The Sacrifice (39 page)

Scott answered with a question. “Who's on trial?”

Lester again looked at his father. “I am,” he said.

“And my job is to defend you,” Scott replied. “I'm not concerned about anybody else. My only goal is to provide Lester Garrison with the best defense possible.”

“Get to the point,” Harold said.

Scott kept his voice level and looked at Lester.

“All the witness does is place you in the vicinity of the church. She will not testify that you fired any shots.”

“Then that's your argument,” Harold said. “There aren't eyewitnesses, and Lester ain't guilty.”

“That's true, but it has to be set up correctly,” Scott responded. “One of the best defenses in a criminal case is to show that someone other than the defendant could have committed the crime.”

“What do you mean?” Harold asked.

“The state has to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that Lester committed the crime. The girl will testify that there was someone else on the creekbank.” Scott paused and looked straight at Harold. “Someone who is not on trial—an unidentified John Doe. Bishop Moore told me that the only person he saw on the other side of the creek had black hair. His testimony is corroborated by the girl who saw someone with black hair creeping through the bushes. We can line up witnesses all the way to the back of the courtroom and prove that Lester's head was shaved on the day the shots were fired. Whatever the color of your hair, it was still inside your head. After all the testimony is given, my argument to the jury is that both the girl and Bishop Moore are telling the truth. There was someone on the bank with black hair, and it wasn't Lester Garrison. This unknown person had just as much opportunity to commit the crime as Lester Garrison, and without an eyewitness showing a gun in Lester's hand, the state can't prove its case.”

“But what if I'm asked who the other person was?” Lester asked tentatively.

“That's easy. You won't testify. No one can make you say a word, and if you decide not to be a witness, the D.A. can't mention it. The Constitution specifically gives you the right not to incriminate yourself. In fact, the judge will tell the jury not to consider whether or not you testified in reaching their decision.”

“It sounds kind of risky,” Lester replied. “It won't make sense if I don't stand up for myself. Won't the jury think I'm trying to hide something if I don't testify?”

“What would you say if the D.A. asked you who was the dark-haired person on the creekbank with you that day?”

Lester sputtered. “Uh, I'd stick to my story that I wasn't near the church at all. No one was with me.”

“That might work. But there will be a lot of witnesses who will say shots were fired, and a very believable young woman who knows you on sight and will place you at the scene.”

“What's her name?” Harold asked.

“You may not know her.” Scott tried one last dodge.

“I might,” Lester interjected. “She claims she knows me. Who is it?”

“Alisha Mason.”

Lester nodded. “I know her.”

“Where does she live?” asked Harold.

“I don't know. I interviewed her at the high school.”

Scott looked at his watch. He only had a few minutes to go over the plea bargain. “One more thing: the D.A. offered a better deal in return for a guilty plea.”

Harold's face grew slightly red. “How many times do I have to tell you to fight for my boy—”

Scott cut him off. “I have an obligation to communicate an offer to my client. I'm not making a recommendation. They will modify the assault with a deadly weapon to inflict serious injury charge and omit with intent to murder. There will be no conspiracy charge for the Internet stuff. You plead guilty and receive a six-month sentence in a boot-camp program followed by three years on probation. The offer is on the table until three o'clock today, then it's withdrawn. Any questions?”

“What time is it?” Lester asked.

“You have ten minutes,” Scott replied. “Do you want to talk in private?” Lester nodded.

“Okay. The receptionist will page me when you finish.”

Scott stepped into the reception area and exhaled. The atmosphere around the Garrisons was so stale that he didn't want it in his lungs. He left the room and walked down the hallway to Mr. Humphrey's office. The door was cracked open and he could see the older lawyer's feet on the edge of his desk. He quietly pushed open the door. Leland Humphrey's eyes were closed, and his face looked so peaceful that Scott decided not to disturb him. There wasn't anything the older lawyer could do at this point. The immediate decision rested with the two-man jury in the conference room.

Scott was paged by the receptionist. “Mr. Ellis. Your clients are ready for you.”

He drained a glass of water in the kitchen and looked at his watch. It was 2:58 P.M. When he saw the Garrisons' faces, he knew their answer. They were standing in the doorway of the conference room. He came in and shut the door. His question was a formality.

“What do you want to do?” he asked Lester.

Harold answered, “Tell the D.A. that Lester ain't going to plead guilty. I reckon we'll follow your advice. Lester won't testify. We don't think a jury will convict him.”

Scott looked directly at Lester. “Is that your decision?”

Lester nodded. “Yes. I didn't do it.”

“Okay. I'll make the phone call. Wait here in case something else comes up.”

Scott walked up to his office and closed the door. He dialed the D.A.'s office and asked for Lynn Davenport.

“I've met with my client and his father,” Scott said.

“Is he going to accept the deal?”

“No, he's not interested.”

“Your client is making a mistake.”

“That's his choice,” Scott said.

“Be ready on Monday. No offer is on the table from this point forward.”

Scott set the phone receiver in its cradle. Harold's agreement with Scott's suggestion that Lester avoid the witness stand was not surprising. The older Garrison was savvy enough to realize that if Lester testified there was a risk that he might say something that implicated Harold in the incident at the creek. Lester's silence was Harold's best protection.

Scott went downstairs and told Lester to be at the office at 8 A.M. Monday morning. Now that his client wasn't going to testify, the burden of defense rested completely on Scott's shoulders.

After the Garrisons left the building, Scott checked on Mr. Humphrey. He was still enjoying his siesta.

Scott was quietly closing the door when he heard Mr. Humphrey snort something that sounded like, “Overruled!”

Scott stuck his head back into the office. Mr. Humphrey's eyelids fluttered and he came out of the dream world courtroom back to his comfortable office.

“I'm sorry to bother you,” Scott said. “I think you were dreaming.”

The older lawyer dropped his feet to the floor and rubbed his eyes.

“Dreaming? It was a nightmare! I couldn't get the judge to reject a clearly inadmissible piece of evidence. No matter what I argued it was overruled.”

Scott sat down in one of the burgundy leather chairs in front of Mr. Humphrey's desk.

“Speaking of dreaming, wake me up when
State v. Garrison
is over.”

“What's happened?”

Scott summarized his interview with Alisha Mason and his advice to the Garrisons about how to handle it.

Mr. Humphrey nodded. “You did well. Let Lester sit in his chair like a scared kid and keep him off the witness stand. He's smart but not very cuddly. The less the jury hears from him the more likely they'll have sympathy for him, especially if they think the police haven't done their job by arresting the other person on the creekbank.”

Scott decided to test his personal conclusions of the identity of John Doe.

“Who do you think is the other person?”

“The father would be my guess,” Mr. Humphrey responded. “And he ought to come forward and take full responsibility for the situation. If he did, the boy would be no more than an accessory who would get a slap on the wrist.”

“That's what I thought. He's in the running for worst father of the century.”

“Did you talk to Lester alone?”

“No.”

“That might be in order first thing Monday morning.”

“But the plea bargain is withdrawn.”

Mr. Humphrey's right eyebrow shot up. “That could change if Lester decides to tell a different tale.”

30

You cannot plan the future by the past.

E
DMUND
B
URKE

N
icky greeted Scott with wild excitement. No matter what had happened in the dog's life he was universally consistent in his enthusiasm for Scott's arrival. A bad day for Nicky became a good day as soon as Scott walked through the door. Scott set down his briefcase and gathered up two handfuls of the small stuffed toys that Nicky played with in the house. Nicky didn't share Scott's preference for neatness, and Scott tolerated Nicky's failing to put away his toys. Scott picked up his pet and put him in a tiny storage closet beside the kitchen.

“Count to sixty,” Scott commanded, as Nicky yelped and scratched at the door.

Scott took the toys into the backyard and put them under bushes and behind trees. He wedged Nicky's favorite toy, a stuffed hedgehog, in a low limb of an ornamental cherry tree. When he was finished hiding all the animals, he returned to the house. Nicky continued complaining from his darkened prison cell.

“Did you count to sixty?”

Nicky scratched harder. Scott opened the door, and the dog shot into the backyard. Scott followed and sat on the bench by the pond.

Nicky loved hide-and-seek. He would find a toy, retrieve it, and run to Scott who would take it from the dog's mouth and lay it on the bench. There were no good hiding places. Nicky's nose was too sensitive to be fooled by a pile of leaves or a temporary barricade. The backyard was his kingdom, and he knew every nook and cranny. Within a few minutes every item except the hedgehog was on the bench. Nicky made another circuit around the enclosure and returned in triumph.

Scott shook his head. “Where's hedgehog?”

Nicky spun around and made a slower inspection of the yard. He stopped at the cherry tree and looked up. He stretched up to his full height and sniffed, but the hedgehog was barely out of reach. He strained a couple of times and then began jumping up, nipping the stuffed animal with his teeth. After five tries it dislodged and came down at his feet. He proudly picked it up and presented the prize to Scott. His reward was a treat that Scott pulled from his front pocket.

Scott fixed a pizza. It was the third one of the week. While it cooked, he opened his briefcase and organized the papers he'd brought home from the office on the dining room table. He rarely took work home, but the demands of the Garrison case made him live outside the usual boundaries of a world under his control. He made a few notes about his cross-examination of the sheriff deputies who arrested Lester until the kitchen buzzer signaled that the pizza was ready. He was eating a piece gingerly to avoid burning his tongue when the phone rang.

“Hello,” he said with a hot bite still between his teeth.

“Scott? Is that you?”

It was Kay.

“Yeah.” Scott forced himself to swallow. “You caught me in the middle of a bite of pizza.”

“Sorry.”

Scott waited for her to explain the reason for her call. When she didn't say anything, he asked, “Why didn't you go to the football game?”

“I didn't want to face the crowd. How about you?”

“I'm working on Lester's case.”

“Are you going to be working on the case all weekend?”

Scott looked at the papers on the end of the table and made a decision.

“Not tonight. Would you like to get together? I have four pieces of pizza left. Three for you and one for me. If you come immediately, it will still be hot.”

Scott gave her directions. It was less than ten minutes from her apartment to his house. Scott put the pizza back in the oven to stay warm and picked up the rest of Nicky's toys. When the dog heard footsteps on the sidewalk, he ran barking to the front door. Visitors were not common in the lair he shared with his master.

Scott opened the front door. Kay was casually dressed in jeans and a yellow shirt. Nicky jumped up and down until she let him smell her hand. She rubbed his head.

“You must be Nicky.”

“The one and only,” Scott answered. “Come in. Nicky and I will give you a quick tour.”

It didn't take long to see the house. Nicky followed along, his feet clipping against the wood floors. Scott saved the backyard for last. It was still possible to see the whole area in the twilight from the last rays of the sun behind the trees on the west side of the property.

“It's like an English garden,” she said. “I can see why you like it here.”

They stopped by the fishpond. “Is this where you were sitting when I called the other day?”

“Yes, and forgot to wipe the spaghetti sauce from my mouth.”

They went into the kitchen and Scott took the pizza out of the oven.

“No, thanks,” she said. “I've already eaten.”

Scott took out an extra plate from the cupboard. “If you come to my house, local custom requires that you eat my food.”

Kay selected the smallest piece, and they sat at the dining room table. She seemed melancholy.

“I'm glad you called,” Scott said. “I didn't want to spend the evening with Lester Garrison.”

Kay nibbled her slice of pizza. “Did you tell him about Alisha?”

“Yes, but I've found a way to explain her testimony so that I don't have to impeach her. It makes as much sense as anything Lester has been telling me. If Alisha sticks to the story she told me Thursday night, it may work out to my advantage in the end.”