[Lady Justice 18] - Lady Justice in the Eye of the Storm

by Robert Thornhill

  I couldn’t get to sleep.

  I tossed and turned and flopped as I relived the day’s events over and over again. I finally retreated to the couch so that Maggie could get some rest.

  I finally drifted off to sleep, but was aroused by the sound of voices. Stumbling to the window, I glanced at the wall clock. It was seven in the morning and the sidewalk in front of my building was crammed with people carrying the same signs I had seen the night before.

  The captain had been right. Some enterprising soul had found my address and the word had quickly spread. Without a doubt, Ox was experiencing the same thing at his place.

  As promised, a black & white was parked at the curb. Two officers were on the lawn keeping the crowd away from my building.

  Suddenly it occurred to me that my friends and family --- all of us --- were prisoners in our own home. I knew I had no intention of going outside and stirring the pot.

  I heard Maggie bustling about in the kitchen. “Walt, coffee’s ready.”

  “Not hungry,” I mumbled.

  A moment later she was by my side. “Sweetie, you have to eat. I know that’s not high on your list right now, but you have to keep up your strength. You have no idea what the next few days will bring and you have to be ready for whatever comes.”

  She was right, of course, so reluctantly I followed her into the kitchen.

  Normally, I just wolf down a bowl of cereal while I read the morning paper, but Maggie had been up before me and prepared one of my favorite breakfasts, a golden brown waffle with warm coconut syrup.

  “Thought you could use something special this morning,” she said, passing me the butter dish.

  I was about to dig in when I made my first mistake of the day --- I flipped on the TV.

  There, in all his glory, was the traveling reverend from the National Action Network. He was consoling the grief-stricken mother of Tyrell Jackson.

  I recognized him immediately. His picture had been in the paper and on every TV station when he arrived at the little town across the state.

  He was one of those guys you either loved or hated.

  To some, he was an inspiration, but others labeled him ‘race hustler’ or ‘race baiter.’ Either way, there was little doubt his inflammatory rhetoric had added fuel to the riots and violence that tore apart the little town.

  Evidently, learning of this newest episode, he had wasted no time getting to Kansas City.

  After consoling the sobbing mother, he turned to the cameras and spoke for a good twenty minutes, ending with, “This is a defining moment in this country. All over the world, the debate is over how the rights of people are being dealt with by the state. Tyrell Jackson and Kansas City will be a defining moment on how this country deals with policing and the rights of citizens. Let me be clear—we’ll be here until justice is achieved.”

  A murmur went through the crowd and the camera panned to a stretch limo that had just pulled up.

  The other notorious reverend from the NAACP stepped into the street.

  Soon, the screen was filled with dueling reverends, each trying to outdo the other.

  I looked at my plate. My waffle was cold and soggy and my stomach was in a knot. I just couldn’t get it down.

  Not knowing what the day would bring, I figured I’d better shave. Afterward, I stood under the pulsing spray of the shower until the water turned cold.

  I was just toweling off when Maggie poked her head in the door. “Get your pants on. The captain just called. He’s on the way over and he’s bringing your Union Rep.”

  Twenty minutes later, I heard a commotion out front. The two officers parted the crowd and the captain and Frank Fitzgerald, my Union Representative, made their way to my front door.

  Reporters pointed their mikes in his direction and were shouting questions, but I could easily read the words coming from the captain’s lips, “No comment!”

  Moments later, the two were seated in my living room.

  “How are you holding up?” the captain asked. I could see the genuine concern in his eyes.

  “Honestly, I’ve been better. This whole thing scares the crap out of me. What’s happening out there?”

  “Actually, things are under control for the moment. The chief’s quick action yesterday, his willingness to share your names and his pledge to investigate the incident have kept a lid on things. I’m guessing his color didn’t hurt. The people feel like they might get a fair shot at justice.”

  “So what now?”

  “Now we need to talk about the investigation. That’s why I brought Frank along. He knows more about this legal stuff than I do.”

  “So are we talking grand jury like the other city?”

  “Absolutely not,” Fitzgerald replied. “That was another mistake made in the incident across the state. Grand jury hearings are not open to the public. The evidence is presented behind closed doors, and only after a decision is made is the public informed. The community already has a distrust for the local enforcement officials. So, if you have a secret grand jury proceeding, where nobody knows what the prosecutor presents, and the grand jury comes back and says we find this shooting justified, I think that's going to be very problematic for this community to accept."

  “So, if not a grand jury, what?”

  “A preliminary hearing. It’s like a ‘trial before the trial,’ but it serves the same function as a grand jury. The prosecution presents evidence to determine whether there is probable cause that a crime was committed. One big difference is the preliminary hearing is open to the public. The chief has promised complete transparency in the investigation, and this way nothing is behind closed doors. In fact, he has made arrangements for the hearing to be broadcast on public TV. The whole city can watch if they want.”

  “Swell!”

  “Actually, this is better for you and Ox.”

  “How so?”

  “In a grand jury, only the prosecutor presents his case. The defense attorney cannot cross examine or rebut any witness and often the defendant isn’t even present to confront his accusers. The preliminary hearing is exactly like a trial. You and Ox will be there and you will have legal counsel. That’s why I’m here. As your Union Rep, I want you to know that the union’s best attorneys are at your disposal to represent you.”

  “Does Ox know about all of this?”

  “Yes, we came straight here from his apartment.”

  “Do we have to use a union attorney?”

  “No, you can choose anyone you want. Why? Is there a problem?”

  “No. No problem. Thank you for the offer, but if our butts are on the line, there’s only one person I want sitting at my table ---- Suzanne Romero!”

  “That’s exactly what Ox said!”

  Suzanne Romero was an enigma.

  Throughout her career, she had been a thorn in the side of law enforcement. Every prosecutor in the DA’s office knew that if there were holes in their case, Romero would find them. Every cop knew that if he had cut corners or crossed the line, Romero would crucify him on the stand. Many a perp had walked away scot-free because we hadn’t done our job properly.

  It wasn’t that she was soft on crime. She was a hard-ass because she believed that the system would only work if everyone was following the same rules.

  It was exactly that quality that made her, in my opinion, the best defense attorney in town.

  We had turned to her for help on more than one occasion.

  A few years earlier, Mary Murphy, the housemother at my Three Trails Hotel, had shot an intruder who had broken into her apartment and threatened her with a knife. An over-zealous prosecutor decided to make an example of her case. Mary was acquitted thanks to a brilliant ‘stand your ground’ defense by Romero.

  Just a few months ago, Ox and I were framed for the King Tut murders by a pair of dirty cops. We were able to beat the rap thanks to Suzanne and some nifty undercover work by Kevin McBride, my brother-in-law.

  As soon as the captain and Fitzgerald
were out the door, I called Ox.

  “How are you holding up, Partner?”

  “Well, I’m scared to death and afraid to leave my own apartment if that tells you anything.”

  “Yeah, same here. The captain and Fitzgerald just left. They said they talked to you.”

  “Sure did. Looks like we’re going to be on TV.”

  “They said you mentioned Suzanne Romero to represent us. I’m certainly good with that. Shall I give her a call?”

  “I was hoping you’d say that. You know her better than I do and you’re better with this legal stuff."

  “Good! I’ll make the call.”

  Thankfully, Romero was in her office and took my call immediately.

  “Walt, looks like you and your partner have walked into another one. I’ve been following the story in the Star and on TV.”

  “Can you help us?”

  “I’ll be honest with you. This is a high profile case. After the debacle across the state, the entire country is going to be watching how this case is handled. Right now, your chief and the mayor have been able to keep a lid on things, but if there’s even a hint of prejudicial treatment or cover-up, the situation could get nasty.”

  “Are you saying that Ox and I are going to get thrown under the bus to avoid the riots and looting that occurred over there?”

  “Not at all, but what I am saying is the DA’s office has to present its case based on the facts and if the burden of evidence suggests a criminal act was committed, they’ll have no choice but to indict.”

  “Suzanne, we did everything according to the book.”

  “I believe you, but now we have to prove it.”

  “Does that mean you’ll take our case?”

  “Absolutely. But we have a lot of work to do. Let’s get to it!”

  CHAPTER 3

  It was a beautiful autumn day. The sun was shining with just enough bite in the air to bring out the first tinges of crimson on the leaves of the trees.

  It was the kind of day that a person should be taking a walk in the park, but it was not to be. I was on my way to the preliminary hearing that would determine whether my partner and I would be charged with a crime.

  The captain had sent a squad car to pick us up. As we pulled away from the curb, Maggie and the rest of my entourage loaded into Dad’s car to follow us. I knew they would be in the front row seats offering their encouragement and support.

  As we approached the courthouse, it was impossible to miss the enormity of this proceeding. Police barriers lined the street holding back a restless crowd. Some were holding placards with the words, Justice for Tyrell. I was encouraged to see others saying, Support our men in blue.

  There was absolutely no doubt the outcome of this hearing would be a defining moment for Kansas City.

  Suzanne met us in the lobby outside the courtroom. She had met with us the day before to explain the hearing procedure and develop a defense strategy.

  We were hoping for more time to prepare, but the mayor had insisted the hearing should be convened as soon as possible. With every day this thing dragged on, there was a greater chance the restlessness would turn to violence. He was probably doing the right thing.

  Suzanne had told us our hearing would be somewhat different. Under normal conditions, the evidence would be presented to the judge who would decide whether there was probable cause for the accused to be bound over for trial.

  These weren’t normal conditions.

  Given the circumstances, neither side was comfortable putting that burden in the hands of a single man or woman. Although it wasn’t said aloud, the fact that the judge would probably be either black or white factored into the equation.

  A jury of twelve, six black and six white, had been impaneled to decide our fate.

  The judge presiding over the hearing was Warren Benson, a white man while the prosecutor presenting the state’s case was Clarence Marshall, a black man.

  I could only imagine the backroom wrangling that must have taken place before these two appointments were made. It was obvious that every effort was being made to not bias the hearing toward either side.

  We had just taken our seats when the bailiff announced, “All rise for the Honorable Judge Warren Benson.”

  Our odyssey had begun.

  The judge instructed the bailiff to bring the jury to the courtroom

  When they were seated, he addressed the court.

  “The preliminary hearing is a screening device to afford the defendant an opportunity to challenge the sufficiency of the prosecution's evidence to establish probable cause before an impartial jury. As a screening device, the preliminary hearing is designed to weed out groundless or unsupported charges and insures the prosecution can at least sustain the burden of proving probable cause. It protects the accused by avoiding an embarrassing, costly and unnecessary trial while benefitting the interests of judicial economy and efficiency. At a preliminary hearing, the prosecution has the burden of presenting enough evidence to establish to the satisfaction of the jury that there is probable cause to believe the defendant committed the crime. Probable cause is established when the evidence is sufficient to induce a person of ordinary prudence and caution to entertain a reasonable belief that the defendant may have committed the crime charged. If the jury is satisfied that probable cause exists, the court will bind over the case for arraignment. If the jury is not persuaded that probable cause exists, the court will dismiss the case.”

  He then proceeded to introduce Ox and me and read the charges against us.

  What it all boiled down to, was whether the shooting of Tyrell Jackson was justified or was there probable cause that a crime had been committed.

  We were all surprised when the prosecutor called Ox as his first witness.

  “Officer Wilson, in your own words, please tell the court what happened on the afternoon of October 3rd.”

  In his twenty plus years on the force, Ox had testified in court many times --- but never as a defendant. It was obvious he was petrified.

  “It --- it was just an ordinary day. My partner and I were on patrol in the Northeast area when dispatch reported there had been an armed robbery at a convenience store on Independence Avenue. I was driving, so after hearing the report, I headed in that direction. A block or so later, we spotted two individuals who matched the description of the perps that had hit the convenience store.”

  “Do you recall the exact description that had been broadcast?”

  I was surprised that the prosecutor would emphasize that point. Suzanne had obtained a copy of the dispatch and had planned to use it as a mainstay in our defense since Tyrell Jackson and Cleavon Fowler fit the description perfectly.

  “Uhhh --- yes, I remember. The dispatcher said the perps were two African-American males wearing black hoodies. One was average build and the other much bigger. That was the exact description of the two men we observed.”

  “What happened then?”

  “I parked the cruiser, we exited the vehicle and approached the suspects. I informed them that we needed to ask them some questions. Immediately, the big one, Tyrell Jackson, swore at us and said he was sick and tired of being hassled by the cops and wasn’t going to take it anymore. He turned his back and started to walk away from us. My partner, who was closer to Jackson, simply said, ‘We just want to ask you where you have been and where you’re going.’ When he reached out to grab Jackson’s arm, the man whirled and attacked my partner. When I saw the knife, I drew my weapon and fired.”

  “I’m sure that all happened really fast. I’m impressed. Are you some kind of quick draw expert?”

  “Not at all. As soon as Mr. Jackson swore at us, I saw the potential for a physical confrontation. I had my hand on my weapon as a precaution.”

  “You’re a big man, Officer. Not as big as Tyrell Jackson, but I’m sure you can handle yourself. If you anticipated a physical confrontation, why couldn’t you have used less deadly force to subdue your partner’s attacker?”
<
br />   “You said it yourself, Sir. Everything happened in a matter of seconds. I was so far away, there was no chance to disarm him before he struck my partner. As it was, the point of the knife was just inches away from my partner’s chest when he fell.”

  “I see. What happened next?”

  “As soon as Jackson hit the ground, Cleavon Fowler fell on top of him and grabbed the knife. I rolled him over, disarmed him and cuffed him. At that moment backup arrived and secured the scene.”

  “When the other officers arrived what did they tell you?”

  “I --- I don’t understand what you want?”

  “What did they tell you about the men that had robbed the convenience store?”

  “They said they had been apprehended a few blocks away.”

  “So, Tyrell Jackson and Cleavon Fowler were just innocent black men walking down the street minding their own business when you and your partner confronted them?”

  Ox hung his head. “Yes, I guess so.”

  “No further questions, Your Honor.”

  “Cross examine, Ms. Romero?”

  Suzanne had Ox repeat for the second time that Fowler and Jackson matched the description of the suspects, but the damage had already been done.

  We had accosted two innocent men.

  The prosecutor called Cleavon Fowler to the stand.

  “Mr. Fowler, please tell the court what you were doing on the afternoon of October 3rd.”

  “Me an’ Tyrell had been at a friend’s house on Garfield playin’ video games. We was headin’ back to Tyrell’s place when this cop car pulls up beside us. The two cops get out and get in our face sayin’ they want to ask us some questions. Tyrell just lost it. This was the third time in a week he had been hassled by the cops and he hadn’t done nothin’ wrong.”

  “Why do you suppose that Tyrell gets stopped and questioned so often?”

  “Why? Because he’s big an’ he’s black! Dat’s why! Anytime somethin’ bad goes down, we the first ones the cops go lookin’ for.”