Cruel Justice

42

BEN PUSHED HIS WAY through the crowd to the front of the seventh-floor courtroom. People were squabbling over seats and shoving one another out of the pews. “I was here first!” he heard, and “No fair saving seats!” and other cries he would’ve expected on a playground perhaps, but not in a state courthouse.

Seats were at a premium; the courtroom wasn’t that large and there was a long line of would-be spectators outside. Everyone seemed interested in this case, not just in Oklahoma but throughout the country. Several network news reporters were present, as well as a few representatives from major newspapers. Court TV had even asked for permission to broadcast portions of the trial, but Ben had refused to consent.

Ben couldn’t believe so many people were galvanized by this murder trial. He wasn’t sure who or what to blame. Maybe it was the heat—everyone was looking for a diversion from this oppressive humidity. Maybe it was the media. They’d been playing the hell out of the story. The ten-year-old “impalement from the past” gave them abundant grist for the evening-news mill, usually playing up the gruesome details of the murder itself. The line separating tabloid TV and legitimate journalism seemed to be getting thinner every day.

Or maybe the appeal was the implied class struggle—a poor developmentally disabled black man accused of committing a violent crime in a citadel of opulent wealth. Or maybe it was just the ever-present interest some people have in other people’s business. Courtrooms provided a justifiable opportunity to pry into the affairs of others.

Ben finally made it to the defendant’s table. Leeman wasn’t there, Christina wasn’t either, but she had clearly been there earlier; all Ben’s notebooks and exhibits and other trial paraphernalia were lined up and organized.

“How about a few words on the trial, Mr. Kincaid? Do you expect to win?”

Ben turned and saw a man on the other side of the railing extending a microphone as close to Ben’s face as possible. The first two rows on the right side of the gallery had been roped off for the press. A badge on the man’s lapel identified him as a reporter for Channel 2.

“Sorry,” Ben answered. “In my experience, television coverage of legal matters is somewhat less than accurate.”

“Come on,” the reporter said. “All I need is ten seconds.”

“I know,” Ben replied. “That’s the problem.”

Ben scanned the two full rows of coiffed heads jockeying for position behind the man from Channel 2. They probably wanted to be on the scene so they could do a live remote from the courthouse. Beth Rengel and Clayton Vaughn, the Channel 6 anchorpersons, were both there. As was Karen Keith, interviewer and all-around smart lady. Leslie Turnbull and Rick Wells. And Ben’s personal favorite, Karen Larsen. He might consider giving her an interview. If she promised to give him more than ten seconds.

“Starting to feel the heat, Ben?”

Jack Bullock was hovering over Ben’s table.

“It’s always tense just before a trial begins. There’s nothing unusual about that.”

“I guess you still think you can pull a rabbit out of your hat and get your boy free so he can skewer some more women, huh?”

“Jack, you know I have an obligation to represent my client to the best of my ability. I have no choice—”

“You took this case voluntarily, Ben. No one forced it on you.”

“I took this case because I think Leeman Hayes is innocent. Why are you taking this so personally?”

“Because it is personal to me. I care about people, Ben. I care about this city. I’m not in this for the big bucks and the swimming pools and the million-dollar homes? I want to make the world a better place. And I don’t like people like you getting in my way.”

“Jack …” Ben shook his head sadly. What was there to say? And what was the point? “I’d like to go over my notes. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Whatever you say.” Bullock drew himself up, then added quietly, “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Alarm bells rang out in Ben’s brain. “What are you talking about?”

Bullock strolled back to his own table. “Have fun reviewing your notes.”

“In case you haven’t heard, Bullock, trial by ambush is history. My client has a constitutional right to know the accusations that will be made against him at trial.”

“Wah, wah, wah,” Bullock mock-cried. He began whispering to his second chair, Myrna Adams.

Great. Kincaid glanced over his shoulder and noticed the reporters were scribbling away. They had probably caught most of that dramatic little exchange. The press seemed to love it when lawyers started bickering. He could see it now—a murder trial billed as the grudge match of the century.

Bullock still had not even acknowledged the possibility of a plea bargain. Normally, given the difficulties inherent in trying a ten-year-old crime, Ben would’ve expected a deal proposal to be the first words out of the prosecutor’s mouth. But not this time. Bullock seemed determined to make this charge stick.

The buzz in the courtroom suddenly diminished. It wasn’t the judge; he was still in chambers. All the heads in the gallery were facing the rear.

Leeman Hayes was being escorted into the courtroom.

Despite the ban on cameras in the courtroom, Ben saw several flashes go off and heard the soft whir of minicam motors. Two men from the sheriff’s office escorted Leeman to the front of the courtroom. Ben smiled and offered Leeman the chair beside him. Leeman returned a small smile, but it was clear to Ben that he was terrified. Ben wondered—not for the first time—just how much of this Leeman really understood. He could imagine the questions racing through his mind. What are we doing? Why are all these people here? Why are they staring at me?

Ben patted Leeman on the shoulder and gently turned him away from the gallery. “It’s all right. Just forget they’re here. The only part of this room you need to be concerned with is up front.”

Leeman leaned forward pensively, his chin resting on his hands.

Ben had visited Leeman several times since their first meeting. Although he hadn’t obtained any new information, he thought Leeman had come to know him a little better, and had perhaps even come to trust him. According to Vera, Leeman had only two visitors: Ernie and Ben.

With each visit, Ben had become more and more convinced that Leeman was not competent to stand trial, no matter what the state’s shrink decreed. Judge Hawkins, however, had denied all Ben’s motions to revisit the issue. Hawkins insisted that this trial had been delayed long enough. It was time to see justice done.

Justice. What a concept.

Leeman’s head cocked at that odd angle. “Papa …?”

“Sure. He’s here. He’s in one of the back rows. See?” Ben pointed him out. Ernie saw them looking and waved.

“Don’t …” Leeman’s neck extended and twisted. He turned his shoulders awkwardly.

Don’t … wanna be here? Ben guessed. “I understand, Leeman. No one wants to be here. But we have to clear this up once and for all.”

Leeman shook his head vigorously. “Don’t … go back.”

It was the most words Ben had ever heard Leeman speak at once. Don’t … go back? To the hospital, Ben realized. Don’t wanna go back to the many many hospitals.

“Home,” Leeman whispered softly.

Ben laid his hand on Leeman’s. “I’ll do my best,” he said. He tried to sound confident.

Leeman lifted his chin tentatively. “Later …?”

“Later?”

Leeman straggled to finish the thought. “Beet-hooven.”

Ben smiled. “It’s a date.”

Ben heard the sound of shuffling feet coming from the front of the courtroom. The chamber door opened, and Hawkins’s bailiff stepped out. “All rise.”

The crowd hushed and rose to their feet. Judge Hawkins emerged from chambers, draped in his black robe, and moved somberly to his chair at the head of the courtroom.

“All right, then,” Hawkins said briskly. “Let’s not waste any time. Call the case.”

The bailiff did so. When Leeman heard his name, he started to rise. Ben gently tugged him back down into his seat.

“Very well,” Hawkins said. “The court has determined that the defendant is competent to stand trial. Let all those with business before this court now come forward.”

The judge paused a millisecond, then continued. “Gentlemen,” he said, gazing down at Ben and Bullock, “let’s get this show on the road.”