Sissy

by Madelyn Bennett Edwards

  *

  When I woke up Friday morning, Luke was gone. I went to the kitchen, and the coffee was hot in the coffee maker. There was a note next to it.

  Sissy,

  I'm leaving for Baton Rouge after the trial adjourns today. See you in court next week.

  Yours,

  Luke

  What did he mean, that I wouldn't see him over the weekend? We always got together in Baton Rouge at the house that Lilly and I shared. On Friday nights we'd go out to dinner and he'd grill streaks at his house on Saturdays. He'd go with me to mass on Sunday, and we'd pack up and head back to Jean Ville. Had all of that changed?

  I sat in the courtroom Friday and Luke never looked at me. At lunchtime, I tried to get his attention, but he stayed huddled with his team. That afternoon there were twelve jurors in the box.

  A girl about my age took the stand. She had bleached-blonde hair and red lipstick. She wore a denim jacket over a purple T-shirt that said 'LSU,' and purple and gold sneakers.

  Luke asked her name, and she said, "Maggie Flores."

  "Are you married, Miss Flores?" Luke shifted his weight from left to right.

  "Divorced." She crossed one leg over the other and folded her hands in her lap.

  "Is Flores your married name or maiden?" Luke wrote something on his legal pad.

  "It's my given name. I didn't keep that creep's last name." She folded her arms across her chest.

  "Okay." Luke took a deep, exhausted breath. "Would you tell me whether you know the defendant, Mr. Thevenot?"

  "I don't know him, but my ex does." She stared at Thevenot with eyes that could kill.

  "What is your ex's name, Miss Flores?"

  "Keith Rousseau."

  "Judge?" Luke looked at DeYoung, then at Peter Swan, Luke's partner, who stood up. Perkins and his partner jumped from their chairs, but no one said anything. I looked over at Thevenot, who was laughing.

  "You are dismissed, Miss Flores." DeYoung watched Miss Flores until she was out of the courtroom. Luke went to the defense table and said something to Detective Sherman, who left the courtroom in a hurry. Once Miss Flores was out of the room, the judge looked at the lawyers and said, "That one slipped through the cracks. Sorry." The judge could dismiss as many prospective jurors as he thought might not be fair and impartial, and had dismissed a number of them during the course of the week, but none had been as obvious as Maggie Flores Rousseau.

  The judge called the next prospective juror, and a young man who looked like Jesus walked in wearing a dirty, once-white T-shirt, blue jeans, and flip flops. His brown hair hung in strings to his shoulders and looked as though it hadn't been shampooed in a week. He had a five-day beard and dirty fingernails. He said he worked on the pipeline and that jury duty didn't pay as much per day as he made on the job. He didn't want to serve. He didn't know Thevenot. He didn't know Rousseau. He hadn't heard about the shooting.

  "How do you feel about a black man being shot in cold blood?" Luke was wrapping up his questioning of Jeremy Blanchard.

  "I work with black men. They pull their weight. I don't see no difference." Jesus, aka Jeremy Blanchard, pursed his lips, which revealed two dimples on his unshaven face.

  "I'll accept, Your Honor." Luke sat down. Perkins had no questions, and the first alternate was seated. It was obvious that Mr. Blanchard was unhappy he'd been picked, and didn't understand what he'd said to make him a winner.

  Several potential jurors followed Blanchard, but DeYoung rejected them because they had their minds made up one way or the other or they were blatantly prejudiced. At five fifteen, the jury was missing one alternate. The judge called the lawyers to his chambers, and I later learned that DeYoung went over some of the Jurors who'd been rejected by either side and asked if they would reconsider seating one of them as an alternate.

  At six o'clock, the lawyers returned through the main door, and the judge entered through his back door.

  "We've seated our second alternate from the pool who'd been rejected, agreed to by both teams of attorneys. We have our jury. The trial of the State of Louisiana vs. Tucker Thevenot will begin at eight o'clock Monday morning. This court is adjourned." He banged the gavel on his desk and left the courtroom.

  *

  I remained in my seat behind the defense table until everyone left but Luke, Detective Sherman, and Peter Swan. They talked for a long time, bent over the desk, taking notes. Finally, they stood up and began to pack their briefcases. Swan left first, followed by Sherman. When Luke stood up and headed for the door, I cleared my throat. He turned around and saw me holding my purse in both hands across my chest. He froze.

  "Can we talk?" I whispered. I didn't want any of the ghosts of the people who'd once been in the gallery to hear me.

  "Nothing to talk about, Sissy." He looked at his shoes while his briefcase swung a few inches back and forth.

  "Please, Luke. I deserve an explanation." I stared at his blonde hair that hung over his forehead, his head tilted down.

  "I don't know what to say." He finally lifted his head and looked at me, holding back tears.

  "Are you breaking up with me?" I wanted to cry, too, but I couldn't let him see how much I cared about him, something I didn't know myself until I realized I could lose him.

  "Is there anything to break up?" He shifted his briefcase from his right hand to his left and looked from me to his feet, then back at me.

  "I thought there was. Was I mistaken?" I took a couple of steps towards him, and he put his briefcase on the floor. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. "Please don't be stubborn, Luke. You're exhausted. You don't need to drive to Baton Rouge tonight. I'll call Lilly and ask her to stay with the Morrises until I get there tomorrow." He grinned, and I thought he was about to agree with me, then he picked up his briefcase and turned around. "Luke?" He walked out the door, and I heard him take the stairs two at a time, then the sound disappeared into nothingness.

  I sat in the pew in the empty courtroom with my purse in my lap and started to cry. A woman deputy came in to turn out the lights and saw me. She paused for a moment, then sat next to me and put her arm over my shoulder. Her empathy made me cry harder. She let me sob for a long time and patted my shoulder every now and then. I wondered if I would have been a more well-adjusted person if my mother had ever done that for me.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ***

  Trial

  SUSIE AND RODNEY met with Luke and his team in a private room across from the courtroom at seven o'clock Monday morning. I arrived at about seven thirty and took a seat on the pew behind the defense table, saving seats for Rodney, Susie, and Lilly. Susie told me that Marianne and Dr. Warner were coming Wednesday night because Luke thought they would testify on Thursday.

  At seven fifty-five, Susie rolled Rodney into the courtroom, which was filled with spectators. She parked his wheelchair in the aisle next to the first pew and sat on the end next to him. Lilly sat next to her, then Mr. and Mrs. Thibault, then me. Rodney was dressed in a dark suit, white starched shirt, navy, red, white, and pink tie, and gold cufflinks. He looked handsome and sophisticated. Susie was her ever-beautiful, classy self in a navy suit with a white silk blouse and multi-colored scarf. I wondered what the jury would think of them, whether Susie and Rodney would garner sympathy or make those who were prejudiced more apt to want to let Thevenot off with a slap on the wrist.

  Luke ignored me when he walked into the courtroom behind Peter Swan, and they joined the rest of their team seated at the prosecution's table. My eyes bored a hole in Luke's back when he sat down and faced the judge's bench. It had only been a few days, but I was miserable without him. I had to think of a way to get him to talk to me.

  The bailiff cried out, "All rise. Hear ye, hear ye! The Judicial District Court in and for the Parish of Toussaint is now opened according to law; the Honorable Edward DeYoung, presiding. Silence and order are commanded. Please be seated."

  J
udge DeYoung entered through the door behind the bench with some files under one arm.

  "You don't have to stand every time I enter the courtroom." The judge stood behind the bench and smiled at the gallery, then at the lawyers. The fourteen jurors came through the main door and walked in single file down the aisle, through the swinging gate, between the prosecution and defense tables, and into the jury box, which had seven seats on the bottom row and seven on the top. The judge told them that they were to sit in the same seats at all times as they would be numbered—Juror #1, Juror #2, and so on.

  The judge took his time giving the jury instructions. He told them that the prosecution, which was called, 'The State,' was represented by the attorney general and that The State would make an opening statement to outline their case and the evidence they expected to present.

  "After The State gives their opening statement, the defense may give an opening statement, too, but they are under no obligation to do so." DeYoung explained that the opening statements were not evidence, only what the lawyers expected the evidence would be. He reiterated that it was up to the prosecution to prove that Mr. Thevenot was guilty and that the defense was not required to call witnesses because Thevenot was already considered innocent until proven guilty beyond a reasonable doubt.

  "As jurors, you are the sole judges of the facts of this case." He paused and looked each of the fourteen jurors in the eye. "You must rely on your memory, you may not take notes. It is very important that you give this case your close attention."

  I watched the faces of some of the jurors. Mr. Bourbon kept nodding his head as though he understood what the judge was saying. Jesus, aka Blanchard, looked fidgety and anxious, as though he needed a cigarette. Mrs. Jones’s eyes were closed, and her hands folded in her lap as though praying. Mr. Moore from Oregon looked confused.

  "From this point on, during breaks and any other time until the trial is over, I'm going to ask you to refrain from reading any newspapers, watching any TV, or listening to any radio stations." He looked down at his notes and back up at the jurors. "Also, do your best not to discuss this trial when you go home, not with your significant others or friends or family members."

  After the Judge completed his introduction, Tucker Thevenot's attorney, John Perkins, called for a bench conference and asked that the witnesses be sequestered. The Judge ordered all witnesses to leave the courtroom. Susie and Rodney were not required to leave since they were the victims in the case, but Susie took the opportunity to push Rodney in his wheelchair into the hallway, and Lilly followed them. Susie later told me that they didn't want to hear all of the testimony, and that sitting through the trial would be physically difficult for Rodney. He and Susie both wanted to save their strength for their own testimonies later in the week. I had not been subpoenaed, so I remained in the gallery with Rodney's parents.

  *

  Luke walked to the podium and put his legal pad on top.

  "On June 30, 1984, a retired army major, a JAG officer who served our country for ten years, who did a tour in Vietnam and returned to Louisiana to marry the girl he had loved since he was sixteen years old, was shot and almost killed." Luke paused and looked at the jury. "When the couple walked out of the church on their wedding day at one ten in the afternoon, shots rang out, and a blue truck with license plate 37L402 sped north on Jefferson Street.

  "Major Thibault, who is military trained, used his quick reflexes when he saw the shooter. The major immediately turned to protect his wife, shaving a split second off the time it took for the bullets to reach the couple, thereby taking both bullets himself. The first bullet went through the major's arm, exited and entered his back, lodging near his right lung. That bullet was meant for his wife, Susanna. The bullet meant to strike the major between his eyes, entered above his right ear.

  "Major Thibault's quick thinking took Susie to the ground, which was a concrete platform in front of the church. He landed on top of her. The back of Susie's head split open when she hit the pavement, and she suffered a severe brain injury. She was first taken to Jean Ville Hospital, where doctors took her to surgery and placed a drain in her head to minimize the fluid build up.

  "Major Thibault was taken by ambulance to Alexandria Regional Hospital, but due to the severity of his injuries was immediately airlifted to Ochsner Medical Center in New Orleans where he lay in a coma, hovering between life and death for weeks. He spent months in the hospital, having to learn all of the basic things we learn as children: how to make words, how to hold a fork, how to button a shirt and tie a shoe.

  "Sadly, Major Thibault is still unable to walk. You will see him when he testifies. His speech is slow and sometimes slurred. He is in a wheelchair.

  "Maybe African Americans are raised to believe it is their lot in life to be brutalized by white people. Maybe you believe that, too. If you do, I ask you to open your minds. This is 1984, not 1864. We have a Constitution that says, 'All men are created equal and are entitled to certain unalienable rights.' Remember this when you hear the testimony. If any of you believes that a person who does such an atrocious thing to a white man ought to be punished, but if he does this to a black man he deserves a pass, you should tell the judge of your prejudices now and be excused. If you cannot sit in that jury box and see all of these people, witnesses, defendant, and victims as God's children, people who deserve the same things that all American citizens deserve, you should not be on this jury.

  "Mr. Thevenot shot the major and his wife with intent to kill them. He planned the shooting in advance—premeditated. Mr. Thevenot never served in the military, never went to Vietnam, he didn't fight for you. He…never…fought…for…you." Luke said the last five words very slowly and emphasized the word, never.

  "Remember that as you listen to the evidence and hear the witnesses. Thank you." Luke nodded at the jurors, and I presume he smiled at them with his charming grin, the one that had captured my heart. He went back to his table and sat down, his shoulders slumped ever so slightly as though what he'd said had taken a great deal of energy. I wanted to hug him.

  *

  John Perkins strolled to the podium with a swagger and the arrogance of someone who believes he is right and everyone else is wrong. I wondered whether the jurors would respect him, fear him, hate him, or love him.

  "Ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for your service." He put his legal pad down, took a pen from his pocket, and clicked the top a few times. "Once The State has presented its evidence, I think you will agree that it is inconclusive. They cannot prove that the bullets that hit Mr. Thibault came from my client's gun, nor can they prove that my client pulled the trigger. All they can prove is that a blue truck stopped in front of St. Alphonse's Catholic Church and someone in the cab, maybe the driver, maybe a passenger, shot twice and the truck sped off. There will be no eyewitnesses who can say with 100% accuracy and assurance, that my client shot a gun from that truck.

  "The State will tell you that the truck belongs to a man named Keith Rousseau, who is a friend of my client. They will tell you that Rousseau and my client have been known to terrorize black folks. The State will try to make you believe that my client and Mr. Rousseau have used violence against black folks in the past. Don't be fooled by The State's spin on things—even if they are able to convince you that my client terrorized black people in the past, they will not be able to convince you, beyond a reasonable doubt, that my client shot a gun at Rodney Thibault.

  "Yes, they will show you evidence that my client has a gun like the one the bullets came from that injured Mr. Thibault. They will bring witnesses who will say they have seen my client in Mr. Rousseau's truck from time to time." John Perkins paused. I thought about how I had seen Tucker Thevenot riding in Keith Rousseau's truck and that they had been at my brother's house together. I felt a dark cloud of gloom settle over me and wrap around me like a rough blanket.

  "The State will call witnesses who will tell you awful things that Mr. Thevenot has done in the past in hope
s of showing you that my client has violent tendencies towards black people. None of this…I repeat, none of this is evidence that proves, beyond a reasonable doubt, that my client was the one who shot Mr. Thibault.

  "Thank you." John Perkins sauntered back to his seat and sat down hard. He stared at the jurors without blinking.

  *

  "Ladies and gentlemen, that concludes the opening statements." Judge DeYoung leaned forward on his desk to get closer to the jurors. "We will now begin with the presentation of evidence, first by The State. Mr. McMath?"

  Luke strolled to the podium. "The state calls Catherine Saucier."

  A young white woman about my age, with dark, curly hair came through the door and walked up to the witness chair. I recognized her from somewhere but couldn't place her. I tried to think of her ten years younger without the dark, frizzy hair, but rather with long, shiny black hair that hung down her back. I finally remembered her as Callie Smith. She was from an area outside of Jean Ville known as Bayou Boeuf.

  My skin began to burn as I remembered being with Warren and his friends one night at a football game. We were drinking beer in the parking lot when we heard a ruckus and ran through the gate in time to see Tucker Thevenot and Keith Rousseau grab a girl who I later realized was Callie. They pulled her under the bleachers, and I watched, statue-like, as Keith held her down and Tucker pulled a gun out of his pocket and got in her face, yelling, "You better keep away from that nigga-boy, you hear? Or you'll be sorry." He pulled at her clothes, and I thought he was going to rape her, but instead, he rammed his pistol between her bare legs and said, "The next time won't be a warning. We don't accept our white girls fooling around with no black boys, you hear?" Then he hit her across her forehead with the gun.

  She cried for help, but none of us lifted a finger.

  She had been a beautiful girl, slim with big boobs and a gregarious personality. When I realized the woman in the witness box was Callie, I felt sick to my stomach. What kind of person had I been back then?