by John Bowers
Judge Moore frowned.
“Okay, so your client didn’t intend to kill Deputy Povar. But he did intend to kill Marshal Walker, and when he failed the first time, he tried again.”
“Yes, your Honor, we don’t dispute that. But again, Mr. Downing was acting out of religious conviction, that a revenge killing was justified. We beg the Court to consider that when determining sentence.”
“What about Patsy Morehead? Your client admits he killed her, but with what justification?”
Ricardo heaved another sigh, as if he had dreaded this question.
“My client did not kill Patsy Morehead out of premeditation, but rather as a result of opportunity.”
“How does that change anything?”
“It eliminates premeditation, for one thing. But once again, it comes down to religious indoctrination. If we were facing a jury, I would argue religious freedom, not to excuse the murder, but to place the blame where it belongs.”
“And where is that, counselor?”
“The defense believes the blame belongs with the leaders of Mr. Downing’s church, and one man in particular—Antiochus Groening. Mr. Groening—or Father Groening, as he prefers to be called—is the undisputed leader of Mr. Downing’s congregation. Groening claims to be a prophet of God, and as such dictates religious doctrine according to his own beliefs. My client grew up in this man’s shadow, was taught repeatedly that Groening’s word was law, that he was not and never could be wrong.”
“Did this Father Groening tell your client to murder Patsy Morehead?”
“Not directly, your Honor, but the preponderance of his teachings led my client to believe that killing the girl was justified.”
“Please explain.”
“Father Groening, the same man who instigated the revolution several years ago that ultimately led to the death of my client’s father, and who will stand trial next week for the attempted murder of his own granddaughter, taught his congregations that the outside world was evil, children of the Devil. He railed against girls wearing makeup or clothing that revealed too much skin—at least in his estimation. He railed against modern music, especially rock music; against premarital sex, against holo-vids, against dancing, against any modern form of entertainment.”
“How does that apply?” Moore asked. “Was your client wearing lipstick and a miniskirt when he shot the victim?”
The same reporter tittered again.
“No, your Honor, but Mr. Downing’s cousin did. She was present at the scene of the crime. She was a friend of the victim, and my client believed the Morehead girl was a bad influence on her, a sinful influence that would lead her to eternal damnation. In the heat of the moment, he believed God had given him an opportunity to save his cousin from the fires of Hell. It was a regrettable and impulsive act.”
“What is this cousin’s name? For the record.”
“Her name is Magdalene Downing, your Honor. She goes by Maggie.”
Moore made a note, then scanned the spectator seats with his gaze.
“Is she in the courtroom today?”
“No, your Honor. My client didn’t want his family to attend. These proceedings are painful enough already.”
Moore laid down his pen and clasped his hands on the bench in front of him.
“So what’s your ultimate point, counselor?”
“Your Honor, the defense contends that the responsibility for Patsy Morehead’s death belongs with Antiochus Groening and not my client.”
“But your client pulled the trigger. He should answer for that.”
Ricardo lowered his head in exasperation. He sighed.
“Yes, your Honor, but please, take these factors into account. This is a good boy, a decent boy. He deeply regrets his actions and has renounced ‘Father’ Groening as his religious leader. He has no prior criminal history and is no longer a threat to society, if he ever was. Please, your Honor, show mercy.”
Ricardo stood there a few more seconds, then returned to his table and sat down.
Judge Moore turned to Victoria.
“Miss Cross? Your rebuttal?”
“Thank you, your Honor.”
Victoria rose but stayed behind the table where she could reference her notes as needed.
“Actually, my presentation is in three parts, your Honor, if that’s acceptable. The first part concerns the defense motion to sentence by juvenile guidelines. The second part is a rebuttal to Mr. Ricardo’s position, and the third is my own evaluation and recommendations for sentencing.”
“Proceed.”
“Thank you.
“First of all, the Federation objects to sentencing Mr. Downing as a juvenile. Even if everything Mr. Ricardo claims about his client is true, two people are still dead, and anyone who is adult enough to kill two people should be adult enough to face adult consequences.”
“Agreed.” Moore glanced at the defense table. “The petition for juvenile sentencing is denied.”
He looked back at Victoria.
“What else?”
“Mr. Ricardo contends that Mr. Downing acted out of grief when he shot Deputy Povar and Marshal Walker. The Federation submits that is something of a stretch. Mr. Downing’s father was killed eight years ago, when the defendant was nine years old. While we admit that Mr. Downing suffered a devastating loss, I think it’s appropriate to point out that actual grief is usually confined to no more than a year or two in even the most extreme cases. In ancient times, women whose husbands died were expected to wear black for a full year as a sign of mourning, and any woman who found another romantic interest before that period ended often faced harsh criticism. Grief and mourning go hand in hand, your Honor, so I submit that the grief period is limited in scope.
“Rather than grief, I believe it’s more likely that Mr. Downing acted out of rage, a rage that was eight years in the making. For eight years he missed his father, who I’m sure he loved very much, and heard the adults around him refer to his father’s death as a murder. In view of these circumstances, it seems likely that he nurtured a growing hatred for the man he believed was responsible for his father’s death. When that man returned to Trimmer Springs—and not only returned, but returned as a law enforcement official—Mr. Downing saw an opportunity to even the score. He took that opportunity, and in so doing inadvertently murdered the wrong man. Therefore, I submit that simple grief was not a motivating factor.”
She picked up a folder and set it to one side, then opened another.
“Now the final part of my presentation.
“With the permission of Mr. Ricardo, I interviewed the defendant yesterday to get a better perspective of his character and state of mind.”
She looked up, directly at the judge.
“Your Honor, it is my personal belief, and therefore the Federation’s position, that the defendant is not a threat to society going forward. I truly believe he is remorseful for his actions, including not only the Povar killing, but also the Morehead killing and the attempts on Marshal Walker. While these charges need to be answered, I do not see any value in a maximum sentence. I believe Mr. Downing is a decent young man who was misled his entire life, and acted out of a misguided sense of justice.
“According to the arrest report written by Marshal Walker, Mr. Downing’s arrest took place in an abandoned quarry just north of a place called Millennium Village, where Groening’s primary church is located. Marshal Walker was there to intervene in the attempted murder of the defendant’s cousin, Magdalene Downing, who was about to be stoned to death in a barbaric Old Testament ritual ordered by Antiochus Groening. According to Walker’s report, Mr. Downing actually saved the girl’s life; the stoning ritual had already begun before Walker arrived, and it was Nicodemus Downing who shut it down.
“The Federation contends that this act of mercy by the defendant is significant in that it demonstrates his value to society as a reasonable and prudent individual.”
Moore was frowning.
“He was saving a
member of his family, counselor.”
“Yes, your Honor, but he didn’t have to. According to his religious training, the stoning was wholly justified by the girl’s rebellion against church authority. By intervening, Mr. Downing demonstrated that he himself was breaking loose from that rigid, authoritarian domination. And since his arrest and incarceration, he has formally renounced all ties to that teaching, and to Antiochus Groening in particular. As a matter of fact, the Federation plans to call him to testify in the upcoming Groening trial.”
“So what do you recommend, Miss Cross?”
Victoria sucked a deep breath and stood a little straighter.
“Your Honor, the Federation stands for justice, but justice without mercy is tyranny. The deaths of Hugh Povar and Patsy Morehead must be answered, so prison is mandatory, but let’s not compound the tragedy by stealing the defendant’s entire life. I would recommend no more than ten years for each murder, with the possibility of early parole and long-term probation.”
“What about the second attempt on Marshal Walker? That’s good for fifteen years all by itself.”
“Yes, your Honor, but I believe Marshal Walker would be willing to waive at least ten of those years.”
“How do you know that? Have you spoken to him?”
Victoria’s cheeks pinked.
“No, your Honor. But I’ve spoken with him in the past, and I’ve read a number of his case reports. I know him to be a man of principle, and a fair-minded man. You can certainly ask him yourself, if you care to, but I think you will find that my analysis is correct.”
Judge Moore reached for the box of chocolates on the corner of his bench and popped a candy into his mouth. He frowned.
“Miss Cross, a minute ago you argued that Mr. Downing acted not out of grief, but out of rage. Now you’re arguing for a reduction in sentence?”
“Not a reduction in sentence, your Honor, but a tempered sentence. The grief/rage argument was only to keep the record straight. The bottom line is that, if not for his religious brainwashing, the defendant would likely never have committed any these crimes. Every charge at issue in this courtroom today is directly attributable to Antiochus Groening, and when he comes to trial, the Federation plans to nail his hairy hide to the barn door.”
Victoria sat down.
On the other side of the courtroom, Nicodemus Downing was staring at her with glistening eyes. After a moment, he wiped his face and stared back at the table before him.
“Mr. Ricardo, do you have anything else to add?”
Manny Ricardo got to his feet and shook his head.
“No, your Honor. I believe Miss Cross summed things up nicely.” He ventured a grin. “Much to my pleasant surprise.”
Moore harrumphed again and turned to the defendant.
“Mr. Downing, please stand up.”
Downing did so, with Ricardo at his side.
“Did your attorney explain to you about allocution?”
“Yes, your Honor.”
“Are you ready to tell the Court what you did?”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right, then please tell the Court about your crimes. Start with the killing of Hugh Povar, the attempt on Marshal Walker, and the killing of Patsy Morehead. Take your time, speak clearly, and don’t leave anything out. Are you ready?”
“Yes, your Honor.”
“You may begin.”
Nicodemus Downing spoke in a quiet, uncertain voice. Moore told him to speak up, and he did. Haltingly, painfully, he recounted how he had climbed into the church tower to ambush Nick Walker, how he’d killed Deputy Povar instead; how he made a second attempt the night of the concert in the park, and of the spontaneous killing of Patsy Morehead. It took him fifteen minutes, stopping frequently to get his emotions in check, but by the time he finished he was fighting to keep an even voice as tears streamed down his cheeks.
“Thank you, Mr. Downing. I know that wasn’t easy, but it is an obligation that goes with a guilty plea.”
Moore cleared his throat again, as if his allergies were acting up.
“I see tears, Mr. Downing. Are you crying because you’re sorry for what you did, or because you didn’t get away with your crimes?”
Downing didn’t answer right away—he broke into sobs. His attorney put an arm around him and patted him on the back.
After a moment, he regained his composure.
“I’m so sorry for what I did,” he managed. “Everyone keeps talking about mercy, but I don’t deserve any. What I did was unforgivable, and I don’t deserve to live.”
Moore’s eyebrows rose. He leaned back in his chair.
“Mr. Downing, are you saying that you might consider taking your own life?”
Downing shook his head.
“No, sir. God might forgive me for what I already did, because I have repented, but if I kill myself, I will burn in Hell for all eternity. That might be a just penalty, but it’s not one I want to face.”
“All right, then.” Moore straightened up in his chair and glanced at both attorneys of record. “This was calendared as a presentencing hearing, but I think I have everything I need. If there is no objection from either of you, I am ready to pass sentence now. Do I hear an objection?”
“No objection, your Honor,” Ricardo and Victoria said at the same time.
“Very well. Mr. Downing, wipe your tears; I want you alert for this.”
Manny Ricardo handed Downing a clean handkerchief, which the boy used to dry his eyes. He stood straighter and lifted his chin, gazing at the judge with misery in his eyes.
“Nicodemus Downing, you have pled guilty to the murders of Hugh Povar and Patsy Downing, and the attempted murder of Nick Walker. Having reviewed the plea, the presentencing reports, and all other relevant information, including today’s presentations in this court, the Court sentences you to the following:
“For the murder of Hugh Povar, twenty-five years…”
Victoria barely suppressed a gasp. She was sure Moore had taken her advice to heart. Her skin flashed hot and cold.
“…fifteen years of which to be suspended,” Moore concluded.
Victoria’s eyes closed in relief. Jesus!
“For the murder of Patsy Morehead, twenty-five years, fifteen years of which to be suspended.
“For the attempt to murder Marshal Walker, fifteen years, ten years of which to be suspended.
“What that means, Mr. Downing, is that your total sentence comes to sixty-five years, but if you behave yourself, you will serve a maximum of twenty-five. I am leaving early parole on the table, which means that ten years from now, if you have conducted yourself in a manner consistent with your attitude in court today, you can be released, although you will still be subject to Federation oversight.
“In other words, you can be a free man by the age of thirty. That may seem really old to you right now, but trust me, when you get there, it won’t be. You’ll have most of your life still ahead of you.”
Moore frowned and cleared his throat yet again.
“I do have one condition, however, and if you object to this, or fail to comply, I will reinstate the entire sixty-five years. While you are behind bars, you will use the time to get an education. I expect you to attend school, graduate high school, and study some college courses. You should have time to get a college degree before you are paroled, and you will get one. Are we understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very well. I think that concludes our business here today. Good luck, Mr. Downing.”
Moore reached for his gavel and lifted it…
Victoria shot to her feet.
“Your Honor!”
His hand paused before bringing the gavel down.
“Something else, Miss Cross?”
“Yes, sir. Your Honor, are you sending him to Syracuse Island?”
Moore nodded. “That happens to be the only Federation penitentiary on the planet.”
“Your Honor, he’ll never survive ten years in t
hat place. It’s filled with the worst of the worst. If you send him there, he might as well be a virgin teenage girl.”
“What do you recommend, counselor?”
“Isn’t there a minimum security facility that can take him? Maybe a white-collar place?”
Moore sat back and gazed at her a moment. He sucked a deep breath.
“I tell you what, Miss Cross—I’ll leave that to you. You have two weeks to get back to me before I assign him to a facility. Will that do?”
Victoria smiled.
“Yes, your Honor. Thank you!”
“If I don’t hear from you within two weeks, he goes to the Island.”
The gavel banged down.
“This Court is adjourned.”
Chapter 6
In the elevator on the way to the 75th floor, Brian Godney cast Victoria a sidelong glance.
“Do you think that was a good idea?”
“Of course I do, or I wouldn’t have done it.” She smiled. “What are you talking about?”
“Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but you pretty much made the defense’s case down there. Ricardo didn’t even need to show up.”
Her smile faded.
“I’m only concerned with two things in this job—justice, and fairness. Did you hear what I said about justice without mercy?”
“Yeah.”
“It turns into tyranny, and I’ll have no part of it. I love putting bad guys away, but Nicodemus Downing is not a bad guy. He’s a dumb, unlucky kid who got caught up in something much too big for him and now he has to pay the price. It’s bad enough he has to go to prison—and he does have to go to prison—but no way in hell does he deserve to rot in there for the rest of his life.”
Godney stared at the flashing lights on the lift panel.
“Wow. I’ve never heard a prosecutor talk that way.”
“You probably never will again. But here’s what I know—most prosecutors, maybe ninety-nine percent of them, are more concerned with their conviction rate than anything else.”
“What’s wrong with that? Your conviction rate is what keeps you employed.”
“Not a thing wrong with it until it gets in the way of justice. Any prosecutor who puts his own career or paycheck ahead of doing the right thing deserves a bullet in the head, and if I am ever guilty of that, I hope someone will put a bullet in mine.”
