by Owen Thomas
“What happened next?”
“I thought he was going to fire me on the spot and call the cops.”
“Did he?”
“No. He took the pot and left. He never mentioned it again.”
“So, let me get this straight. He catches you red-handed with marijuana.”
“Right.”
“He obviously never fired you.”
“No.”
“Never suspended you.”
“No.”
“So if I tell you that he testified earlier today that he couldn’t tolerate even the possibility that one of his teachers might possess, buy or sell any illegal drug, and that the very possibility that I might be such a teacher was one of the reasons for my termination, is that testimony consistent with what you have experienced?”
“No. Like I said, he never mentioned it again. Until after you were suspended.”
“Until after I was suspended? Me? A full year later?”
“Yeah.”
“What did he say?”
“Objection!”
“Overruled.”
“Your honor…”
“Your objection is noted. Please return to your seat, Mr. Etus. Mr. Shepherd, please answer the question.”
“He was investigating you and the whole Billy Rocks thing. We were in his office. He said I’d probably be called to testify. He said the cops had strong suspicions that you had given the girls – Brittany and Carmen – drugs. I told him I did not see anything like that. He shook his head. He said that I needed to search my memory. He said as long as I was searching my memory, he might not have to search my backpack. I knew what he meant.”
“What did he mean?”
“He wanted me to bury you.”
“That’s why they called you as a witness. You were supposed to be a ringer.”
“Yeah.”
“Objection!”
“They subpoenaed you to make it look good.”
“Objection!” Etus is back on his feet. “Who’s testifying here? And there’s a complete lack of foundation for any of this, Judge.”
“Sustained.”
“I’m sorry Dave,” says Shepp. It is easily the most sincere I have ever seen him look. I look at Glenda. She winks.
“Shepp, what happened to the nickel bags?”
“A month after they were confiscated, Principal Robertson called the police in to search the lockers of three students. Remember?”
And I do remember. I remember the incongruous sight of police officers in the school hallway, two of them watching a third unload locker contents onto the floor as Robertson paced slowly up and down the empty hallway with his arms crossed. I remember wondering who the locker belonged to and thinking the world was going to hell. I remember thinking guns or drugs. I remember learning later that the students were Darrin Burke and Freddy Hoyer and Desiree Warner and that the contraband at issue was dope. I remember being disappointed in them. I remember not liking any of them and writing them off as fuck-ups.
“Yes,” I say, trying not to choke on the irony. “I remember.”
“And they found some things.”
“Yeah, they found my Elvis-Meets-Nixon photo. I mean… do you recall Mr. Shepherd, that they found my Elvis-Meets Nixon photo?”
There is a sound of exasperation from Etus and Archoni rolls his eyes.
“Right. And they found my long lost frog and a handful of other trinkets from the teaching staff. They had a scavenger hunt going. Big deal, right? But they also found a total of three nickel bags of pot.”
“How? I mean, how did the police know to search those lockers?”
“I have no idea. I can’t even prove that the pot was mine.”
“But it’s your opinion…”
“Yeah. It was mine. I’m sure of it.”
“It’s your opinion they were framed?”
“Yes.”
“Objection.”
“Sustained.” Archoni clears his throat. “Time to move on Mr. Johns.”
“Did you complain?” But I know the answer and the reason before I can finish.
“No, man. I couldn’t prove anything and he had me by the… well, he had me.” Shepp’s eyes well up. He wipes them and sniffles.
Glenda kicks my foot. I look at the screen.
Why? Why expelled?
“Shepp, Mr. Shepherd, do you have any idea why those kids were expelled?”
“Objection, your honor,” says Etus, trying to hold his temper. “Irrelevant, waste of time, lack of foundation.”
“The objections are noted for the record, Mr. Etus. I’ll hear the testimony.”
It is a few seconds before Shepp answers.
“The CRCT’s.”
“I don’t….”
“The tests. The … whatever they’re called…”
“The Criterion-Referenced…”
“Yeah. The Criterion-Referenced Competency Tests. Darrin and Freddy were expelled so they would not be able to take the test. So was Desiree Warner, a week later.”
“Another poor performer,” I say, nodding.
“Yeah,” says Shepp.
“Objection,” snaps Etus. “That’s not a question. Your Honor, they are up there just having a friendly chat. This is not proper. If Ms. Laveau is going to lecture me about rising intonations, then fair is fair.”
“Sustained.”
“Sorry, Judge. Mr. Shepherd, was Ms. Warner also a poor academic performer?”
“Yes.”
“And do you recall how Wilson High School performed last year in the CRCTs?”
“Yes. Everybody does. We met the adequate yearly progress standard. We kept our Distinguished rating. By the skin of our teeth.”
“And what does it mean under the No Child Left Behind law when a school earns a Distinguished rating?”
I know the answer. I assume Judge Archoni knows it too. But there is no harm in stating the obvious.
“It means money. It means bonuses. Programs. Money for white boards and microscopes and another computer for the library and a second custodian. It means an article in the paper and another plaque on the wall of the Principal’s office.”
“Did Principal Robertson ever talk to you about the testing results?”
“Well, we had that big congratulatory pep assembly and the speech about priorities and pulling together and about Wilson High Lion Pride.”
“Anything else?”
“After the pep assembly our paths crossed in the parking lot. Principal Robertson asked if I was happy to be getting a bonus for good school performance. I told him that every little bit helps. He kind of squeezed my shoulder and said he wondered how Darrin and Freddy would have done on the CRCT. He kind of laughed and walked off. That’s when I knew.”
“Knew what? That the Principal of Wilson High had pocketed…”
“Objection!”
“… your pot to frame at least three students…”
“Objection!”
“… so that he could help preserve a bullshit rating for the sake of cash, prizes and a photo op?”
“Objection!” Etus is on his feet trying to fly. “This is rank, baseless, speculation at best. At worst, this is actionable defamation. In either case, it is calculated distraction and completely and utterly irrelevant!”
“Mr. Etus! I can hear you. You needn’t yell.”
“I’m sorry, Your Honor, it’s just…”
“Sit!”
Etus sits, all but frothing. I look past Etus to Principal Robert B. Robertson III. He is frozen in rage, the veins in his neck stretched like the rigging of a three-masted schooner in high seas.
“Mr. Johns, you are in overtime with this witness. Because you are not represented by counsel, I have given you more latitude than would normally be the case. I am constrained to agree with Mr. Etus that, as disturbing as I find this testimony, I find little direct relevance to your own termination.”
I glance at Glenda’s screen.
Enough. Sit down.
“
Your Honor, if I promise not to ask Mr. Shepherd another question, may he at least be permitted to answer the question I just asked?”
Archoni sighs and rubs his temples.
“The witness may answer the question. Mr. Shepherd?”
Shepp leans back in his chair and stares at the back of his hands which he has flattened on the table. There is a roar from the crowd outside which must have been growing in strength all afternoon. They are chanting now. Shepp looks up.
“When he said that to me in the parking lot, I knew then what he had done to Darrin and Freddy and why he had done it. And I knew that I would keep my job, no matter what was in my backpack, as long as kept my mouth shut and acknowledged his authority and taught for the stupid test. We were both at Billy Rocks, Dave. But you got fired. That’s because it’s all one big test, man. And you never seem to want to teach the test, Dave. You always teach the subject. That’s the problem. That’s why you got canned. Everything else is window dressing.”
Shepp crosses his arms and looks away. I look at Glenda’s computer.
Okay, NOW sit down.
“Your Honor, I don’t have anything further for Mr. Shepherd.”
“Very well. Ms. Laveau, anything from you?”
Glenda stands. “Nothing from me your honor.”
“Good answer. Mr. Etus, any redirect?”
Etus and Robertson are huddled in intense debate. They separate abruptly. One of them has lost an argument, but I cannot tell which one.
“Your Honor, the Board of Education regrets that this afternoon Mr. Shepherd has opted to assert his Fifth Amendment rights as to matters that are relevant and important to this proceeding and yet, with your Honor’s indulgence, over our strenuous objections, he has testified at length on matters about which he knows nothing and that are wholly irrelevant to this proceeding.”
“Yes or no, Mr. Etus?”
“Much as we would like to take the witness to task on his scurrilous assertions…”
“Yes or no, Mr. Etus?”
“The Board of Education does not wish to waste any more time with irrelevant testimony and will clarify the matter beyond all question with the next witness.”
“So that would be a no, then?”
“Correct.”
“Thank you.”
“But while we are agreeable to excusing Mr. Shepherd for now, we do reserve the right to recall him as a rebuttal witness if necessary.”
“Very well. Mr. Shepherd, you may step down, but since you may be recalled, you must wait out in the hall.”
Shepp steps down and heads for the gate. He stops in mid-stride and backtracks. Sticks out his hand. We shake. He looks half-dead.
“Thanks Shepp,” I say.
“Don’t thank me. I don’t deserve that. Good luck, Dude.”
Glenda swats him on the leg and he shuffles on. I rotate left in time to see Mae working her way to the back of the courtroom. I imagine their hallway reunion expecting it to hurt. I am strangely relieved he will have someone to talk to.
I rotate the other direction to hazard a glance towards my father. My eyes do not make it past Ben. His face is like a Jackson Pollock masterpiece, scarred with streaks of purple and brown. I yank six tissues from the box on my table and hand them back over the wall. He wipes his face with only moderate success and hands the sticky wad back to me. I drop it in the trash and instinctively lick the sticky grape residue off the side of my hand. The woman behind me makes a face of disgust. I want to swipe my finger across the splotch of purple jelly that Ben missed on his cheek and stick it directly into her eyeball. Archoni’s voice stops me short.
“Mr. Etus, your next witness.”
“Your Honor, the Board of Education calls Detective Charles Leonard North of the Columbus Ohio Division of Police.”
Chuck North pushes so hard through the gate that it slams up against Glenda’s chair. He takes his seat at the witness stand almost before I know he is in the room. He sits heavily, glowers at me, clenching his prodigious jaw, and then looks away. His eyes dart back to me and then away again. He scans the room self-consciously for an instant and then bores through me again.
The look means one thing. I don’t need a translator. He’s going to tear me to shreds. Whatever headway I made with Mark Shepherd will soon be forgotten. Mel Etus was smart to let Shepp go. Chuck North has all the dirt on me they need and Shepp will come off looking like a pot-headed liar covering for his friend-in-weed.
But as certain as I am that North’s testimony will be the last nail in my coffin, I am left awash in uncertainty about the demeanor of this man that I have, through repeated unpleasant encounters, come to know. I have never seen him this…this genuinely emotional. He is angry, to be sure. Off-the-chart, five-alarm-fire angry. But there is something else at work on that face.
There is lots of rage, but no control. In retrospect, I am astute enough to know that on the occasions North has yelled at me and threatened me in the interrogation room, most of that was just saber-rattling show. He has wanted to shake me up; scare me into divulging whatever secrets he thought I was harboring. Test my story under pressure. But he was always in control. Even at the start of the hearing, before he left the courtroom to wait in the hallway, the harsh looks were all about intimidation; the equivalent of trash-talking the other team before the big game.
But now… Chuck North has lost control. It’s personal. And it has nothing to do with being outed as an ABBA fanatic.
He fixes me again with that hard, darting basilisk glare. His eyes look red and swollen. The son-of-a-bitch has been crying. The truth hits me like something toxic and heavy in the pit of my stomach. I suddenly feel like I cannot breathe. Etus speaks.
“Your Honor, may I inquire into the necessity of Ms. Laveau’s continued presence, given that her client – her only interest in this matter – has been excused?”
It’s sorrow in those eyes. Desperation. I can’t tear my eyes away from him. He looks like he’s going to burst into tears. Chuck North has run out of time.
“I’m not sure of the purpose of your request, Mr. Etus?”
He’s been out there in the hallway, cooling his heels. Waiting his turn. He got a phone call or he called in for his messages or one of his partners came over in person to deliver the news. And now, suddenly, she’s dead. The DNA tests are in. The Johnstown dumpster. Brittany Kline is dead.
“Judge, I’d just like to … I don’t see the need for any …”
Glenda, like a mountain rising from the sea, stands.
“Your Honor, may I be heard?”
“Please, Ms. Laveau.”
“My client has been excused, but not dismissed. As long as he is subject to being recalled, I intend to be in this courtroom. Now, Mr. Etus may prefer we spend our time arguing this point and that I take more time to gather my things and relocate to the back of the room, but I am an Officer of the Court, in good standing,” she points sideways at Etus, “with no reprimands, mind you, and I belong at counsel table just like he does. I asked a grand total of zero questions of the last witness and think I restrained myself admirably. I intend to ask the same number of questions of this witness, although I suppose that depends on Detective North’s testimony. I do reserve the right to question him on the record.” She stares at North, who looks away in obvious disgust. “My vote, your Honor, would be that we skip the musical chairs and get going.”
Judge Archoni nods and makes an air-stirring gesture with his hand.
“Ms. Laveau may remain. Detective, please stand and raise your right hand.”
My head is numb. I hear nothing. North stands ramrod straight and swears his allegiance to the truth. Someone should take a picture. He needs to be on a recruiting poster. He sits as Etus stands. Etus dives in on the high points of North’s impressive career in Ohio law enforcement, making sure to call him “officer” and “detective” at every opportunity. North answers in hyper-efficient, crisp, forceful bursts of sound.
I hear it all, and
yet I hear none of it. The words fly towards me, but none of them care to land and stay long enough to be comprehended. I am waving them off. I do not want to comprehend. I do not want to hear. None of this matters now. My employment status? Who the fuck cares about my employment? Brittany Kline is dead. It’s a new game with new rules and new stakes.
I want to stand up and walk out. I want to grab Ben by the wrist, duck past my father and leave them all sitting here babbling about nothing. Let them continue blathering about marijuana and Christopher Columbus. I no longer care. About anything.
Glenda is typing. The motion of her fingers in my peripheral vision snaps me into the present. I read the screen.
Brace yourself. Show no reaction.
I write one word on the lower corner of my notepad. It is the only word in my head, pounding on the inside of my skull, begging to get out.
Brittany?
She reads. Nods slowly. Types.
Yes. Keep your game face. Not over yet.
I want to scream. Etus speaks my name. I force myself to tune in.
“…Mr. Johns as the subject of your investigation?”
“That’s correct.”
“And did you learn anything in the course of your investigation of Mr. Johns to cause you concern that he may have had a sexual interest in Ms. Kline?”
“Witness statements indicated that Mr. Johns was present at Billy Rocks on …”
“Detective, we will get to Billy Rocks in a moment. Let me refine the question a bit. As part of your investigation, you looked into Mr. John’s personal history, correct?”
“Oh. Yes.”
“Personal interviews or record research?”
“Both.”
“And did you learn anything of note as a part of that historical research?”
“I learned that Mr. Johns was expelled from the Vanguard Academy when he was sixteen for having non-consensual sexual contact with a young girl.”
I am on my feet on a tide of excited murmuring that is swelling behind me. Judge Archoni looks at me, expectantly, one hand raised to silence further testimony.
“Mr. Johns?”
I try to form the words. It takes several attempts.
