by Gerry Spence
He stopped at an all-night joint in Rock Springs for something to eat. He had to keep up his strength.
“And what will it be, darling?” a smiling, overweight waitress asked.
“A burger with fries,” he said. “Could you grill the onions?”
CHAPTER 30
AT LAST, IN Cheyenne, Judge Murray pulled into the first gas station on his side of the road and filed his tank. He might need a full tank to prefect his escape. In the men’s room, he splashed water on his face. He had forgotten to bring a comb, and he smoothed his hair the best he could with his fingers. His suit was wrinkled. He tried to clean off the mustard that had leaked from his hamburger.
The courtroom had those high ceilings. The public seating consisted of dark-stained wooden benches. The judges’ high perch, their bench, provided room for five justices, the American flag at one end and the Wyoming flag at the other. Above the tall windows on the west side hung burgundy velvet drapes. The floor was covered with matching carpet.
The judge pushed through the courtroom’s doors. Immediately, he saw that Haskins Sewell, Sheriff Lowe, and Undersheriff Jim Bromley were already seated at the long table on the left. The table on the right was obviously reserved for him. He was surprised to see Tim Coker sitting in the front row of the spectators’ seats. And, good Christ, seated next to him was Lillian! It was as if the child had come to witness the execution of the father.
He took his place at the empty table. He was alone. Except for Betsy and Hardy Tillman, he’d always been alone. The bailiff, in a black suit, appeared with a water pitcher. He poured fresh water into the glass pitchers on both tables. The bailiff didn’t speak to him or even look at him. One of the court’s clerks appeared—a thin, blond, attractive woman of indeterminate age. She, too, didn’t look at the judge, but she smiled at Haskins Sewell, handed him some papers, and then disappeared again through the door behind the bench.
Spectators began to enter the room. Some were reporters. He recognized the faces of several lawyers who’d appeared in his court. None even nodded in his direction. They’d come to witness his destruction. Then at nine o’clock sharp, the state supreme court justices marched in.
“All rise,” the clerk ordered in a monotone. The judge stood.
He stared at those five old men, most younger than he, their hair thinning or bald, their faces unsmiling, all in their justices’ robes. One judge gave a passing squint in his direction, and one seemed on the edge of sleep.
These high court judges had mostly been lower court judges, who’d established conservative records. He used to laugh with Tim Coker, who had quoted some jokester’s definition of “a conservative” as one who believed that “nothing should ever be done for the first time.”
Chief Justice Beasley called the court to order in the crackly voice of one suffering chronic laryngitis. “Gentlemen, let’s get to the matter at hand.” He turned to Haskins Sewell. “I understand we have a jury waiting in a murder case. We have, based on your sworn papers, brought this matter forward on an emergency basis. I take it that you possess some evidence you wish to present in support of your petition for the removal of Judge Murray?”
“Yes, I do, Your Honor.” Sewell sounded so piously pure and polite.
“Before we hear any testimony, I must say that this matter is of grave concern to this court,” Justice Beasley said. “And I might add that Judge Murray is known to us as a good and honest judge who has served the people of this state for many years. We do not take your allegations lightly, Mr. Sewell.”
“I am here regretfully,” Sewell said. “Still, it is my sad task as the prosecuting attorney of Teton County to faithfully report to this court these very troublesome matters, failing which, I would be derelict in my duties.”
Justice Beasley turned to Judge Murray. “Do you wish to say anything before we begin this hearing?”
“No,” the judge said.
“Very well, let’s begin. Call your first witness, Mr. Sewell.”
Jim Bromley, the undersheriff, in full uniform, marched forward. He was sworn by the clerk and took the witness chair. Sewell handed him a file. “What is this, Undersheriff Bromley?”
Bromley replied, “This is a record of the telephone calls received by Judge John Murray from the accused, Lillian Adams, since the beginning of her murder trial, over which Judge Murray has presided. These records are from the receptionist at the courthouse. There are fourteen calls, to be exact, the first beginning the first day of the trial in Jackson and the last on Friday of last week.”
“And how did you come by these records?”
“I was informed by Kathy Wright, the courthouse receptionist, that Mrs. Adams was habitually calling the judge. I asked her to make a record of these calls as they came in and to advise me.”
“And what did you do as a result?”
Bromley replied, “I informed you of these calls, and you petitioned Chief Justice Beasley for authority to fix a wire interception on Judge Murray’s phones, both at home and in his office.”
“Was that petition granted by Justice Beasley?”
“Yes, it was.”
“Did you then undertake to have the lines of Judge Murray tapped in accordance with the order of Justice Beasley?”
“I did.”
“What did you discover as a result of those taps?”
“Mrs. Adams called Judge Murray at his home. He refused to talk to her. I assume he had some knowledge that his phone might be tapped, so later he met with her in person in his pickup.”
“How do you know he met with Mrs. Adams in his pickup?”
“I was about to leave the courthouse when I personally observed her entering the judge’s pickup. It was a few minutes after court adjourned for the day. The parking lot was almost empty. I waited in the doorway to see what she was up to. Then along came the judge, who got into the pickup from the driver’s side.”
“And how long, Undersheriff, did they talk together?”
“Several minutes.”
“Did you notice anything else?”
“Yes, as Mrs. Adams was exiting the pickup, she leaned over and kissed the judge.”
“And what did His Honor do as a result of that show of affection?”
“I couldn’t tell.”
“And what did she do immediately after having kissed His Honor?”
“Her car was parked nearby. She got in her car and drove off.”
“And what did His Honor do?”
“He sat in his pickup for a long time. I couldn’t tell what he was doing. Finally, he drove off in the opposite direction of his home.”
“Do you know where he went?”
“Yes, I do. He was followed by Deputy Jamison to the home of the defendant, Lillian Adams.”
“Thank you, Undersheriff Bromley,” Sewell said. “Those are all the questions I have of this witness at this time.” Sewell looked up at Justice Beasley with a sorrowful, starched smile stretching his face.
“Do you want to question the witness, Your Honor?” Justice Beasley asked Judge Murray.
Judge Murray struggled to his feet. “I think I should be represented,” he said. The sound of his own voice startled him. “Judges, I suppose, are entitled to counsel, the same as any other litigant.”
“We can adjourn the hearing several days and give you an opportunity to obtain counsel,” Justice Beasley said.
“Your Honors, I’m not sure we can hold the jury that long,” Sewell was quick to interject. “I’m concerned about the attachment of double jeopardy, and that the defendant will escape if this case doesn’t go forward immediately.”
“This is a simple matter, Judge Murray,” Justice Beasley said. “Simple. Are you confident you can’t ask the necessary questions of this witness so that we may come to an immediate conclusion?” The chief justice’s voice was edged with impatience, but his eyes seemed kind enough. “I will, of course, grant you leave to engage counsel—which is your right—if you insist.”
“All right,” Judge Murray said. “I don’t want the case jeopardized by my need for a lawyer. I’ll ask some questions.”
The judge turned to Undersheriff Bromley, still on the stand, and heard himself ask, “Do you know what was said by Lillian Adams in any of those fourteen calls you claim were made by her to me?”
“No,” Undersheriff Bromley said. “The order for the bugs didn’t come until just a couple days ago.”
“You only know that Kathy Wright, the receptionist at the courthouse, told you the calls were made.”
“Yes.”
“Do you know if I ever talked to Lillian Adams even once in response to those telephone calls?”
“No, I don’t. I assumed you talked to her.”
“Assumed! Wouldn’t you have taken the trouble to ask my secretary if I ever talked to the woman?”
“I didn’t ask your secretary. I figured she’d tell me it was none of my business. After all, she is your confidential secretary.”
“You say you assumed I talked to Mrs. Adams. Didn’t you know it is improper for a presiding judge to take a call from a litigant who stands charged with a crime in his court?” He felt his strength gathering like water seeping up from an artesian spring.
“Yes. I know that.”
“Didn’t you consider that I wouldn’t have taken those calls because it would be improper for me to do so?”
“I am only reporting what I know.”
“What did Mr. Sewell tell you concerning his belief about these circumstances.”
“I don’t know.”
“You did talk to him about it?”
“Yes.”
“He did tell you his suspicions?”
“Well, yes. He said he thought you were having some kind of an affair with the woman.”
“Did he tell you what evidence he had concerning that?”
“No. He said your rulings in the case were screwy.”
“He was upset because I ordered him to jail because of his contemptuous statements, isn’t that true?”
Undersheriff Bromley glanced in Sewell’s direction, then shrugged his shoulders.
“You took it that Mr. Sewell wasn’t very happy about either my rulings in the case or, later, that I had held him in contempt, isn’t that true?”
“Yes, I don’t think he was very happy with you.”
“So there was a tap put on my private phone?”
“Yes, by order of Justice Beasley.”
“And you say Mrs. Adams called me once at my home, and that I refused to talk to her?”
“Yes. But Mr. Sewell said he thought that was because somebody told you about the tap.”
“Which was a fact not in evidence.”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he say how I would have known about this tap?”
“He said one of the justices on this court might have warned you.”
“I object,” Sewell said. “That is pure hearsay.”
“Overruled, Mr. Sewell,” Justice Beasley said.
“And you saw Mrs. Adams come to my pickup after court one day?”
“Yes.”
“She got in my pickup before I got there and was waiting for me, isn’t that true?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know that I leave that old wreck of a truck unlocked at all times and I have left the keys in it for as long as I can remember?”
“The sheriff told me that. He said you hoped that somebody would steal the old wreck.” Laughter from the audience and small, repressed smiles on the faces of the justices.
“So you saw Mrs. Adams kiss me?”
“Yes.”
“She was waiting in my truck, and when I got in, she said something to me and kissed me?”
“Yes.”
“She kissed me on the cheek, didn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“And do you know what she said to me, and why she kissed me on the cheek?”
“I have no idea.”
“Could you make room for the possibility that she said she wanted to tell me something?”
“I don’t know what she said.”
“Then she left?”
“Yes.”
“And I sat there for a long time?”
“Yes.”
“Would my inactivity be consistent with one trying to figure out what was the right thing to do?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Then your deputy followed me to the home of Lillian Adams?”
“Yes.”
“And did I go into her house?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did your deputy say?”
Sewell objected. “This is total hearsay,” he said.
In an unfriendly voice, Justice Beasley said, “This matter was opened up by your witness, Mr. Sewell. Answer the question, Undersheriff Bromley.”
“The deputy said you were met at the door by the maid and that you and the maid had a conversation.”
“Did you inquire of the maid what I said to her?”
“Yes, I did.”
“And what did I say to her?”
“This is hearsay,” Sewell said. Then he sat down before Justice Beasley ruled.
“She said you told her to convey a message to Mrs. Adams.”
“Did you ask her what that message was?”
“Yes, you told her to tell Mrs. Adams not to contact you again.”
“I have no further questions of this witness,” Judge Murray said, and sat down.
He felt slightly buoyed at the power of a decent cross-examination. He looked up at the justices, took them in one at a time, and observed their satisfaction with him and his answers. Or was he only satisfied with himself?
Then Sewell rose to his feet. “I wish to question Judge Murray about this matter, and I call him as my next witness.”
CHAPTER 31
CHIEF JUSTICE BEASLEY cleared his throat and scowled down at Haskins Sewell. “The court will be in recess for fifteen minutes. We’ll take up your request to examine Judge Murray when we return.”
Thoughts swarmed across the judge’s mind like competing villains vying for center stage. If the supreme court decided to throw him to the mad dog, Sewell, would he tell “the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?”
The whole truth had no beginning and no end.
No matter what his answer might be, when Sewell pressed him for the whole truth, his life would never be the same. Yes, that night after court when he’d found Lillian waiting in his pickup, she’d confessed to him. “I’m so sorry, Judge Murray, for all the trouble I’ve caused you.” She was crying. “I killed Horace because—” And before she’d been able to say another word, he’d stopped her by raising his hand in front of her face. “Don’t tell me anything more, Lillian. And get out of this truck immediately.” Then she’d kissed him on the cheek and hurried away.
If Sewell asked what she’d said, he could say she said she was sorry for all of the trouble she’d caused him. That would be the truth. But what if Sewell asked if she had said more? Should he deny that she’d said anything further?
Perjury.
What if he said he didn’t remember if she’d said anything more?
Perjury.
For reasons not always clear to him, he loved Lillian Adams as a father loves his child. Did he have any moral right as a surrogate father to lie for his child? If he answered truthfully, she’d be convicted. The death penalty. Her life would rest on his answer. And if they lost Lillian to the gas chamber, Betsy would never recover, and with the loss of both Betsy and Lillian, his life would also be over.
The state floundered in ugly, indefensible hypocrisy. The state itself committed premeditated murder. In rendering the death penalty, the state would murder Lillian. Some ghoul would strap her to the chair in the gas chamber and another would turn the death knob on, and a gallery of ghouls from the media would watch and write their vile stories on how she died a gasp at a time.
&n
bsp; The supreme court justices were still in recess. Judge Murray turned to see if Timothy Coker was still sitting behind him. Coker looked sick.
Surely one could lie for just reasons.
Might not circumstances exist when it would be unjust to tell the truth?
Then the justices marched in and the entire courtroom rose as the clerk announced their entry.
Chief Justice Beasley coughed twice and cleared his throat. “We have concluded that you may indeed question Judge Murray in this matter. Proceed, Mr. Sewell.”
Sewell thanked the court and waited as Judge Murray walked unsteadily to the witness chair. He raised a shaky hand to take the oath administered by Chief Justice Beasley. “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
“I do.”
Sewell began with his high, flat, stinging voice. “So, Judge Murray, you have known Lillian Adams for many years?”
“Yes.”
With steely eyes locked on the judge, and case by case, the prosecutor took the judge though his history as presiding judge in Lillian’s cases—from her childhood to the present. “Never once did you hold against Mrs. Adams in any of those cases, isn’t that true?”
“Yes.”
“And because of that long history, you were asked by both the prosecution and the defense to step down from this case.”
“Yes.”
“You refused. And after you refused, you had me thrown into jail for contempt because I accused you of an improper relationship with Mrs. Adams?”
“Yes.”
“And you refused to permit me to cross-examine Sylvia Huntley on my representation that I had a confidential source who had heard Mrs. Adams say to Ms. Huntley that she, Mrs. Adams, ‘should kill the son of a bitch,’ referring to Mrs. Adams’s late husband, Horace Adams the Third?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve protected her all of these years by your rulings, even now when she is charged with the murder of her husband, Horace Adams the Third, the very wealthy beer magnate.”
“Yes.”
“I have no further questions,” Sewell said.
Judge Murray sat like one battered by repeated blows to the head. His mouth hung open and his eyes were focused on his wrinkled old hands that held on to each other.
