Endangered (7 page)

Chapter Ten

ROGER MET WITH MALIK AT THE JUVENILE DETENTION CENTER IN PREPARATION for the hearing. He could see immediately that Malik was Janae's son. They were both small-framed, with eyes that looked like dark jewels. Malik's skin was several shades darker than his mother's but just as flawless. Everything about Malik—his mannerisms, the intonation in his voice—had Janae's imprint.

Yet in other ways they were different. Malik sported an unkempt mini-Afro. He had a tattoo on his neck, a small fist that peeked out from the top of his oversized orange jumpsuit.

At the table, Malik stood behind the chair across from Roger with his arms at his side. Roger rose from his seat and extended his hand to the young man. “Hi, Malik. I'm your attorney. Your mother told you about me, right?”

Malik shook his hand firmly. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Have a seat. We've got a lot to discuss.”

Malik pulled the chair from the table and sat across from Roger with his hands folded in front of him. He looked like a student in class, awaiting instructions. Malik's eyes met Roger's. Before Roger had a chance to set the tone of their meeting, Malik asked, “How's my moms?”

“Your mother is fine. She's concerned about you. We all are.”

Malik's brow wrinkled.

“What is it, Malik?” Roger questioned.

“She worries about me. Even before I got in here, she would cry. She didn't know I knew, but I could hear her.”

“Your mother just wants what's best for you, Malik. That's why I am here. She wants me to help you. Let's talk about your hearing. We've got some time. It's in a few weeks. While we're waiting for the hearing, you're going to have to stay put in here.” Roger shook his head. “When they set bail on these types of cases it's almost always too high to actually pay. But the good news is we can get prepared for the hearing. At this initial hearing, our goal is to keep your case in juvenile court—”

Malik stared at Roger. “How's she paying for this? She didn't tell me when she was here, just that she couldn't afford no attorney.”

“Don't you worry about that. Malik, I want you to focus on what I have to tell you.”

The boy fidgeted in his seat.

“We are not charging your mother a cent—not a single penny. Now, can we focus on this?” Roger patted the thick folder that sat on the table in front of him.

Malik nodded with a slight smile.

“Do you understand the difference between juvenile and adult court?”

Malik shrugged his shoulders. “One's for adults and the other's for kids.”

“Well, yeah. But the biggest difference is, if you're convicted in adult court you could serve a lot of time, and in a prison with adults. It's very, very important that your case stay in juvenile court.”

“Will I have to testify?”

“Maybe.” Roger paused. “Malik, this is critical. It could mean everything for your case. Look at me.”

The boy raised his dark, jeweled eyes from the wooden table to Roger's old blue ones. Malik didn't hold his eyes on Roger's. They darted to the empty table to the left of them, over to the guard, and only then back to Roger.

“Do you know who killed Troy?”

Malik picked at a crack in the table, his eyes razor sharp on it. “Nawh.”

“You were friends with Troy, right?”

Malik's lower lip twitched. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“How long did you know him?”

“Ever since I can remember.”

“Tell me about your friendship with Troy.”

Malik frowned. He shrugged his shoulders. “There's not much to tell. Lately, we weren't as tight, like before. I would see him around.”

“Did you see him the day he died?”

“Yes,” Malik admitted.

“Well, what happened?”

“Not much. He was hanging out on the corner with his friends, and I was with mine. We exchanged a few words. And that was pretty much it.”

“When was the very last time you saw him?”

“That was it. I told you.”

“Malik, who would want Troy dead?”

Malik's head jerked backwards slightly. He was silent for several seconds. “That could be anybody.”

Roger inched forward in his seat toward the boy, his brow furrowed. “Anybody? Anybody like whom?”

“I don't know,” Malik said, agitated, with his eyes diverted.

“Most people wouldn't respond to a question like that with ‘Anybody.' I know a lot of people, and I don't know anyone who would want any of them dead. If you know something about Troy, now is the time to tell me.”

“I don't
know
anything.”

Roger leaned back heavily into his chair. It was years since his children were teenagers and he tried to have an in-depth conversation with someone this boy's age. “Malik, I get that you don't like these questions, but you have to understand that right now you're on the hook for this. Do you know what the police have been doing since you've been locked up?”

“What?”

“Nothing. The police are not out there looking for Troy's murderer. They think it's you. They think they have their guy. Do you understand that?”

Deep creases formed between the boy's eyes. His shoulders drooped several inches. “Yes,” he whispered.

“Look at me.” Roger waited. “Your mother and I are not giving up on you. We are going to fight the police.”

“My mom, is she . . . ? I know she's disappointed in me.”

Roger could hear the pain in the boy's voice. “
Noooo.
No, no, no. Your mother is so very, very proud of you. She loves you. You are the best thing in the world to her. She's told me that herself.”

Malik grinned.

“She does expect you to help me.” Roger paused. “If you knew who killed Troy, would you tell me?”

Malik nodded, his eyes meeting Roger's again. The corners of his mouth were still turned upward. “My moms would make me.”

Roger returned the smile. “I think you are right.” His face straightened. He put his hand over the boy's busy one to get his undivided attention again. “How are you holding up in there?”

Malik sighed. His young eyes glistened with wetness. There was a slight tremble in his bottom lip. “It's okay.”

Chapter Eleven

ROGER PATTED HIS POCKETS, SEARCHING DISTRACTEDLY FOR HIS KEYS. HE heard them jingle from an inner breast pocket and retrieved them. He hollered to Margaret, “Now, you done told
Jah-nae
to meet me at the courthouse by seven forty-five at the latest, right? Judge McCormick is scheduled to take the bench at eight. He's a stickler for time.”

“Yes, Roger, Janae knows.” She sighed. “Why do we have to go through this every time you have a case? Jeez, you act like you've never done this before. You've been preparing for weeks. Go and do what you do best.”

“Thanks, Marg.” He smiled at her. He waved goodbye as he shut the door. He took in a healthy gulp of cool, damp air, and then tugged at his coat's collar, trying to cover his exposed neck.

The drive to the courthouse was a straight run down Broad Street. Rush-hour traffic was slower than usual because of freezing rain. His faithful decade-old Ford Taurus puttered along the slick blacktop at about twenty miles an hour. He reached for the radio dial, then thought better of it. He should continue to mull over his arguments.

Since three forty-five this morning, in his mind he had been stepping before the judge, bringing attention to this cause that meant everything to him. Every single time, the judge or the prosecutor blew holes in his case. One time the judge violently banged his gavel while commanding the bailiff to haul him away in handcuffs for contempt of court. He tossed and turned in his bed while he struggled to free himself from the bailiff's strong grip. In his nightmare, they never got the argument—or, worse, they got it fully but didn't consider it was a worthwhile effort.

Roger pulled into the courthouse's five-level parking lot at seven forty. He snatched up his accordion file and headed straight to the courtroom. By seventy forty-three he was in the attorneys-only elevator, and less than a minute later the doors opened and he spotted Janae instantly. She was seated on the bench right outside the courtroom.

She noticed him as he approached, and stood up to greet him. She wore a fitted purple dress that made her golden-brown skin pop. Her hair was pulled back in a bun and gold hoop earrings that were too big for her small physique dangled from her ears. Janae looked more like she was going for a cocktail after work than to a hearing.

“Well, don't you look pretty?” Ever the attorney, Roger noted that that could play to their advantage.

“Thanks.” Her eyes were blank, her face stiff. She turned toward the courtroom's doors. “It's about time for the judge to come out, right?”

“I think we have a few minutes before the judge takes the bench,” he said and checked his watch to confirm. “How are you doing?”

Janae took in a deep breath. “I just want my son home. That's all I think about. That's all I want. This world is so violent. I don't want anything to happen to him.”

“I know, Janae, but realistically he's not going to be released today. But we can still accomplish some very important things. First, we gotta get a hearing scheduled to keep this out of adult court. That's mission number one. The prosecution will fight us tooth and nail, but this is a battle we must win.” He stopped to see if Janae was following him. She stared back at him with concern in her eyes.

“What's the likelihood of that happening, though?”

“Well, Janae, the truth is, more and more kids are being tried as adults. That's what this is all about—to change this very thing.”

“I thought you wanted to stop the system from locking up black boys?”

Roger shrugged his shoulders as he peered at her from over his reading glasses. “They are one and the same thing. It's just which words you choose to describe what's going on. I'll explain it this way. There are two systems at work in the U.S.” He held up two fingers. “The criminal justice system and the juvenile justice system. They were set up to deal with two distinct populations—adults and children. The official goal of the juvenile-justice system is
rehabilitation
.” His body swayed from left to right. “That's just a fancy way of saying that the system supposes to help the children get back on track so they can later be productive citizens in society. The problem is, now more and more kids are being tried as adults, which means they go to adult prisons and serve longer sentences for the sole purpose of punishing them. Today, the majority of the kids tried as adults are black boys. Next Hispanic. We fix this problem, we fix the whole shebang. By the way, those earrings . . .”

She instinctively reached up for one and fingered its smooth, cool surface.

“Would you mind terribly not wearing them in the courtroom? They might just offend the judge.”

“I wouldn't want to offend the judge.” Her eyes rolled as she gritted her teeth. She took off the earrings. “So what should I do when we get in there?”

“Absolutely nothing. Your job is to sit back and support your son. If you hear anything you don't like, if you see something you don't like, I don't want a reaction from you.” He wagged an index finger in front of her. “No rolling your eyes, Janae, no sucking your teeth. It doesn't mean a thing to the judge, and it will only hurt your son. Got it?”

“Have I been giving you attitude?” she said.

“I grew up in a family with a mother and two sisters. I've got three girls of my own. I know what attitude is, even the ‘I'm trying to be subtle' kind. And let's face it, you black girls, you give a whole new meaning to the word
attitude
.”

She wrinkled her face as if she just took a mouthful of bad medicine. She flicked her right wrist. “Hold up. Hold way up. Where do you get off telling me that because I'm a black
wo
-man that I automatically got an attitude problem. That's some nonsense that you've seen on TV. I'll take the earring out. But please don't even try to tell me who I am.”

Roger smiled, swatted his knee. “Well, then, let's get in there.” He walked toward one of two sets of double doors that led to the courtroom. He extended his arm in front of him, gesturing for Janae to enter first. She looked down at her hands. They were grasping firmly at her legs through the purple fabric of her dress. Then she looked at him. He smiled.

With her heart in her throat, Janae took one labored step after another into the courtroom. The room was poorly lit, but that probably had more to do with the gloomy weather outside. There were four windows on the left wall and they were large enough to allow in plenty of sunlight, if there was any.

It was a large room that reminded her of an old church. There was an abundance of dark wood throughout the room and at least eight benches with blue padding that stretched from one side of the courtroom to the other. Roger directed her to the first bench on the left, which was behind a table that had a small microphone at the center of it. He went to that table after walking through what appeared to be a wooden gate that separated the attorneys and other people who clearly worked there from the rest of them.

Roger shook hands with a younger white man dressed in a dull gray suit. It seemed like they knew each other. They even laughed a few times after sharing a few words. He then walked over to the other table. There was an older white woman at that one. Roger shook her hand, but he appeared more formal with her. He gave her a small stack of papers, maybe four or five sheets thick. It was covered with heavier blue paper. The woman flipped through the papers and then darted a few words at him as she tossed the papers on the desk. Roger shrugged and walked away.

The public defender had the witnesses and his clients' family members form a line down the aisle. The line stretched from the bar at the front to the closest exit at the back of the courtroom. Just like the last time Janae was in court, this PD went through the line like a woodpecker in an oak tree, plucking off anxious mothers and grandparents like pieces of bark. An older black woman held a much younger and teary-eyed woman by the waist and spoke to the PD on her behalf. As he was about to move down the line, the older woman grabbed him by the arm and rattled off a succession of questions. With a flushed red face, the PD stayed and answered her questions. The only two white women in the line discussed, loud enough for Janae to hear, the best place for one of the women's son to live when he was released from detention. There was a family of four seated to Janae's immediate right. They huddled together with a smartly suited attorney, speaking in Spanish.

Janae stood up and leaned on the bar that separated Roger's half of the courtroom from hers. “What was that all about?”

Roger looked at her and shook his head. “Have a seat, Janae. The judge will take the bench any second.” He studied his file for several minutes and then turned back to Janae. “She's the prosecutor. She has a reputation of taking offense simply because a defendant actually has the audacity to defend himself.”

Janae settled back into the bench, anxious but determined to appear steady as a rock for her son. She would get to see him again in just a few minutes, and that eased her a bit. Her dark eyes scanned the room. There was a flurry of activity and conversations, all in anticipation of the judge's imminent arrival.

The judge's bench was more of an enclosed box with a desk and chair. It stood high above the courtroom, looming over it like a ghost. Her heart pounded in her chest.

“All rise.”

The bailiff's thunderous voice jarred Janae. She quickly sat forward on the wooden bench and got to her feet in one seamless motion. She stood unnaturally still, as if the slightest movement would render a damning judgment against her son.

“The Court of Common Pleas is now in session. The Honorable Jonathan McCormick is now presiding.”

Just as the bailiff said those words, the door behind the bench opened and a tall older white man in a black robe stepped into the courtroom. His arms were full of files as he moved quickly to his high-back leather chair. He placed the files on the bench and then stood there for a few seconds, staring out into the crowd. In his courtroom there were private attorneys, including Roger, the public defender, and the prosecutor. The bailiff stood just below the judge's bench. The silence was palpable as though the life had been sucked out of the family members there as they awaited judgment against their loved ones. Janae could feel her legs wobble slightly. Only when the judge pulled out his chair to sit did the activity in courtroom resume.

“Good morning,” the judge spoke to the entire courtroom. He then directed his attention to the clerk. “Tony, we have a full docket. Let's jump right into this. What do we have?”

“We have twenty-one cases this morning, Your Honor. Three private attorneys.”

“Let's hear those first.”

The prosecution requested a continuance in the first case because a crucial witness failed to appear in court. The private attorney vehemently objected, even slamming his file onto the defense table. The family in that case sat next to Janae, and every time the defense attorney opened his mouth to express disapproval of the prosecution, they fidgeted on the bench beside her and mumbled in agreement under their breath. The judge was annoyed with the prosecution, but he granted the continuance, though only after threatening to dismiss the case if the ADA was unprepared at the next listing.

“The next case, Your Honor”—and the bailiff read from the court's docket.

When Roger stood to address the judge, Janae's body immediately stiffened.

Roger buttoned his suit jacket. “Good morning, Your Honor. Roger Whitford for the defendant, Malik Williams.”

The judge furrowed his brow as he skimmed the file in front of him. “Roger Whitford. Now, to what do I owe the honor of your presence in my courtroom, Mr. Whitford?” The corners of the judge's mouth bent upward, though not quite a smile—more like curiosity. “Your reputation precedes you. If I'm not mistaken, your area of expertise is civil and human rights.”

Roger smiled graciously. “That's correct, Your Honor. This case, however, fits right into our mission at the Center for the Protection of Human Rights.”

The judge's eyes narrowed. “We'll see about that.”

As the two exchanged words, Malik was escorted into the courtroom. He still wore the orange jumpsuit he had on when Janae visited him in detention. His head hung low. The guard placed him in the seat next to Roger's. Roger patted him on the back, by way of acknowledging his presence. Malik did not respond to his touch.

While Roger continued to address the judge, Malik turned his head slightly, enough to see Janae. He offered up a faint smile, and Janae ate it up. She softly mouthed “I love you.” He smiled and then turned his attention back to the front of the courtroom. No longer slouching, he looked in the direction of the judge, his head held high.

From the time Malik spoke his first words, Janae encouraged him to look everyone directly in the eyes. She would stoop low so that she was eye-to-eye with him and say, “They're just people, same as you.” She would place her hand under his chin and nudge it up, and, if necessary, press her other hand to his back to straighten it. “Malik, what you have to say is worth listening to.”

The prosecutor rose next and addressed the judge. “Your Honor,” she began, “this case is improperly before you. It should have gone directly to adult court because of the statutory exclusion. We are dealing with a first-degree murder charge. We have every intention of prosecuting this defendant as an adult.”

Roger stood, silently waiting his turn to address the judge. There wasn't the slightest response in his body or facial expression to what the ADA was saying. He knew that this argument was coming.

Without giving any indication as to where he stood, the judge looked to Roger. “I expect you have an objection?”

“Your Honor, I already gave the prosecution a copy of my petition for a waiver hearing. The original should be in the court's file. It is our position that the public interest would be best served if this case remained in juvenile court. Moreover, my client does not have a record.” His next words were delivered with special emphasis: “He doesn't have an adult record, nor a juvenile record for that matter. He is still currently enrolled in school and was actively attending classes up to the time of his arrest. Furthermore, his family is here to support him.” Without turning, Roger pointed toward Janae.