A Time to Stand

by Robert Whitlow

  “How long?”

  “Since his first visit with me at the hospital.”

  Adisa could instantly picture the conversations. “How much does she know?”

  “Everything.”

  “Even our disagreement about my representation of Officer Nelson?”

  “Oh yes, but I couldn’t tell which side of the fence Shanika came down on. You can ask her while she’s here.”

  After the call ended, Adisa returned to working on the Nelson case. She’d made progress identifying potential experts who would help paint a picture of circumstances that justified the shooting. The deeper she went into preparation, the easier it became to divorce her feelings from what she was doing and let the analytical portion of her brain take over. The troubling part of that process was the similarity it bore to people throughout history who were cogs in oppressive regimes, performed their duties, and later claimed they were “simply obeying orders.” Adisa brushed aside those thoughts and reminded herself that facts were stubborn things, and a jury charged with determining the truth would receive clear instructions from the judge as to their mission. Her job was to present as broad a palette of factual colors as she could. There was a tap on her door. It was Theo Grayson.

  “You look deep in thought,” the older lawyer said.

  “It’s going to take more than me thinking deep thoughts to assure Luke Nelson a fair trial. Here, look this over.”

  Adisa pushed the print button for the document she’d been working on and handed the three sheets of paper to Grayson, who sat down in a chair across from her desk. Adisa waited for him to read the memo.

  “As you can see,” she said, “I’m making progress on narrowing the field of experts in the Nelson case. It hasn’t been as easy as finding a sitter to stay with Aunt Josie. I’ve talked briefly to two of them, but perhaps this is something you prefer to do yourself.”

  “The only expert I want to personally vet is the person who’s going to testify that Luke’s actions were reasonable under accepted police standards.”

  “Do you believe such a person exists?” Adisa asked.

  “He’d better. That’s fifty percent of our case.”

  “How about a she? Did you see the woman on the list? Dr. Briscoe has a PhD in criminal justice and thirty years’ experience.”

  “Yes,” Grayson said, shifting in his chair. “But I’m not sure a woman who retired from the city police department in Milwaukee is going to play well in front of a Nash County jury.”

  “That’s not all,” Adisa replied. “Dr. Briscoe is black, but she came across as police blue to me. I couldn’t see her face, but she didn’t verbally flinch when I told her our facts. And although we didn’t get into a lot of details, she didn’t hang up on me when she found out I was calling about a young white officer who shot an unarmed black teenager. Once she realized I was sticking my neck out to uphold the integrity of the justice system, a couple of things she mentioned clued me in that she might be willing to do so, too.”

  “Maybe I should withdraw my request to totally control the police standards expert,” Grayson said. “You don’t need me.”

  “No. I think it’s important for her to interact with you so that the color of my skin doesn’t overly influence her decision.”

  “If that’s what you think, I’ll contact her next week.”

  Adisa slid another sheet of paper across her desk so Grayson could see it. “Here’s the subpoena for the bullet taken from Deshaun’s brain,” she said.

  “And how will we respond if Jasper Baldwin finds out and serves us with a demand to turn it over to him?”

  “Uh, we’ll have to give it to him.”

  “And after he runs tests proving it came from Luke’s gun, Baldwin will bring it into court along with the slug that went through Deshaun’s body, line them up on the railing in front of the jury box, and then let each member of the jury handle them personally.”

  Adisa flinched. “The report is a safety precaution to make sure the bullets came from Luke’s weapon. Remember, he claims he heard a gunshot before he fired.”

  “Or a lightning strike or a truck backfire. I agree we should run ballistics, but our better argument will be about Luke’s state of mind, not whether he was actually in mortal danger.”

  Grayson returned the subpoena to Adisa’s desk. She slid it into a thin folder marked “Discovery.”

  “And I haven’t been able to find an expert in crime scene reconstruction,” she said. “I’ll keep searching, but we won’t have a possible name to provide to Judge Andrews at the arraignment.”

  “He won’t expect names, only that you and I are ‘on the same page,’ as he described it the other day in his chambers.”

  “Should we specifically mention Dr. Briscoe? That will show him we’re making real progress.”

  Grayson paused for a moment. “I don’t want to give Baldwin too much information before we’ve locked down an expert’s opinion. He wouldn’t hesitate to do an end run and poison a potential witness by feeding them information slanted in his direction.”

  “He’d do that?”

  “There are city manners and country bare-knuckle rules,” Grayson replied with a smile.

  “Okay,” Adisa said, checking the open screen of her computer one more time to see if she had overlooked anything. “Then I guess we’re ready for arraignment on Monday.”

  “We’ll keep it short. Someone will be at the courthouse from the newspaper, but based on what the judge told us, there won’t be any cameras allowed in the courtroom. Unless you think otherwise, I recommend we enter and exit with only a brief comment to the press about looking forward to presenting a vigorous defense that will exonerate Luke.”

  “Exonerate? That makes it sound like we believe he’s not guilty.”

  “What word would you use?”

  Adisa thought for a moment. “I’d say that we are going to present a vigorous defense without drawing a conclusion as to where it will end up.”

  Grayson pressed his lips together tightly for a moment. Adisa knew he wasn’t happy with her recommendation.

  “I won’t use the word ‘exonerate,’” he said, “but I’m going to try to come up with something else and ask you to do so, too.”

  “And you’re going to make sure Luke keeps his mouth shut?”

  “Yes. All I want him to say is ‘Not guilty,’ when Judge Andrews asks how he wants to plea to the charges. Otherwise he should be as mute as a guard at Buckingham Palace.”

  Talking about the court appearance, even though it would be routine, made Adisa’s heart beat a little faster.

  “Any chance reporters from other papers will be there?” she asked.

  “I hope not. The bigger story would be the judge banning video media from the courtroom, but that won’t be publicized in advance.”

  “What time did you tell Luke to be here on Monday?” she asked.

  “An hour early. That way we can bring him up-to-date on what you’re doing and provide an estimated budget for expert witnesses.”

  Grayson told Adisa about his three-way phone conversation with Luke and Jane.

  “If his mother-in-law is serious about helping, we need to ask for a reasonable deposit that we’ll hold in trust until needed.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Will you be in the office tomorrow?” Adisa asked. “I’m coming in for a couple of hours to work on a project Mike gave me. I’ll leave when my sister arrives in town to see Aunt Josie.”

  Grayson smiled. “One of my granddaughters has a soccer game in the morning, and I’m going to be there to cheer her on. After that, I’ve promised to let her spend the afternoon with me doing anything she wants to do.”

  Adisa’s eyes widened. “How old is she?”

  “Nine.”

  “Do you realize what you’re getting into? The wishes of a nine-year-old girl can be a bit unpredictable.”

  “And will get my mind off this place and the responsibilities I carry with me the
rest of the week.” Grayson rubbed the side of his nose. “And I’m enough of a manipulator to give guidance to her whims. Remember, I convinced you to work with me here.”

  “Don’t give yourself too much credit. You had help from above.”

  “Any regrets?”

  Adisa thought about how excited she’d been to land the job at Dixon and White and the incredible opportunity to be mentored by someone like Catherine Summey. Getting over that disappointment wasn’t the work of a week or a month.

  “It’s okay. You don’t have to answer,” Grayson said when he saw she was hesitating.

  The older lawyer turned to go and then stopped. “Oh, one other thing,” he said. “If my granddaughter ever decides to become a lawyer, I want her to talk to you first. You can share things with her far beyond the scope of my experience.”

  The following morning Adisa fixed a light breakfast for Aunt Josie. The transition from hospital to home had gone smoothly. The addition of Simone to the mix had added zest to Aunt Josie’s day, and their diet had been supplemented with delicious food brought over by Mary Broome.

  “Are you and Simone doing anything besides sitting around talking?” Adisa asked as she watched Aunt Josie carefully lift a bite of scrambled eggs with cheese from her plate to her mouth.

  “We’re doing my exercises three times a day.”

  Aunt Josie was able to push her fork into a small piece of sausage and smoothly maneuver it into her mouth.

  “You’re doing great with the fork,” Adisa said.

  “The reward is when it hits my taste buds. I was tired of hospital food and needed something savory in my diet.”

  “What about sweet?” Adisa asked. “I saw the cookies in the jar on the kitchen counter.”

  “Simone made them. I told her to take them home for her kids, but she insisted we keep a few here. It’s her own chocolate chip recipe. You should try one.”

  “I did last night with a glass of milk after you went to sleep. They were good.”

  Adisa took a sip of coffee and checked the clock on the wall in the kitchen.

  “I’m going to the office for a couple of hours,” she said. “Shanika should be here by ten o’clock.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Should I stay to help you brush your teeth and get dressed?”

  “No, I can handle my teeth, and I’m going to stay in my robe until Shanika shows up. She’ll enjoy bossing me around and telling me what to wear.”

  “True. And remember to keep your cell phone with you. It’s on the table beside the sofa.”

  “Yes, yes. I’m going to read my Bible and pray. Did you see the map of Campbellton beside the sofa?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve been using it to go on prayer walks. Today I’m going downtown and taking a few laps around several of the churches.”

  “The services will be better, and the pastors won’t know why.”

  “Any updates about Deshaun?” Aunt Josie asked.

  “No, but no news is good news. Maybe I’ll find out something when Shanika and I visit Reggie’s church.”

  The bell on the front door chimed.

  “It’s too early for Shanika,” Adisa said, scooting back her chair. “I bet it’s Mary Broome. What do you want me to tell her?”

  “I was looking forward to my time with the Lord,” Aunt Josie said with a sigh. “But I don’t want to turn her away. She’s been so good to us. Invite her in.”

  Adisa walked to the front door and opened it. Mary Broome wasn’t standing on the front stoop.

  “Are you Adisa Johnson?” asked a nicely dressed young white woman who looked a few years older than Adisa.

  “Yes.”

  The woman confidently extended her right hand, and Adisa shook it.

  “I’m Sharon Rogers with the AJC. We talked a few weeks ago about a case you handled involving DNA evidence—”

  “And you wrote an article that cost me my job,” Adisa said, her jaw tightening against the fury rising in her gut.

  “Excuse me?” the reporter asked, her eyes widening.

  Adisa hesitated. She wanted to confront the reporter with the devastating impact the insinuations in the Larimore article had on Adisa’s career but wasn’t sure how to do so without violating her own sense of morality.

  “I’ll leave it at that,” she managed.

  “You and your boss should have returned my phone calls,” the reporter replied in a snippy tone of voice.

  “If I’d called, would it have made a difference?”

  The reporter paused, which let Adisa know discussion would have been fruitless. Rogers had an agenda.

  “That’s old news,” the reporter said. “I’d rather move on to the reason I’m here now. We’ve been keeping an eye on the case against the white police officer who shot the unarmed black teenager. When it came across my desk that you’re representing the officer, I volunteered to drive up and talk to you about it.”

  “Why did you volunteer?”

  The reporter laughed nervously. “I told my editor that I knew you from the previous piece, which would make it easier for us to ask you questions.”

  “No one on the defense team is talking to reporters,” Adisa said in an effort to be professional. “We’re going to try this case in a Nash County courtroom, not in the media.”

  “If you deny me access, I’ll still write my story.”

  “And I’ll deal with the consequences.”

  Sharon Rogers turned away and descended the steps. Adisa watched her for a few seconds.

  “Who was that?” Aunt Josie asked when Adisa returned to the living room.

  “Somebody from the past who still has a hook in me that needs to be removed,” Adisa replied.

  “What do you mean?”

  “A newspaper reporter from Atlanta. I’m going to the office to get some work done before Shanika arrives.”

  “If the doorbell rings, I won’t answer it.”

  “Good.”

  After Luke brewed the morning coffee, he glanced outside and saw something that looked like a discarded coat. He walked across the wet grass toward the street. When he got closer he recognized a Campbellton Police Department uniform. He carefully picked it up but immediately dropped it.

  It was covered in blood.

  Looking up and down the empty street, he knelt for a better look. The red substance smeared on the trousers and shirt bore a closer resemblance to paint than dried blood. Not wanting to touch it with his bare hands, he went inside the house and found a pair of rubber gloves beneath the sink.

  “Is the coffee ready?” Jane called out from Ashley’s room.

  “Yes.”

  “Could you bring a cup in here for me?”

  “Just a minute,” he answered. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Where are you going?” Jane asked, but Luke ignored her on his way out the door.

  Everything about the uniform looked legitimate. He used a gloved hand to make sure there wasn’t anything dangerous underneath it. The grass was dry, which meant it had been there during the night before dew formed on the ground. Stepping back, he took several pictures with the camera on his phone. Returning to the house, he poured a cup of coffee for Jane and took it to her in Ashley’s room.

  “What were you doing?” Jane asked as she cleaned Ashley’s face with a washcloth. “I heard you opening and shutting the front door a couple of times.”

  Luke told Jane what he’d found. He watched as her lower lip trembled slightly before it steadied.

  “There have always been hateful people in the world,” she said in a voice trying to sound strong. “It’s just that they’ve never turned their hate toward us.”

  “I’ll call the police department and ask someone to take a look. It’s not easy for an ordinary citizen to get his hands on a uniform.”

  The dispatcher on duty connected Luke directly with Detective Maxwell.

  “Don’t move anything, and I’ll swing by,” the detective said.


  “I’ll be here,” Luke said. “Knock on the door, and I’ll come out and—”

  “That won’t be necessary. I’ll be in an unmarked car.”

  After the call ended, Jane came into the kitchen and placed Ashley in her high chair.

  “She has an awful case of the summer sniffles,” Jane said.

  Luke fed the little girl breakfast. Normally a voracious eater in the morning, she showed little appetite.

  “Will you clean the humidifier and set it up in her room?” Jane said.

  Luke and Jane had been married long enough that the way she phrased the question let him know that she didn’t want the unit cleaned later; she wanted it done now. Luke finished his now-cool cup of coffee.

  “It’s in the top of her closet, isn’t it?” he asked before leaving the kitchen.

  “Yes, unless you’ve moved it without telling me.”

  Luke quickly exited the kitchen. He opened the small closet in the corner of Ashley’s room and reached for the humidifier on the rear of the shelf. A cracking sound caused him to jump back. Spinning around, he saw a torn place in the wall that faced a rear corner of the house. Another cracking sound opened up a second tear about a foot beneath the other one. Luke immediately crouched and ran from the room to Jane and Ashley.

  “Get down!” he yelled. “Someone is shooting at the house!”

  Ashley had begun to cry. Luke grabbed Ashley and handed her to Jane, who immediately lowered herself to the floor, holding her daughter tightly, and leaned against the stove. Luke grabbed his gun from the top of the refrigerator and raced down the short hallway to the rear of the house. He peeked out the glass top of the door leading to the backyard and quickly scanned the wooded area behind the house. He saw no movement. He reached for the doorknob.

  “Luke!” Jane called out. “Please, come here!”

  Still crouching, Luke returned to the kitchen. “Two shots,” he said. “High up in Ashley’s room.”

  Ashley was crying so hard that she was having trouble catching her breath in between sobs. Her nose was a mess. Luke slid back down to the floor and put his arms around Jane and the baby. Jane was shaking uncontrollably.