Reverend Bush stood. “I’ll walk you out,” he said, leaving Hosea and Jasmine alone.
When the reverend closed the door behind him, Hosea sank into the oversize chair. Jasmine settled on the floor at his feet and waited for him to talk, knowing that he would.
It took some time, but then, “When I look back on yesterday,” he began softly, “I feel like I was a bit insane.”
Jasmine said nothing, just listened.
“Jacquie had been gone for so, so long.”
She knew what he meant, but still she said, “Almost three weeks.”
“A lifetime.”
She nodded. She understood.
“I already had to live with the fact that I hadn’t protected her.”
“But she wasn’t even with you, she was with me.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m her father. And after Doctor Stewart told us . . .” He shook his head as if he didn’t want to remember the doctor’s words. “I started thinking about what she’d been through, and everything that’s ahead. What is this year going to be like for her? And next year? And ten or fifteen years from now?” His head was still shaking. “I did what I had to do. I had to take him out.”
“Take him out?” She frowned. “I thought you said you weren’t trying to kill him.”
He looked straight into her eyes. “If he had bled to death . . .” A pause and a shrug. “Oh, well,” he said in his ordinary, gentle manner. Then he kissed Jasmine’s forehead before he stood and walked out of the room. Leaving her alone to think about quiet storms and about how grateful she was that she would never have to testify against her husband.
After that day, they became the center of the circus. The case was fodder for the news channels—the Left, the Right, and those who saw themselves as independents—everyone wanted to tell it like they saw it.
Daily, Eyewitness News polled random men and women on the street.
“That was a little five-year-old girl,” a thirtysomething man said. “If that had been my child, I would of done the same thing. Only I wouldn’t of used a gun. I would of used my bare hands.”
But there was the other side, too. The Amsterdam News printed reader letters in their opinion column. A woman who sent in a picture of herself clutching a Bible wrote: “Hosea Bush is supposed to be a Christian man. What kind of Christian would do something like that? The Bible says thou shalt not kill. That also means thou shalt not try to kill.”
The city was evenly split. Half of New York wanted Hosea to walk: “Hey, at least that pervert didn’t die!”
And the remainder of New Yorkers wanted Hosea to pay the price: “He’s a pastor; what kind of example is he setting?”
The intensity of the arguments gave Jasmine a new fear every day. But it wasn’t the debate alone that had her shivering—it was the assistant district attorney as well.
The government had found the right one to try the case: A forty-six-year-old woman, with a seven-year-old daughter. A woman who had been in the district attorney’s office for twenty years and was on the verge of being nominated to run for the top spot. A woman who, if she won the election, would be the first female district attorney in New York’s history.
People v. Hosea Bush was just the case she needed, and that made Gloria Gallagher relentless and unyielding in her pursuit.
“I have a young daughter of my own.” Gallagher made sure the jury knew this during her opening statement, the first day in the packed-to-capacity courtroom. “And so I truly understand how the Bush family felt.” The petite woman with the powerful voice placed her hand over her heart. “I prayed for them every night. But what happened to Jacqueline Bush has nothing to do with what her father did. The two cases are not and should not be connected.” She went on, “We cannot allow New York to become a lawless society. No one has the right to shoot anyone!” Her voice began to rise. “Especially not a man who was already in custody, already handcuffed, already in shackles, already being transported to prison, and, therefore, not a threat or a danger to anyone. Especially not a man who hadn’t yet been convicted of any crime.” She shook her head. “Anyone who shoots someone like that, an unarmed man, is not a hero to be celebrated.” She faced Hosea, who sat between his two attorneys. She looked him dead in the eyes when she said, “A man who would do something like that is a coward.” Then she growled like a cougar, “And we cannot allow a man like that to continue to walk on our streets!”
Jasmine’s heart had pounded so hard then, she had leaned over to take deep breaths to keep the pain away.
But her chest pains continued. Not only because she had to sit in the courtroom every day and listen to a woman who was determined to send her husband to prison, but because she had to leave Jacqueline and Zaya at home.
That had not been her choice. But the attorneys had told her and Reverend Bush that it was important for the jury to see both of them standing by Hosea.
So Jasmine was there, doing what she had to do as the wife. But the moment the gavel dropped every afternoon, she became the mother and, with Hosea, rushed home to be with their children. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays were especially busy days because they went home and had just enough time to gather Jacqueline and Zaya and rush to the psychologist’s last appointment. The doctor tried desperately to get Jacqueline to talk about her three weeks away from home.
But Jacqueline never said a word. No matter how the psychologist posed the question, every session she sat mute and still for the entire hour.
After the first week, the psychologist said, “I want to try something else,” and then she asked Jacqueline to draw.
Jacqueline smiled when the doctor gave her a crayon. Her parents held their breath as she slowly sketched a picture—four stick figures: two with hair, two large enough to be adults, two the size of children. But only one child wore a smile. She drew tears on the face of the girl figure.
Watching her child draw, looking at that picture—that was when Jasmine finally knew what it felt like to have her heart broken.
The psychologist said, “She just may not have the words to express what happened. She may not understand.”
“Then why do we keep coming here?” Jasmine had asked. “Isn’t it good that she doesn’t want to . . . or can’t talk about this?”
The doctor had shaken her head. “No, because as the picture shows, she remembers something, whether she can express it or not. It’s in her memory. We don’t want her to repress this. Repressed memories can lead to dangerous behavior later in life.”
The woman had spoken as if she expected Jacqueline to grow up to be a murderer.
To Jasmine, that was ironic, since Jacqueline’s father was being accused of something close to that. According to the district attorney, Hosea Bush had attempted murder (even though those charges had been reduced), and she was going to prove premeditation. She was going to convince twelve people (and two alternates) that Hosea was not society worthy—at least not for the next twenty years.
Gloria Gallagher paraded witness after witness to support her position. First, officers testified that Hosea Bush had planned this assault from the beginning—when he had lain in wait for the prisoner to come from the building straight through to the end when he dropped to the ground before anyone could shoot him.
“To me,” one of the officers said, “it was clearly planned. A good plan, though.”
Detective Cohen said, “I saw no signs of violence from Hosea Bush. He was just a father who snapped.”
Gallagher had said, “But he did snap, and that makes him dangerous, wouldn’t you agree?”
The detective never had a chance to respond once Dale had objected and the assistant district attorney withdrew the question.
After the police, Gloria Gallagher brought in the victim’s family. Harvey Jonas’s aunt said that he’d had a rough childhood—that’s why he had kidnapped and raped a five-year-old. Next, his sister, who stated that Harvey was the most loving brother, but that their father had abused them so much, there w
as nothing else that her brother could do except kidnap and rape a five-year-old. Then, there was his niece, a practicing psychiatrist who said that even while Harvey had held Jacqueline in captivity, he had been trying to get help.
“He wanted to be well,” she testified. “He didn’t want to do any of those horrible things.” That was her professional opinion.
Hosea’s defense had their own witnesses: members of City of Lights, including Brother Hill and Mrs. Whittingham; staff from his television show; and the big surprise—at least for Jasmine—Brian Lewis.
Jasmine had been shocked the day Brian and Alexis had walked into the courthouse. She hadn’t spoken to Brian since she’d called him with the news about Jacqueline, though she knew that he often spoke with Hosea about their daughter’s progress.
Standing in the middle of the hallway, right outside of the courtroom, she had exchanged pleasantries, and then stared at Brian for an extra moment, just to see if she felt anything. But there was nothing there, not a bit of care—certainly nothing that came close to lust or love. She couldn’t believe it—then, just shrugged it off. She’d been sick out of her mind—that’s why she’d turned to Brian. And when Jacqueline had come home, so had her good sense.
“Dale called me to testify,” Brian explained to Jasmine. “And I can’t wait to do it.”
“Wow, you flew all the way here to do this for us. Wow,” she said, looking at Alexis who stood next to Brian, hanging on to his arm and glowing like she’d just won the lottery or something. “So are you headed right back afterward?”
Brian had shaken his head and took Alexis’s hand. “No, we won’t be back in L.A. for a while. We’re going . . . on our honeymoon. We’re on our way to Venice.”
Jasmine figured they weren’t talking about the area in Los Angeles.
Alexis said, “Yup, we got married . . . again,” as if she thought that was something Jasmine would want to know.
The way Alexis giggled like a schoolgirl made Jasmine want to slap her out of it.
But she’d grown so much in the Lord, she just smiled, congratulated the pair, and thanked them for coming. And truth—when Brian got on the stand, he did a bang-up job. Not only did he talk about Hosea’s character, since this was the man to whom he’d surrendered his parental responsibilities for Jacqueline, but in one of the most dramatic moments of the trial, Brian declared, “If I had been in New York, Hosea would have had some competition, because I would have done the same thing.”
The judge, the Honorable Lynn Harris, had had to bang his gavel three times to stop the murmurs that swelled through the courtroom.
But Brian had continued, “God help me, but when I think about the things that man did to my . . . his daughter . . .” He hadn’t been able to finish his statement. And the prosecutor let him walk off the stand without a cross-examination.
But the assistant DA did get her big moment when she faced off with Hosea. His attorneys had told Hosea that he didn’t need to take the stand, but he’d insisted.
“I have a story to tell,” he’d said. “People need to hear what I have to say.”
“That could be dangerous, Hosea,” Nicholas had warned. “You don’t need to speak at all. Remember, they have to prove that you’re guilty; we don’t have to prove that you’re innocent.”
But Hosea had shaken his head. “I’m going to testify. And if that means that I have to go to jail, so be it.”
Jasmine had wanted to slap some sense into him. Had Hosea forgotten that he had a family? But the truth—he was considering his family. He always did, and that’s why they were all in this courtroom in the first place.
So on the stand, Hosea told the story of how he’d been sick with grief when his little girl had been abducted, how that had escalated through the weeks, and climaxed when he’d been told that Jacqueline had been raped.
“And not only had she been raped, but she’d been raped repeatedly.” Hosea sniffed. “She’s only five, and I’m her father. Her protector. I was thinking about Jacqueline and the other little girls that man may have gotten his hands on. I wanted to make sure that he never hurt a child again.”
His attorney’s final question was, “So Pastor Bush, were you trying to kill him?”
“No, not at all,” Hosea had said calmly. “I could have, if I’d wanted to. But his death is not in my hands—that’s up to God. All I wanted to do was protect the children. All I did was take away the weapon that man used to hurt little girls.”
There was nothing but silence when Hosea’s attorney sat down. It even took a moment for Gloria Gallagher to raise her head and stand.
“Mr. Bush,” she began, refusing to address Hosea as a pastor, “how long did you drive around before you decided to take the law into your own hands?”
Then the district attorney didn’t even let Hosea answer the question before she flung another one at him.
“Let’s back it up,” she said, looking down at her notes. “When did you purchase the gun that you used to take the law into your own hands?”
“Objection!” Hosea’s attorney shouted.
“I’ll rephrase, Your Honor,” Gallagher said before the judge spoke. She asked, “When did you purchase the gun?”
“A couple of years ago.”
“For what purpose?”
“To protect my family. After my father was shot.”
“Oh!” she said, as if she was surprised. “So, you planned to hurt anyone who came after your family?”
Hosea shook his head. “I planned to protect my family. I have the gun legally.”
“I see.” The way the assistant district attorney smiled made Jasmine grimace. Hosea didn’t know how to handle a conniving, underhanded woman. He was going to drown in Gloria Gallagher’s hands.
The ADA asked, “Are you a trained marksman?”
“Yes.”
“I see,” she said, glancing at the jury. “So you knew exactly what you were doing when you aimed that gun at Mr. Jonas?”
Jasmine had wanted to stand up and shout her own objection. How could that woman refer to the man who had kidnapped and raped her daughter as Mr.? He didn’t deserve any kind of credibility or respect—especially since, a week after he had been caught, he had pled guilty and was sentenced to a term that would make him 135 years old before he was set free.
“Yes,” Hosea responded. “I knew exactly what I was doing. That’s why he’s not dead.”
Jasmine moaned. She didn’t have to be an attorney to know that wasn’t the right answer. Why couldn’t Hosea just do what she would have done if she was on the stand? Why couldn’t he just lie?
“So I will ask again—when did you decide to take the law into your own hands, Mr. Bush?”
Gloria Gallagher continued to shoot question after question at Hosea, snarling at him like a pit bull, dragging him with her teeth into her trap.
“Isn’t it true that you wanted Mr. Jonas dead?” she asked, her voice raised.
“I already told you, but I’ll answer again—no,” he said, not at all intimidated.
“Oh, come on, Mr. Bush. You can’t tell me that you didn’t want the man who kidnapped and raped your daughter to die.”
“Objection! That is not a question.”
Hosea raised his hand. “I know what she means, and I’ll answer that.” He looked at the jury. “It would not bother me one bit if Mr. Jonas was to die. But it was not my intent to take his life, nor was it my intent to harm anyone else. I simply wanted to prevent him from hurting another child, because the fact is, he’s done this before—”
“Your Honor!” Gloria Gallagher shouted, wanting to stop Hosea from talking any more about Harvey Jonas’s past.
But Hosea kept right on, “And Harvey Jonas ran away from his punishment. I just wanted to make sure that if he got away again, he wouldn’t be able to hurt another child.”
Jasmine had wanted to stand up and give her husband an ovation, though when she glanced at the jurors, they sat stone-faced, totally unimpressed.
But with Hosea’s testimony, the defense rested. And then the futures of Hosea and Jasmine and Jacqueline and Zaya were in the hands of twelve people they did not know.
Right after the case had been handed over to the jury, they all gathered at the church to send up passionate prayers. There, Reverend Bush had asked Dale about their chances.
He’d shrugged and said, “The only charge that concerns me—as it did from the beginning—is reckless endangerment. Even if everyone on that jury hates Jonas, Hosea did shoot into a crowd and jeopardize others. But that won’t carry too much time.”
Too. Much. Time.
Jasmine hadn’t been able to think about anything else since Dale had said those words.
Now, after two days, just twelve hours of deliberation, she was going to find out how much time her family would receive, because surely, any time that Hosea got was their punishment also.
Hosea took Jasmine’s hand and lifted her from the couch. He hugged her when they stood, and then together they walked into their bedroom. It was time to face their fate.
Sixty-seven
JASMINE WAS SUFFOCATING.
From the people—every inch of the courtroom’s perimeter was packed with news reporters and photographers wanting to be the first to deliver the breaking news. From the heat—the bodies generated enough warmth to set New York City on fire. From the pressure—she was choking on the waiting. It was excruciating.
Part of her agony came from the images in her mind. She could already see it—how the jury would declare that her husband was guilty beyond any kind of doubt. And then, they would glare at Hosea—and at her. Especially the five men on the jury, who probably felt sorry for Harvey Jonas. Who probably cried when they heard that a man had been castrated.
Hosea might have received more compassion if he had just killed the man.
“Are you all right?” Malik whispered as he took her hand.
Sins of the Mother Page 30
