we do our job, and she’s stronger than you think. I think she’ll be a good influence on him, too.”

  When the students reassembled, Kay announced the primary and secondary roles for each member of the team. Everyone would learn two roles—either two witness roles or a lawyer and a witness part. As they broke up for the night, Janie came forward to Kay’s desk.

  “Frank offered to give me a ride home tonight, Mrs. Wilson. That will save you a trip, and we can begin talking about the case.”

  “Are you comfortable with Frank as your partner?”

  Janie looked over her shoulder at Frank who was laughing with Dustin. “I don’t know him very well, but I can get along with almost anybody.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be okay, but if you have any problems, let me know.”

  Janie enjoyed the fifteen-minute drive to the trailer park where she lived. Frank put down the top of his sports car, and she laughed as the evening wind swished through her hair. She’d never been in a convertible before. It was ten times better than riding in the back of her uncle’s pickup truck.

  Later in the week, Scott was sitting at his desk making notes about an appellate decision that might help him in Lester’s case. He finished and looked out his office window. He hadn’t been able to shake Perry Dixon’s suggestion that he check the status of Kay’s divorce. He decided to take a break and walk to the courthouse. There was no harm in doing a quick check of the public records.

  Fall and spring were the best seasons in the Piedmont area of North Carolina. Summer was too hot. Winter too wet. Today, a hint of coolness was edging its way into the air, and Scott enjoyed the pleasant stroll down Lipscomb Avenue.

  Passing through the labyrinth of halls and offices in the new section of the judicial building, Scott entered a large open room that contained the official records for the Blanchard County District Court. The two district court judges had jurisdiction over several types of cases, but the bulk of their work was domestic disputes. Divorce cases marched in columns down the pages of the district court docket books: Jones v. Jones, Harris v.Harris, Thomas v. Thomas, Melrose v. Melrose. On and on the names went until they all ran together, and the individual tragedy each entry represented became lost in the overwhelming tide of marital disintegration.

  He found the volume containing the most recent filings and opened it. On the first page was an entry for Jesup v. Jesup. Scott suspected that by the time Frank’s parents divided up the marital pie, the court’s file would be six inches thick. He turned back several pages before finding what he was looking for: Wilson v. Wilson. Scott jotted down the case number on a slip of paper and took it to one of the assistant clerks, a young woman seated at a brown metal desk.

  “I’d like to see this file,” he said.

  The clerk took the slip from his hand and disappeared in between tall lateral filing cabinets that filled the back two-thirds of the room. She returned with a thin folder.

  “Are you the attorney for one of the parties?” she asked.

  “No, I’m just checking the status of the case.”

  Scott stepped away from the counter. Inside the file was a Complaint for Absolute Divorce filed on behalf of Jackson Kilpatrick Wilson, Plaintiff versus Kay Laramie Wilson, Defendant. It was a garden-variety divorce. The parties had been living as husband and wife in Blanchard County for more than six months, were separated, and had no children. Jake asked for the division of marital property, an absolute divorce, and “such other relief as the Court deems just and proper.” The complaint was verified, and Scott inspected Jake’s signature, trying to determine from the handwriting something about him as a person. The quick scrawl across the bottom of the page revealed nothing.

  The answer filed by Kay’s lawyer was brief. She didn’t deny anything except the request for divorce. She didn’t want the marriage to end. Her denial had forced Jake to jump through another legal hoop, and his lawyer had already filed the necessary pleading—a Motion for Summary Judgment. Attached to the motion was an affidavit from Jake repeating his request for dissolution of the marriage. It takes two people to make a marriage, but only one to end it. Kay could sign a counteraffidavit, but the motion would be granted, and an order of absolute divorce signed by the judge. A brief notation would follow in the docket book. Case closed. Marriage terminated.

  Unless Jake changed his mind.

  Scott closed the folder and silently handed it back to the clerk. He turned down the hallway that connected the new building to the old courthouse.
When he came to the courtroom door, he stopped and looked inside. It was deserted. He sat on a bench and rested his right arm on the back of the smooth wood. The room was as quiet as a church sanctuary, and the walls made no effort to speak. Today, Scott wasn’t trying to listen to the sounds of past trials. The voice he wanted to hear was within him.

  Scott had walked to the courthouse out of curiosity, but he hadn’t been completely honest with Perry Dixon. The possibility of a relationship with Kay Wilson had crossed his mind after their breakfast meeting at the Eagle. The more he was around her, the more his interest increased. When he read the words on the pleadings and saw Kay’s clear intention to save her marriage, it caught him off guard. Scott didn’t know how he should react. Ann Gammons had recently handled a case in which an estranged couple reconciled the morning of the final divorce hearing. Anything was possible, and Kay was still married until the judge signed the order ending it.

  Scott had to be careful. Even if he could sway Kay in his direction, he wasn’t sure he could trust her feelings. The instability of a rebound relationship was not mythical. Scott wasn’t naive. He’d been burned badly in a similar situation toward the end of law school and didn’t want to repeat past mistakes. He tapped his fingers on the back of the bench. Yes, he had to be very careful.

  On Thursday night at the mock trial practice, Scott and Kay separated the students and spent the evening working with them on their respective parts. Kay took the witnesses to one end of the classroom and worked on acting skills. Scott’s group of lawyers sat in a semicircle in front of him and focused on the simplified rules of evidence that applied to the mock trial competition. The time passed quickly. Kay looked at the clock on the back wall and stood up.

  “Let’s stop for the night,” she said. “Some of you probably have some homework to do before tomorrow.”

  The students grabbed their backpacks and headed for the door. Frank again offered to take Janie home.

  After the young people were gone, Scott asked, “How did it go?”

  “Good. And you?”

  Scott put his materials in his briefcase and snapped it shut. “Frank and Janie are way ahead of Dustin and Yvette. When Frank has something to focus on, he’s an impressive young man.”

  “What about Janie?”

  “She’ll eat the other lawyer’s case like a piece of fried chicken. I’ve decided her backwoods accent gives her an advantage. It will lull the opposition into thinking she’s dull and impress the judges when she drawls out a sharp, insightful question in that high voice of hers. I wouldn’t want to face a lawyer like her in front of a jury in a rural county.”

  Kay counted on her fingers. “You’re safe for another eight years. That’s when she’ll graduate from law school.”

  “It could happen.”

  Kay picked up her brown satchel. “Are you going to the football game tomorrow night?” she asked.

  “Are you?”

  “Yes.”

  They stepped outside. It was already dark. The days were getting shorter.

  “Would you like to ride together?” she asked.

  Scott put his hand on the railing for the wooden steps that led up to the modular unit and faced her. He didn’t speak for several seconds.

  “Let’s ride together,” he said simply. “But it’s not a date. That probably wouldn’t be right. I just want to be your friend.”

  “Of course.”

  Kay followed Scott’s vehicle out of the school parking lot. He’d been so cool toward her when he arrived at the school that she’d considered not mentioning the game. But loneliness is a relentless enemy. It’s never satisfied by yesterday’s companions. Scott made her smile, and his lightheartedness was a tonic to her soul. So, she brought it up.

  She wasn’t prepared for the way he looked at her on the steps outside the classroom. It was very different from anything else she’d seen in his eyes, and a wild thought flashed through her mind that he was going to say he didn’t want to help with the students because he didn’t want to see her again. But it wasn’t a look of rejection. It was a look of attraction.

  Kay sighed. Scott may have been hiding a renewed romantic interest in her, or he may have simply wanted to set the parameters for the present. Whatever his motivation in avoiding the word date and using the word friend, she knew things could quickly change. She needed to be careful.

  The bomber did his best work in the middle of the night. He wasn’t limited by adult supervision, and if he slipped out of bed at 2 A.M., no one noticed. He began accumulating what he needed for his first tests and kept the materials well hidden. It wasn’t as hard to obtain information and supplies as he first suspected. “A free society is a porous wall against terror.”

  Even when he wasn’t working on the project, he thought about it as he daydreamed in class. Nothing in school had ever captured his attention so completely. Initially, the other problems in his life increased his frustration, but he decided they were the perfect camouflage. People would think he was focused on the obvious negative circumstances and not realize the direction from which the greatest danger would come.

  The darkness watched. Its confidence grew.

  16

  If a man desire the office of a bishop, he desireth a good work.

  1 TIMOTHY 3:1 (KJV)

  After finishing his morning coffee, Scott opened the Garrison file and found the phone number for Bishop Alfred Moore, the pastor of the church that used Montgomery Creek for baptism services. An African-American man with a slow, deep voice answered the phone.

  Scott introduced himself and said, “I’m a lawyer investigating the incident when shots were fired during the baptism service. I would like to talk with you about what happened.”

  “Are you with the district attorney’s office?”

  “No, I represent the juvenile who’s been charged with the crime. He’s being prosecuted as an adult.”

  “I see.” Bishop Moore paused. “The district attorney told me I didn’t have to talk to anyone representing the defendant.”

  “That’s true,” Scott admitted. “But it’s your choice. There is no legal prohibition against answering questions. I’m simply trying to make sure my client has a fair trial.”

  “Of course, that’s all you want to do. It’s all about a fair trial. You’re not trying to get your client off the hook even if he’s guilty.”

  Scott didn’t want to debate his role as a lawyer in the American criminal justice system with an African-American preacher.

  “Will you answer a few basic questions?” he repeated. “I’m not trying to trick you.”

  “Where do you work?”

  “Humphrey, Balcomb and Jackson.”

  “You work with Leland Humphrey?” The minister’s tone changed.

  “Yes. He’s my boss.”

  “Why didn’t you say so? Why don’t you come about noon, and we’ll eat together?”

  Scott had set aside the whole morning to work on Lester’s case, but he hadn’t planned on spending it exclusively with Bishop Alfred Moore.

  “Uh, sure.”

  “Leland can tell you how to get to the church.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. I’ll see you then.”

  Scott went downstairs to Mr. Humphrey’s office. The older lawyer’s door was open, and he was talking on the speakerphone to a lawyer in Raleigh and another in Goldsboro. He motioned for Scott to take a seat and held up his right index finger to signify that the call would be over in one minute. Ten minutes later, he hung up the phone.

  “What’s the latest on our case?”

  Scott looked down at his legal pad. “I just talked with Bishop Alfred Moore, the pastor of the church where the shots were fired. He was a little hostile until I mentioned your name.”

  Leland laughed. “The bishop! Did he invite you for lunch?”

  “Yes. I’m going to meet him at the church at noon. What can you tell me about him?”

  Leland smiled. “Nothing right now.
I’ll go with you.”

  “Do I need to let Reverend Moore know you’re coming?”

  “No,” Leland said. “That won’t be necessary. We’re practically brothers.”

  Scott opened his mouth, but Mr. Humphrey cut him off. “No questions.”

  Scott spent the rest of the morning trying to interview other witnesses. Everyone was unavailable, and he left message after message. Finally, one of the deputies who arrested Lester returned his call.

  “I’m in the middle of a training seminar,” Deputy Ayers said. “We’re on a break, and I only have a few minutes.”

  “Thanks for calling,” Scott said. “May I tape-record our conversation?”

  “No, you can’t.”

  “All right,” Scott replied slowly. “I’m just trying to collect information.”

  “Then ask me a question. I never let a defense lawyer record a conversation.”

  Scott had written down an outline of questions on his legal pad. “How did you become involved in the arrest?”

  “It’s all in my report. Do you have a copy?”

  “Not yet. The D.A. hasn’t answered our discovery requests.”

  “Okay. I was on patrol with Deputy Bradley. We received a radio dispatch that shots had been fired in the vicinity of the church on Hall’s Chapel Road. We responded with blue lights and siren. Bradley saw Garrison in the woods along the creek, and I slowed down. When he saw us, Garrison threw something into the creek and started running. I radioed a unit that was coming from the other direction and advised them to be on the lookout for a slender white male wearing a camouflage T-shirt and blue jeans.”

  “Who was in the other car?”

  “Deputies Hinshaw and Dortch.”

  “Who apprehended Garrison?”

  “We did. He saw the other car and stopped. Bradley got out of the car and grabbed him.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “Some profanity that was directed at Deputy Bradley.”