“I cannot account for it. It may be that the Devil afflicts them in my shape.”
This was an interesting point of law. What had Bernard said about it? The judges put their heads together to consider whether the Devil could assume the shape of an innocent person.
“No,” Judge Hathorne said. “He cannot. The Lord God would never permit it.” Certainly He would never punish an innocent person so, by allowing her to be suspected of witchcraft.
Everyone knew that the Bay Colony’s recent difficulties—Red Indians and godless Frenchmen ravaging the northern settlements and shipping, the men who governed our colony embroiled in English politics and helpless against the French and Indian assaults—had at their root some fault in the people’s Christian worship, a prayer too languid and a faith too dim, perhaps, or more likely a frontal attack by the Devil himself, aided by witches. The news that the colony’s troubles were caused by a coven meeting in a pasture in Salem Village was greeted in Boston almost with relief. But the all-powerful God would have to permit such a thing to happen, explicitly, for reasons of His own. The alternative interpretation, that the men of Boston had misgoverned through their own lack of competence, was unthinkable.
And here sat Goody Nurse, the Devil’s own weapon, a spearhead aimed at the very heart of Christ’s Kingdom on Earth. An innocent woman? “Unthinkable,” Winthrop repeated to himself.
Judge Nathaniel Saltonstall, whose education was less well grounded in Puritan theological principles than that of the other judges, frowned and shook his head. “Gentlemen, it seems to me—”
“She bites me! She bites me!” The Putnam girl pushed up her sleeve and held out her little white arm, marked with cruel red toothmarks. “Oh, Goody Nurse, don’t bite me so! I tell you, I never will sign the Devil’s book!” She fell in a fit. They all fell in fits. The judges’ argument was forgotten.
____
WHEN THE JURY had finished its deliberations over the fate of Rebecca Nurse, they returned a verdict of not guilty. The old woman began to pray and give thanks to God, and the Nurse family embraced one another. Winthrop was startled by the verdict. The case had seemed plain to him, as it had to all the judges except for the bothersome Judge Saltonstall. But Winthrop supposed the Salem jurymen knew best. By the grace of God he would at least be able to return to Boston now and put this case behind him. The acquittal of Goody Nurse might very well mean the end of the witch business.
After a silence long enough to take a breath in, the girls began screaming and howling. Half of them fell to the floor, and the other half staggered toward the defendant, moaning, “Goody Nurse, Goody Nurse,” and holding their hands out in front of themselves. Before they could reach her, they were struck flat down to the courthouse floor as if by an invisible hand. A horrible spectacle. Judge Winthrop was all over gooseflesh.
Judge Stoughton beat his gavel. “Blindfold the defendant!” The bailiffs grasped Goody Nurse’s hands and put a blindfold around her eyes.
“Now bring the girls to her.”
One by one the afflicted children were led to Goody Nurse. A bailiff held her hand out to touch them. When they were touched, the malevolent energy that had entered them through the witch’s eyes flowed back into her hand again and the girls were healed.
Judge Stoughton said, “I would not impose upon the jury, but I wonder whether you gentlemen have sufficiently considered this case.”
“We believed so, Your Honor,” the foreman said.
“I wonder whether you have considered something Goody Nurse let slip. You will recall that she greeted the confessing witches as people who had been among her group. I found that telling.”
The jurymen glanced nervously at one another.
“I charge you now to retire and reconsider your verdict,” Judge Stoughton said.
____
WHEN THEY CAME back, it was with a verdict of guilty. Judge Stoughton lost no time in pronouncing Rebecca Nurse’s sentence, as clearly prescribed in Bernard’s Guide to Grand-Jury Men. “You shall be hanged by the neck until dead, and may God have mercy on your soul.”
The bailiffs led her away, a crushed woman. The Massachusetts Bay Colony was saved from her evil designs, Winthrop supposed, and now the courts must deal with the other witches. He took out a handkerchief and mopped his brow. The day was very warm for June.
As the crowd began to file out of the courtroom, little Ann Putnam jumped up and began to shout, “Judge Stoughton! Judge Stoughton! I must speak!”
“Yes? What is it?”
“In my fit last night my seven little Putnam cousins, the dead ones, appeared to me in winding sheets, with napkins over their faces.” The people stopped leaving. The whole room fell completely silent. Every soul in the place, even the Nurse relatives, riveted his attention upon the girl. “They said a witch had murdered them. They cried out for vengeance. They said I must come to you and tell you.”
“Vengeance against whom?” Judge Stoughton said. The crowd held its breath. Winthrop awaited the girl’s words with mild interest, but not with the fascination of most of the spectators, since he knew no one in Salem.
“Mistress Winthrop,” Ann Putnam said. “Judge Waitstill Winthrop’s wife. Ah! She afflicts me!”
KNIFE FIGHT
BY JOEL GOLDMAN
Every day is a knife fight. That’s what I tell my lawyer first time I meet her.
“Travis,” she say to me, “what am I supposed to do with that?”
“Shit, girl, you my lawyer. You figure it out.”
We in a room at the jail where prisoners meet wit they lawyers, a guard watchin’ through a window make sure I don’t climb inside her pants and escape. Hard floor, hard chairs, hard everything.
Her name Elisabeth Rosenthal, Public Defender. She don’t look like much. Hit me’bout at my shoulders. Black hair cut short and tight. Wearin’ black pants, black shirt, hangin’ loose. If the girl got a shape, she hidin’ it.
“You a lesbian?”
She cross her arms. “Yeah.”
“Jew?”
“Two for two.”
“So I got a Jew dyke for a lawyer. This shit is fucked up, man.”
“Yeah, well, don’t feel bad. Looks like I’ve got a black client who hates Jews and gays. I guess we’re both fucked.”
I look at her, girl smilin’, maybe playin’ wit me. “You sayin’ you hate blacks?”
She shake her head. “I’m saying that we are what we are. I don’t have a problem with it, but if you do, get over it. Johnnie Cochran is dead.” She shove a paper across the table. “Take a look at this.”
Court paper say I killed this dude Diego Hernández. Call it capital murder and say they wanna give me the needle. I read my name. Travis Runnels. I like the way it look, big heavy black letters.
“Way it is,” I say.
“For now. We’ll see what the jury says.”
“What about a deal?”
She shake her head, not askin’ how come I want a deal if I’m innocent. “No way,” she say. “The DA is running for re-election.”
I seen his ads on TV. Kevin Watts. He say vote for me’cause I lock the niggas up. And the man a brother.
“What if I’m convicted?”
“You appeal. If you get the death penalty, the appeals can last ten to twelve years. Even if you lose, at least you win for a while.”
“Can I win an appeal?”
“Depends on what happens at trial. If the judge screws up or I screw up, you might get a new trial.”
“Whuju mean, if you screw up?”
“The Constitution guarantees you the right to effective assistance of counsel. I don’t have to be perfect or the best. I can make mistakes, but I have to be just good enough that you get a fair trial.”
“What’s your track record?”
She take a deep breath, look at me hard. “I lose most of the time.”
“How come?”
“Most of my clients are guilty.”
“I’m innocent.”
“Of course you are.”
She don’t smile or nuthin’. Girl’s a fuckin’ puzzle.
“Ain’t you afraid you get me off, I go out and do it again? If I done it in the first place.”
“I have nightmares about that,” she say, sittin’ across from me, lookin’ at my file. She put the papers down. “On the other hand, if you go to prison, you might kill someone inside just because he looks at you the wrong way. Or you might get shanked in the shower because you’re not in love with someone who’s in love with you. There’s a lot that can happen in your life I can’t do a damn thing about, but this case isn’t one of them.”
She say all the right shit, but that don’t mean she can get it done. “You jus a PD. What chance I got wit you?”
“Your only chance. The State has a witness that will testify you threatened to kill Diego Hernández before he was found carved up like a Christmas goose. The cops found a knife and Diego’s blood in your car when they picked you up at your mother’s house. Plus, you’ve already done time for armed robbery and manslaughter that was pled down from murder two.”
I lean back in my chair, lift the front legs off the floor, rock back and forth like that shit don’t mean nuthin’. “I hear all that. You got a job to do. You jus wanna know how hard it gonna be.”
She puts her hands on the table, gets in my face, her eyes on fire. “That’s right, Travis. I want to know how hard it’s going to be to save your life.”
I put my chair down. Stand so she lookin’ up at me. “Like I tole you. Every day is a knife fight.”
____
I MEET WITH Elisabeth the night before the trial. She give me a hundred-dollar suit to wear so I don’t look like I’m guilty wearin’ prison clothes.
Then she say the first thing gonna happen tomorrow is the lawyers pick the jury. She say she gonna tell the jury she only want people who can be fair, but she tell me she only wants jurors who don’t trust cops and will feel sorry for a brother that was abused when he was a kid and never caught a break. Most of all, she say, she want jurors who don’t like the death penalty.
“So you gonna lie to the jury.”
She wearin’ honey-colored glasses halfway down her nose, make her face soft. She take’em off. Her eyes are dark gray and she got bags under’em color of wet newspaper.
“It’s not a lie,” she say. “It’s how I define fair.”
I put my hands up. “You gotta lie, I can respect that.”
She don’t argue, jus act like she don’t hear me.
“The jury wants to know what happened,” she say. “If I can create reasonable doubt in their minds about the DA’s version, you’ve got a chance.”
“How you gonna do that?”
“You say you were at your mother’s when Diego was killed. She backs you up. It’s a lousy alibi, because everyone knows a mother will lie to save her child. But if the jury likes your mother, they might buy it.”
I think about what she say.
“My momma a good woman even if she like her wine too much. Can’t nobody not like her.”
“Well then, I’ll have to talk with her and make certain she hasn’t been liking her wine too much when she testifies.”
____
ELISABETH LEAN OVER to me after the judge swear in the jury, so close I can smell her. Soap. No perfume. She say the jury okay, but she say it the way I say, Good evenin’, Officer, nice to see you. Seven women, five men. Four black, six white. Two Mexican. I look at them. They look away.
Kevin Watts, the DA, make his openin’ statement to the jury. Brother talks whiter than Jay Leno. Wears a suit cost ten times the one I’m wearin’. Calls me a drug dealer. Says I cut Diego on account he don’t pay me for some crack I sell him. Says I didn’t jus cut him. Says I tortured him, cut out his eyes, and cut off his dick. That’s why he say I deserve the needle. Makes me a bad motherfucker if I done it, that’s for damn sure. I ain’t sayin’ I did or I didn’t, but man don’t pay, man gets cut. Way it is.
Elisabeth, she tell the jury the DA got no proof I done nuthin’. She say everythin’ circumstantial and I got an alibi. My momma gonna testify I was watchin’ TV at her house when Diego got hisself murdered. She don’t talk as long as Watts, and she don’t get worked up like he did neither. I was on the jury, I ain’t believin’ her. Girl sure as hell not perfect or the best.
The judge a white guy, no chin and no hair, tell the jury what the lawyers say ain’t evidence. Then why he let them tell the jury anythin’? Don’t make no sense.
The courtroom’s cold. I rub my hands, keep’em warm. Elisabeth whisper at me to stop, say it make me look nervous. The judge say he keep it cold so nobody fall asleep. The jury laughs like it’d be funny they fall asleep tryin’ to decide if I get the needle. He tells them bring a sweater. I’m shiverin’ in my suit. I look at the jury. They see me shake. Elisabeth puts her hand on my arm. I’m still cold, but I quit shiverin’. That’s all that happens the first day. I go back to my cell, but I don’t sleep.
____
NEXT DAY, ELISABETH make me stand when the jury and the judge come in the courtroom. Them jurors tuggin’ on their sweaters makin’ sure the judge notice, all of them smilin’ and laughin’ like they havin’ a party.
Elisabeth say we stand out of respect whenever the judge and the jury come or go. I ain’t got no fuckin’ respect for people what gonna decide if I live or die and all they care about is what they wearin’. Ain’t none of them fuckin’ know who I am or what I’m about. They got the power and Elisabeth she got to play their game, but that don’t mean I got to respect they shit.
Fred Barton be the detective on the case. He a fat fuck, his collar squeezin’ his head till it swole up like a thumb somebody done hit wit a hammer. Him and the DA got they shit together playin’ patty cake wit the questions. Barton he all about how Diego all cut up, the DA showin’ the jury pictures of the holes in Diego’s head where his eyes used to be and another close-up of the man’s dick lyin’ on the floor all bloody. Elisabeth she object like it her dick the jury lookin’ at, but the judge tell her overruled and take a seat.
I watch the jury. Couple them white guys gettin’ red, the women swallowin’ hard like they gonna puke. I already seen the pictures. They bad, but I seen worse.
Barton go on sayin’ how Diego was under investigation for sellin’ drugs, mostly crack, and that I was the one what was sellin’ the shit to Diego. Elisabeth, she take a piece out of Barton, walkin’ around the courtroom like she own it, askin’ him questions.
“Detective Barton, did you find any drugs on Mr. Hernández’s body?”
“Yes, ma’am, we did. Several rocks of crack cocaine.”
“Whose label was on them?”
Barton, he look at her like she crazy. “Street drugs don’t have labels on them,” he say.
“Well then,” Elisabeth say, “was anybody’s name on those drugs?”
“No.”
“How about a receipt? Did you find a receipt or a canceled check or a credit card record showing who paid for those drugs?”
“No. That’s not the way these things work.”
“Of course they don’t, Detective. Drug dealers don’t operate like Wal-Mart. Everyone knows that. So you must have found some other physical evidence that proved my client sold those drugs or any drugs to Mr. Hernández.”
Barton took a deep breath, looked over at the DA. “No, ma’am. We didn’t.”
“What? No photographs? No wiretaps? No fingerprints?”
“No.”
“But you testified that the defendant sold drugs to Mr. Hernández and that my client murdered him when Mr. Hernández didn’t pay for the drugs, isn’t that right?”
“That was my testimony.”
“And you told the jury that you relied on a paid informant who was part of Mr. Hernández’s drug ring who told you that story about my client?”
Another deep breath. Motherfucker keep suckin’ air he gonna blow up like a goddamn birthday bal
loon. “That’s correct.”
“And that paid informant, who previously did time in prison for assault with a deadly weapon and who the district attorney gave a get-out-of-jail-free card in return for his testimony, is the only source of evidence you have that Travis Runnels sold drugs to Mr. Hernández. Isn’t that correct?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And that paid informant is also the only witness who told you that my client threatened to kill Mr. Hernández. True?”
“True,” Barton say, lettin’ the air out like he an old grandpa can’t breathe.
“And if that paid informant hadn’t made such a sweet deal with the district attorney, he’d be on trial for selling drugs. True?”
“I don’t know. I don’t make those decisions.”
“No, you don’t, Detective. You just ignored his crimes and arrested my client instead. Nothing further.”
Elisabeth sit back down. “How’d you like that knife fight?” she say out of the corner of her mouth.
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” I say, sittin’ high and feelin’ fine. My girl kills.
Luis Pillco testify next. Pillco be the rat, a skinny dude got greased-back hair, no meat on him, jumpy like he lookin’ to get fixed up. The DA take him through his paces. I don’t look at him. Elisabeth, she eye Luis like he her next meal, squirmin’ around in her chair, ready to jump his ass soon as Watts let go.
“Mr. Pillco, can you identify the man you heard threaten to kill Diego Hernández?” Watts ask Luis.
“That’s him.”
“Let the record show that the witness is pointing at the defendant, Travis Runnels,” Watts say. “Had you met the defendant at some point prior to when he made that threat?”
“Yeah. Him and Diego and me, we was all in prison together. He was dealin’ back then too, inside the joint.”
Elisabeth shoot out of her chair so fast I thought she gonna land in the judge’s lap. She come down in front of the bench, the judge coverin’ his microphone wit his hand while the lawyers whispered, veins in Elisabeth’s neck poppin’ out her skin, Watts all silky. Elisabeth walk back to our table, her chin up, her hard eyes givin’ me a beat-down.
Mystery Writers of America Presents the Prosecution Rests Page 12
