Wall of Silence

by Dorey Whittaker

  Scott was trying hard to control his temper. This man didn’t know what kind of person Lisa had become. He was obviously under the notion she was still a drug-using prostitute and was going to treat her that way. “We’re not leaving. I want to talk to someone in authority right now.”

  Scott didn’t take his eyes off the officer and was not going to move until his demand was honored.

  Finally, the officer gave in. “I’ll see what I can do. Why don’t you two have a seat over there, and I’ll be right back.”

  He grabbed his coffee cup and pastry and headed for the back. Susan stared at him as he walked off. “Funny! That pastry wrapper is from Mrs. Bascom’s store. That pastry was probably made by Lisa.”

  It was almost thirty minutes before the detective came out to talk with them. “Mr. and Mrs. Thomas, I’m sorry to inform you that last evening, around eight o’clock, your father was shot and killed.” He stood there waiting for a reaction. He had no way of knowing they were not interested in the victim. They were interested in the shooter, as he called her.

  Scott was tired and growing impatient with this run around. “Can we please see Lisa now? Has she called a lawyer yet?”

  “Well, actually, no. It’s four-thirty in the morning, and we’ve been talking to her for almost five hours. She’ll be arraigned this morning around ten o’clock, in front of Judge Kirkley. You might want to see about getting a lawyer to represent her because she has refused to call one herself.”

  “How do we go about posting bail for her?”

  “Well, I doubt if the judge will allow bail, but a lawyer will advise you on that. This is a murder case, and she has a pretty extensive record. I would be surprised if he let her out.”

  This was not what they wanted to hear. They decided they were getting nowhere, so they drove to Gladys’s house and waited for morning. Aunt Gladys had not been to bed yet. She had been sitting in the living room praying for Lisa all night. Mrs. Bascom had stayed until almost three but finally went home to rest.

  Scott, Susan, and Gladys stayed up the rest of the night talking. They wanted to reach an attorney before the arraignment, so around eight o’clock they started calling. They didn’t know any local attorneys, so they would have to trust God to lead them to the right one. The first three didn’t answer their phones, so Scott tried the fourth attorney listed in the phone book, a Mr. Duncan.

  Scott was surprised to find a live voice on the other end of the line and doubly surprised to find the attorney himself had answered. Duncan explained that his office didn’t open until nine, but he was in early handling correspondence and thought the call was from his wife.

  Scott quickly explained their problem and asked if he handled this type of case.

  “Yes, I’m a criminal attorney. It sounds like I need to get over to the jail right away. If you can meet me there in twenty minutes, I’ll arrange for you to see Lisa.”

  Aunt Gladys assumed they wouldn’t let her go in to see Lisa, so she decided to stay home and pray. She couldn’t think of anything more useful, knowing her Lisa was in that awful place again.

  Mr. Duncan was waiting on the steps as they walked up. He introduced himself and said, “Mrs. Thomas, I am sorry for your loss. I’ve already requested a conference room, and you’ll be allowed to see Lisa before her arraignment.”

  Forcing a smile, Susan took his extended hand and decided not to comment on the “your loss” remark. There would be plenty of time later to set this man straight. “Thank you, Mr. Duncan. We appreciate your coming on such short notice. The police wouldn’t let us see her, nor would they tell us very much.”

  Opening the door for his new clients, Duncan whispered, “Let’s go see your sister and find out from her what happened.”

  As they walked into the conference room, Susan remembered the last time she waited in that very room for her sister, and floods of old feelings washed over her.

  While they waited for Lisa to be brought in, Scott asked Mr. Duncan several questions about his practice, trying to judge what kind of person he was.

  “Mr. Thomas, I’ve been in practice for almost sixteen years. I’ve defended thirteen murder cases, winning seven of them. You must understand, not all clients are innocent, so even the best attorney cannot always win. I do, however, work very hard for my clients and will defend your sister-in-law with everything I’ve got.”

  Susan was exhausted and was having a hard time focusing on everything being said. Mr. Duncan studied her for a moment and thought to himself how attractive she was, even under this stress. He then asked her a few questions. She gave a short background about their father and his prison terms, along with his threat to kill Lisa when he was sentenced. She explained about Lisa’s past, making sure he understood that was in her past. She told him what Lisa had been doing for the past eleven years and what a wonderful person she had become.

  Duncan leaned back in his chair and pondered all this information for a moment. Then, turning to Susan, he asked, “Your father was arrested here in Jefferson for that assault on Lisa?”

  “Yes, and his trial was here also.”

  Duncan sort of frowned as he made a note to himself. “I haven’t been able to talk to the arresting officer yet, but something doesn’t seem right. They must know of Charles Miller’s record by now. I need to find out why they’re ignoring his record and pushing so heavily on Lisa’s.”

  With more pleading than anger in her voice, Susan responded, “These men are only looking at her record. They assume once a prostitute, always a prostitute. After talking to them last night, it sounds like they don’t even care what our father was. He’s dead, and she did it.”

  Scott turned as Officer Jackson opened the door and brought Lisa into the conference room. Susan stood up and hugged her sister. It was obvious Lisa was very upset. Her clothes were torn and dirty, and there was a large bruise on her right arm.

  Scott also went over, gave Lisa a hug, and introduced Mr. Duncan. “We’ve hired him to represent you at the arraignment, Lisa.”

  Mr. Duncan motioned for everyone to be seated and then looked over to Officer Jackson, as if to say, “Please leave now.” Officer Jackson quickly closed the door and waited in the hall.

  Duncan took out a yellow legal pad and prepared to write down everything Lisa was about to say. “All right. Why don’t you tell us what happened in that alley last night.”

  Lisa took a deep breath. “Well, it was around eight o’clock, and I was locking up the bakery as usual. Actually, we close the bakery at six-thirty, but there are always pans and cookie sheets to wash and dry. I locked up, turned off all the lights, and headed out the back door.

  “Because it opens onto the alley, we’re always careful to look out and see if anyone’s out there before opening that door. We always look first. I didn’t see anyone, so I set the alarm and stepped out. Before I could pull the door closed, someone grabbed me from behind. My first thought was that I was being robbed. It wasn’t until he spun me around that I saw who it was.

  “His eyes were on fire with rage, and he kept spitting his words in my face. He was so close I couldn’t breathe. He slammed me up against the building and jammed his forearm into my throat. I started choking. Then he pulled a gun from his jacket pocket and shoved it into my cheek.

  “Right about then the alarm started going off. I had set it before walking into the alley, and when the door wasn’t closed within sixty seconds, the alarm automatically came on. I guess it must have startled him, because he took a step back and lowered the gun a little. That’s when I grabbed for it. I knew he intended to kill me; he had said he would. He said he’d been waiting for years to kill me and that he was going to enjoy taking his time.

  “I didn’t intend to shoot him. I was just trying to keep from getting shot myself. I grabbed for the gun and tried to twist it out of his hand, but he kept slamming me against the wall. Then suddenly the gun went off, and he fell. I was standing there with the gun in my hand when the police showed up.”


  Mr. Duncan asked, “Did either of you know your father was being released from prison?”

  Almost in unison, they said no.

  Lisa added, “No one from the prison or the DA’s office ever contacted me to say he was getting out, although they had been so ordered by the court because of his threats.”

  “As far as you knew, when you stepped out into that alley, you thought your father was still sitting safely behind bars. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, sir. I thought he had another four or five years to serve because he had been found guilty of almost killing a cellmate about six years ago. I don’t know why he was out.”

  For several minutes, Lisa repeated every detail she could remember.

  Several times, Mr. Duncan asked questions, trying to clarify some important point. Lisa was still very upset, but now was the best time to get as many details as possible. Mr. Duncan knew time had a way of dampening a person’s memory.

  Mr. Duncan was writing fast and trying to keep every detail in order. “Lisa, have the police had a doctor look at you yet?”

  “No, Mr. Duncan, they wouldn’t even let me take a shower this morning.”

  “That’s good. I want to get a female officer in here to take some pictures of your back. I suspect your back will be fairly bruised, not unlike your arm. I know the chief of police, and I suspect there’s a little ‘good old boys’ mentality brewing around here. I don’t know how they could possibly believe this is anything but self-defense, but sometimes you find some old-fashioned thinking. It’s one thing for a man to beat a woman half to death; it’s another thing for her to shoot him. I suspect we’re facing a little male preservation here. And by the way, call me Duncan.”

  Scott, almost afraid to hear the answer, asked, “Duncan, what’s your impression of this Judge Kirkley?”

  “He’s as old as Moses.” Duncan chuckled. “He prides himself on running a strict court. Overall, I think he’s fair. The law is his passion, and like me, he seems to hate what these young, win-at-any-cost lawyers are doing to our system. You know, there’s more than one way to prostitute yourself.”

  Scott and Susan merely smiled. Duncan’s statement didn’t really need any response and Scott already knew he was going to like this man.

  Duncan asked for a female officer to come in with a camera, and he and Scott stepped into the hall. Susan helped Lisa take her uniform off, and as it dropped to the floor, she saw what Mr. Duncan had suspected. There were two large bruises covering each shoulder blade, where her back had been slammed against the building. They were already a deep purple and looked very fresh.

  The female officer took several pictures from different angles and then took two more of her arm. She was about to leave when Susan asked if she would also take a picture of Lisa’s throat. When she lifted her chin, they could see where someone’s forearm had pressed hard against her throat.

  Susan asked how long it would take to develop the pictures. “Do you think we could have them in time for the arraignment?”

  “No, she’s due to be arraigned in about an hour. I can’t have these ready that fast. I’ll send copies over to your attorney’s office either later today or first thing in the morning.”

  Chapter 25

  Scott found a pay phone and called Aunt Gladys. He wanted her to know they had seen Lisa and that she was all right. “It was definitely self-defense, but the attorney thinks the department is still planning to go after Lisa. They apparently can’t believe anyone with her record could possibly be innocent. Just keep praying. We see the judge in about thirty minutes. Maybe he’ll put an end to this nonsense.”

  Scott and Susan got to the courtroom several minutes before the arraignment. The courthouse dated back to Civil War days and, as they walked through the large doors, a musty smell permeated the air. The hardwood floor showed years of wear down the center aisle. There were wooden benches on either side, each seating about eight people. The floor creaked beneath their feet. Up front stood a large wooden platform with the judge’s desk in the very center. Above that hung a picture of Anthony Spires Jefferson, the town’s founder. On either side of this picture stood a state flag and the American flag. The windows on each side of the courtroom started about three feet from the floor and went up to the ceiling, which was about sixteen feet high. Each window was made of frosted, wire-reinforced glass, and the sunlight coming through gave off a depressing, eerie effect to the room.

  The court clerk came in first. He laid several papers on the judge’s desk and then went over and opened the first two windows a few inches. The clerk spun around as he heard the back doors being flung open and watched as a man sauntered into the courtroom. This was obviously a man full of himself and well-practiced at making grand entries. Susan studied him as he made one or two curt remarks to the clerk and began arranging his papers on the desk provided for the prosecution. By the way the clerk responded, Susan assumed there was no love lost between these two.

  Bringing a pitcher of water to the prosecutor’s table, the clerk mockingly said, “Good morning, Mr. Gordon.”

  Obviously expecting no response, and getting none, the clerk then placed a pitcher of water on the defense table, and then returned to his desk and waited for the others to arrive.

  Susan studied this prosecutor. Mr. Gordon appeared to be in his early forties, thin of frame, and slightly balding, although he had obviously begun parting his hair further and further down to hide this fact. He had one of those faces that held contempt for everyone written all over it. His suit, Susan thought, looked as if he fancied himself a dandy. Her overall impression of this man was of a person who overdresses for every occasion and probably likes the sound of his own voice a little too much.

  A minute later Mr. Duncan walked in. After a nod of acknowledgment to Scott and Susan, he moved down front and whispered something to the clerk while shaking his hand. Susan couldn’t hear what was being said, but she appreciated Duncan’s cordial demeanor.

  As he turned and headed to his table, Susan compared these two adversaries. Mr. Duncan’s suit was clean and relatively new, although it needed to be pressed. His tie looked like it must be his favorite—well-worn and slightly out of date. She did notice he had changed his shirt since interviewing Lisa. The other one had a noticeable coffee stain. Mr. Duncan had one of those faces that generates trust. Although she approximated him to be only in his mid-fifties, he was a grandfatherly type. Raised in Texas, Duncan told them he had been in Jefferson since graduating law school and had blended into this gracious, slow-moving community.

  Hearing Mr. Gordon’s thick, New Jersey accent as he again made another demand of the clerk, coupled with his rude, brash demeanor, Susan wondered why he had chosen to settle here; he seemed like a fish out of water.

  Susan turned her attention away from Mr. Gordon as Lisa was brought into the courtroom about two minutes later. She couldn’t help flinching when she saw Lisa was now in an orange jump suit. Her hair was disheveled and she appeared extremely tired. Struggling to offer Lisa a smile as she was directed to a seat next to Mr. Duncan, Susan slid down and positioned herself right behind her sister. Every once in awhile Susan leaned forward and gently touched her shoulder. She didn’t want Lisa to forget she wasn’t alone.

  Everyone sat quietly for several minutes, waiting for the judge to enter. It was so quiet, the ticking of the large clock above the clerk’s desk began to irritate Susan. She was having a hard time sitting still and was about to lean forward to ask Mr. Duncan a question when a buzzer sounded. The clerk ordered everyone to rise, and Judge Kirkley walked in and took his seat at his desk.

  Susan found herself startled by his appearance. She wasn’t quite sure what she had expected. She realized she probably had some stereotyped fuddy-duddy, can’t-make-it-in-the-big-city kind of person in mind. Judge Kirkley was definitely not that. He was a man in his early sixties with a full head of beautiful silver hair, neatly trimmed. As he entered the courtroom, his steel-blue eyes took in the enti
re room and, without saying a word, he communicated to everyone that he was in charge. If there is such a thing as emanating dignity, Judge Kirkley was doing it.

  While the clerk called out the case number and charges, the judge was busy reading what his clerk had set on his desk. When he finished, Susan saw his eyes narrow as he studied Lisa. He wore a stern appearance and never changed his facial expression. When the clerk finished, the judge asked Lisa, “How do you plead?”

  Lisa quietly declared, “Not guilty, Your Honor.”

  The judge then turned to the prosecutor and asked, “Do you care to address the court?”

  “Your Honor, early this morning I received a preliminary report from the coroner’s office. It indicates that Mr. Charles Miller, in addition to the gunshot wound, suffered a blow to the lower back of his head. Until the coroner completes an autopsy to determine the nature and origin of this wound, we must assume foul play. Having read through Ms. Miller’s criminal file, I feel there is sufficient evidence to warrant holding her. It is the state’s contention that Ms. Miller, in an act of revenge, lured Mr. Miller into that alley, waylaid him from behind, and then willfully shot and killed him. We believe this was a calculated and premeditated act on her part, and we have submitted to the court Ms. Miller’s extensive criminal history. Because of her prior record, we feel she should be held over for trial without bail.”

  Judge Kirkley never looked up. He was reading Lisa’s court records and apparently found them more interesting than anything Mr. Duncan might say. “Mr. Duncan, would you care to offer a rebuttal to this?”

  Duncan, hearing about the head wound for the first time, didn’t quite know what to say. “Your Honor, I believe that once we have the completed autopsy report and have done an extensive reenactment of the crime scene, I’m sure this head wound can be explained. Last night, everyone assumed we were simply dealing with a shooting death. For all we know, Charles Miller might have hit his head as they struggled, or received that wound as he fell to the ground.”