Enemy in Blue

by Derek Blass

  The streets were packed with people. Cars were stuck, emitting wisps of exhaust up in the morning air. Emergency vehicles pulled up onto sidewalks with their lights flashing aimlessly. Tawny stopped chewing her gum and looked down at her watch. A few minutes past eight in the morning. This couldn't be right, she thought to herself. She'd never seen anything like this.

  The van came to a stop behind a long row of cars that were honking like geese in flight. People rubbed up against the van as they scraped past. There were all sorts of homemade signs. Just about every right or interest was represented. It didn't seem like an upbeat atmosphere. In fact, the tension was tangible even inside the van.

  The van driver picked up a walkie-talkie and spoke to someone named Chad. He asked for an escort at their location. Tawny was looking out of the window when all of a sudden a camera popped into her face. It surprised her enough to send her reeling back onto the insurance man.

  “Watch yourself!” he said as he pushed her away. Then more cameras popped up like like moles peeking their heads out of the ground. One became three which became ten. They surrounded the van and Tawny heard someone scream, “It's the jurors!” The van started to shake a little bit as more and more people accumulated around them. It was rocking back and forth slowly, like a ship on a lazy sea. Tawny moved away from the window as men and women plastered their hands and faces against the van. A small child sat perched on her father's shoulders, looking strangely calm.

  The van driver called Chad again. Much more urgent this time.

  Then the screaming started. Rebecca yelled when a man slammed his hand against her window. People outside were screaming to put Shaver away, to stop the reverse discrimination and let him go, to not fuck up the decision. Underlying the screams were thuds. The van sounded like the inside of a taut drum as people slammed their fists on its steel outer skin. Everyone inside the van was awake and fully alert at this point.

  “Get us out of here, driver,” the jockey said. Tawny noticed that Dawn had taken a hold of the insurance man's arm and smirked at the irony. Like grabbing onto a twig while falling through a tree. The driver tried to pull out from behind the row of cars and get onto the sidewalk, but the mass of people pushed back. Tawny saw a set of emergency lights coming their way.

  “Here comes the escort,” she said lightly. As the three motorcycle cops got closer, the van started to shake more violently. It was almost as if the people sensed their chance to yell at the jurors was ending soon. The child on the father's shoulders had disappeared. Tawny looked around the various windows of the van, concerned about the child but seeing nothing. The van was shaking enough now from side to side that they all slipped on the bench seats.

  The motorcycle cops lost momentum. Their lights weren't making forward progress toward the van. Tawny could see the three cops waving people back to no avail. A van followed about fifty feet behind the motorcycle cops. It shot out chunky waves of siren wails. Then it stopped and started to shake a bit. People were pushing it back and forth too.

  Some of the people around Tawny's van were caught in the mayhem. They had scared faces, bulging from the pressure of the people around them. She watched as one woman started swinging her elbows to get room. Others seemed to be taking advantage of the mayhem. They bore wicked smiles while pushing against the people around them. This created a mixture of willing and unwilling participants in a veritable mosh pit.

  Tawny heard a faint thu-thump. This occurred several more times over the next few seconds. She saw smoke start to rise from various places around the van. She imagined that the friction of all these people had started a fire. As the smoke spread so did the people. People close to the van started to cough and pull their shirts over their faces. Tawny saw a column of spartan-like riot police creating a rift in the crowd. They marched in formation, slowly eating their way through the mass of people who were now trying to find cover from whatever was in the smoke.

  The insurance man was leaning across Tawny now. His mouth agape. The column came closer and closer to the van until the front of it, three police officers, reached the driver's side window. They stopped to verify that the column was still intact and then proceeded to pass the van. The officers moved like a centipede through dirt.

  When the end of the column passed, the driver started the van again. They crept behind the officers, watching the mass of people around them disperse. Every couple of minutes or so the column would stop to shoot off some more canisters into the crowds.

  When the van finally made it within eyesight of the courthouse, Tawny could not believe what she saw. What was visible of the ground was littered with empty bottles, paper, clothes, and scraps of food. The ground usually disappeared in the swell of people though. Heads bobbed and jostled as far as Tawny could see. Police in full, black riot gear mixed with soldiers in tan uniforms. There was a wall of fifteen-deep national guardsmen posted in front of the courthouse.

  When the mass caught wind of the slowly moving group of officers and its trailing payload, a cheer started from afar and then overwhelmed the van like a shock wave.

  “Oh my God,” the insurance man said. All of the jurors shared his sentiment and clustered together in the van. They could do nothing but watch thousands of sets of eyes turn to look at them. The sound of the column's feet hitting the ground in unison was all but washed out now. Cheers and chants emanated from the crowd. Lights and cameras pointed at them as both sides looked at each other in surprise.

  The van finally turned the corner to the back of the courthouse. This area was shut off except to police and military personnel. The column broke off from the van, still in formation, never relinquishing its image of force.

  Once the van went into the underground parking lot, Tawny felt like she could breathe again. Bailiffs slammed the doors to the lot shut and swung an enormous metal bar in front of the doors to keep them closed. One of the bailiffs hurriedly approached them from the other side of the lot.

  “Let's get going. The judge is waiting.”

  “No rest for the weary, huh?” Tawny said. A few of the other jurors grunted to agree with her assessment. They followed the bailiff to the open elevator. It's dim light spilled out just into the dark garage. They all squeezed in and stood shoulder to neck, elbow to breast, as the elevator seemed to struggle under their weight. A ding sounded and they got off on the first floor. The bailiff beckoned them to hurry, but no one really did. The stress of getting to the courthouse left them all exhausted.

  Another bailiff opened the courtroom doors and Tawny could see that the judge, lawyers and gallery were all in place.

  “So nice of you to join us,” Judge Melburn said.

  “Great way of getting us over here,” the jockey shot back.

  “Who does the State call as its first witness?” The judge had not even waited for all the jurors to be seated. A loud cheer and wailing horns sounded just after the judge stopped talking. “Hold on a moment. Bailiffs, I want you to confiscate every person's cell phone in here. Someone must be communicating with people on the outside.” He paused as the bailiffs looked at him to see if this order was for real. They already had plenty on their plates. “Who is it? Which one of you is communicating—texting is probably what you are doing—with the outside?” No one responded. “Bailiffs...” Judge Melburn said with a wave of his finger towards the crowd.

  This interlude gave Tawny a moment to pull a tissue out of her purse and dab her forehead. The bailiffs went around collecting people's cell phones. Once the tedious process was completed, the judge sat back in his chair and repeated his earlier question, “Who does the State call as its first witness?”

  “Dr. Rajeed Ganesh.” Tawny watched as a younger Indian man stood up from the gallery and walked to the witness box. He had a brisk, slightly nervous pace. He gripped a binder under his left arm and adjusted his glasses with his other hand. Once seated in the witness box, the clerk of the court made him swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth. This was just as she imag
ined it in her dreams last night.

  * * * *

  Cruz pushed his way through the seemingly endless crowd to get to the courthouse. Sandra followed behind him, holding onto his hand. Martinez was off to their side somewhere, cutting his own path through the thicket.

  They stayed a half of a mile away from the courthouse with the anticipation that yesterday's crowds would lessen by the morning. That was entirely incorrect. Most of the night they heard people, bustling like locusts, milling around their hotel. Their hotel was actually the center of the chaos. Most of the media covering the event were staying there. Anytime they stepped out of their room they were bombarded with questions and cameras. Even Sandra, used to the spotlight, was growing tired of the coverage.

  The media presence at the first day of the trial was nothing in comparison to today. Vans encompassed the hotel, which was large in regular times, but dwarfed now. Satellite dishes perched on the top of most of the vans, sometimes extending towards the sky, other times rotating to pick up their signal, but always in motion like antennae on bugs. Cruz had seen all sorts of badges hanging from people's necks. Local and national, big and small news stations alike. Reporters from New York, California and Florida The hotel lobby was awash with different cultures and languages and smells.

  He and Sandra pushed out of the hotel at about eight in the morning. Most members of the media were already awake, or never slept to begin with. They sat in the hotel restaurant, sipping coffee while ignored cigarettes burned in ashtrays next to them.

  The streets were packed. Not with awake people. Most of the people were still asleep. The rustling from the night before must have been the setup of this makeshift village. Some people had no tent, just a sleeping bag. They lined the sidewalks of every visible street. It wasn't until Cruz and Sandra got a few blocks away from the courthouse that people were awake, packing up their gear and starting to meander with the rest of the herd.

  Two blocks away from the courthouse, the crowd was at a dead, packed standstill. Martinez had run to catch up with them and they all looked at each other silently. Cruz could see over some of the crowd, but the bottom quarter of the courthouse was cut off by heads. Martinez shrugged his shoulders and started to push through. When people got pissed he just flashed his badge. Cruz and Sandra followed behind Martinez for as long as they could until they eventually got split up by people filling the space left by Martinez.

  Cruz looked at his watch and saw they had fifteen minutes until the trial was supposed to restart. He figured Mason was losing his mind with Martinez not being there. He looked up and saw they still had at least half of a block to go. The people standing around had grown so cramped and pressed together that they couldn't move even if they wanted to. Cruz yelled out to Martinez who screamed back. He was stuck too.

  When they stopped, the pressure from behind began to build. More and more people were arriving and pressing against those in front.

  “Cruz, this is getting tight,” Sandra said. He nodded, acknowledging her while looking around for a solution. A woman screamed out to stop pushing. Cruz saw a man next to him who looked pale and weak. He watched as the man's knees buckled and he lost consciousness. The man didn't completely fall to the ground. Instead he was supported by the people packed in around him. Someone yelled for a doctor.

  “Martinez,” Cruz screamed, “Need you to do something!!” The people around him looked back and then two roaring shots rang out. The crowd's natural instinct was to move backwards, toward the empty space behind it. Cruz grabbed onto Sandra tightly and they cut across people to where he thought Martinez was. They saw Martinez running ahead of them, brushing off people moving the other way, and holstering the gun he just fired.

  They started sprinting toward Martinez. Sandra kicked off her shoes and was able to keep pace with Cruz. The courthouse was within distance now, but the crowd started to slow in its retreat. Once the imminent danger was gone, the empty spaces started to fill back up. The crowd had spread as if a bomb went off in the middle of it, but was now congealing around the empty center. The pathway to the courthouse was quickly closing, and Cruz saw Martinez bent over on the first courthouse step catching his breath.

  “We've got to hurry!” Cruz yelled to Sandra. He tucked his head and grabbed her forearm, essentially dragging her along. He reached the edge of the crowd just as it closed, his arm still clasped onto Sandra's. Sandra was behind two men who he shoved aside.

  “What the fuck...” Martinez said.

  “I don't know,” Cruz answered. He looked at Sandra whose face was smeared with a mixture of sweat and tears. She looked much more delicate without shoes on. “Let's get in there.” He shot a glance to his right and saw a commotion on the street next to the courthouse. Smoke was rising in various areas along the pavement.

  Martinez flashed his badge and they moved through a thick wall of national guardsmen. The halls of the courthouse were empty and silent. Their steps rang off of the marble floors and echoed down the hall. Sandra's little feet slapped along on the cold surface. Mason was standing outside of the courtroom, with a stern look on his face.

  “Why aren't you in there?” Cruz asked.

  “Where the hell have you guys been?” he responded. Sandra stepped out from behind Cruz and put a hand on his shoulder to balance while she put her shoes back on. It clicked with Mason when he saw Sandra. “Man, what happened?”

  “When did you get here? You didn't have to deal with the crowds?” Sandra asked.

  “No, not really. Most people were asleep, camped out, when I got here. Probably about six in the morning.”

  “Well, that explains it,” Sandra said, drifting off.

  “It was...difficult...to get over here,” Martinez said.

  “You guys are lucky. The jury hasn't arrived yet. Apparently they were held up too.”

  “You know, I saw some commotion and smoke rising on the street over there,” Cruz said, pointing behind him.

  “That smoke is probably some sort of tear gas,” Martinez said.

  “They'd use that on civilians?”

  “Sure, whatever works.”

  Mason opened the door to the courtroom. Cruz adjusted his suit and tie, then turned around to see if Sandra was all right. She pulled down her skirt a bit and ran her hands down the front of her suit jacket then smiled at him. They walked into the courtroom and took a seat behind Mason's setup. The judge was sitting at his bench.

  When they settled in, Mason came and knelt by their side. Cruz saw that his hair was bushy and wild, untamed from last night's sleep. His blue eyes looked sharp, focused. “I want to introduce you to someone,” he said. “Right behind you is Dr. Rajeed Ganesh.” They all turned around to look at a small Indian man sitting there with a notebook clutched to his chest. He looked very nervous.

  “Pleasure to meet you, doctor,” Cruz said, extending his hand. The doctor shook his hand with a limp, damp hand. Cruz looked at Mason and they exchanged a thought without any words. A bailiff came out from the judge's chambers and whispered something to Judge Melburn. Cruz could see the judge nod his head and then return to the distractions in front of him. Mason took his seat at counsel's table and leaned back. The old chair creaked under the new weight.

  The courtroom door cracked and then opened fully. The jurors stood in a line behind a bailiff. Cruz saw that the short man, the one who had identified himself as a jockey, was standing at the front of the line. He wondered if they had already selected him as the foreman. Cruz studied each juror as they came into the courtroom. The only one that made eye contact with him was a pudgy woman, fidgety. Redknight was her last name. That much stuck with him.

  “Who does the State call as its first witness?” Judge Melburn asked before the jurors were situated. Cruz looked over at Sandra who was texting something furiously. The crowd outside screamed and Judge Melburn's face contorted. He screamed something to the bailiffs about confiscating phones, about how the gallery was communicating to the outside. Sandra looked mortified
until she saw Cruz grinning. He made a motion to her for her to hide the cell phone in her blouse.

  Judge Melburn repeated his question to Mason who then called Dr. Ganesh. The man virtually stumbled over his feet to get to the witness box. His voice cracked when he answered “yes” to the swearing in.

  “Dr. Ganesh, please introduce yourself to the jurors.”

  “Dr. Rajeed Ganesh. That is R-a-j-e-e-d G-a-n-e-s-h,” the doctor said, spelling his name out for the court reporter.

  “Dr. Ganesh, begin by telling us a little bit about your education.” Cruz searched through his jacket pockets for a pen while the doctor listed his education and qualifications. Washington University undergrad, M.D. at Duke. He was now the city's forensic pathologist.

  “Just what is a forensic pathologist, Dr. Ganesh?”

  “Forensic pathology is a specialization,” he started. “I do things such as autopsies to figure out the cause and manner of death. When, for instance, you see that someone committed suicide on television,” he said, turning to the jury, “I will usually be investigating a case such as that.”

  “Do you investigate homicides?”

  “Oh yes, that is one of the most common investigations that I perform. Although, the most common of my investigations are simply related to natural deaths.”

  “How many homicides do you investigate, say, on a yearly basis?” Mason asked.

  “In this city?” Dr. Ganesh asked while he thought about the answer. “Probably about fifty a year, give or take.” The doctor reached for his glass of water. Cruz listened as Mason went through the steps to qualify Dr. Ganesh as an expert. Sphinx chose not to voir dire Dr. Ganesh, which surprised Cruz some.

  “When did you get involved in this case?”

  “Sometimes I will go to the scene of an incident, which I did in this case. I was called out soon after it occurred actually. I studied the scene and rode back to the morgue with the body.”