by John Bowers
“Yes, your Honor. Ready to go.”
“All right, then. Proceed.”
Godney kept it brief. It was a bench trial, so there was no jury to educate and the judge already knew the basic facts of the case. There was no need to drag it out. Godney laid out the bare bones in five minutes and sat down.
Defense attorney Monte Simpson took a little longer. He opened with a motion to dismiss on the grounds that the trial was a violation of his client’s religious rights. Moore shook his head.
“We’ve already covered this, counselor. No one is going to infringe upon Mr. Groening’s rights, but there are certain actions that cannot be protected or excused by religious freedom, and we are here to determine if those actions were committed. Motion denied.”
“Very well, your Honor. At this time my client wants me to point out that he does not recognize the authority of this court to judge him.”
Judge Moore peered at Simpson for a moment as if expecting him to elaborate. But Simpson, looking slightly embarrassed, merely stood there waiting for a response.
“What does that mean, counselor?” Moore demanded. “Are you asking me to rule on something?”
“No, your Honor. I’m merely following my client’s instructions to tell you that.”
“Humph. All right, you told me. Would you like to offer your opening statement now?”
“Certainly, your Honor.”
Simpson had placed a podium before the bench and stepped up to it. He already looked defeated, like a man being forced into an arena to fight a wild animal with his bare hands. He had no case and knew it, but his client had refused to plead and he had no choice but to go forward. He spread a few documents out before him and began.
For ten minutes he talking about the history of the Congregation of God, how they had migrated from North America a century earlier and settled on the Trimmer Plain where they were isolated from the rest of the planet. He talked about family, loyalty, honor, and faith; he cited a century of peace since their arrival, and pointed out that such peace was the result of the simple lifestyle the Groaners lived (and carefully avoided any mention of the revolution that Groening had started).
“To most people,” Simpson said, “their lifestyle looks too simple. They don’t enjoy many of the modern amenities that we take for granted, but they are content with that. What we might find restrictive, they find normal. It’s a lifestyle that works for them.
“The prosecution is going to allege that certain crimes were committed, but I would remind the Court that everything my client said and did was in accordance with biblical teaching. Religious precedent, if you will. We may not understand it all, and we may not like it, but it works for them. The people in this community do not prey upon their neighbors. They don’t rob and rape and kill, their children don’t rampage through our streets committing murder and mayhem. They don’t even commit vandalism. If their belief system seems outdated to us, or even antiquated, one thing we cannot deny is that their religious faith is the bedrock of that peaceful life. It works for them.”
Simpson sat down. Moore turned to Godney.
“Call your first witness, counselor.”
*
When a trial was in progress, witnesses were sequestered outside the courtroom to prevent them hearing how other witnesses testified. When Brian Godney called Nick Walker to the stand, it took nearly a minute to get him into the courtroom. The bailiff swore him in and Walker took the stand.
Godney smiled at Walker as he prepared for direct examination. Walker wasn’t wearing his guns or his cowboy hat, but his western clothing identified him like a trademark. Just under six feet tall, he sat comfortably in the witness chair, waiting.
Godney asked him to state his name and occupation for the record, then began the questioning.
“Marshal Walker, you live in Trimmer Springs?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Are you familiar with a small community called Millennium Village?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Can you tell the Court what is Millennium Village?”
“It’s a small farming community a few miles from Trimmer Springs. It’s the headquarters for the Groaner cult.”
“Objection.” Simpson stood up. “‘Cult’ is a subjective term applied to certain religious groups. It carries a negative connotation that is not only judgmental, but frankly, insulting.”
Judge Moore sighed.
“Sustained. The witness will refrain from using the word ‘cult’.”
Brian Godney smiled at the witness.
“Marshal Walker?”
Nick Walker nodded. “It’s the headquarters of the Groaner church.”
“Objection.”
Moore’s eyes narrowed.
“Now what?”
“Your Honor, the term ‘Groaner’ is also inaccurate. The name of the organization is not ‘Groaner’, but Congregation of God. ‘Groaner’ is pejorative.”
“Your Honor, if I may?” Godney turned to face Simpson. “The term is nothing more than a nickname based on Rev. Groening’s last name.”
“That doesn’t make it any less insulting!” Simpson declared.
“Your Honor, the Mormon church isn’t really called Mormon. They are actually called the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, but for centuries we’ve called them Mormons and we still do. They even call themselves Mormons. It isn’t insulting and there’s nothing pejorative about it.”
“Not to you, maybe. My client disagrees.”
“Your Honor, there can be no insult without intent. When people use that term, they do not intend to insult, but merely identify.”
“Is this really important?” Moore asked. “Why can’t we just get on with the evidence?”
“Your Honor—”
Simpson wasn’t giving up. Moore cut him off.
“The objection is overruled. However, the witness will refrain from using the terms ‘cult’ and ‘Groaner’. Now let’s move on!”
Simpson sat down.
Godney smirked.
“Marshal Walker, did you have occasion to be in Millennium Village on January 16 of this year?”
“Yes.”
“What was the purpose of that visit?”
“I needed to talk to Father Groening. A few days earlier, one of the children in his congregation had stepped on a landmine and was killed. Two other children who lived next door to him had been present and knew where the incident occurred. I needed to find the scene, but the father of the two boys wouldn’t let me talk to them. He told me that, if Father Groening would give permission, then so would he.”
“So you went to ask Father Groening to intercede with the boys’ father?”
“Correct.”
“Tell the Court what happened when you arrived.”
“It was a Sunday morning and I figured Father Groening would be holding services. I arrived a little before noon so I could speak to him when church let out. But the church was standing open and very few people were present.”
“Where were they?”
“I talked to a little girl in the church yard who said they had gone to a quarry just up the road.”
“Did the little girl tell you why they went to the quarry?”
“Yes. She said they were going to stone the harlot.”
“Stone…the harlot. Those were her exact words?”
“I’m paraphrasing, but she did use the word ‘harlot’, yes.”
“What did you do then?”
“I called for backup and headed for the quarry.”
“You were alone?”
“No, I was in the company of Officer Carrie King, of the Trimmer Springs Police Department.”
“What did you find at the quarry?”
Walker brushed his forehead with a hand.
“It was bizarre. There were several hundred people standing around. Father Groening was there, and I saw two women standing some distance from the others.”
“Who were the women, if
you know?”
“One was Drusilla Downing. The other was her granddaughter, Maggie Downing.”
“And what were they doing?”
“Mrs. Downing was on the ground. She had been hit with a large rock and was injured. The girl appeared to be okay physically, but she was scared to death.”
“And why was the girl so scared?”
“Objection. Calls for speculation.”
“Sustained. Rephrase, counselor.”
Godney nodded.
“Marshal Walker, did you see anything that might explain why the girl was so scared?”
“I saw several piles of large rocks. Groups of people were standing by each pile. It appeared the girl was afraid of…the people…and the rocks.”
“Objection, speculation.”
“Overruled. The witness stated what he saw.”
“And added an opinion! It may be reasonable to assume the girl was afraid of the people and the rocks, but only the girl can testify to that.”
“Very well. Objection sustained. Let’s move on.”
“Marshal Walker, what else did you see in the quarry?”
“I saw Nicodemus Downing holding a gun. As we approached the quarry we heard a gunshot, and when we arrived, Downing was waving it around threatening people.”
“Threatening them how? For what reason?”
“I heard him tell everyone to drop any rocks they were holding, and that he would shoot anyone who didn’t comply.”
“So the stoning had already begun?”
“Objection—”
“Oh, knock it off, counselor! There is no jury here and I’m not easily snowed, so let’s just get this done. Overruled.”
“Yes,” Nick Walker replied. “Several stones had already been thrown and Mrs. Downing had been injured. From what we pieced together, Nicodemus Downing interrupted the stoning before anyone was killed.”
“And what did you do?”
“I approached Downing with my weapon drawn, ordered him to drop his pistol, and took him into custody.”
“You arrested him?”
“Yes.”
“For interrupting the stoning?”
“No. I had reason to believe he had murdered two people prior to that day. I arrested him for that.”
“Did you also arrest the Reverend Groening?”
“Objection…”
“What now, Mr. Simpson?” Moore looked annoyed.
“With the Court’s indulgence, your Honor, my client objects to the term ‘Reverend’. His proper title is ‘Father’.”
“Father? Is he a Catholic priest?”
“No, your Honor, but he is the patriarch of his church, and his followers refer to him as Father.”
“Objection sustained.”
Moore glared at Godney.
“Make a note, counselor. Do not use the word ‘Reverend’.”
“Yes, your Honor.
“Marshal Walker, did you follow up on the stoning incident?”
“I did.”
“And did you arrest Rev…Father Groening?”
“I did, but not until two days later.”
“Why did you wait two days?”
“I didn’t have all my facts together yet. I needed to interview the victims and find out what had happened, and why. I knew Groening wasn’t going anywhere, so I waited until I had grounds for an arrest.”
“Thank you, Marshal Walker. Nothing further at this time.”
Moore reached for a chocolate, swallowed it, and turned to Simpson.
“Your witness, Mr. Simpson.”
Monte Simpson approached the podium and rested a hand on it as he began.
“Good morning, Marshal Walker.”
“Good morning.”
“I only have a couple of items, so I won’t keep you long. When you arrived at the quarry, did you see my client throw any rocks?”
“No.”
“Was my client holding a rock?”
“No.”
“Was anyone in the quarry holding a rock?”
“Not that I saw, no.”
“Did you see anyone throw any rocks? Anyone at all?”
“No.”
“So…you have characterized the incident as a stoning, yet you never saw anyone being stoned?”
“No. I was about a minute too late for that.”
“Did you hear my client give any orders for anyone to throw any rocks?”
“No.”
“And you never saw any rocks hit the so-called victims? No rocks were flying when you arrived?”
“Objection. Asked and answered.”
“Sustained.”
“Nothing further.”
Simpson, with an air of defeat, returned to his table and sat down.
“Mr. Godney? Redirect?”
“Thank you, your Honor.” Godney hopped to his feet. “Marshal Walker, you didn’t see anyone throwing rocks, but did you have reason to believe that rocks had been thrown?”
“Yes.”
“And what was that?”
“Mrs. Downing was on the ground with a broken collarbone and she had other bruises as well.”
“And the girl? Maggie Downing?”
“She didn’t appear to have been hit, but when we reached the hospital I learned that she had a bad bruise on her stomach.”
“So she had been hit?”
“As it turned out, yes.”
“How did she seem at the quarry? Was she upset?”
“She was terrified. Very near hysterical.”
“Thank you. Nothing further.”
“Mr. Simpson?”
Simpson stood up again.
“Marshal Walker, if you had reason to suspect my client was guilty of stoning…or any other offense—why did you wait to arrest him?”
“I believe I answered that already. I didn’t have what I considered sufficient evidence. I had to investigate before I could arrest anyone.”
“When you investigated, were you told that my client had thrown any rocks at the victims?”
“No. But I was told that he ordered the stoning.”
“He ordered it? But he didn’t participate in it.”
“Not as far as I could determine, except that he presided over it and was giving everyone orders.”
“He gave orders for others to throw rocks?”
“That’s what my investigation determined, yes.”
“Did you arrest anyone else? Someone, perhaps, who had actually cast a few stones?”
“No. I had no reliable way of identifying those individuals, and even if I had arrested some of them, I would probably have missed others.”
“Which means what? If you can’t get all the guilty men you let them all go free?”
“Which means it made more sense to arrest the man responsible for the incident. Further investigation might net more suspects, but at the time I went with what I knew.”
“Nothing further.”
“Mr. Godney?”
“I’m done, your Honor.”
Moore turned to Walker.
“You may be excused, Marshal. Thank you for coming in.”
Nick Walker strode out of the courtroom.
Brian Godney sat at his laptop and shot a message to Victoria Cross: Walker is done.
Then he called his next witness.
Carrie King was a young, single woman who worked as a patrol officer for the Trimmer Springs PD. She had been with Walker at the quarry and told essentially the same story. She managed to avoid stirring up objections from the defense and was off the stand in ten minutes.
Godney glanced at his watch. Not quite eleven o’clock. He stood up straight.
“The Federation calls Nicodemus Downing.”
Chapter 18
Nicodemus Downing looked very much as he had the previous Tuesday when he was sentenced. Yellow jumpsuit, shackles on his wrists and ankles, long hair, pasty complexion, raging acne. He sat in the witness chair as if it were the vacuum chamber, looking scared but listle
ss. Godney tried to set him at ease.
“Good morning, Mr. Downing.”
“Mrng.”
“Can you tell us why you’re wearing a yellow jump suit with DOC on the back?”
“Because I’m a prisoner.”
“Are you a convicted felon?”
“I wasn’t convicted. I pleaded guilty.”
“I see. And what did you plead guilty to?”
“Two counts of murder.”
“Did you commit these murders?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell the Court why you committed the murders?”
“Objection. Relevance.”
Godney faced the judge.
“A little latitude, your Honor? It will become clear in a moment.”
“All right, I’ll allow it. Overruled.”
“Mr. Downing, before you tell us why, tell us who. Who did you kill?”
“I shot the deputy U.F. Marshal and killed him. I also shot a girl.”
“Thank you. Just for the record, why did you kill the deputy?”
“I was trying to kill Nick Walker. The man I shot was dressed just like him and I thought he was Walker.”
“And you wanted to kill Walker why?”
“Because he killed my father in the war.”
Simpson was on his feet again.
“I renew my objection, your Honor.”
Godney held up both hands.
“I’m done with that, your Honor. It was merely for the record.”
“Very well. Overruled.”
“Mr. Downing, who was the girl and why did you shoot her?”
“Her name was Patsy Morehead and she was a friend of my cousin. I killed her because I thought it was the right thing to do.”
For the first time, a stir rustled through the spectators. Godney took inspiration.
“You thought it was the right thing to do? Can you explain that?”
Nicodemus Downing sighed. He stared at his hands.
“I thought Patsy was a sinful influence on my cousin. I thought she was leading Maggie astray.”
“Excuse me…your cousin’s name is Maggie?”
“Yes, sir. Maggie Downing. She lives in town, in Trimmer Springs. Patsy lived next door.”
“What was Patsy doing to lead Maggie astray?”
“She wore revealing clothes, short skirts, showed lots of skin. She painted her face. She used bad language, taking the Lord’s name in vain. She smoked marijuana. And she was all wrapped up in satanic music. Maggie was tempted by those things, and Patsy was leading her away from the faith.”
