Injustice for all jd-3

by Scott Pratt

  “It’s good to be here,” Aunt Mary said.

  Aunt Mary put her hand on Katie’s shoulder. “This is Katie,” she said. “Katie, this is Lottie, my good friend.”

  “Nice to meet you, Miss Katie,” Lottie said in a soft, smooth, Southern way. She knelt down and hugged her. “You’re gonna be real happy here. Real happy.”

  Katie heard the sound coming from behind the door again-“ nnggghhaaaaah ”-and looked nervously up at Aunt Mary.

  “He knows you’re here,” Lottie said to Aunt Mary. “He’s missed you something terrible.”

  “Why don’t you take Katie upstairs and get her settled?” Aunt Mary said. “I’ll look in on him.”

  Lottie picked up Katie’s suitcase with one hand, wrapped the other around Katie’s hand, and led her toward the stairs. Katie looked back over her shoulder and saw Aunt Mary disappear into the same room from which Lottie had emerged. She heard the bawling sound again, this time much louder.

  “That’s Luke,” Lottie said as they made their way slowly up the stairs. “He’s a special boy. I expect you’ll meet him tomorrow.”

  7

  “I gave these damned things up a long time ago,” Ray Miller says as he blows a smoke ring toward the night sky and leans against the rail on the deck. “Now look at me.”

  Dinner was awkward. Caroline fixed lasagna and salad, and she and Toni chatted while we all downed a couple of glasses of wine. After dessert, Ray stepped outside to smoke, and I tagged along to keep him company. I don’t know how much he had to drink before he came over, but he seems lethargic and distracted. He hasn’t uttered a complete sentence since he walked in the door.

  I, too, lean against the rail, not knowing what to say. I know all about the turmoil surrounding his life, but I don’t know whether he wants to talk about it. I finally decide to breach the line.

  “So, how are you holding up?” I try to be nonchalant as I search out the Big Dipper to the north. I hear him take a short breath, as though I’ve startled him.

  “You don’t want to know,” Ray says. He’s a substantial man, and his voice is a deep baritone.

  “Sure I do, Ray. I’m your friend, remember?”

  Ray takes a long drag off the cigarette. The smoke rises slowly around his tired face, framing it eerily for a brief moment before disappearing into the darkness.

  “We got a foreclosure notice in the mail this afternoon,” he says. “We’re three months behind on the mortgage.”

  “Why didn’t you say something? I’ll loan you some money.”

  “I appreciate it, but I don’t borrow money from my friends.”

  “You’ll pay it back.”

  “You don’t understand, Joe. I’m three months behind now. It’s going to be at least another six months before I can get a hearing in front of the board. If I get my license back, which isn’t guaranteed by any means, it’ll take me another six months to get back on my feet. The mortgage is twenty-five hundred a month. You want to loan me thirty grand that I won’t be able to pay back for a year or two?”

  “Sure. Caroline has taken good care of our money. I can handle thirty grand.”

  “Thanks, buddy,” he says, “but I can’t accept. I just can’t. I wish I’d had your foresight. Saved a bunch of money, you know? God knows I’ve made a lot of it in the past fifteen years. But I grew up with nothing, and I’ve always wanted Toni and Tommy to have the best of everything. Nice home, nice cars, nice clothes, good food. And Christmas? I’m a damned fool at Christmastime. Toni calls me Santa.”

  “I know,” I say, smiling at the thought. Ray spends thousands on food and gifts for underprivileged families every year. He donates to churches and welfare organizations. “I’ve seen what you do at Christmas.”

  “I’m not that far in debt except for the mortgage, but Tommy’s college expenses ate up almost all of our savings.”

  Duke University’s baseball program gave Tommy a scholarship that paid for half of his tuition and his books. But Ray pays the rest: the other half of the tuition, Tommy’s food and clothing, his car and insurance and gasoline, the rent for his apartment, his walking-around money. Ray has told me that it costs him nearly forty thousand dollars a year to keep Tommy in school at Duke.

  “If it weren’t for Toni’s job, we’d starve,” Ray says.

  I shake my head and sigh. “Amazing, isn’t it? The power that one man can have over another just because he wears an ugly black dress.”

  “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve dreamed about killing him. I’d like to kill him slowly.”

  His tone is ominous. I decide to change the subject.

  “Isn’t there anything else you can do for a while? For money?”

  “Like what? I’ve been on the front page of the newspaper four times already. Green’s got everybody thinking I’m some kind of criminal, a whack job lurking in the shadows, just waiting for my opportunity to take down the entire system. Nobody around here is going to hire me. Besides, the only thing I know how to do is practice law.”

  “I heard about Tommy having to leave Duke.” I look over at Ray. “I’m sorry, Ray, truly sorry.”

  Ray’s shoulders slump forward and his head drops. I can hear him breathing slowly in the stillness.

  “That’s the worst part of all this,” he says. “The effect it’s having on my wife and son. Tommy acts like it’s no problem. He hasn’t complained, hasn’t said a word about it other than to tell me he knows I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “And Toni? Everything good with her?”

  “I think it’s beginning to wear on her. I’m not exactly a joy to live with these days, and she loves the house. Losing the house will tear her up. And the thought of her being torn up tears me up.”

  I look at him and see a tear glistening on his cheek. He wipes it away with the back of his hand.

  “Jesus,” he says. “I’m acting like a child.”

  “Don’t apologize. I probably would have fallen on my sword by now.”

  Ray turns toward me. His eyes lock on to mine briefly, then drop toward the ground.

  “Do you remember a couple of years back?” he says, his head still down. “I think you’d just started at the DA’s office. Judge Glass had charged Sheriff Bates with contempt over something stupid, and your office refused to prosecute. Didn’t you handle that in court?”

  I remember it vividly. Judge Ivan Glass, the cranky, seventysomething judge, was presiding over an afternoon hearing two years ago when a question arose about a policy at the sheriff’s department. Judge Glass told a bailiff to telephone Sheriff Leon Bates and order him to come to court to testify and clear up the matter. Sheriff Bates politely told the bailiff he was busy. Judge Glass told the bailiff to call back and tell the sheriff if he didn’t come to court immediately he’d be charged with contempt. The sheriff told the bailiff to tell the judge to kiss his biscuits, and the judge filed the contempt charge. When the day came for the hearing, I went into court, and on behalf of the district attorney’s office, told Judge Glass he had no authority to order the sheriff into court, that the charge had no basis in law or fact, and that the district attorney’s office refused to prosecute the case. The courtroom was packed with Bates’s political supporters, and Judge Glass was forced to back down and drop the charge against the sheriff.

  “Yeah, I handled it,” I say.

  “I hate to ask you, but what are the chances of your doing the same thing for me? I have to go in front of the son of a bitch on Monday.”

  “Who? Judge Green?”

  “Plea deadline on the contempt charge. All you’d have to do is go in there and say the DA’s office refuses to prosecute. It’s a bullshit charge and everybody knows it.”

  “I’ve already talked to Mooney about it. I begged him. He doesn’t want to get involved.”

  “Why?” Ray says. “What’s the difference between me and Bates? What’s the difference between Glass and Green?”

  “Think about it.”

  R
ay flips the ashes off his cigarette and puts the butt in his pocket. He pauses for a long moment.

  “Oh, I’ve thought about it. Believe me.”

  “Bates is probably the most popular sheriff we’ve ever had in this county,” I say. “Mooney helped Bates out, hoping it would benefit him politically somewhere down the road. That’s all it was.”

  “And Green has already announced he’s not going to run for another term, assuming someone doesn’t kill him before this term expires. So there’s no upside for Mooney if he gets involved.”

  “Exactly. I’m sorry, Ray.”

  “Forget it.”

  “Take it to trial. Surely a jury will see what’s happening and do the right thing.”

  “I appreciate the advice,” he says, “but if you can’t help, I’ve got something a little more dramatic in mind.”

  “Like what?”

  “You’ll see on Monday,” he says, and he turns and walks back into the house.

  8

  “Aren’t you coming to see the show?”

  I look up from an attempted murder file into the face of Tanner Jarrett. He’s wearing his perpetual smile.

  “What show is that?”

  “Ray Miller’s in court. Judge Green sent word that he’s going to call Miller up first thing.”

  “Yeah, I was planning on coming down.” I’ve been thinking about what Ray said, about his doing something dramatic, all weekend.

  “I hate this,” Tanner says. “It’s a lousy case, and Miller seems like a good guy. Being the new kid on the block sucks sometimes.”

  “Why don’t you just walk in there and tell Green there’s no case and refuse to prosecute? Show everybody you’ve got some balls, son.”

  “Mooney and my dad would both cut them off as soon as I walked out of the courtroom,” Tanner says. “I’ll leave that kind of stuff to you old guys.”

  I stand and smile at Tanner. “Is Mooney coming?”

  “He took a week of vacation.”

  “You’re kidding. He went to a conference last week. He didn’t say anything to me about going on vacation this week.”

  “He’s the boss. I guess he can do whatever he wants.”

  Tanner and I make our way downstairs to the courtroom, and I take a seat in the jury box. The place is full of defense lawyers and prosecutors, most of whom have no business with the court; they’re there just to see if a battle erupts. There are about thirty people in the gallery, two television news camera crews, and a smattering of reporters. The atmosphere is tense and subdued. I look around and see Ray sitting in the back row. Toni isn’t with him. Ray won’t let her come. He’s told me he’s too ashamed.

  Judge Green enters the courtroom and his clerk calls the case of State of Tennessee versus Raymond Miller. Ray walks slowly, almost unsteadily, toward the front, wearing a black suit, a black shirt, and a black tie. His hair, which has grayed significantly over the past six months, is pulled back tightly into a ponytail. His forehead is deeply lined, his eyes dark and intense. His back looks to be as wide as a sheet of plywood. He attempts to stand straight at the defense table, but I notice he’s swaying slightly. He stares at Judge Green. Tanner silently rises from his seat at the prosecution table.

  “Mr. Miller,” Judge Green says, “you’ve been charged with contempt of court in the presence of the court based upon your failure to show up at the appointed time and your failure to notify any court personnel. You’re here today for a plea deadline. I see you haven’t hired counsel.”

  “I don’t need counsel,” Ray says curtly.

  “You know what they say about the man who represents himself in court,” the judge says. “He has a fool for a client.”

  There is a lingering silence in the courtroom, and as I sit there watching, I imagine that the entire building is shuddering, as though it’s trying to shake off the tension inside. Ray’s jaw tightens, and his chin juts forward. He begins to speak, very slowly.

  “Because of you, I’ve lost nearly everything I’ve spent my life working for.” His speech is almost imperceptibly slurred. Only someone who has spent as much time with Ray as I have would notice. He continues, “I’ve also lost my livelihood, my reputation, my-”

  “Anything that’s happened to you, you’ve brought on yourself,” Judge Green interrupts.

  “ I’m not finished! ” Ray roars, and Judge Green, suddenly intimidated, seems to sink in his high-backed leather chair.

  “What you’ve done to me is inexcusable. I’ve done everything in my power to try to put a stop to it, but you just won’t quit. You’re a pathetic excuse for a man, an embarrassment to the judiciary, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to stand here and let you call me a fool!”

  “You’re in contempt again,” Judge Green says, trying unsuccessfully to look brave. “Bailiff, take Mr. Miller over to the jail.”

  “You’re right about that.” Ray lets out a sardonic chuckle. “I have more contempt for you than you could ever imagine.”

  Ray’s right hand slides quickly inside his jacket. When it reappears, it’s holding a revolver. Without saying a word, he points the pistol at Judge Green.

  Boom!

  The shot is deafening in the confined area of the courtroom. I see smoke pour out of the gun barrel and I freeze, unable to believe what I’m witnessing. Ray pulls the trigger a second time, and another ear-splitting roar reverberates off the walls. I glance at Judge Green. He’s scrambling to get beneath the bench. I’m conscious of women screaming, men yelling, bailiffs dashing forward. I start climbing over the two rows of seats in front of me, yelling Ray’s name.

  A bailiff moves to within five feet of Ray, his gun pointed at Ray’s head.

  “Put the gun down! Now!” the bailiff screams. Another is approaching from the rear.

  Ray looks at the bailiff. Then he looks back at the bench, where Judge Green-dead, wounded, or cowering-has disappeared.

  Then Ray looks at me.

  “Good-bye, my friend,” he says calmly. “I didn’t deserve this.”

  He opens his mouth wide, inserts the pistol barrel, and, before I can get to him, pulls the trigger.

  9

  Katie Dean awoke to a house filled with the smells of clean cotton sheets and pillowcases, coffee brewing, and sausage frying. Sunlight was spilling through her window upstairs, and when she lifted her head to look outside, the view nearly took her breath away. The mountains to the east were dazzling with color-deep reds, brilliant oranges, and golds. It looked as though they’d been covered with a gigantic, multicolored quilt. She pulled the covers back and looked around at her new bedroom. The walls were plaster and had been painted gold. The hardwood floor next to the bed was covered by a dark orange woven rug. There was a small closet just off the foot of the bed and a chest of drawers against the wall near the door. Framed photographs of Katie’s mother and brothers and sister covered the chest and a small nightstand next to the bed. Some of her drawings had been hung on the wall by the window. She walked to the closet in her stocking feet and saw that her clothes had already been unpacked and were hanging neatly in a row.

  Katie slowly descended the stairs. When she was halfway down, she saw him for the first time. His bed had been rolled into the living room. His head was turned away from her, toward a television set. He was covered from the neck down with a sheet and blanket. All Katie could see was his hair, which was the same color as that of the bright red squirrels that lived in the trees in her yard back in Michigan. Katie stopped, sat down on the stairs, and watched him through the railing.

  Lottie walked into the den from the kitchen a few seconds later. She noticed Katie immediately.

  “I knew the smell of sausage would bring you outta that bed. Come on down here and meet Mister Luke.”

  Lottie reached her hand upward from the bottom of the steps, but Katie hesitated.

  “Don’t be scared now, child. Like I told you last night, Luke’s a special boy.”

  Lottie’s voice and manner were soothing
, so Katie stood and took her hand. Lottie led her to the side of the bed. Katie noticed it was just like the bed in which she’d lain for two months at the hospital.

  “Mister Luke,” Lottie said, “this is Miss Katie. Ain’t she just a beautiful angel?”

  Katie looked curiously into Luke’s brown eyes. He was small and incredibly thin, his skin as pale as the white sand beaches on the shores of Lake Michigan. The boy’s eyes widened, his body began to jerk, and he let out a strange, guttural wail.

  “See? He’s happy to meet you,” Lottie said.

  “Hi,” Katie said softly as Luke continued to squirm. She was a bit uneasy, because she’d never seen anyone quite like Luke. He obviously couldn’t talk or move around on his own. The noises he made were unsettling, and the jerky motions were almost frightening, but Katie continued to smile.

  “You go back to watching your TV now,” Lottie said to Luke. “I’m gonna get this young lady some breakfast. I’ll bring yours in directly. The two of you can get acquainted later on.”

  Once again, Lottie took Katie by the hand and led her into a small kitchen surrounded by windows that overlooked the back of the property and the mountains beyond.

  “Do you know where you are, honey?” Lottie said.

  “Tennessee,” Katie said quietly.

  “Gatlinburg, Tennessee. One of the most beautiful places on God’s green earth.” Lottie pointed out a side window. “That’s Roaring Fork Road, and just a few miles over that ridge is the town of Gatlinburg.”

  Lottie waved a hand toward the mountains.

  “And all of that, as far as the eye can see, is the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. We live right on the border. Now you just sit yourself right down here and let me get some food into you. We believe in a good breakfast around here.”

  Katie watched in fascination as Lottie piled two eggs, two sausage patties, fried potatoes, and a slice of tomato on her plate. On another plate was a biscuit. Next to it was a small bowl of gravy, a saucer with a stick of butter on it, and a jar of blackberry preserves. On yet another plate was a mixture of apple and banana slices and grapes, flanked by a tall glass of orange juice.