Blood on the Leaves Part 33

Reynolds moved away from the jury and Matheson, turning his attention to the overflowing crowd of spectators. "For there are people inside and outside this courtroom who in their desperation would embrace or glorify this defendant as a hero, in return for the promise of just once feeling victorious, striking back and getting away with it." He spotted Vanzant, seated in the last row, and looked at him. "Winning no matter the consequence." He returned his attention to the jury. "But there's always a consequence."

He studied the faces of the jury, then bowed his head and sought personal guidance. He looked at Miller, then the judge, and tried to gather his thoughts. He discovered his two children, seated on either side of his wife. He walked in front of the podium and placed his right hand on top of it.

"Justice is often depicted as a woman wearing a blindfold. She doesn't see the race or wealth or status of the victim or the defendant. She searches only for the truth." He shook his head sadly. "There's no revenge in her heart. She takes no enjoyment in the severity of her penalty. There's no celebration for the thing that must be done."

Reynolds carefully approached the jury and spoke proudly. "She is the best of what we hope to be, in responding to the worst of what, too often, we've become." He stopped three feet from the jury box and stood erect with his hands extended toward them, palms facing upward.

"The scales of justice cannot and must not balance one hatred for another." He moved one hand up and the other down, alternating them slowly as he spoke. "Nor dignify one violent act while condemning the source of it. Or ever validate any form of racism, whether it is covered by a white sheet and hood or cloaked in the evil rhetoric of historical justification."

He folded his hands together. "I plead with you, the caretakers of this sacred thing called justice: Don't remove her blindfold, for if you do, she will have gained sight at the expense of her soul. And the true victim of that sacrifice . . ." He turned and looked at Reverend Matheson. ". . . will be our children."

Reynolds walked slowly to his chair and sat down. The courtroom remained absolutely silent for several moments. A few throats were cleared, which gave others in the chambers permission to shift in their seats.

Tanner turned toward the jury, half of whom were still looking at Reynolds while the other half were watching Matheson. "We'll take a fifteen-minute break." He thought about it for an instant. "Let's make that thirty minutes. When you return, I'll go over the charges and instruct you as to the law and how to apply it." He panned the jury to ensure he now had their undivided attention.

"After that, we'll go through some procedural and logistical matters. Then, ladies and gentlemen, I'll officially hand the case over to you so that you can select a foreperson and begin your careful deliberations of all the relevant evidence presented to you." He poured a gla.s.s of water but delayed drinking it.

"As I told each of you when you were chosen to serve on this case, jury service is an important obligation. You provide a vital function, and without you it's doubtful true justice could be rendered. I commend you for the attention you've paid throughout the proceedings thus far, and I'm certain you'll continue to demonstrate the dedication and seriousness necessary to fulfill your duties." He took a drink of water. "Enjoy your well-deserved respite." Tanner lightly struck his gavel, and the chambers began to clear.

Sinclair patted her colleague on the back, then walked away, as though she knew he needed some personal s.p.a.ce.

Reynolds collected his paperwork and returned it to his briefcase. He watched Matheson be led away and made eye contact with Miller, who gave him a respectful and admiring smile.

Regina Davis walked toward him but stopped a few feet away. Reynolds stood, and they looked at each other until Brandon intervened. Reynolds watched both of them leave and thought about his own children. Not too long ago he would have loved for Angela and Christopher to grow up with the pa.s.sions and talents of those two graduate students. Now he wasn't sure. He wanted to avoid communicating with anyone, so he sat down and waited for the recess to end.

The jurors returned five minutes early, and Tanner explained basic elements of the statute pertaining to first-degree murder. He reviewed the jury verdict form and articulated the procedures to follow if they wanted portions of the testimony read back, transcripts supplied, or evidence produced. Their first order of business after they found out "where all the good snacks are hidden, is to elect yourself a foreman or forewoman or foreperson or whatever else you wanna call the person who's gonna chair your group, count the votes, and read your decision in open court."

Tanner advised them to select someone "not too opinionated, not too noncommittal, and not someone whose friendship you'll miss." The jury laughed, and Tanner thanked them for their sense of humor and "recognizing my feeble attempts to keep things loose." He went on to reconfirm the importance of their mission and asked them to show each other "patience, understanding, and respect. It wouldn't be a bad idea if you also exhibited wisdom, but objectivity, fairness, and common sense will do quite nicely."

He wished them well and asked the bailiff to escort them to the jury room, a secure site in an undisclosed area of the building. He didn't expect them to conduct any business this late in the day. He preferred they get a good night's rest and meet in the morning. They should decide a convenient time, then inform the bailiff. Tanner adjourned the session and proceeded to his chambers. After Miller and Matheson left with the deputies, the spectators cleared out of the room.

Reynolds remained at the prosecutor's table, and Sinclair placed her hand on his shoulder. "Win or lose, I'm proud to have worked with you, Mr. Reynolds."

"No matter what the jury decides, there'll be no winners in this one," he said.

A deputy approached Reynolds and handed him a note. He opened it and read it. His expression turned pensive.

"Don't tell me it's over already," commented Sinclair.

"I think it's just starting." Reynolds stood and looked at his curious cocounsel. "If I'm not back in ten minutes, secure my bail money."

Sinclair watched him go through the security doors normally reserved for imprisoned defendants. He met with a court deputy, who accompanied him to Matheson's holding cell. Reynolds entered and noticed Matheson sitting alone. "Where's your attorney? I thought he'd be here."

"He's done his job. You've done yours. I wanted to see you alone."

"To confess?"

"I hear it's good for the soul, but no. To clarify."

"I thought you were pretty clear on the witness stand."

"I wasn't speaking of myself." Matheson stood and placed his foot on the chair and hands on his raised knee. "I wanted to correct some a.s.sumptions in your eloquent but nonetheless erroneous closing statement."

"I'm your captive guest."

Matheson slowly walked around the table. He moved away from Reynolds and circled back as he spoke. "Every kid grows up thinking his daddy can beat anybody else's daddy. . . . It doesn't matter if it's true. You just want to believe the man who brought you into this world can protect you from it." He'd made it to Reynolds's side of the table and stopped two feet from him. "There aren't many black boys over the age of five who believe that. The really sad thing is, their fathers don't believe it, either."

"You think they believe it now?"

He moved closer and sat on the edge of the table. "It's a start. Why should we be the only people whose heroes know how to pray better than they know how to fight?" He folded his arms across his chest. "Even Jesus used the lash to drive out the moneychangers from the temple, and needless to say, His Father had a legendary temper. Remember those floods?"

Reynolds didn't change expression. "I reread Native Son a few nights ago."

Matheson smiled. "It paid off. I liked the way you weaved the new Bigger Thomas into your closing. Very effective."

"I'd like to think so."

"I'm sure you would," responded Matheson.

"I was struck by a particular pa.s.sage in the book, where Bigger considers the consequence of oppression, the effects that racism had on his life, and what white hate had done to him. He tells his lawyer that *they kill you before you die.'" Reynolds studied Matheson. "They kill you before you die. . . . It made me pity him all the more."

"Yes," Matheson said softly. "I remember feeling the same way the first time I read it, many years ago. But it's a funny thing, reacting to injustice. Perhaps Dr. King put it best when he said civil disobedience means you should lovingly accept the consequences." He leaned forward, and both men were inches apart. "James . . . I hope you don't mind me calling you that; we've been through so much together."

"What do you want, Martin?" Reynolds had had all that he could or would take.

"In the event this doesn't turn out the way you envisioned, I'm having a little, shall we say, freedom party? I do hope you'll drop by."

All sensation ceased. The confines of this cell should have closed in on Reynolds, yet he felt a huge s.p.a.ce separating himself from the man standing directly in front of him. Even though Matheson remained inches away, for some reason Reynolds could barely see him. He had difficulty recognizing anything in the room, even the two guards who entered and announced, "We have to take Dr. Matheson back to the facility."

Matheson patted him on the shoulder, but Reynolds s.n.a.t.c.hed the professor's hand and held it firmly with a look of fierce determination bordering on rage. Matheson didn't resist, nor did he attempt to break free. After a tense moment monitored carefully by the deputies, Reynolds let go and watched him leave.

CHAPTER 62.

THE JURY MET in the morning and selected Blaze Hansberry as their foreperson after she'd been nominated by Mrs. Whitney and seconded by both Jefferson Lynch and Faison Sheppard. Aubrey Munson had briefly lobbied for the role but quickly climbed aboard the moving train as soon as the outcome appeared inevitable. They'd spent thirty minutes discussing the case when Octavia Bailey suggested a straw vote. They were about to take it when the bailiff interrupted their proceedings and indicated they should hold tight and do nothing until further advised. He asked Aubrey Munson to accompany him.

"Where you gonna take me?" Munson asked.

"Sir, it would be better if you just came with me. You'll learn soon enough," replied the bailiff.

Munson shrugged and told the group to keep his seat warm and his soda cold. He followed the bailiff to a private elevator that led to the fifth floor. From there the bailiff led him directly to Tanner's chambers. When Munson entered, he saw the judge seated behind his desk, and Miller and Reynolds together on the couch.

"Please have a seat, Mr. Munson," Tanner said with great seriousness, then pointed to a chair.

Munson sat and nervously crossed his legs. "Why y'all lookin' so glum?"

Tanner held up a ca.s.sette tape and placed it in a portable player. He pushed the Play b.u.t.ton, and Munson heard his own voice spouting off about the Bible and interracial dating and his feeling about Dr. King's holiday. Tanner pushed the Stop b.u.t.ton and looked at Munson. "Heard enough?"

"That woman never told me nothin' 'bout bein' recorded," Munson said. "Ain't that against the law?"

"Not in this instance," answered the judge, who was obviously miffed. "But lying under oath is."

"Did you say it was a woman you were speaking to?" asked Reynolds.

"Yeah. Ain't her voice on that thing?"

"Just yours," said the judge with finality.

Munson rubbed his eyes and muttered a profanity. He tried to explain the situation. He was busy at work when he'd gotten the call. The phone connection wasn't all that good. How could they be sure the tape hadn't been altered? "They can do that, you know," he said forcefully. "They splice this and that, add a voice here or there. h.e.l.l, now that I think about it, it didn't even sound like me. Play it again, Judge," he implored Tanner. "See if that's me."

Declining the invitation, Tanner dismissed him from the jury, then instructed the bailiff to "kindly remove this man from my sight." After Munson left, the judge indicated he'd call the court to order in an hour. He looked at Miller. "You know, I could see why Mr. Reynolds might want him on the jury, but I was a bit surprised you'd actually select him."

"Your Honor, if it had been up to me, I'd never have done it," confessed Miller, much to the surprise of Reynolds. "My client insisted. That just goes to show that while the professor has been remarkably astute, he's not infallible."

Reynolds had a million divergent thoughts run through his mind, and none of them were particularly comforting.

Tanner reconvened open court and announced that one of the jurors had been stricken from the panel. The clerk randomly selected an alternate from the four available. She chose Lillian Cornfield, a white postal office worker in her forties, who took her place alongside the other eleven members seated in the jury box. Tanner apologized for the inconvenience and indicated they'd have to start over again.

Hardy Wilkins couldn't contain himself. "You mean the whole d.a.m.n trial?!"

The spectators laughed, and the judge banged his gavel. "No, Mr. Wilkins," Tanner a.s.sured. "If that were the case, I would've beaten you to the cussin'."

Wilkins nodded his head in appreciation and relief.

"Fortunately, you didn't spend much more than an hour in total deliberations. You will ignore anything you might've said during that time and begin your discussion anew." Tanner looked at his notes. "I was informed by the bailiff that you elected your foreperson. You will need to have another vote, and you are, of course, free to select that person or any other, including the new addition to your group."

Mrs. Whitney looked at Blaze Hansberry and smiled.

"You are to read nothing positive or negative into the decision to replace one of the members of your panel. I can tell you there are a variety of reasons why that occurs, and believe me-it happens more frequently than you'd imagine." He looked at the jurors. "Any questions?" He waited for a moment. "If not, you know the routine by now. Bailiff, please escort these fine people to their exquisite accommodations."

Reynolds turned to the side and looked at Matheson, but the professor never returned the look.

Tanner adjourned the court.

Reynolds excused himself from Sinclair and hustled to the rotunda, where he managed to catch up with Regina, who'd been present at the hearing. "Ms. Davis," he called out.

She stopped and looked at him.

"Could I ask you a few questions? I won't take much of your time."

"Do you want me to answer under oath?"

Reynolds smiled. "That won't be necessary. I have a feeling you wouldn't know how to lie."

"If that's a compliment, I'll accept it."

"There's an office we can use. It's just down the hall."

She followed him to a small suite of offices part.i.tioned with gla.s.s and modular walls. He found a vacant area, and they entered.

"Are you supposed to be talking to me like this?" she asked.

"The trial's over," he explained. "Whatever you say now can't help or hurt the professor."

"I don't believe that, but go ahead and say what you've got to say."

"I was just wondering: How many people did you call for your survey?"

She looked away from him.

"That many?" Reynolds prodded.

"I'm not sure I know what you're talking about." She didn't make eye contact.

"Did you make all the calls yourself or did Professor Matheson divide the a.s.signment?"

"Dr. Matheson encourages his students to work as a team, but then, you've probably discovered that by now on your own."

"Who gave you the names of the jury pool, Regina?" He looked at her and knew she'd never answer. "It had to be someone who worked in the court system."

"Not necessarily," she replied.

He a.s.sumed she'd cover for the person or persons involved.

"A great many people support the professor," she told him. "They simply want to see him get a fair trial."

"He had the information on Munson all along, didn't he?" accused Reynolds. "That's why he wanted him on the jury."

"I'm afraid I don't follow."

"He deliberately put Munson on the jury, knowing he'd be challenged as a liar and a racist, and you helped him accomplish that."

"Why would the professor want a racist on the jury? You're not making any sense."

He wondered whether she'd been part of the plan or was used like everyone else. "The first fifteen minutes of jury deliberations reveals an untrustworthy juror motivated by bigotry to convict the professor. It places any conviction in doubt and reaffirms the community's suspicions of the legal system just the way Matheson intended." Reynolds shook his head as much in disbelief as in admiration. "I have to hand it to him-he covered all the bases."

He looked at her for a moment. "Your relationship with Dr. Matheson . . ." He hesitated and decided he wouldn't pursue the subject.

"Was it more than student and professor?" Regina completed the task for him. "I was waiting for you to ask me that in front of the jury."

"Then I'm glad I didn't," replied Reynolds. "You made me look foolish enough as it was. I'd hate to think what you'd have done to me if you already knew the question."

"The answer is no. Dr. Matheson never took advantage of me or any other student-although the line of volunteers is very long, and I'd be proud to be in it."