The Conviction

by Robert Dugoni

  After the final announcement Atkins ordered the guards to release the tables one at a time. They released Jake’s table last. When he finally grabbed one of the yellow trays and a plate he feared he’d reach the front of the line only to be told they had run out of food. He anxiously watched as the servers dished out helpings of eggs and potatoes, two strips of bacon, and a small carton of milk. When he reached the front they filled his plate full and he felt a great sense of relief. He searched for a place to sit among the inmates who were engaged in excited chatter about the morning menu. From their comments Jake deduced bacon to be a rare treat. Jake spotted an opening at the table with the kid who helped him with the mattress and started in that direction. Halfway there he heard a loud bang and turned to see one of the servers kneeling to pick up a stack of dropped trays. Big Baby sat close by, smiling at Jake.

  Turning quickly, Jake never saw the leg.

  It stuck out as he passed the corner of the table, hitting him across the shins and knocking him off balance, too much for Jake to recover. The tray pitched forward, and the plate and utensils slid off the edge, hitting the concrete floor with a clatter. Jake landed face-first, grimacing in pain.

  After the initial shock, he got to a knee and turned toward the perpetrator, a big kid sitting at the end of the row. Had there been any doubt the act was deliberate, the shit-eating grin erased it. Tired, hungry, and frustrated, Jake saw black. He went at the kid in a blind rage, bull rushing him as the kid started to get up from the bench. The look of shock indicated this was not what the kid had expected. Jake hit him full force, bodies, plates, and trays flying. The kid was bigger than Jake and, because of Jake’s weakened condition, stronger. But Jake remained quick. He grabbed a wrist, and managed to get it behind the perpetrator’s back, his other hand pressing the face against the concrete floor.

  “You son of a bitch. You did it on purpose.”

  Jake felt arms grabbing him, pulling him off. He continued to struggle, managed to free an arm, and was in the process of bringing his fist forward when Atkins’s face appeared in his line of sight. The guard caught Jake’s fist before impact and two other guards sandwiched him, interlocking his arms, immobilizing him.

  “You just can’t seem to get along, can you, Stand-up?”

  “He tripped me,” Jake said, spitting with anger. “He did it on purpose.”

  The perpetrator stood, touching a bloody lip, grinning but out of breath. “You tripped on your own feet.”

  “You’re a fucking liar.” Jake lunged, but the guards weren’t about to let him go.

  “Captain Overbay has a strict view about the use of vulgarity in his home, Inmate Stand-up, as well as fighting. He did bring that to your attention, though you might have been sleeping during that part of the orientation.” Atkins smiled. “It seems you are in need of a lesson in both.”

  “He tripped me. He made me spill it.”

  Atkins looked at the upended tray and food splattered on the floor. He addressed the kid who had tripped Jake. “What about it, Inmate McCarthy, did you trip Inmate Stand-up?”

  “No sir, Officer Atkins.”

  “Well then, how do you explain this waste of food on my kitchen floor?”

  “He dropped it, sir. He tripped over his own feet and dropped it.”

  Atkins turned back to Jake. “Captain Overbay also has a strict rule about not wasting food. You take it, you eat it.”

  Jake looked down at the lump of food on the cement floor. Then back at Atkins.

  “I’m not eating that.”

  “Then you will go hungry,” Atkins said. He raised his voice, addressing the others. “Inmates! Lower your forks.”

  An audible groan and hushed profanities accompanied the sound of silverware hitting the tables.

  “Inmate Stand-up has refused a direct order from an officer, and he has wasted food.” The response was another collective groan. “If Inmate Stand-up will not eat, then neither shall any of you.”

  Atkins looked to Jake. “Inmate Stand-up, you’ll find what you need to clean up this mess in that closet. And Captain Overbay expects his kitchen floor to shine.” Atkins pivoted and made his way to the exit. Reaching it, he turned back, raising his voice. “Inmates, I expect Inmate Stand-up to have your full cooperation this morning,” he said before leaving.

  The inmates stood from their seats, eyes fixed on Jake. One by one they lifted their trays and, in near unison, turned them over, scraping the remaining contents onto the floor.

  WINCHESTER COUNTY SUPERIOR COURT

  WINCHESTER, CALIFORNIA

  Boykin looked up from what he’d been reading. “Mr. Sloane, what are you doing interrupting my courtroom?”

  Sloane stepped to counsel table. “David Sloane appearing on behalf of Griffin…” He looked down at the kid, maybe fourteen. “What did you say your last name was, son?”

  The kid looked confused, eyebrows arched. “Uh, Knight.”

  “David Sloane appearing on behalf of Griffin Knight.”

  “You can’t do that,” Pike said, then addressing the bench and sounding less sure. “He can’t do that.”

  Sloane looked down at Griffin Knight. “You want an attorney to represent you, don’t you, son?”

  The kid’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know. Are you any good?”

  Sloane couldn’t hold back a smile. He put a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “They tell me I’m pretty good.”

  Knight shrugged. “Okay.”

  Sloane turned to the bench. “David Sloane appearing on behalf of Griffin Knight.”

  If Boykin had been angry before, he was livid now. The portion of his face not covered by the beard flushed red. “Mr. Pike, call your first witness.”

  “Your Honor?”

  “I said call your first witness, Mr. Pike.”

  A flustered Pike fumbled through his stack of files, which had apparently been more for show than utility. He pulled out one and quickly opened it, reading and flipping pages, making it even more apparent he was not familiar with the circumstances warranting the charges against Griffin Knight. “The State calls…”

  “Why don’t you call the arresting officer,” Boykin offered.

  “Yes. The State calls Officer Carl Wade to the stand.”

  Wade stood from his seat in the gallery and made his way to the witness stand. Without his hat and sunglasses he looked decidedly younger and far less intimidating, with freckles and red hair tamed with some gel product.

  “Good morning, Officer Wade,” Pike said, continuing to stall. He read the file while approaching the witness stand. “Can you state your name and occupation for the record?”

  Sloane interjected. “Your Honor, the defense would request that these proceedings be recorded and would further request a transcription of that recording.”

  Boykin’s lips pinched. “So noted, Counselor, at your expense.”

  For the next ten minutes Wade took Pike through the circumstances leading to the arrest of Griffin Knight. The boy had been walking the streets of Truluck after curfew when Wade stopped him. Wade reported smelling marijuana, conducted a search, and found a metal pipe concealed in Knight’s hoody.

  “No further questions.” Pike turned to Sloane. “Your witness.”

  Sloane pointed to the police report on Pike’s side of the table. “May I?” Pike handed it to him. Sloane approached the witness stand reading. “Officer Wade, what time is it?”

  Pike shot out of his chair. “Uh. Objection. Irrelevant.”

  “Sustained.”

  “Officer Wade, what time was it when you first approached the defendant?”

  Wade flipped through a copy of his report, which Pike had provided during his direct examination. “My report indicates Mr. Knight was arrested at ten-twelve in the evening.”

  Sloane pointed. “And did you note the time on that shiny wristwatch?”

  Wade flashed his watch. “Mostly likely. I probably did. Yeah.”

  “And you first observed the defendant walki
ng down the street sometime before you arrested him, did you not?”

  Wade smirked and sat back folding his hands in his lap. “I had to observe him to arrest him, Counselor.”

  “Did you stop him right away?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean did you see him and arrest him Johnny-on-the-spot, or did you first observe whether Mr. Knight was engaged in criminal activity.”

  Another smirk. “I observed the suspect to determine if he had any criminal intent.”

  Sloane nodded, continuing to read, asking the question without looking at Wade. “And how long did it take for you to make that determination?”

  “How long?”

  “You didn’t just rush to judgment, did you?”

  Wade shrugged. “I never rush to judgment.”

  “So how long did it take you to determine that Mr. Knight had criminal intent?”

  “Five or six minutes, maybe.”

  “And what did you see the defendant doing during that five to six minutes that indicated to you a criminal intent?”

  “He appeared to pull something from his pocket and throw it in the bushes.”

  “That’s not true,” Knight interjected.

  Boykin rapped his gavel. “Counselor, you will keep your client under control or I’ll hold you both in contempt.”

  Sloane winked at Knight. “Let me handle this,” he whispered. He returned his attention to Wade. “What did you do after observing this behavior?”

  “I called it in, said I was going to be making an arrest, waited to be advised that backup was on its way, and left my vehicle.”

  “Another couple minutes there?”

  “Probably.”

  “Three or four?”

  “Yeah, I’d estimate that to be about right.”

  “And I assume you and the defendant spoke.”

  “I asked him what he was doing out past the Truluck curfew, if that’s what you mean.”

  “That’s what I mean. What is the Truluck curfew, by the way?”

  “Ten o’clock sharp for any person under the age of eighteen.”

  “And what did the defendant tell you he was doing after you engaged him?”

  “He said he was walking home after work.”

  “Did he say where he worked?”

  “I know where he works.”

  “You and the defendant are acquainted?”

  “He’s been arrested before.”

  “So where does the defendant work?”

  “At the Truluck Hotel. He washes dishes. It’s part of his aftercare program.”

  “Where was the defendant when you arrested him?”

  Wade considered his report. “Heading south on Magnolia, three blocks east of Main Street.”

  “The hotel, his place of employment, is it on Main Street?”

  “Yes.”

  “And where does Mr. Knight live?”

  “He lives with his mother on Magnolia.”

  “So he was walking to his home after work?”

  “That’s what he said.”

  “And all of the facts would lead an experienced police officer such as yourself to reach the same conclusion, would they not?”

  “I suppose so, yeah.”

  “And where on Magnolia in relation to the defendant’s place of residence did you stop him?”

  “He was two doors south.”

  “Of his home?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Forty feet?”

  “I suppose that’s about right.”

  “And you proceeded to interrogate him, to ask him where he’d been and what he’d been doing. Questions such as that?”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “Well, you did speak to him long enough to conclude that he was under the influence of marijuana, didn’t you? I mean you didn’t just slap the cuffs on him and put him in the car, did you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “So how much time did you speak to the defendant before you did slap the cuffs on him?”

  “A few minutes.”

  “Four or five?”

  “Something like that.”

  Sloane tossed the report back on the table in front of Pike and walked to the stand. “Officer Wade, I ask again, what time is it?”

  Pike quickly rose. “Objection, Your Honor, it’s irrelevant.”

  Before Boykin could rule on the objection, Sloane said, “Let me rephrase the question to alleviate the prosecutor’s objection. Officer Wade, what time is it on your wristwatch?”

  Wade looked past Sloane to Pike, but this time Sloane did not hear an objection. He suspected Pike was either trying to figure out what was happening, or already had.

  Wade hesitated. “It’s eight twenty-two.”

  Sloane looked at the grandfather clock on the wall. “Let the record reflect that the clock on the wall in this courtroom has the time as eight-nineteen. Let the record reflect that the time on my cell phone, which, it is common knowledge, is set to the nation’s official atomic clock in Colorado, is eight-eighteen.”

  Pike pulled the pocket watch from his vest and clicked it open. “You wish to contribute, Mr. Pike?” Sloane said. Pike snapped shut his watch and slid it back in his vest pocket.

  Sloane turned to Wade. “Officer Wade, you testified, and you wrote in your report, that you arrested the defendant at ten-twelve in the evening. But you spent five to six minutes observing him before the arrest, another three to four minutes calling for backup, and four to five additional minutes observing his demeanor before placing him in custody, correct?”

  “Well…”

  “That was your testimony wasn’t it?”

  “I suppose, yes.”

  “Which would mean that when you first observed the suspect it was between nine fifty-seven and one minute after ten, according to your watch, which we now know is four minutes fast. That would put the time that you first observed the defendant, forty feet from his front door, at nine fifty-three to nine fifty-seven. Which means, if you hadn’t stopped him, he wouldn’t have been out past the Truluck ten o’clock curfew, would he?”

  Wade cocked his head, hands still folded in his lap, but the smug, confident grin was no longer present. Boykin massaged his forehead, eyes closed, as if fighting a migraine. Griffin Knight sat at counsel table, smiling from ear to ear.

  That was when the second kid, sitting on the bench off to the side, suddenly stood and thrust out his arm, pointing at Sloane.

  “I want him,” he said.

  TWELVE

  FRESH START YOUTH TRAINING FACILITY

  SIERRA NEVADA MOUNTAINS

  Aguard remained in the mess hall while Jake cleaned the floor, and Jake deduced the man’s presence was in case the temptation to eat something off the floor became too great to resist. It didn’t.

  By the time Jake had finished cleaning, morning classes had recessed. Some of the inmates headed back to their dorms, others hurried to the basketball courts. Jake took a seat on a bench at one of the picnic tables in the yard, staring at the ground, hungrier than he’d ever been.

  He sensed someone drawing near and lifted his head, expecting either Atkins, Big Baby, or the kid who had tripped him. Instead a thin black kid stepped onto the bench seat and sat beside him. The kid didn’t say a word, just stared out at the yard, eyes scanning left and right. After a minute he reached inside his coveralls and produced a napkin, using his other arm to conceal the motion as he set it on the table.

  “Don’t eat it here,” His eyes remained focused across the yard.

  “What is it?” Jake asked.

  The kid’s eyebrows pinched together and he glanced at Jake. “Do you care? It’s food.”

  Jake was so hungry he would have eaten just about anything, but he also didn’t exactly trust anyone at the moment.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Don’t look at me when you talk.” Jake faced forward. “Find someplace where the guards can’t see you. And stay away from T-Ma
c and Big Baby.”

  “T-Mac?”

  “The kid who tripped you. They’re the resident psychopaths.”

  “Yeah, well, that could be a little difficult, seeing that I’m supposed to share a bunk with Big Baby.”

  “You look like you can handle yourself okay; I’m just saying don’t get caught alone. And never go into the bathroom if they’re in there.”

  “Why do the guards let them get away with it?”

  “Because they act as the guards’ eyes and ears around here. In exchange they get to do pretty much whatever they want. Plus the guards aren’t supposed to inflict physical punishment…” He let that thought hang.

  “Why does everybody around here take it? They can’t beat everyone up.”

  “They don’t have to beat up everyone. They just have to catch one of us alone. And trust me; you don’t want to be the one. Like I said, stay out of the bathroom unless there are others with you.”

  “What did they do? Why are they here?”

  The kid shrugged. “I’ve heard rape, murder, arson. Who knows what’s the truth? What I do know is they’re crazy. So is Atkins. That boy is the poster child for roid rage. I don’t know what you did, but you pissed him off good, that’s for sure, the captain, too. You want to avoid that in the future.”

  “What’s with that guy’s hair?”

  “The captain? It’s a wig. Rumor has it he was involved in some accident as a kid and had his scalp pulled off.”

  “So how do I get them off my ass?”

  “Let them think they broke you. That’s what they want.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “Start by doing what they tell you. Just don’t make it obvious. They always pick the bigger kids and make an example out of them.”

  A bell sounded. The kid rose. “Break’s over.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Jake asked again.

  “Most people would say ‘thanks.’”