Adisa helped Aunt Josie get dressed. She was able to manage everything except tying her shoes.
“You’re doing fantastic,” Adisa said when they finished.
“How does my hair look?” Aunt Josie asked.
“Less gray and more white,” Adisa replied honestly.
“That’s just a sign of the glory.”
“Do you want to use your walker?”
“Yes, but I’ll bring my stick, too. You can carry it for me.”
Adisa grabbed the walking stick from its place behind the front door and helped Aunt Josie descend the front steps. They moved slowly but steadily down the driveway, Aunt Josie pushing the walker with Adisa beside her.
“How are you feeling?” Adisa asked when they reached the end of the driveway.
“Don’t be asking me that every ten feet.”
“I’ll be quiet.”
“No, I want you to participate.”
Not exactly sure what the older woman meant, Adisa stayed by her side as they passed Walter and Mary Broome’s house. Aunt Josie began praying.
“Lord, bless Walter and Mary and strengthen them for all the purposes you have for them until they go to be with you. May their children and grandchildren open their hearts to Jesus and know the height and depth and breadth of his love for them.”
Adisa watched as her aunt prayed.
“Your turn,” Aunt Josie said.
“What?” Adisa asked.
“Pray what the Lord puts in your heart for the Broome family.”
“Okay.”
Adisa glanced at the house before she spoke. “Uh, I especially pray for their daughter, Leanne, and ask that she will find the healing you have for her after going through her divorce. May her children know that God is a loving Father even though their natural father abandoned them. May he repent and return to his family a changed man.”
Adisa stopped. Aunt Josie continued to shuffle forward. She nodded her head.
“Yes, I was thinking about Leanne, too, but you said it way better than I could have.”
“That’s not true.”
“Don’t argue with me.” Aunt Josie began moving forward a bit faster.
And so it went. They didn’t pray as they passed every house, but twelve families received prayer without knowing or asking for it. When they reached the site dedicated to Deshaun, Aunt Josie stared at the fresh flowers, photo, and basketball.
“Hand me that ball,” she said to Adisa.
Adisa picked up the basketball and balanced it on the front of the walker. Aunt Josie placed her hands on the ball and closed her eyes. Her lips moved, but she didn’t speak out loud. Even though it was a warm morning, a chill ran down Adisa’s arms, and she rubbed them.
“Amen,” Aunt Josie said, opening her eyes. “What do you have to add?”
“I’m not sure what you prayed.”
A car drove by and the driver honked the horn and waved. It was a neighbor whom they’d prayed for. Aunt Josie touched her forehead in response. Without thinking, Adisa raised the stick in greeting before quickly lowering it.
“Go ahead,” Aunt Josie said. “Just pray what’s in your heart.”
Adisa thought for a moment. Her eyes went to the basketball, which still rested on the front of the walker.
“I pray that Deshaun will be able to dribble a basketball again. Amen.”
“That’s good,” Aunt Josie said. “Now, will you go back to the house and get the car? I don’t think I’m up to walking home.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, but I’ve reached my limit.”
“Do you want me to leave the walking stick?”
“No.” Aunt Josie smiled. “It looks better in your hand than it does in mine.”
Carrying the stick, Adisa jogged to Aunt Josie’s house. When she returned with the car, the older woman was sitting on the curb with her head resting in her hands. She looked up as Adisa slowed and stopped. Adisa helped her stand and get into the car. Aunt Josie leaned her head against the seat and closed her eyes.
“There was a time when I could walk for two hours and feel the same as when I left the house,” the older woman said. “Now I go three blocks and it wears me out.”
“I’m impressed,” Adisa replied. “You’ve recovered wonderfully.”
Aunt Josie opened her eyes and turned her head toward Adisa. “I love you,” the older woman said.
“I love you, too,” Adisa said as her emotions rushed to the surface.
Aunt Josie reached across and touched Adisa’s smooth hand with her wrinkled one. “And when I go to heaven I want you to have my stick.”
The feeling that had washed over Adisa at the old cemetery returned. She gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. They turned onto Baxter Street and slowed to enter the driveway of Aunt Josie’s house. Thoughts of unworthiness and inadequacy flashed through Adisa’s mind. She turned off the motor but didn’t move from her place behind the wheel.
“Aunt Josie, I don’t want to seem proud,” she said, “but I’m not sure I’m cut out for walking all over town with a stick in my hand.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to.” Aunt Josie smiled. “My grandfather wore a straw hat and overalls and held his hands behind his back. I’m the one who added the stick. You’ll need to do things your own way. And Campbellton is a lot bigger now. It might be best to drive the streets. Of course, you’d have to pray faster.”
Adisa glanced over her shoulder at the stick that lay across the rear seat of her car. “I like the stick. Maybe I could carry it in the car.”
Aunt Josie nodded. “That works for me.”
Jane wiped away a few final tears and hung up the phone in the kitchen after a long conversation with her mother. Luke, who was sitting at the kitchen table, glanced up at his wife’s face, which told the whole story.
“She’s not going to budge, is she?” Luke asked. “I could hear it in her voice when I was explaining the situation to her.”
“No, she’s not.” Jane shook her head. “I thought she would see it from our point of view, but she’s not going to do anything else to help. No more money. She was crying, too.”
“It’s not her responsibility to take care of us. That falls on me.”
“What are we going to do?” Jane asked, sitting down across from him.
Luke took a deep breath before answering. “Face the truth,” he replied. “I love you, and I love the faith you have in me and in God. But I can’t get my last conversation with Mr. Grayson out of my mind. What are the chances a jury is going to believe I had the right to shoot Deshaun Hamlin?”
Jane didn’t respond.
“There’s a chance I’ll be acquitted,” Luke continued. “But it’s a slim one. And the risk of being sent off so that I’m not here for you and don’t have a chance to be a father to Ashley—”
Luke stopped. Jane kept her eyes focused on his face.
“Do you want to know what I think?” Jane asked in a slightly trembling voice after a few moments passed.
Luke nodded. Jane reached out with her right hand and gently cupped Luke’s cheek. “I think you’re a good man. And I’m going to trust you to make the right decision for all of us.”
Luke didn’t want the burden of choosing to go to trial and risk a decade or more in prison to fall on the woman he loved. But the weight on his soul was beyond comprehension. He leaned into Jane’s hand and closed his eyes, trying to will away the harsh reality that stared him in the face.
Images flashed through his mind in rapid succession: he saw himself standing before Judge Andrews, entering a plea of nolo contendere, being escorted from the courtroom under guard, taking a long, lonely prison bus ride to a work camp, and finally, lying on his back on a flimsy bunk bed where he was forced to inhale the breath of despair every minute of every day. Luke’s eyes hadn’t known tears since he was a boy, but in that moment he was driven back so far and so deep that two large teardrops escaped from the corners of his eyes and ran down hi
s cheeks. He raised his head to wipe them away with the back of his hand and looked at Jane. He had to accept the horror he knew rather than risk an even greater tragedy.
“I’m going to take the plea deal,” he said, trying to sound strong when he felt incredibly weak. “It will be bad, but I’ll come back home. I promise.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
LEAVING AUNT JOSIE with Simone, Adisa spent a productive morning working on files for Mike Williams. Grayson stopped by her office at noon and invited her to lunch.
“Only if you let me pay,” Adisa replied. “It’s part of my penance.”
“Then I select where we go.”
They went to the Jackson House and sat in the same booth Adisa occupied when she first read the article in the AJC that precipitated her firing at Dixon and White. Adisa mentioned it while they waited for their food.
“I’ve finally reached a place of internal peace toward the reporter,” Adisa said, pointing to her heart. “Not that I want to talk to her, but I believe I could do so without letting the past make me angry.”
“I’ve always had a different take on the article,” Grayson replied.
“Really?” Adisa raised her eyebrows.
“It was the article that led me to you,” the older lawyer said. “I know that was a painful time for you, but it’s been positive for me and you.”
“I’m thankful for the job, but upset that I messed up my opportunity to help share the burden of Luke’s case.”
“Even that may work out for the best. I have a feeling once Luke and Jane consider the plea bargain and what it’s going to cost to bring Richard Lankford on board, they might see it’s better to negotiate a favorable peace than fight a futile war.”
“You don’t think you could win in front of a jury?”
“Of course I do,” Grayson replied immediately. “If I didn’t, then I shouldn’t walk into a courtroom. But Robert E. Lee probably believed General Pickett could charge a mile across open land against entrenched positions and capture Cemetery Ridge at Gettysburg.”
Adisa laughed. “Mr. Grayson, I’m not sure that’s the best example to share with me. I’m glad Pickett failed.”
“Me, too,” Grayson replied with a serious expression on his face. “My ancestors would likely disagree, but his failure helped bring our nation to the place where you and I could sit together as colleagues in a booth at the Jackson House Restaurant. And we need to help the rest of Campbellton get to where I hope we are.”
“I’m with you,” Adisa said. “And it’s an honor.”
“If that’s the case, I want you to start calling me Theo.”
Adisa hesitated. “Just try it out,” the older lawyer said.
Adisa smiled. “Okay, Theo it is.”
As they finished the meal, Grayson touched his abdomen with a pained expression on his face. “Something isn’t agreeing with my stomach,” he said. “Excuse me.”
By the time the older lawyer returned to the table, his face was pasty white, and Adisa could see beads of sweat on his forehead.
“I feel worse than I did,” he said.
“Should you go to the doctor or the ER?” Adisa asked with concern in her voice. “Is your heart okay?”
“Yes, it’s my stomach that’s in open rebellion. I just need to make it home and collapse there.”
“Check in with me later, please.”
“Sure. I hate to ask you to do it, but can you cover one last thing in Luke’s case?” The older lawyer raised his hand to cover his mouth.
“The initial meeting at the police department with the forensic expert who’s going to examine the bullets?” Adisa asked.
“Yes. All you need to do is make sure everything is set up for future analysis.”
“Will do.”
Grayson’s face became even paler and he quickly left the restaurant. Adisa paid for the meal and left.
After a quick stopover at the office, she drove to the police department. She was a few minutes early and decided to wait in the car. A young white officer and a young black officer came out together talking and smiling. Adisa watched them walk across the parking lot and get in the same police car. The comfortable, natural interaction between the two men was apparent. Adisa suspected the bond forged by their choice of career helped them overcome at least some of their ethnic differences. Resting her right hand on the center console, she looked out the windshield past the police department building and down the street toward the fire station where she suspected white, black, and brown firefighters served together in a fraternity dedicated to saving lives and protecting property.
And Adisa felt a prayer rise up in her spirit.
Barriers between races weaken in the face of a common purpose that unites people in a cause bigger than any individual. So Adisa prayed and asked God to give the people of Nash County ideas, vision, plans, and the willingness to cooperate across racial lines.
Adisa let her sanctified imagination run free. In her mind’s eye she saw men, women, and children of all colors: building, feeding, sharing, reading, teaching, playing sports, studying, singing, and praying together. The images were so vibrant she wondered if she was experiencing a vision of what would actually happen in the future or an expectation of what God desired. In any event, she knew her job at that moment was to pray. More ideas came, followed by flashes of activity. Churches should take the lead, and Adisa determined to talk to Reggie about it as soon as possible.
Checking her phone, she realized she was a few minutes late for the meeting with the ballistics expert. She hurriedly went inside the police department and introduced herself to the young woman on duty at the front desk. The woman escorted her to a plainly furnished conference room where Detective Maxwell waited.
“Sorry I’m late,” Adisa said.
“Dr. Robinson hasn’t arrived yet,” the detective said. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“Sure,” Adisa replied. “Black, please.”
Maxwell returned with coffee in a Styrofoam cup and two clear plastic bags containing small pieces of brass-colored metal. He set the coffee on the table in front of Adisa, who took a sip. It was strong enough to tarnish a silver spoon. There was a knock on the door.
“Come in!” Maxwell barked.
The receptionist opened the door, and a short, balding man in his late fifties or early sixties entered.
“I’m Vic Robinson,” the man said.
Adisa and Maxwell introduced themselves.
“Let me see what you have, and I’ll conduct a quick visual exam. After that we’ll discuss next steps.”
The detective placed two clear plastic bags in front of the expert, who sat at the head of the table.
“The one marked ‘Bullet A’ was recovered at the scene of the shooting,” Maxwell said. “It passed through the victim’s body. ‘Bullet B’ was surgically removed from the victim’s brain.”
From her vantage point at the table, Adisa couldn’t tell any difference. Both bags contained misshapen pieces of metal. Robinson took a white cloth from his briefcase and laid it on the table. Then, using a pair of tweezers, he removed the bullet that went through Deshaun’s upper chest and landed in the middle of East Nixon Street.
“No doubt about it,” the ballistics expert said. “It’s a 9 mm parabellum hollow point that failed to expand on impact. Thus, it acted more like a full metal jacket round. That’s why it passed through the body.”
He opened the other bag, removed the bullet, and placed it on the cloth. The second piece of metal was much more misshapen as a result of its impact with Deshaun’s skull. Robinson placed a jeweler’s magnifier in front of his right eye and held the bullet close to his face with the tweezers. He rotated it several times before returning it to the cloth.
“No question about this round, either,” he said. “It’s a 22-caliber long rifle.”
Adisa’s mouth dropped open. She stared at the two bullets, now realizing they looked nothing alike. She glanced at Maxwell, who seemed less s
urprised than she was.
“Did you know?” she asked the detective.
“Only a reasonably confident suspicion,” Maxwell replied drily. “I was going to send the bullets to the GBI crime lab in Atlanta, but when I found out Dr. Robinson was coming today, I decided to sit in and listen to what he had to say.”
Adisa stared again at the two small pieces of metal. “That means Officer Nelson didn’t fire the shot that hit Deshaun in the head,” she said more to herself than anyone else.
“And someone else did,” Maxwell concluded.
Robinson placed the second bullet in the bag and handed both bags to Maxwell. Adisa was still reeling in shock from what she’d heard.
“You’re one hundred percent sure the bullets came from different guns?” she asked.
“Let me put it to you this way,” Robinson replied. “I don’t think one out of a hundred people trained in forensic ballistics would disagree with my opinion.”
“Is that good enough for you?” Adisa asked Maxwell.
“The purpose of a criminal investigation is the determination of the truth,” the detective answered. “That’s always been my only concern.”
“Do you want me to do anything else?” Robinson asked Adisa. “If you need a written report, there won’t be much in it.”
“Not necessary,” Maxwell said before Adisa could respond. “I’ll include your findings as part of my investigation.”
“Then I’m done here,” Robinson said.
“I’d like to talk to you for a minute after I see Dr. Robinson out,” Adisa said to Maxwell.
“I was going to suggest the same thing.”
Adisa and Dr. Robinson walked together down the short hallway. “Do you realize the impact your findings will have on our case?” she asked.
“Of course, but I believe Detective Maxwell already knew the truth. I confirmed what would have eventually come out anyway.”
When Adisa returned to the conference room, Maxwell was gone. She glanced in both directions down the hallway, but the detective wasn’t in sight. A couple of minutes later, he returned with a large box in his arms.
A Time to Stand Page 37
