Blood on the Leaves Part 27

"They can't find what doesn't exist," Matheson said sharply. "We follow the plan. It's served us well thus far."

"Martin, you're making a mistake in prolonging this trial. Either the judge rules in our favor, or we rest and the jury hands you an acquittal. Either way, you walk out of here a free man."

"I'm disappointed in you, Mr. Miller. As a fighter for civil rights you surely must know that freedom is never given; it has to be taken. I intend to do that." Matheson stood and patted Miller on the shoulder. "We keep the trial going until I've told my side of this story."

"I'll put on our defense, but I don't want to hear anything about you taking the stand," warned Miller.

Matheson smiled. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," he said with a glimmer in his eyes. He waved the guards into the room and stood motionless as they secured chains around his hands and ankles.

Late that night, Reynolds stood in front of the kitchen cabinet and stared at the door he wanted to open. He turned away and rested against the refrigerator. Cheryl entered the room and watched him for a moment.

"Anything you need me to do?" she asked.

He studied her, then shifted his gaze to the floor. "Would you have allowed Angela or Christopher to demonstrate during the Civil Rights Movement?" He walked toward her. "I mean, if this were forty years ago, and they were needed for a protest to desegregate a school or a lunch counter or a bus"-he made eye contact with her-"and there'd be the possibility of violence, even death, would you have let them partic.i.p.ate?"

She considered the question and shrugged her shoulders. "Actually, I had in mind making you some coffee or a sandwich. If I knew this was gonna be one of those children-in-the-lifeboat questions, I might not have volunteered." She smiled, but he didn't.

"I wouldn't have allowed it," he answered. "Not to face those angry crowds and the taunts and the threats. No way would I have exposed them to that hate."

"They wouldn't have had a choice," she replied. "Back then, kids were in the struggle whether they wanted to be or not. I don't think I could've denied them the right to confront cowardice with courage and hate with love." She leaned back and released a deep breath. "But I would've been on the rooftop with a rifle, just in case they needed their mommy."

He smiled weakly, then sighed. "I need their mommy now."

"Is that a protest or a demonstration?"

"Depends if I have to overcome or just come over," he answered teasingly.

She extended her index finger and beckoned him. He turned out the light and took her by the hand, and together they marched out of the room.

CHAPTER 51.

SOMETIME AFTER SIX on the morning of April 4, the day that marked the a.s.sa.s.sination of his friend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., the Reverend Matheson saw his church, which he'd built with his own hands, burn to the ground. Three hours later, he stood outside and stared at the structure ravaged by flames. The fire department had done all they could. A bomb had ripped off the church's rear doors, and fire spread quickly throughout the main chapel. A second bomb, planted near the side of the building, had created a gaping hole in the ceiling and exploded the stained-gla.s.s window containing the image of Jesus reaching toward the heavens.

Cars parked near the church were destroyed or severely damaged by the blast. The hood of one car folded in two. An avalanche of bricks and concrete flowed into walkways that once provided access to the children's Sunday school service. Water flooded the area and caused narrow streams to carry away tiny pieces of the church along with uprooted earth and ash.

Police were on the scene interviewing neighbors and searching for clues. Reynolds drove his car as close to the area as possible. He turned off the engine and exited his vehicle, then headed directly to his former pastor. The Reverend Matheson stared at the rubble of the home he'd spent a lifetime safeguarding for G.o.d. He stood on a street cracked and shattered by the force of the explosion.

"Whoever did this, I promise you we'll find them," Reynolds said with determination.

"Like this country's found all the others?" replied the Reverend Matheson softly. He placed his unsteady hand on Reynolds's arm. "I baptized your wife in this church . . ."

Reynolds provided support to keep the Reverend Matheson on his feet. "You can build it again. All of us will help."

". . . and both your children." The Reverend Matheson looked at Reynolds. "I've never done anything to hurt you. Why are you trying to destroy my son?"

"You may not believe he's a murderer, but in your heart you know he's responsible."

"The people responsible are the ones who committed those murders over thirty years ago. The ones who encouraged them or looked away-judges, juries, politicians, sheriffs, businessmen, housewives." He looked at his church in ruins. "The arsonists and bombers who hid in the shadows of indifference and cowardice." His eyes filled with tears. "The same ones who today are outraged and appalled never offered a single word of protest when it would have mattered. When it could've made a difference. Don't blame my son for a world he didn't create. He only called attention to it."

The Reverend Matheson's knees buckled. Reynolds held on to him and motioned for one of the officers to provide help. The proud preacher stepped back and refused a.s.sistance.

"I've stood on my own two feet and fought battles more difficult than this. If I have to lean on anything, it'll be my faith in G.o.d." He stood more erect and steady. "He's brought me this far, and no bomb or racist or false prosecution of my son will force me to turn away from what I believe to be right." He looked in the direction of the destruction. "Now, you go on and do what you have to do. This is still the Lord's house, and I want to pay tribute to Him."

Reynolds walked away but stopped when he heard his name called.

"James," the Reverend Matheson said firmly, "I will keep you and your family in my prayers."

Reynolds nodded his head in appreciation. "And you shall remain in mine," he said affectionately, then walked away without ever looking back at the fallen church or its weary pastor.

CHAPTER 52.

VANZANT HELD THE photo of the lynching of Frank Edwards's father. "It was thirty-five years ago," he said, frustrated.

"It was murder," answered an unwavering Reynolds.

"You've already got a case; worry about that one." Vanzant tried to return the photo to Reynolds, who refused to take it.

"I want Beauford arrested," Reynolds said firmly.

"For getting his picture taken?" Vanzant argued. "For being there? There's no proof he was involved."

"Let a grand jury decide that. If he didn't do it, he knows who did," pushed Reynolds.

"And what if he claims he can't remember or says the persons responsible are dead? What do you want us to do then?" Vanzant paced in front of his desk. "For Christ's sake, James, the police have murders that happened this morning and they don't have enough resources to investigate those adequately. Now you want me to add this to their workload?" He held out the photo.

"Just look into it. That's all I'm asking," requested Reynolds.

The two men stared at each other for several moments, and Vanzant finally relented. He placed the photo on top of his In box. "I'll call the sheriff myself, but I'm not makin' any promises."

Reynolds let out a sigh of relief. "I appreciate it."

"I guess I owe you one after Gelon," admitted Vanzant.

Reynolds smiled. "If you ever want a good pair of boots, he gave me a discount card."

Vanzant laughed. It was the closest the two had been in quite some time. "Who's Miller gonna call as his first witness?"

"Trust me," said Reynolds, ma.s.saging his temple to release stress. "You really don't want to know."

Vanzant sank into his seat and stared at the photo of the lynching. "You said the guy with the big smile was named Beauford?"

Reynolds nodded in agreement. "Gates Beauford. I wrote his address on the back."

Vanzant turned over the photo and wrote down the information on a slip of paper. He picked up the phone and dialed a number.

As his first witness Miller called Dr. Charles Hunter. "Dr. Hunter, what is your current employment?" Miller asked.

"I work for the Federal Bureau of Investigation."

"In what capacity?"

"I'm a behavioral a.s.sessment specialist, or what might be commonly referred to as a profiler. I collect information on a variety of serious crimes and, based on my personal and professional experience, establish a personality profile of the type of criminal involved."

"And you had special training to do this?"

"The Bureau has extensive training programs in all facets of crime investigation. As you know, we're considered the foremost agency in the world when it comes to crime fighting." Hunter came across as extremely confident, bordering on arrogant, with the smugness made famous by FBI agents.

"In addition to your agency training do you have any other experience or education that qualifies you to perform your work?"

"I have a Ph.D. in psychology with a specialization in personality disorders. I also have a master's degree in criminal justice."

"And where did you obtain your degrees?"

"Princeton University."

"Princeton?" Miller asked. "Isn't that in . . ." He paused with a pained expression and spoke without any accent. "New Jersey?"

"Yes," answered Hunter with a trace of resentment.

"Were you unable to gain admittance into one of our fine southern universities?" asked Miller.

Reynolds rose to his feet but didn't have to formally object.

"I'll withdraw that comment," volunteered Miller.

"Let's not make a habit of having to do that," Tanner said sternly.

Reynolds knew Miller was attempting to get under Hunter's skin and feared he might be succeeding.

"Dr. Hunter, isn't it true you were a.s.signed to a.s.sist the state's office of the attorney general in investigating a series of murders a.s.sociated with Professor Matheson's list?"

"Yes."

"And did you and your colleagues develop any profiles regarding the person or persons most likely to commit these murders?"

Hunter reviewed the types of people profiled and the reasons they were considered. He described the rationale behind targeting Caucasian activists or radicals. He admitted under grueling examination that he himself had identified several of Matheson's students as likely suspects, including Brandon Hamilton and Delbert Finney, who just happened to be the next two witnesses on Miller's list. After Hunter finished going over all the categories listed as meeting the personality profiles of the murderer, the only person who seemed to be excluded was the professor.

"So let me see if I understand you correctly," summarized Miller. "The type of person likely to commit these heinous acts, including the murder of Earvin Cooper, would fall into the category of (a) a leader who saw himself as a person of action, like a football hero, or (b) a complete loner, isolated from his community and wanting desperately to do something to curry favor, like a shy, quiet kid from a rural section of the state, or (c) a white person."

"That's not what I said, sir," Hunter protested.

"I can have your testimony read back to you if you like. But let's spare the members of the jury the time. I'm sure they can request those portions of the court transcript if they feel a need. Now, let me ask you one or two more questions." Miller opened a folder at the podium and made some notes. "In your substantial experience in these types of matters, have you ever come across a serial killer who liked to wear boots three sizes too large for his feet, and if so, what kind of personality would that suggest?"

Several of the jurors smiled, while others snickered.

Hunter placed his hand under his chin and responded with obvious annoyance. "It would suggest the personality of someone who wanted to conceal his role in the crime."

"Well, Dr. Hunter," Miller postured, "you don't need to have a Ph.D. from Princeton to know that if your goal is to conceal something you'd be better off wearin' smaller shoes, not big ol' giant ones."

Miller continued toying with Hunter until he'd gotten his wish. The profiler lost control of his temper, whereupon Miller asked the judge for permission to treat him as a "hostile witness," which Tanner approved. The designation allowed Miller to lead Hunter even more than he'd already managed to do. By the time Hunter left the stand, Miller had used one of the investigation's chief advisers and experts to undermine the state's theory of the case. He'd now set the stage for the students to march into the courtroom and show the jury the true psychological profile of their professor and the effect he had in shaping their personalities.

Reynolds asked for an early lunch break in a weak effort to delay the inevitable.

CHAPTER 53.

HE MADE AN impressive witness even before he spoke his first word. Clad in a dark blue suit that fit perfectly around his broad shoulders, he walked to the witness stand with a dancer's grace. When he raised his hand to take the oath, he struck a young soldier's pose.

"Could you please state your full name for the record?" asked the court clerk.

"Brandon Edward Hamilton."

"The witness may be seated," said Tanner. He nodded toward the defense table. "I believe the court's ready for your direct, Mr. Miller."

"Thank you, Judge Tanner." Miller moved to the podium. "Mr. Hamilton . . ." Miller hesitated and took a small step to the side. "Do you mind if I call you Brandon?"

"Not at all, sir."

"You're a graduate student at the university where Professor Matheson teaches, is that correct?"

"Yes. He's my dissertation chairman as well as my mentor."

"You have a good relationship with Dr. Matheson?"

"I'd do anything for him. He's been like a father." He looked at Matheson, and both men smiled. "Maybe it would be better if I said older brother."

Matheson laughed, as did most in the courtroom.

"Yes, I think that might be a more prudent choice of words," Miller said. "Particularly since he still chairs your doctoral committee." Miller displayed a warm, friendly smile to the jury, then focused on Brandon. "How and when did you first become a student at the university?"

"I started five years ago as an undergraduate on a full football scholarship."