A Time to Stand

by Robert Whitlow

  “I understand,” Grayson said, patting his chest over his heart. “I respect your decision even if I don’t agree.”

  They walked side by side in silence to the top of the staircase. The older lawyer’s hair was still in disarray.

  “Thanks again for wanting to help me,” Adisa said.

  “You’re welcome,” Grayson replied. “And please keep me in the loop about your aunt’s condition.”

  Three hours later, Theo Grayson returned to the room where he’d left Luke and Jane.

  “Sorry for the delay,” he said. “The grand jury has retired to deliberate. The DA called more witnesses than I’d anticipated.”

  “You weren’t in there, were you?” Jane asked.

  “No, no. But there’s not a law against sitting near the entrance to the room where they meet and seeing who goes in and out.”

  “Who testified?” Luke asked.

  “Stan Jackson, the convenience store clerk. Deshaun Hamlin’s grandmother; one of his uncles; Gregory Ott; Dr. Steiner, the neurosurgeon who’s treating Deshaun; and, of course, Bruce Alverez. Officer Alverez was in there the longest.”

  Luke was silent for a moment. “Do you think Bruce threw me under the bus?” he asked.

  “He talked with me briefly when he finished,” Grayson answered. “He said he told what he saw and heard, but wouldn’t give me any clues about the DA’s questions.”

  “Bruce is a good man.”

  “I’ll try to talk to him again in a few days and find out where his testimony is going to fall,” Grayson said. “Even though he was the first person on the scene, he can’t speculate about what happened before he arrived.”

  “Yeah,” Luke replied with a shrug. “Chief Lockhart didn’t testify?”

  “No. And neither did Detective Maxwell, which reinforces the notion that the investigation is ongoing. Baldwin didn’t want the grand jury to know the police department hasn’t decided exactly what took place. If he had, the jurors might have told him to come back when the case is ready to present.”

  “I’m getting railroaded,” Luke said with a sigh.

  There was a knock on the door. Jane jumped.

  “Come in!” Grayson called out.

  One of the bailiffs opened the door. “Mr. Grayson, you asked me to let you know what the grand jury returned,” the deputy said without making eye contact with Luke. “One count of aggravated assault with a deadly weapon.”

  “Thanks, Mickey,” Grayson replied.

  After the door closed, Jane took a tissue from her purse and pressed it against her eyes.

  “I’m deeply sorry,” Grayson said. “I’ve already made arrangements for you to voluntarily go to the jail to be booked, and a magistrate is standing by to set bail. I don’t know how much that will be, but I know someone who’s willing to post bond for you.”

  Luke’s head was spinning at the thought of going to jail to be photographed and fingerprinted.

  “Wait—who’s going to put up bond?” he asked.

  “Clayton Jones.”

  “We bought a used minivan from his dealership last year,” Jane said.

  “When he found out I was representing you, he called to see how he could help,” Grayson said. “My firm has represented Clayton for years. He knows there are people in the community who won’t like it if he vouches for you, but that didn’t stop him from offering.”

  “I’m not sure how to thank him,” Luke said.

  “The crowd downstairs is one group,” Grayson replied. “But not everyone in Campbellton feels the same way. I’ll give you a ride to the jail in my car so Jane can go home.”

  They stepped into the hallway. The photographer Luke recognized from the rally at the high school was waiting for them, along with a woman Luke didn’t know. The photographer began taking pictures. Luke stepped in front of Jane.

  “Leave her out of this!” he demanded.

  The photographer ignored him. The woman spoke to Grayson.

  “Any comment about Officer Nelson being indicted by the Nash County grand jury?” she asked.

  “The wheels of justice are turning, Ms. Standard,” Grayson replied. “We believe that when all the evidence is presented, Officer Nelson will be exonerated.”

  “What sort of evidence?” the reporter asked.

  Grayson began moving down the hall with Luke and Jane trailing behind him.

  “Convincing evidence. The grand jury didn’t hear from multiple persons who have knowledge about this case or those involved in the ongoing investigation into what took place.”

  The reporter spoke to Luke. “Officer Nelson, now that you know Deshaun Hamlin was unarmed, are you sorry you shot him?”

  “Because this is now a legal case, Officer Nelson cannot comment,” Grayson cut in.

  “He doesn’t regret shooting an unarmed teenager in the head and chest?” the reporter continued and then refocused on Grayson. “Are you going to argue that the shooting was justified?”

  “Our arguments will be made at the proper time in the proper place,” Grayson replied.

  They reached the elevator that had brought Luke and Jane to the second floor. The bailiff who’d delivered the news of the grand jury’s actions pressed the call button.

  “Is Ms. Adisa Johnson also going to represent Officer Nelson?” the reporter asked. “Was she meeting with DA Baldwin as part of the defense team? And is that part of your strategy for negating the racial implications of this case? To bring in a black attorney who grew up here to represent a white officer?”

  Luke’s face registered his shock, and the photographer took his picture.

  “Ms. Johnson has no current involvement in this matter,” Grayson said.

  “But you’re not ruling her out for the future?”

  Grayson didn’t reply. The elevator arrived. Grayson, Luke, and Jane got in, and the door closed to a final flurry of photos.

  “Why was she asking about the black lawyer?” Luke asked sharply. “Does the reporter know something we don’t?”

  “It’s complicated,” Grayson replied with a sigh. “Which is one of several reasons why I didn’t answer the question.”

  Adisa arrived at the hospital in time for Aunt Josie’s dinner, which included mashed potatoes and stewed squash cooked so long that it had turned into yellow mush. But to Aunt Josie, the introduction of anything other than liquids was ecstasy. The older woman was able to maneuver small forkfuls of food into her mouth with her left hand. As she chewed, she closed her eyes in contentment.

  “Child, this is like manna in the wilderness. And don’t tell me how bland it is. Let me believe this is fresh from my garden.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Adisa said with a smile. “I’m not going to tell you what you already know—the potatoes came from a box instead of the ground.”

  Aunt Josie’s hand shook slightly as she raised a fluffy white bite to her mouth. “It’s hard to fake real mashed potatoes,” the older woman said. “Do you remember how you used to pick out the bits of skin when I’d make them with red potatoes?”

  “It was a texture thing.”

  “And part of growing up. Life has a lot of skin in it. You can’t pick it out like you did when you were little. That’s where most of the vitamins and minerals are hiding.”

  “Why are you saying that?” Adisa asked.

  “’Cause it’s true,” Aunt Josie said, licking her lips. “But you already know that.”

  After dinner, Adisa brushed her aunt’s teeth.

  “If it’s okay, I’m going to Reggie’s church this evening,” Adisa said as her aunt swished water around in her mouth.

  “I think that’s a great idea,” Aunt Josie replied after spitting the water into a plastic bowl. “I don’t want you wasting your life hanging around me just to brush my teeth.”

  “Aunt Josie!”

  “Go to church,” Aunt Josie said with a smile. “If my sense of humor is coming back, it’s time for them to let me out of this hospital.”

  Adisa
leaned over and kissed her aunt on the forehead.

  “Have a good time,” the older woman said. “I bet Reggie is a great preacher.”

  Adisa stopped off at Aunt Josie’s house to change clothes. She wasn’t sure if people dressed up every time they walked through the doors at Zion Hills Baptist, but it was always better to be overdressed than underdressed. She found a green dress of Shanika’s that her sister hadn’t been able to wear since giving birth to Ronnie Jr. It fit Adisa perfectly.

  The church parking lot was half full when she arrived. Attendance was healthy for a midweek service. Adisa parked in an area of newly paved asphalt divided by freshly painted lines. Bible in hand, she walked to the front entrance and climbed three broad steps. She could already hear singing from inside the brightly lit sanctuary.

  A twenty-person choir was praising so loudly they sounded like a group two or three times larger. The director was a young woman about Adisa’s age who played an electric keyboard with one hand and directed the choir with the other. The director ran her fingers down the keyboard, pounded out a few new chords, and the choir took off on a new song. The words to the song were displayed on two screens to the right and left of the pulpit platform. The sanctuary was traditional in design, but there had obviously been technical upgrades to the sound and media systems. Adisa sat near the front.

  Reggie strode out onto the platform. He was wearing a coat and a tie, but most of those in attendance were dressed more casually. The preacher made eye contact with Adisa and pointed upward. Adisa wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean but smiled and nodded. Several more songs followed. Adisa found herself swaying in rhythm. Several people nearby lifted their hands, and a few shouted. When the last song died down, Reggie turned around and offered up an opening prayer.

  “Welcome to you all, especially our first-time visitors,” he said.

  Adisa assumed he would ask the visitors to identify themselves, but Reggie didn’t go in that direction. Instead, he announced the theme for the meeting.

  “This evening is for testimonies,” he said. “Usually you hear me preach, but tonight you’re going to speak the truth of God’s grace, goodness, and power to one another. I’ve talked to a few of you in advance. You will get things started, but after that, the pulpit is open to anyone who wants to give God praise and glory. First up is Gloria Nichols.”

  A woman in her midthirties walked onto the platform.

  “Please keep it to five minutes,” Reggie said to the woman with a twinkle in his eyes.

  “Five minutes!” the woman exclaimed. “You told me I could talk for ten minutes!”

  Reggie turned to the congregation. “Five minutes or ten minutes?” he asked.

  “Ten!” a chorus of voices replied.

  “Time starts now,” Reggie said and then stepped from the platform to the front pew.

  Gloria told how the Lord had been working in her relationship with her troubled twelve-year-old daughter. She was followed by a man named Kenneth, who was celebrating a year of sobriety and the restoration of his marriage. Adisa knew Kenneth’s sister-in-law and saw her sitting in the congregation.

  “Who else wants to share?” Reggie said after he led the congregation in prayer for a man named Roger.

  “I do!” a strong female voice called out.

  Adisa and those around her strained to see who’d spoken.

  “Of course, Sister Armistead,” Reggie said. “Someone please help her to the platform.”

  TWENTY

  LUKE FELT NUMB when the detention officer at the jail took his photo and rolled his fingerprints. He wondered if the mug-shot picture would be published in the newspaper the following day. Afterward, he sat alone for half an hour on a chair in the hallway near the booking station. There was nothing to do except stare at the concrete floor painted a glossy gray and marred by scuff marks left by the black-soled shoes of detention officers. No one was in the nearby drunk tank, and the jail was quiet as a tomb. The door near the booking area clanged open, and Theo Grayson appeared.

  “Let’s go,” the lawyer said. “Magistrate Caldwell set your bail at $100,000, and Clayton Jones posted a property bond. He’s aware that one of the superior court judges could increase bail on his own accord or upon request of the DA’s office. Just make sure you don’t say or do anything that will give the judge assigned to the case an excuse to revoke bond or increase it to a level that Clayton won’t touch.”

  “What would make the judge do that?”

  “Harassing a witness or making statements that you might leave town.”

  “I wouldn’t do either one of those things.”

  “Then I suggest you stay away from Stan Jackson and don’t investigate the case on your own,” Grayson said.

  “I didn’t hassle him.”

  “That’s not what the DA claims.”

  “What?!”

  “Hold on,” Grayson said in a calm voice. “This happens. People are already saying crazy things about you.”

  “Yeah,” Luke admitted. “But it’s tougher coming from someone like the DA, who’s in law enforcement.”

  They left the booking area and went through another secure door. Outside, Luke took a deep breath. Even his limited time in the confined area had felt like a crushing weight. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like as his day-to-day existence. They got in Grayson’s fancy car.

  “I’m still working on finding a lawyer who can take on primary responsibility for your case,” Grayson said as he pulled out of the parking lot. “Judge Andrews knows my role is limited. If I were thirty years younger, he could force me to represent you, but that’s not going to happen now.”

  “I wish it would,” Luke replied.

  “One step at a time. Let’s get you home to Jane and your little girl. If the reporter from the newspaper tries to ask any more questions, refer her to me.”

  “I’ve always refused to talk to them, which hasn’t done me any good.”

  “But it hasn’t made things worse.”

  Luke wasn’t sure how things could get worse. Grayson turned onto the main road away from the center of town.

  “How is Hamlin doing?” Luke asked. “Has there been any improvement in his condition?”

  “As far as I know, he’s still in a coma, which disqualifies him from having surgery to remove the bullet,” Grayson replied.

  “I sure hope he makes it.”

  “Yes,” Grayson said, glancing to the side at Luke. “We all know his death would make things a lot worse.”

  On the arm of one of the younger parishioners, Thelma Armistead made her way slowly to the front of the sanctuary. Reggie took the older woman’s hand and assisted her up the steps and onto the platform. Sister Armistead was wearing a turquoise dress. Reggie spoke into the microphone.

  “Sister Armistead, we’re all continuing to pray for Deshaun’s recovery and that justice will be done to the white officer who shot him. Thankfully, the Nash County grand jury met earlier today and issued an indictment charging Officer Nelson with aggravated assault.”

  Several “Amens!” and claps greeted Reggie’s words. Sister Armistead put her hands on the edges of the pulpit and leaned forward so that her mouth was close to the microphone.

  “It’s because of Officer Nelson that I’m here,” she said in a voice that carried across the sanctuary.

  Reggie reached over and pulled the microphone an inch or two away from the older woman’s lips.

  “The Lord has dealt with me over the past few days,” Sister Armistead continued. “And he’s convicted me to say something that some of you may not understand or agree with.”

  Not wanting to miss anything, Adisa leaned forward. Sister Armistead closed her eyes and put her hand on her heart. Adisa suddenly wondered if the older woman was about to collapse on the platform. But she opened her eyes, looked toward the ceiling, and lifted her right hand high in the air.

  “Lord, I forgive Officer Luke Nelson for shooting my Deshaun!” she cried out. “La
y not this sin at his door! I forgive him! I forgive him! I forgive him!”

  Adisa stared, transfixed by the passion and anguish on the grandmother’s face.

  “And I ask you to forgive him!” Sister Armistead continued. “I want no part of judgment! Only mercy! Mercy! Mercy! For him, for Deshaun, for me!”

  Reggie seemed as stunned by the moment as Adisa. Sister Armistead turned toward the preacher.

  “That’s all, Pastor,” she said in a soft voice.

  Sister Armistead slowly made her way to the top of the steps. A man on the front row jumped to his feet and helped her to one of the front pews. Reggie returned to the microphone.

  “Does anyone else, uh, have a testimony they’d like to share?” he asked.

  Two more people came forward, but Adisa’s mind and heart couldn’t move from the place Sister Armistead had taken her. When the meeting ended, Adisa positioned herself so she could watch the way people interacted with the older woman. She wondered if anyone would aggressively confront an elderly, well-respected woman whose grandson was lying in a coma at the local hospital. The looks on several faces made it clear they disagreed with what Sister Armistead said. Leaning on the arm of one of the men Adisa had seen at the hospital, Sister Armistead made her way slowly down the aisle. After she left, Reggie came over to Adisa.

  “That was powerful,” Adisa said. “But I’m guessing Sister Armistead didn’t let you know in advance what she was going to say.”

  “No, she didn’t,” Reggie said and then lowered the volume of his voice. “But I wish she had. People want justice, not judgment, and she’s muddied the waters. I know Thelma is trying to work through things the best she can, but it sounded like she’s struck a bargain with the Lord that if she forgives Officer Nelson, God will raise up Deshaun.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Adisa replied. “It seemed like pure passion to me.”

  “But dubious theology, which puts me in damage control mode.”