The Sacrifice

by Robert Whitlow

  The waitress brought their food while Mr. Humphrey was talking. Scott buttered a corn-bread stick.

  “Who represented the railroad?”

  “No one locally. A firm from Raleigh sent three lawyers who set up shop in the Palmer Hotel. One of the first things they did was file a motion to have the cow’s carcass exhumed for examination.”

  “An autopsy on a cow?”

  “Yes.” Mr. Humphrey cut off a piece of meat loaf with his fork and looked it over before putting it into his mouth. “The judge granted their request, and I went to the farm on the day they dug it up. Nothing was secret in Catawba, and the case was a big topic of conversation. There must have been thirty men in overalls standing by when they hauled the cow back into the light. A veterinarian hired by the railroad examined the remains and made a bunch of notes in a notebook. There wasn’t pretrial discovery in those days, so I didn’t know what the vet was going to say until he was on the witness stand.”

  “Trial by ambush,” Scott said.

  Mr. Humphrey’s right eyebrow shot up. “That was the accepted way. After digging up the cow, the three railroad lawyers filed motions asking the judge to dismiss the complaint. There were a couple of close calls, but the judge left me hanging on by my fingernails, and the case was put on the fall trial calendar. I talked to the two trial lawyers here in town, and they told me the key would be getting men on the jury who owned cows. Everyone knew the railroad had a lot of money, and even though my client was new to the area, the farmers would look out for one of their own. I asked around and found out all I could about the potential jurors and had a star by the names of everyone who owned at least one cow. If the juror also lived near the railroad, I put two stars by his name. When it came time to pick the jury, I was able to sneak two single stars and one double star onto the panel.

  “My opening statement was stiff, but the facts were simple and it would have been hard to confuse anyone with half a brain. My client owned a cow. The railroad owned a train. The train hit the cow on my client’s land. The railroad owed my client the value of the cow.”

  Mr. Humphrey paused to eat a few bites. “The defense lawyer’s opening statement didn’t reveal anything about his trial strategy. All he said was that after hearing the evidence the jury would rule against the farmer.”

  “Nothing about his veterinarian expert?”

  “Not a peep. My first witness was the farmer. He had the bill of sale from his purchase of the cow and gave graphic testimony of the cow’s condition after it was hit by the train. It was enough to make a grown man cry. Most of the jurors gave the chief defense lawyer a cold stare when he began questioning my client. He began by asking the farmer where he was born and went through a painstaking, detailed line of questioning that revealed every place the man had lived from infancy to the present. Everyone in the courtroom but me was about to fall asleep. Then he asked my client why he didn’t butcher the cow after it had been hit by the train.”

  “A mitigation of damages argument?” Scott asked.

  “So I thought—for about three minutes. My client got a little red in the face and said that the cow was too mangled to salvage. Then the railroad lawyer went over to one of his associates who gave him a piece of paper. It was a claim filed by my client for the value of a cow. The only problem was that it was dated the previous year in another county where my client had admitted living. Another sheet followed. Then another. After six cows had been slaughtered by the railroad, the defense lawyer asked my client how many times he’d filed claims against the railroad for killing his cows.

  “He sputtered around for a few seconds, then admitted he’d had a lot of bad luck with cows and trains. I was so relieved when the lawyer finally finished that I didn’t ask any follow-up questions. The defense then called the veterinarian who said that the cow in my case was so badly diseased that it was probably dead before the train left Richmond for Atlanta. The meat was contaminated and unsafe to eat. That’s why it wasn’t butchered. Finally, the lawyer called a private investigator who had documents proving that my client would buy diseased cattle, create a fictitious bill of sale, and drag the stricken animals, dead or alive, to the train tracks for a date with the next locomotive. I made a feeble effort at cross-examination of the investigator, but it was pointless. My closing argument lasted five minutes. The jury stayed out thirty minutes, just long enough for everyone to smoke a cigarette.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t go back to work in the deed room after the trial,” Scott said. “That case would have discouraged anyone who had any desire to be a trial lawyer.”

  Mr. Humphrey smiled. “My young pride took a beating, but to their credit, the railroad lawyers didn’t smirk or rub it in; they packed up and returned to the city. I told my client to expect a visit from the sheriff, and he was out of the courthouse in less than a minute. I was about to slink after him when the judge asked me to come into his chambers. I knew I was about to get chewed out, but there was nothing to do but take my medicine. Judge Taylor was about a hundred years old and was the boniest man I’ve ever seen. I knew he was going to point his eight-inch index finger at my chest and tell me not to darken his courtroom again. He told me to sit down and stared at me for at least a minute without saying a word. I could sense that the volcano was building up pressure before a massive eruption. Then he started chuckling. The chuckle became roaring laughter. My face got red, and I went from embarrassment to anger in a matter of seconds. He held up his hand and stopped me before I blurted something out I’d later regret.”

  “Mr. Humphrey,” he said, “I hope you’ll return many times to my courtroom. You have the potential to be a fine trial lawyer, and you must not let this experience keep you from taking cases in the future. But there are some lessons you can learn from what happened today.”

  Scott interjected, “Don’t take any dead cow cases against the railroad unless you know the cow and the owner personally.”

  Mr. Humphrey smiled. “That’s the specific application. Judge Taylor wanted me to learn the general principles.”

  “First,” he said, “know your client better than he knows himself. Spend plenty of time investigating and analyzing the weaknesses in your own position. Hope for the best; prepare for the worst. That way you’ll be ready for anything. If you don’t ferret out the truth about your case in the privacy of your office, the other side will embarrass you by dragging it into the open before the judge and jury. Second, facts are durable things. Attorneys who claim irrefutable evidence can disappear by legal sleight of hand are deceiving themselves and doing a disservice to the people they represent. No matter how you describe it, the sun still rises in the east and sets in the west. Third, don’t let your emotions or pride keep you from settling a case prior to trial. Always ask yourself what is in the best interests of the client. A fair settlement is always better than an adverse verdict.”

  Mr. Humphrey ate a bite of cold meat loaf. “I appeared in front of Judge Taylor several times before he died a few years later. In one of those cases, the other side refused a reasonable offer of settlement, and the jury returned a large verdict for my client. It was small by today’s standards, but it helped make my reputation in the community.”

  Scott put his fork and knife on his empty plate. “Okay. I’ll keep digging in Lester’s case. I don’t want any dead cows turning up in the courtroom.”

  25

  And I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Son may bring glory to the Father. You may ask me for anything in my name, and I will do it.

  JOHN 14:13–14

  It was dark outside when Lester finished his sandwich and ate the last potato chip. His father had been on the road since the day after their meeting with Scott. Without Harold around to tell him that no jury would convict him without any eyewitnesses, Lester’s fears had increased on a daily basis. His appetite was down, and he would wake up at 4 A.M. unable to go back to sleep. The youth detention center had been bad; a prison work camp would be a thousan
d times worse.

  Thelma called from her bedroom, “Lester! Are you still in the kitchen?”

  Lester walked down the hallway and stuck his head into the room. “What is it?”

  “Will you put the medicine on my leg? I think the sore is draining.”

  Sometimes Lester walked out the front door when Thelma asked him for help, but his looming date with judgment made him more willing to serve than normal. The tube of antibiotic ointment was on his grandmother’s nightstand. He put a disposable plastic glove on his right hand and squeezed a thick line of the white substance on the end of his finger. He rubbed it lightly on the two-inch ulcer. It was gross, but everything about his grandmother was repulsive. The spot hadn’t changed in over a week, and he knew that for a diabetic anything was hard to heal.

  “Okay,” he said. “It’s looking better.”

  Outside, he could hear Jack barking in the field behind the shed.

  “Thanks,” Thelma said. “I’m going to lie down and prop up my leg on a pillow so that I don’t rub off the medicine until I go to sleep.”

  “I’ll be outside. I want to see what Jack is doing.”

  Lester stepped onto the front porch. There were no streetlights in the country, and the glimmer from the neighbor’s house down the road didn’t penetrate the darkness more than ten feet from their windows. Without the city glare to hide their presence, the stars were on display from one end of the fall sky to the other. Lester took a deep breath. There were always bright lights on at the youth detention center, and it was probably the same in a work camp where some of the men in the barracks didn’t want to face what might be in the darkness.

  Lester leaned against the side of the house. The paint was peeling badly, and he picked off a big piece and dropped it on the ground. He could get in his truck and leave before the sun came up and brought him another day closer to his court date. He had $534 hidden in a white sock in the toe of a smelly old boot in his closet. In four hours, he could be in Georgia, Tennessee, South Carolina, or Virginia. He doubted the police would mount a serious search for a seventeen-year-old boy who should have been tried in juvenile court. His grandmother had put up her house for his bond, but no sheriff with a compassionate cell in his body would dump a blind woman out on the side of the road if he ran. He swore and kicked the ground.

  Jack came running. The dog didn’t know a curse from a blessing, but he recognized his master’s voice. He stopped and wagged his tail. Lester sat down on the ground and leaned against the house. Jack came over and quickly licked Lester’s chin before lying down beside him and leaning against his leg.

  “What should I do?” Lester asked. “Go or stay?”

  Jack put his head on Lester’s thigh and closed his eyes in contentment. The dog didn’t know anything except the immediacy of each moment. To be with Lester was all he desired.

  “Would you go with me?” he continued. “We might end up out West. I’ve heard you can see more stars there than anyplace else.”

  Jack’s eyes remained closed.

  “I could leave all my problems behind. Use a different name and find a job in a place that doesn’t ask questions. There’s nothing here except trouble.”

  They sat on the ground in silence for several minutes. Lester fantasized about a new life in another place.

  It was getting cool, and Lester rubbed his hands together. He had a small heater in the shed. He walked back to the little building with Jack at his heels. The key was in its usual hiding place. He opened the door, turned on the light, and began working. There were other reasons to stay in Catawba. The last sound Thelma heard in the distance before she fell asleep was Lester banging on metal.

  The front doors of the school were unlocked each morning at 6 A.M. Carrying a paper sack containing a piece of fruit and leftover rice, Tao arrived a few minutes later. He walked down the hall and admired the clean floors that softly reflected the fluorescent lights overhead. He went to his storage closet and took out several dust rags to clean the lockers.

  Beginning at the far end of the hallway, he wiped the top of the metal lockers with a rag and deposited larger pieces of trash in a blue plastic bucket. One identical locker for each student, each student a different number, each person a unique individual.

  Tao started with a quiet cadence of prayer for the young people who in an hour and a half would rush up to one of the lockers, jerk open the door, grab a book, leave a book, and hurry down the hall. He patiently made his way along the hallway. When he touched certain lockers, his heart rejoiced. In front of others, he experienced sadness. Usually, he didn’t feel anything. But regardless of his feelings, he prayed. For each locker, for each student.

  Tao believed in God’s omnipresence. He’d been confused at first by the idea that God was everywhere at once. It had seemed too similar to the worship of rocks, trees, and streams that he knew were not gods at all. Then he learned that although God created all things, he was not confined to any of them. All things were not god, but God was Lord of all things. Thus, the blessing of the Holy Spirit’s presence could be manifest throughout creation. Tao’s prayers weren’t a ritual; they were based on a broad view of the influence of the heavenly realm.

  In Tao’s culture supernatural revelation was accepted, not analyzed. This perspective had led to great spiritual darkness for the Hmong people through the negative influences of animistic religion, but it also proved to be fertile soil for the promises of Jesus. Tao read Jesus’ words in John 14:13–14: “And I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Son may bring glory to the Father. You may ask me for anything in my name, and I will do it.” These verses opened an enormous new vista for Tao—the potential impact of prayer as the invitation to God’s glory. He realized that prayer was not an effort to appease an angry God poised to kill him, but a family privilege granted those who entered into relationship with the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

  Thus began Tao’s daily habit of talking to Jesus. When alone, he often spoke out loud. He would speak, then listen. When other people were present, he stepped back into the secret place of his heart and continued the divine communication. Whether out loud or in his heart, the process was the same. He would speak, then listen. And over the years he learned to recognize the voice of the Good Shepherd who said, “My sheep hear my voice.”

  Tao also read in the New Testament about Jesus and the apostles demonstrating the power of God through natural objects. Jesus made mud with his saliva that had the power to open the eyes of a blind man. A few loaves of bread became more than enough to feed a multitude. Pieces of cloth touched by the apostles were laid on sick people who were healed.

  So, Tao prayed for school lockers. They were made of thin metal painted a light tan. But to those lockers would come many young people who needed God. He asked the Lord to touch each one, to awaken them to the knowledge of Jesus Christ, to protect them from the evil one.

  It took almost an hour to go up and down the hallways. When he finished, no paper or broken pencils remained on top of the lockers, and by faith, there was a deposit of blessing for those who would soon arrive for the school day.

  Scott left a message on Kay’s voice mail at school asking her to meet with him before the mock trial team session. He was preparing for the Garrison trial in earnest and wanted to find out if anything from Lester’s schoolwork would help with the defense. He then spent most of the morning working on an outline for his young client’s testimony.

  The defendant in a criminal case does not have to take the witness stand, and Scott wasn’t sure if testimony from Lester would help more than it hurt, so he wanted to evaluate Lester’s performance during a couple of dry runs. One of the keys to a successful defense would be to portray Lester as an innocent victim of unwarranted suspicion—a Tom Sawyer on the riverbank who was mistakenly swept up in an overzealous criminal investigation by well-meaning police officers trying to find someone to blame. Scott would spend a lot of time developing Lester’s background, revealing his care fo
r his blind grandmother, and portraying him as a hardworking young man who had saved enough money over the summer to buy his own truck. He hoped there were a lot of male truck owners in the jury pool.

  Lester was scheduled to come to the office the following afternoon for the first of three preparation sessions. Scott would ask direct examination questions and see how his young client responded. Mr. Humphrey had agreed to serve as a surrogate prosecutor. To assist the older lawyer, Scott prepared questions to be used in cross-examination. Mr. Humphrey could probably do a better job on the spur of the moment than Scott could by preparation, but it was good practice for Scott to anticipate the lines of attack Lynn Davenport might follow. Through repetition of questions and answers, Scott hoped Lester would develop an automatic response to the D.A.’s likely assaults and turn her questions to his advantage by using them as the springboard for further explanation of his innocence. At least that was the theory.

  Shortly before lunch, Kay called.

  “Can we talk before the meeting?” Scott asked. “I wanted to ask you some questions about Lester Garrison.”