Dying Declaration (34 page)

56

BY MIDMORNING
they had picked the jury. In Virginia state court, the judge asked most of the questions and kept the lawyers on a tight leash. Silverman, as usual, had been efficient and fair, tolerating no nonsense from either the Barracuda or Charles.

Nikki leaned back in her chair, seated this time at the right hand of Charles, studying her handiwork. She had made the final calls on which jurors to strike and which to keep. They ended up with seven men and five women—only four mothers. Nikki thought the mothers would be brutal on Theresa and wanted to keep as many as possible off the jury. Four of the jurors were minorities:
two African Americans, one Asian American, and one Hispanic. Under Nikki’s theory, the minorities would be good, especially with her and Charles sitting at the defense counsel table. But the Hispanic and one of the African Americans were mothers,
so they would be hard to predict.

To Nikki’s great disappointment, there were no fundamentalists on the jury, but there were a few Baptists and one AME church member. Not the most religious jury she had ever seen. They would have to play the religion card carefully. But overall, it was a jury they could work with. Nikki began trying to make eye contact with the young male jurors, especially the unmarried ones. It might, she thought, be her most important contribution to the case.

The Barracuda seemed to be quite smug about the jury as well. She and her jury consultant had not stopped smiling since Judge Silverman had announced the final panel and seated them in the box.

Nikki hated the Barracuda’s act—her phony friendliness in front of the jury. Nikki had never seen the Barracuda smile unless she was in front of a jury or television camera. At the first break, she determined that she would approach Crawford and try to make some small talk. She wanted to suggest a new hair-dye product the Barracuda might want to try, something that would help take care of those nasty dark roots. Nikki would also be sure to mention how much she hated these television cameras,
based on the well-known fact that the cameras added ten pounds to your weight when you showed up on television.

“Does the commonwealth wish to give an opening statement?” Judge Silverman asked.

With all those cameras rolling,
Nikki thought,
wild horses couldn’t drag the Barracuda away from making an opening statement.

Crawford stood, looking more slender than usual in her tailored black pinstripe suit. “Yes, Your Honor,” she said and then strutted toward the jury box.

Her first five minutes contained a lecture in American civics. She explained all about the trial, who was who, why they were there—that type of thing. She thanked the jury at least three times, as if they had any choice in the matter. Then she began stroking the jurors’ egos in earnest.

She told them that they were the most important part of the American legal system. She told them that they had all the tools necessary to decide this case: their own common sense and innate sense of justice. She told them that she would be pleased to trust the fate of the commonwealth’s case, the “people’s case” as she called it, into their capable hands. Nikki thought she noticed a few of the jurors sit up a little straighter. Nikki wanted to gag.

After an appropriate season of complimenting the jurors on what a great job they were going to do, the Barracuda got down to basics. She represented the interests of the people, she reminded them, and her only concern was to see justice done. And in this case, she carried a heavy responsibility not just to represent the people generally, but also to represent one little person in particular. He was a child who did not live to see his second birthday. A tiny boy named Joshua Hammond, with his whole life in front of him, who died a senseless death because his parents refused to get him medical help.

She stopped talking for a moment, swallowed hard, and then forced herself to continue. Right inside the front of her trial notebook, she told the jury in a whisper, was a picture of innocent little Joshie. It helped remind her what this case was all about. And when she looked at that picture, she couldn’t help but wonder how any parents could allow such an innocent little boy to die needlessly.

In fact, the Barracuda said, turning and pointing at Thomas and Theresa Hammond, raising her voice, these parents allowed their baby to suffer in excruciating pain for five days. She shook her head like she couldn’t possibly understand it. Five days, with an infected and ultimately ruptured appendix, before they even took him to the hospital. Five days of squirming in agony with a fever of more than 103 degrees before the parents went for help.

There were laws to protect innocent children like Joshua from uncaring or deluded parents. Sure, the Hammonds would claim that their faith required them not to go to the hospital, but that was no excuse under the law.

“Religious beliefs do not justify murder,” Crawford said. “So let’s just call it what it is.”

Having pointed and shouted and accused, the Barracuda then seemed to calm down and began discussing the evidence. She took the next thirty minutes to talk about appendicitis, how easy it was to cure and how hard the good Dr. Armistead worked to save this child even at the last minute. But it was no use; the child had been doomed by the delay in treatment caused by his own parents. The jury would also hear about a statement given by young John Paul Hammond, who desperately tried to defend his parents but had to admit that his mom and dad had waited a full five days before seeking medical help.

The Barracuda also promised that the jury would hear private thoughts from Theresa Hammond herself in the form of a prayer journal that covered some of the critical days in question. In addition, the jury would hear testimony from the minister of the Hammonds’ church. Both the journal and the minister would confirm that Thomas and Theresa Hammond knew their son was dying but refused to seek treatment.

At the end of her opening, the Barracuda turned religious. Little Joshie was probably in heaven right now, she opined, and he was looking down on the trial, wondering whether justice would be done. He had been denied the opportunity to do so many things people take for granted, denied the chance to realize the potential God had put in his little breast. Now the only question remaining, the Barracuda said, was whether he would also be denied justice. That decision, she said, was in the jury’s hands.

And with that thought ringing in their ears, the Barracuda took her seat. She had been at it for fifty-five minutes.

Nikki was nauseated. Watching the Barracuda suddenly turn so religious was almost more than she could take.

Charles had the daunting task of following this vintage performance. The jurors had already started squirming and shooting mean glances in the direction of Thomas and Theresa Hammond. Charles said a quick and silent prayer, then rose and buttoned his suit coat jacket.

“She’s good,” he said to the jury, ignoring the usual niceties and introductions. “She’s
real
good.”

He smiled at the jury, then stuck a hand in his pocket, striking a casual pose. With the other hand he leaned against the jury rail. He lowered his voice.

“That’s why the judge told you to keep an open mind until you’ve heard both sides of the case. And that’s why the judge reminded you that opening statements are not evidence. What she said was good. And it would make a good case. Only problem is: it happens
not
to be true.”

Then slowly and quietly Charles began building his defense. Thomas and Theresa were loving parents but also parents of faith. They waited longer than most would have waited before they took Joshie to the hospital, but that didn’t mean they’re murderers. After all, they violated the very tenets of their faith by taking Joshie to the hospital at all. It was not an easy decision. When they did take him’on the third day of fever, not the fifth—Joshie still had every chance in the world to survive. But mistakes made by Dr. Armistead, and the doctor’s refusal to acknowledge that there was better care available at another hospital,
cost young Joshie his life.

“Is it unreasonable to pray for a miracle and wait a few days for that miracle, before you take your child to the hospital?” Charles asked. “And if Joshie was in such bad shape when he was admitted to the hospital, why did he have to wait twenty-six minutes—twenty-six long, painful minutes—before he even saw a doctor? And why, after the decision was made to spend time—ninety minutes to be exact—trying to resuscitate him through an IV line and make him ready for surgery, why wasn’t he transferred to Norfolk Children’s Hospital while all this was happening?”

Charles promised the jury they would learn the answer to that question during the cross-examination of Dr. Armistead. He also promised them that when they did, they would be shocked.

He had only been talking for fifteen minutes, but he noticed some of the juror’s eyes starting to glaze over. A juror in the back row yawned. It was hard keeping their attention when he was being purposefully low-key about the whole thing—trying to keep emotions from driving their decision.

He walked over and stood behind his clients, Thomas and Theresa Hammond. He could not risk having them testify, so this would be the next best thing. He placed a hand on each of their shoulders and looked up again at the jury. As only a teacher could do, he waited until he had eye contact from each juror; then he spoke barely loud enough so they could hear.

“Reasonable doubt does not require perfect parenting. Reasonable doubt does not require that these two act exactly as you would have. Before this case is over, you will hear a lot about what the law requires. But the issue in this case is really very simple and straightforward. Are Thomas and Theresa two loving parents who made a simple mistake or are they really cold-blooded murderers who, by their own inaction, purposefully caused their youngest son to die?

“Ms. Crawford says that justice requires them to suffer more . . . to serve stiff prison sentences. I say they have suffered enough. They have lost their youngest son. What greater price should they have to pay?”

Charles gently squeezed their shoulders. It was a subtle gesture, but not one lost on the jury. Nor could they miss the steady stream of tears trickling down Theresa Hammond’s face.

57

THE BARRACUDA TOOK
advantage of the lethargic time right after lunch to call the Reverend Beckham as her first witness. He looked more like a mortician to Charles than a man of the cloth, his black hair sprayed perfectly into place, his suit holding up without the slightest hint of a wrinkle. He wore a permanent scowl, and Charles could just imagine his typical Sunday morning sermon—a forty-five-minute diatribe against the evils of the world and the sins of the flesh. The reverend took his oath, emphatically repeated “so help me God,” then climbed into the witness chair. He squared his chin, determined to tell the whole truth.

As she did at the preliminary hearing, the Barracuda had him destroy the case of his parishioners while appearing to praise them. Beckham spoke of the amazing faith of Thomas and Theresa Hammond and how they waited until things were beyond hope to take Joshua to the hospital. Beckham testified, in a loud and certain voice, of how he spoke with the Hammonds every day that Joshua was sick, though he couldn’t remember exactly how many days that happened to be.

A few days before Joshua was taken to the hospital, the reverend actually went to the Hammonds’ trailer to pray for Joshua’s healing and to anoint him with oil. During that visit the reverend remembered Theresa saying that she believed Joshua was dying and that he needed medical help right away.

But after a few hours of tears and soul-searching, Thomas and Theresa pledged to hang tough and have faith in God, not man. They both realized, the reverend said, that their lack of faith could have been the one thing keeping their son from being healed.

Twenty minutes of the reverend went a long way, in the opinion of Charles, and the Barracuda kept him on the stand for thirty. She finally got to the end of her checklist, paused for effect, and asked the reverend her final two questions.

“Do you have any doubt whatsoever that Thomas and Theresa Hammond knew, on the night you visited them, that this was a life-and-death situation with Joshua?”

“I have no doubt they realized that.”

“Yet they were still determined not to take him to the hospital?”

“That’s correct. They were determined to rely on Jehovah-Raphah—the God who heals.”

“Thank you,” the Barracuda said, turning smartly and heading back to her seat. “That’s all the questions I have. Mr. Arnold may have a few for you.”

“Indeed I do,” Charles said, rising quickly and moving toward the witness stand.

“Where do you suppose Thomas and Theresa Hammond got the idea they shouldn’t take their son to the hospital? Where did that come from?”

“It comes from the Holy Scriptures and from the teachings of the church,” the reverend said proudly.

“And would you agree that the Hammonds came under a lot of criticism for taking Joshua to the hospital at all?”

“There was some criticism. I wouldn’t say a lot.”

“Enough that you felt compelled to bring it up in your sermon at Joshua’s funeral?”

“Yes.”

“So regardless of what you taught them and what you told them on the night you prayed with them, and regardless of all the criticism they would face at church, they still had the courage to go against the flow and take Joshua to the hospital. Right?”

The reverend grudgingly nodded his head.

“The court reporter can’t record a head nod,” Charles said. “You need to answer verbally.”

He scowled at Charles as if the lawyer were the devil himself. “Yes.”

“Sometimes when church members violate your teachings, they are subjected to church discipline, including getting kicked out of the church. Is that right?”

“In serious cases, that is what Scripture teaches. And that is what we do.” The reverend tensed his jaw as he clipped off the words. He seemed unaccustomed to being questioned in such a fashion.

“The Hammonds risked church discipline and ostracism by the church when they took Joshua to the doctor—true?”

“Yes.”

“But they did it anyway.”

“I think it’s obvious, Mr. Arnold, that they did it anyway.”

Charles smiled. The reverend was getting feisty.

“Another church family, the Preston family, was disciplined about eighteen months ago and made to apologize to the entire church body, were they not?” Charles positioned himself in his favorite spot between the witness and the Barracuda, crossed his arms, and waited for the answer.

The witness bristled. The Barracuda rose.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” the reverend asked.

“My point exactly. I object,” Crawford said.

Judge Silverman looked at Charles.

“Because it shows the psychological pressure my clients were under to follow the reverend’s teachings. And it makes it all the more remarkable that they went to the hospital at all.”

“I’ll allow it,” Silverman ruled.

“What’s the question again?” the reverend asked.

“Was the Preston family disciplined by the church?”

“Yes.”

“And were they told to apologize to the entire church or risk having all fellowship cut off by the church body?”

“Yes.”

“Why were they disciplined? What horrible sin caused the church to come down on them so hard?”

The reverend did not hesitate. “They were being disciplined for failing to obey the scriptural command to tithe.”

“Tithing. That’s giving 10 percent of your income to the church. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“And how would you know whether or not somebody is giving 10 percent of their income to the church?”

This time the reverend did pause, giving the Barracuda plenty of time to object. When she said nothing, he answered, though his voice was lower this time. “We require church members to show us their tax records . . . and we know how much they give.”

Now Charles paused, allowing the jury to digest this nugget. “And how much of that tithe income ends up in your salary?”

“Objection.”
The Barracuda jumped to her feet. “That’s totally irrelevant.”

“More than a hundred thousand?” Charles persisted.

“Objection!”

“Ms. Crawford, the court can hear you just fine. Now sit down,” Judge Silverman answered.

The Barracuda shot the judge a killer look, then threw herself back in her seat.

“Mr. Arnold, what is the possible relevance of that question?”

“I just thought,” Charles said with his palms spread out, “that since the reverend takes a look at all the tax returns of his congregation, he wouldn’t mind telling the folks on the jury what he makes.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Charles saw the jurors lean slightly forward. They were probably wondering if this man of the cloth was really hauling down a six-figure income.

“Objection sustained,” the judge said.

Charles feigned a little frustration but knew the point had hit home.

“You don’t know exactly how long Joshua was sick, do you?”

“Not exactly.”

“You don’t even remember the length of time between the day you visited the Hammonds’ trailer to pray and the day they took Joshua to the hospital, do you?”

“Like I said—not exactly.”

“It could have been the very next day?”

“Doubtful.”

“But possible?”

“I suppose.”

“So if the prosecution were trying to prove that Joshua was sick for five days instead of three before he was taken to the hospital, you wouldn’t be able to back that up, would you?”

Reverend Beckham leaned forward in the witness chair, lowered his bushy eyebrows, and narrowed his eyes at Charles. “As I’ve said three times now, I can’t say if they took him to the hospital the next day or waited five days. I just know that when I saw him, Joshua was extremely sick.”

“And at that point, did you suggest that the Hammonds take Joshua to the hospital?”

“No, of course not.”

Charles walked over to his counsel table and started to sit. Then, in the style of Columbo, as if he had just remembered something, Charles put his hand to his chin and turned back toward the witness.

“Oh, I do have one more question,” Charles said. He waited a few seconds to make sure the jury was listening. “Do you accept any responsibility for young Joshua’s death?”

This question lit a fire under the Barracuda. “That’s ridiculous,” she growled.

“Is that an objection?” Silverman asked.

“Yes.”

“Objection sustained,” the judge said.

Charles Arnold shrugged his shoulders and took his seat, his unanswered question ringing in the ears of twelve jurors.

“The commonwealth calls Dr. Sean Armistead,” Crawford announced.

Charles turned to see the doctor walking down the aisle, his beady gray eyes already darting about.

“He looks nervous,” Nikki whispered to Charles.

“Yeah,” Charles said, his own palms moist with sweat. “Imagine that.”