Dr. Pinter took a breath, preparing herself, and then read the message into the record. Mark didn’t know whether to make eye contact with the committee members or look away. The latter might make him look guilty, but he didn’t want to come across as combative, either.
“Do you accept responsibility for the charge against you?” asked the chairwoman.
Mark had been over this with Jack. Those were the only two choices: “I accept responsibility,” or “I do not accept responsibility.” Words mattered, and in a world that seemed to applaud people who “accept responsibility,” Mark wished for a third choice. It had taken Jack an hour to convince him that asserting his innocence was not dishonorable.
“I do not accept responsibility,” said Mark.
“Very well,” said the chairwoman. “I now call upon Associate Dean Michael Kravitz, Director of Student Conflict, who will present the evidence in support of the charge.”
The door again opened, and in walked the associate dean. Aside from Mark and his father, he was the only one dressed in a suit and tie. Tucked under Kravitz’s arm was a thick case file, which he laid on the table. He clipped a microphone to his lapel for the recording system, thanked the chairwoman, and began.
“At the outset, I want to make clear that I am not a member of the hearing panel and will play no role in the final decision. The role of director is to serve as liaison and to assist in the presentation of information to the committee.”
“Noted,” said the chairwoman.
The dean had avoided the word “prosecutor,” but to Mark he sure sounded like one.
“Mr. Towson, the evidence against you includes an affidavit from Suwannee County Sheriff’s Office Detective Josh Proctor. That affidavit states as follows.”
Mark listened, stoical, as Kravitz summarized the evidence, which sounded a lot like the night of interrogation in the Alachua County Sheriff’s Department. It lasted only a few minutes, but to Mark it seemed almost as long as the interrogation itself. Then the dean addressed Mark directly, which felt like a knife to the heart.
“Mr. Towson, you admit that the cell phone number referenced in Detective Proctor’s affidavit is your number, correct?”
Mark swallowed hard. “Yes, that is my phone number.”
“Thank you. That is all I have,” the dean said, and then passed the figurative reins back to the chairwoman.
Dr. Pinter said, “Mr. Towson, at this time the committee offers you the opportunity to present your side of the story. Would you like to make a statement?”
Mark glanced at his father, who gave him a nod of encouragement.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Proceed.”
At the prep sessions with Jack, Mark had been opposed to reading a prepared statement. But now, standing before the actual committee, he was glad to have the typewritten words in front of him. His hand shook as he laid his speech on the table. His voice cracked in the first sentence, but he worked through it. He touched on his family’s history at UF, his love for the university, his abhorrence of racism. His voice cracked again as he addressed the substance of the text—the N-word, which he never used, and “strange fruit,” a term that he’d never heard. Some of the narrative was written by Candace Holder; some of it by Jack. The conclusion was in his own words, which he didn’t have to read.
“I didn’t send that text message. I didn’t let anyone use my cell phone to send it. I have no idea how it got on Jamal’s phone. That’s the truth. Thank you.”
Mark returned to his chair, relieved to have finished. “Good job,” his father whispered. But it was far from over. The first question came from Chairwoman Pinter.
“Mr. Towson, did you have your cell phone with you on the night of Saturday, September twenty-ninth?”
Mark had expected questions, but the first one startled him nevertheless. “Yes, I did.”
“Did you let anyone borrow your phone?”
It was a question that Jack had asked him repeatedly. His answer to the committee was the same. “Not that I remember.”
“Were you drinking alcohol that night?”
Jack had prepared him for that one, too. “No. I’m the president and the risk manager for the fraternity. We lose our insurance if I drink at parties.”
“Were you doing drugs?”
“No. I don’t do drugs.”
“Well, if you were not drinking or on drugs, you would probably remember if someone else had taken your phone that night. Right?”
Another question that he and Jack had covered in their prep, but for some reason, Mark was tongue-tied. “I don’t—I just don’t remember.”
The interrogation continued with each committee member taking a turn. Some questions were good. Some were downright stupid. Finally, the room was silent. The chairwoman paused to see if any of the panel members had anything further to ask. They didn’t.
“Mr. Towson, apart from your opening statement, do you have any additional information to present?”
“Well, first I have some questions I would like to ask Suwannee County Homicide Detective Proctor about his affidavit.” Mark shuffled nervously through his papers, and his father handed him the written list of questions that Jack had prepared.
The dean interjected, “Madam Chairwoman, Detective Proctor will not be appearing at this hearing.”
Mark tried not to panic. His father rose and said, “Excuse me, but how are we supposed to challenge—”
“Mr. Towson, please take your seat,” said the chairwoman.
“May I speak?”
“No, you may not. The rules are very clear that an adviser may attend the hearing, but he may not speak on behalf of the student.”
“But I’m his father.”
“Mr. Towson, the rules also state that repeated attempts to speak at the hearing are grounds for removal of the adviser. Please don’t make me do that.”
“Can I speak to my son?”
“Briefly and quietly. Or you can pass him notes.”
Tucker whispered into Mark’s ear. Mark rose and parroted his father’s words. “The hearing file said that Detective Proctor would be here.”
Dean Kravitz responded. “That’s true. We were notified just this morning that he can’t make it. Detective Proctor is a busy law enforcement officer, and this is not a court. This committee has no subpoena power to compel his attendance.”
Mark wasn’t sure what to say. “So, I can’t ask him any questions?”
“No,” said the chairwoman, a tad patronizingly. “Not if he isn’t here.”
Mark returned to his chair to confer privately with his father. “Should we get Jack?” he whispered.
“No.”
“I really think we should get Jack.”
“No, I can handle this.”
Mark wasn’t as sure. He rose and spoke on his own behalf. “Ma’am, I’m pretty sure my lawyer would want me to postpone this hearing to another day when Detective Proctor can be here.”
“No!” said his father, springing from his chair. “We don’t want a postponement.”
“Mr. Towson, this is your final warning. If you address the committee one more time, you will be removed from this hearing. To answer your son’s question: the rules are clear that the unavailability of a witness is not grounds for postponement of a hearing. If you want to question a witness, it’s your responsibility to make arrangements for the witness to be here.”
“But we were told he would be here,” said Mark.
“Mr. Towson, you were provided a copy of the rules prior to this hearing. This committee can rely on affidavits or other information, even if it contains hearsay. Live testimony is allowed but not required. Now, do you have any witnesses you wish to present?”
Mark was fumbling, but he collected himself. “Uh, yes. I do. My sister, Shelly Towson.”
Tucker Towson rose, went to the door, and let her in. Shelly was a tall, athletic blonde, handsome in some of the ways that Mark was, and extremely pretty in the way thei
r mother was. Dean Kravitz directed her to the witness chair that faced the panel. She settled into it uneasily.
Mark approached. He couldn’t have felt more awkward. “Um, okay. Thanks for coming, Shelly.”
“No problem.”
“Uh—how long have you known me?”
She chuckled nervously, then got herself together. “Like, all my life.”
The chairwoman interrupted. “You’re a sophomore here at the university?”
“Right,” said Shelly, and then she addressed the rest of the committee. “Mark’s two years older than me.”
Mark checked his notes, not wanting to mess up the next question. “Shelly, in all the time you’ve known me, have you ever heard me use the N-word?”
“Excuse me,” said Dean Kravitz. He approached the panel to confer in private with the chairwoman, who put the next question to the witness.
“Miss Towson, do you have any personal knowledge of the conduct alleged in the charging documents?”
“I’m sorry, what do you mean?” asked Shelly.
“Were you at the Theta house on the night the text message was sent?”
“No. But Mark is my brother, and I know he would never—”
“I understand,” said the chairwoman. “Under the rules, character witnesses are not allowed to testify at student conduct hearings. All character evidence must be presented in advance through a written statement.”
“Mark’s lawyer explained that to us,” said Shelly, “but this is my fault. Our mom has cancer again, and with that on top of everything else, I couldn’t focus. We missed the deadline. Could I please have just two minutes to tell you what I need to say?”
“Unfortunately, the time for you to submit a written statement has passed.”
Tucker Towson rose, unable to contain himself. “Oh, come on. You’re not going to let her talk?”
“Sir, you were warned—repeatedly,” said the chairwoman. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“What?”
“I’m quite certain that you heard me. Don’t make me call UPD,” she said, meaning the University Police Department.
Tucker Towson rose, embarrassed, disgusted, and trying not to erupt.
Mark scrambled for a response. “Well, can I bring in another adviser?”
The chairwoman conferred privately with Dean Kravitz, and then she announced the decision: “Yes, you can bring in a replacement adviser. But there will be no delay in this hearing.”
Mark looked at his father, his voice a whisper but filled with urgency. “Go get Jack.”
CHAPTER 16
Jack entered the hearing room and stood beside his client. “I’m Jack Swyteck, and I will be serving as Mr. Towson’s adviser.”
Mark was clearly glad to see him. The welcome was a bit cooler from the chairwoman.
“And those will be your last words, Mr. Swyteck. This is an educational process as much as a disciplinary hearing. The system is designed so that students speak on their own behalf. Are we clear?”
Jack nodded. He and Mark took a seat. The next words were from Dean Kravitz.
“At this time, I would like to present the testimony of Brandon Wall.” The dean opened the door, invited the young man into the hearing, and led him to the witness chair.
“Who’s Brandon?” asked Jack, whispering.
“No idea,” Mark replied.
Jack checked the file quickly, then scribbled out a note and passed it to his client.
Mark rose and read it aloud to the panel. “Ma’am, the name ‘Brandon Wall’ is not on the witness list in the case file. I’ve had no chance to prepare any questions.”
“Brandon is a rebuttal witness,” the dean explained. “His testimony bears on Mr. Towson’s claim that he was unfamiliar with the term strange fruit, which was used in the text message to Jamal Cousin.”
“Rebuttal witnesses are allowed,” said the chairwoman. “Proceed.”
The dean approached the witness, and slowly Jack gathered a sense of where this was headed. Brandon was wearing a collared shirt of the kind that was typical of Greek letter organizations. A strip of black tape covered the Greek letters on his shirt pocket.
“Mr. Wall, could you please introduce yourself to the committee?”
“Hello, everyone, I’m Brandon. I’m a senior here at UF. Jamal Cousin and I were in the same pledge class together at the Alpha house.”
“Let me first express my condolences to you and your fraternity brothers,” said the dean.
“Thank you.”
“Brandon, do you know Mark Towson?”
He glanced in Mark’s direction. “I know who he is. And not just because of what happened with Jamal.”
“Tell us how you came to know who Mark Towson is.”
His gaze swept the panel of committee members, like a well-coached trial witness who makes eye contact with each juror. “This goes back to last spring,” he said. “I was working weekends in the kitchen at the Theta house.”
“Was Mr. Towson president at that time?”
“No, just one of the brothers.”
“Let me apologize in advance, Brandon, but I need to ask a few questions that I wish I didn’t have to ask.” Dean Kravitz paused, and unlike many lawyers in academia who weren’t very good on their feet, the dean was completely at ease with the silence—the way a skilled trial lawyer would comport himself before going in for pay dirt. It was clear to Jack that Dean Kravitz had done more than earn a law degree. Somewhere along the line, he’d earned his stripes.
“I want you to think hard,” he said in just the right tone. “Did you ever hear the term strange fruit used at the Theta house?”
“Yes, sir. I did.”
“Tell the committee about that.”
“There was a party. Last April.”
“Why were you at the party?”
“After I turned twenty-one, I started bartending on weekends for extra money. Theta offered me eight bucks an hour to mix drinks at their party. It beats washing dishes, so I said sure.”
“Did you tend bar that night?”
“No. I left before the party started.”
“Why?”
He drew a breath. “Let’s just say I found out why they wanted a black bartender.”
“What do you mean by that, Brandon?”
The witness glanced in Mark’s direction, then looked back at the director. “There was this special drink that they wanted me to serve that night.”
“What was in the drink?”
“Vodka.”
“What else?”
Another deep breath. “A watermelon liqueur.”
Jack tried not to react, but even the white students on the committee seemed to get it.
“Did the drink have a name?” asked the dean.
“Yeah. It was—” The witness stopped, cleared the emotion from his throat, and then continued. “They called it ‘strange fruit.’”
It hit Jack like a swift kick in the gut. In the hours of conversation with his client, not once had the “strange fruit” cocktail come up.
“Just one more question,” Dean Kravitz said. “Did you serve the drink?”
“No, sir. I left.” An angry glare drifted in the direction of Jack and his client. “Never went back to the Theta house. Not even to pick up my last paycheck.”
“Thank you, Brandon. I know how difficult this was, but that’s a very important piece of information.”
The dean returned to his chair. The room was so still that Jack could hear the breeze from the AC vent overhead. Finally, the chairwoman broke the uneasy silence.
“Mr. Towson, do you have any questions for this witness?”
Mark looked at his lawyer for an answer. Jack whispered it, and Mark delivered it. “Could we have a brief recess?”
The witness raised his hand. “Yes, Mr. Wall?” asked the chairwoman.
“Jamal’s funeral is tomorrow. There’s a viewing in Miami tonight. I was hoping to be
on the road already, so—”
“Say no more,” said the chairwoman. “Mr. Towson, do you have any questions for this witness?”
Had the question been directed to Jack, and if the adviser were allowed to speak, Jack’s answer would have been yes. As it stood, Mark was digging his own grave. “Live to fight another day,” Jack whispered.
Mark leaned closer, panic stricken. “Jack, he’s lying. I—”
“Any questions, Mr. Towson?” the chairwoman asked, her tone more assertive.
“No more speaking for yourself,” Jack whispered. “I’ll handle your father. Stand up, thank the committee, and let’s go.”
Mark rose slowly. He made no eye contact with the chairwoman, the panel, the dean, or the witness. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said in a weak voice. “I don’t have any questions.”
CHAPTER 17
The unanimous decision of the student hearing committee was affirmed by the dean of students and announced before lunch: expelled. By one o’clock Leroy Highsmith was in Tigert Hall for a meeting with President Waterston.
“It’s not enough,” said Highsmith.
The president was seated behind his mahogany desk, wearing his signature white oxford-cloth shirt with the button-down collar and a silk orange-and-blue UF necktie. A ceramic alligator stretched across the credenza behind him. Highsmith, the only other person in the room, was seated in the striped armchair. They’d been in regular contact by phone since Jamal’s death, but months had passed since Highsmith’s last personal visit. Waterston’s hair was even more silver than Highsmith remembered. It was probably thinner, too, given the week’s events.
“Expulsion is the most severe punishment there is, Leroy.”
“I want the death penalty.”
“Whoa. The only issue at this hearing was whether Mark Towson sent the text message. This has nothing to do with the criminal investigation.”
“I mean the death penalty for the Theta house.”
Waterston hesitated. “You want me to pull the fraternity’s charter?”
“You bet I do. The president of the University of Oklahoma did it to Sigma Alpha Epsilon when those drunken frat boys got caught on video singing ‘hang him from a tree, there will never be an N-word in S-A-E.’ I cleaned it up.”
A Death in Live Oak Page 8
