A Time to Stand

by Robert Whitlow

  “This is the entire contents of the evidence locker in Officer Nelson’s case,” he said.

  While Adisa watched, the detective emptied the box and laid everything on the table. Included was Luke’s gun, which didn’t look as lethal now as it would have ten minutes earlier. When the detective reached the slip of paper found in Deshaun’s pocket on the night of the shooting, Adisa stopped him.

  “Was that found in Deshaun’s pocket?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it from the Westside Quik Mart?”

  “Yes.” Maxwell unfolded it and handed it to her. “On the evening of the shooting, Hamlin bought a bottle of sports energy drink and a bag of pistachios.”

  Adisa quickly inspected the flimsy slip of paper.

  “But no beef jerky,” she said.

  “Correct. That came from someplace or somebody else.”

  “Do you have any ideas or theories?” Adisa asked.

  “Not about the jerky, but it looks like Hamlin was caught up in the criminal activity that’s brought black tar heroin to town.”

  Adisa was silent for a moment before she spoke. “What I’m about to tell you may not convince you, but it might change your perspective a little bit.”

  Maxwell listened while Adisa relayed the information Reggie provided at the cemetery.

  “Squeezing a hand to deny something you wouldn’t want your grandmother to believe about you doesn’t move the meter for me,” the detective said when she finished. “But I’ll toss it in the basket for the new investigation I’ll be opening this afternoon to identify who shot Hamlin in the head.”

  “What about Luke’s case?” she asked. “When are you going to contact the DA?”

  “Immediately. I’ll report Dr. Robinson’s findings, add my own opinion, and tell him Officer Nelson’s claim that he heard a gunshot prior to discharging his weapon is plausible. There’s no way to determine who fired first—the unknown shooter or Nelson—but in that scenario I’m going to give greater credibility to the officer’s version of events.”

  “And you’ll ask the DA to dismiss the charges against Officer Nelson, right?”

  “That’s his call.” Maxwell smiled slightly. “But you’re a former prosecutor. What would you do based on the evidence you just heard?”

  Adisa left the police station caught up in a mixture of relief and euphoria tempered by the knowledge that nothing was final until Jasper Baldwin formally dismissed the charges against Luke. Adisa’s false success in the Larimore case had proved the illusive nature of victory. But in her heart, she knew this was different. There weren’t any skeletons in Luke Nelson’s closet.

  She returned to the office and called Grayson on his cell phone. When he didn’t answer she tried his house line. He picked up on the fifth ring.

  “Hello,” the older lawyer said in a weak voice.

  “I wouldn’t call unless I had something to tell you that should make you feel better,” Adisa began.

  “You can try, but I’m lying on my back staring at a ceiling that’s refusing to stay still.”

  “Should you go to the doctor?”

  “It’s a fever that’s making me slightly delusional. Some folks claim that is a lawyer’s natural state.”

  The glimmer of Grayson’s wit made Adisa feel better about his condition.

  “Well, what I’m about to tell you isn’t part of a hallucination that will disappear when your fever breaks.”

  Adisa told the older lawyer what the ballistics expert discovered and about the follow-up conversation with Detective Maxwell.

  “Call Luke,” Grayson replied. “Better yet, go to his house and deliver the news.”

  “Shouldn’t you notify him?”

  “They don’t want their baby exposed to whatever virus has leveled me. And at my age, I may not bounce back from this within twenty-four hours.”

  “Should I wait until I hear something from Jasper Baldwin’s office?”

  “No, that will take a few days. He’s not going to immediately fold his tent. But once the DA realizes his case against Luke is full of holes big enough for a possum to climb through, he’ll shut it down.”

  “What about the newspaper?”

  “Let Jasper get the credit for uncovering the truth.”

  “Why?” Adisa asked in surprise.

  “Are you trying to build a reputation in Campbellton as a hotshot criminal defense attorney?”

  “No.”

  “Neither am I. And if I ever come into your office and tell you we’re going to handle a major criminal case pro bono, I want you to call the psych ward at the hospital and tell them to involuntarily commit me.”

  “I promise.”

  “Oh, and let me know how it goes after you meet with Luke and Jane. If this is a fever-induced dream, I’m really enjoying it.”

  “This isn’t a dream. It’s real.”

  Adisa hung up the phone. She considered calling ahead to Luke’s house but decided not to. If the Nelson family wasn’t at home, she would take it as a sign to wait before sharing the good news.

  “Oh no!” Jane called out to Luke from the den where she was watching Ashley play on the floor.

  Working his way down a list of things to do around the house before he was shipped off to jail, Luke was in the master bathroom fixing a finicky toilet. He jumped up from the floor and ran into the den.

  “What is it?”

  Jane pointed to the front windows. The blinds were open.

  “It’s Adisa Johnson,” Luke said.

  “I’ll go outside and talk to her,” Jane replied. “You stay here with Ashley.”

  “No, I should do it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Jane picked up Ashley. “Luke, please don’t do or say anything that is going to cause us more trouble,” she said.

  “Don’t worry. This will be short. There’s not much fight left in me.”

  Luke opened the front door as Adisa was approaching the front steps. “There’s no need for you to cause any more trouble for my family,” he said calmly. “I have nothing else to say to you.”

  “But I have something to say to you,” Adisa replied. “You didn’t fire the shot that struck Deshaun Hamlin in the head.”

  “What?” Luke managed.

  Adisa climbed the steps and stood directly in front of him. “According to our ballistics expert, the bullet they took out of Deshaun’s brain was from a 22-caliber long rifle. The one that pierced his upper chest was a 9 mm from your handgun. When you said you heard the sound of a gunshot before you fired, you were telling the truth.”

  Luke felt his knees wobble. He put his hand on the doorframe to steady himself.

  “Would you like to hear more?” Adisa asked.

  “Yes, yes. Please, come inside.”

  It was almost six o’clock when Adisa finally left the Nelson house—with a huge piece of homemade cherry cheesecake to share with Aunt Josie. But much more precious to her was the memory of Luke’s apology ringing in her ears. She sat in the den with Luke and Jane while Ashley, oblivious to the magnitude of the moment, tried to place the different shapes into the hollow ball. Jane was on her fourth tissue by the time Adisa reached the halfway point of explaining what had happened at the police station.

  “This is what I’ve prayed since the beginning,” Jane said through sniffles. “That the Lord would uncover what happened and expose the deeds of darkness.”

  “Prayer answered,” Adisa said.

  “Did Maxwell have any theories about who fired the shot that hit Deshaun in the head?” Luke asked.

  It was the first time Adisa had heard Luke refer to the teenager as Deshaun. She couldn’t help savoring Luke’s recognition of the black teenager’s humanness.

  “That’s the police department’s newest case. Detective Maxwell is on it.”

  “I wish I could help,” Luke began and then stopped. “But there’s something I can do right now.”

  He put his hands toget
her and looked directly into Adisa’s eyes.

  “I owe you an apology,” he said. “I’ve been under a ton of stress and pressure, but that’s not an excuse for accusing you of something I couldn’t prove. It’s the same thing that was done to me, and I should have recognized what was going on. I’m sorry.”

  “Apology accepted and appreciated,” Adisa said.

  “There’s more,” Luke continued. “I overreacted the other day at the law office when you were simply doing the job I’d asked you to do—informing me about the latest developments in the case. Later, I could tell from the expression on Mr. Grayson’s face that I was wrong about you, but I listened to the negative voices in my head instead of the attorneys God provided for me. You took a huge risk to stand with me, and I know you probably experienced a ton of negative fallout because of it. The last thing you needed from me was an attack. Not only do I owe you an apology, I also want to thank you for your courage.”

  “That means a lot,” Adisa replied simply.

  Jane scooted closer to Luke and hugged him.

  Adisa had a smile on her face when she walked through the door of Aunt Josie’s house.

  “Good timing,” Aunt Josie said. “Simone left five minutes ago.”

  Adisa set the cheesecake on the coffee table in front of Aunt Josie.

  “Where did that come from? If it tastes as good as it looks, it will be delicious.”

  “Jane Nelson gave it to me. It’s an extra-large piece so I can share with you.”

  “What?” Aunt Josie asked, her eyes wide.

  “Have you had supper?” Adisa responded.

  “No, but Simone put our plates in the oven so we could eat as soon as you came home. She fixed baked chicken with a spicy rub, green beans, and macaroni and cheese.”

  “I was going to suggest we eat dessert first,” Adisa replied, “but that changes my mind. While we eat, I have something to tell you that probably violates the attorney-client confidentiality rules, but if I don’t let it out, I’m going to burst wide open.”

  While Adisa talked, Aunt Josie chewed slowly and kept shaking her head.

  “God is at work, child,” the older woman said. “You stood your ground for what you believed was right, and he used you to do his will.”

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  ONE YEAR LATER

  LUKE SLOWED HIS patrol car and stopped to wait for the light to change at Ash and Chestnut Streets. Near the corner was a house that a group of people from six different churches had renovated for an elderly woman who’d lost most of her vision due to diabetes. Eighteen men, six women, and ten teenagers came together on a Saturday and fixed a leaky roof, replaced floorboards in a bathroom that had collapsed due to water damage, and repainted the entire interior of the home. Luke and a black man from Reggie’s church spent most of the day working on the roof. Afterward, the two families grabbed a bite to eat at the Jackson House. The other family had a little boy the same age as Ashley. The youngsters took turns eating food from the other’s plate.

  The dispatcher came on the radio. “Officer Nelson, return immediately to the station for a meeting with Chief Lockhart and Detective Maxwell.”

  “10–4.”

  During the five-minute drive, Luke tried to guess the reason for the summons. The previous evening he’d arrested a man accused of domestic violence who ended up with a broken hand after taking a swing at Luke and hitting a doorframe instead.

  At the station Luke found Chief Lockhart and Detective Maxwell looking at photographs. The chief glanced up when Luke entered.

  “Have a seat, Nelson,” the chief said. “We have news that will be of interest to you.”

  Maxwell handed Luke a photograph. It was a mug shot from the Morris Correctional Institute in Dover, Delaware. Beneath the photo was the man’s name: “Kelvin Fitzgerald.”

  “That’s the individual who may have shot Deshaun Hamlin in the head,” Maxwell said. “Stanley Jackson, the clerk at the store, identified him from a photo lineup as the robber.”

  Luke stared at the face that impassively stared back.

  “I sent the photo to the Jackson CI and an administrative officer showed it to Gregory Ott,” Maxwell continued. “Ott now claims Fitzgerald is the person who shot Hamlin. Once Fitzgerald is extradited, we’ll bring in Ott to testify against him.”

  Greg Ott was serving eighteen months in prison after pleading guilty to possession of black tar heroin with intent to distribute. He’d steadfastly denied knowing the real name of the man who shot Deshaun.

  The night of the shooting, Deshaun, unaware of the robbery, stopped by Ott’s house for a few minutes, where he discovered black tar heroin in his friend’s bedroom. The bag of beef jerky was a way samples of the drug were passed along to prospective customers. While Deshaun was telling Ott that he was crazy to get involved in stuff like that, Fitzgerald returned to the house. Deshaun saw blood on the young man’s shirt. Scared, Deshaun grabbed the bag of beef jerky and ran out of the house so he could turn it over to the police.

  “Because the rifle used to shoot Hamlin was owned by Ott, the DA may decide to indict both of them,” Chief Lockhart said. “The trial would end up being a swearing contest between the two of them as to who shot Deshaun.”

  “My money is on Fitzgerald,” Maxwell said. “He has a criminal record, including an assault on a police officer in Savannah four years ago.”

  Luke returned the photo to Maxwell. He wasn’t interested in speculating about what really happened. The facts he knew were horrific enough.

  “Do you think I’ll be called to testify?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Only to explain what you heard and saw.”

  Luke steeled himself. At least there would be people in the courtroom to support him, not condemn him. And it might be an opportunity to express regret that he’d fired his weapon, even though he was justified in doing so.

  “Go ahead and complete your shift,” Lockhart concluded. “Keep this information confidential.”

  “Yes, sir,” Luke replied.

  Adisa was sitting at her desk when she received the news about Kelvin Fitzgerald’s arrest. One of the law firm’s secretaries had a sister-in-law who worked as a file clerk at the police department.

  “Sheryl knew we’d want to know because you and Mr. Grayson represented the officer,” the secretary said.

  “Thanks. Are you going to mention it to Mr. Grayson?”

  “He’s in a deposition in the conference room.”

  “I’ll let him know when he finishes.”

  Now a permanent employee, Adisa was working on one of Mike Williams’s cases. She downloaded another batch of records related to the acquisition of a local bank by a regional financial firm. It was a huge deal by Campbellton standards, and Adisa relished every aspect of it. However, something seemed amiss in the valuation of the acquiring bank’s portfolio for several offshore properties in the Caribbean, and she was determined to get to the bottom of the issue. An hour later there was a knock on her doorframe. It was Theo Grayson.

  “Did you hear about the arrest of the possible shooter in Luke’s case?” Grayson asked.

  “Yes. I was going to tell you.”

  “It’s all over town. The suspect is also the man who robbed the convenience store and attacked Stan Jackson. They’re going to extradite him from Delaware. When he lands in the local jail, he’s going to need a good lawyer.”

  “Yes, he will.”

  “Interested?”

  Adisa shook her head. “No.”

  “I thought that was what you would say,” Grayson said with a smile as he turned to leave.

  “Theo,” Adisa said. “Don’t forget about Sunday morning.”

  “Oh, I’ll be there, wearing my best suit.”

  At the end of the day, Adisa paused before starting her car. “Where to, Lord?” she asked.

  She waited a few moments. Turning right from the parking area, she drove to the north side of town and made her way toward a new sub
division not far from Luke and Jane Nelson’s neighborhood. Lying across the rear seat of the car was Aunt Josie’s walking stick. Driving slowly down the newly paved streets, Adisa prayed blessing, safety, and anything else that dropped into her spirit for all who’d eventually live there.

  She turned down a short cul-de-sac and lot number 302 caught her eye. Adisa stopped the car and grabbed the walking stick. According to a diagram nailed to a stake, the lot was 1.6 acres. Large residential lots were still possible this far from Atlanta where land was cheaper. Adisa inhaled air that seemed especially fragrant. Not far from the street she saw the reason—a tangle of honeysuckle vines. She pinched off the green tip of a yellow flower and touched the sweet nectar to her tongue.

  Adisa couldn’t make her way through all the underbrush, but she was able to reach a spot 150 feet from the road that looked like an ideal building site. Along the side of the property she discovered a tiny rivulet of water. Moving closer, she came upon a damp area where water bubbled up from beneath the earth. A couple of massive old trees nourished by the plentiful water at their roots provided shade. Several smooth rocks were scattered about. At some point in the past the spring had been well maintained. With a little work, it could once again become a private oasis.

  Adisa leaned on the walking stick and closed her eyes. Yes, it would be a wonderful place to build a house and establish a home.

  “I need to bring Reggie here,” she whispered in a soft voice.

  Sunday morning Adisa awoke early and made an extra-large pot of coffee. Aunt Josie had resumed drinking a morning cup. Sitting together at the kitchen table was a perfect way to start the day.

  The older woman had reached a plateau in her recovery from the stroke. She was able to stay at home alone while Adisa worked, but she wasn’t able to work in her garden. She shuffled into the kitchen without the need for a walker; however, she often used a cane when venturing outside to church or to go shopping.