The Laws of our Fathers kc-4

by Scott Turow

  DECEMBER 6, 1995

  Sonny

  In the same short-sleeved blue coveralls worn by the male prisoners, Lovinia Campbell is escorted by the transport deputies from the lockup and walks alone to the stand with a loose, disaffected ease. She is a thin, dark girl, with perfect skin and prominent eyes. No wonder she is called Bug, except the name belittles her beauty. She has the exotic, assertive looks of some of today's fashion models, big-featured and proud to be more than merely cute, although this young woman seems largely unaware of her striking appearance.

  Questioned by Tommy, whose heavy grey suit looks as if it had been stuffed in a drawer overnight, the girl says she is fifteen years old, sixteen soon. When Molto asks, she looks to the courtroom ceiling to recall her precise birthdate. Her hands are in her lap and her shoulders are rounded protectively as she sits in the witness chair. Her voice is small.

  'And where do you presently reside?' Tommy asks. 'Where do you live?'

  'Sometime I stay by my momma.'

  'No, I meant right now. Are you in the Juvenile Hall?'

  'Uh-huh. In juvie.'

  'And how long have you been there? Since September?'

  'Uh-huh,' says Lovinia. 'Since I be out the hospital.' She scratches her nose and watches Tommy alertly, her mouth barely parted, sitting forward slightly to hear the next question. It is not Tommy, however, who speaks.

  'Your Honor,' says Hobie. Basso profundo. His hands, in more courtroom opera, are lifted imploringly. 'If Mr Molto can't bring out the witness's residence without leading, we may as well just administer the oath to him.'

  'All right, Mr Tuttle.' Hobie knows Tommy has a tough road here and is serving notice that he will not let him travel easy. I remind Tommy not to ask his witness questions which suggest their answer and Tommy nods resignedly. He and Lovinia move falteringly through the details of her bargain with the state. She has acknowledged responsibility – a guilty plea, in juvenile terms – for conspiracy to murder and been adjudicated delinquent. She will be in juvenile facilities until she turns eighteen. She will not, however, be tried as an adult, will not even have a criminal record when she emerges. It's a great deal, a point which Hobie is bound to emphasize on cross. Tommy turns then to B S D, eliciting Bug's gang name, her set, her acquaintance with Ordell Trent.

  'And what was your relationship to Hardcore in terms of BSD?'

  'Core no kin to me,' she answers. 'Only BSD sides me is my brother, Clyde, and he downstate.' 'Downstate' is one of many euphemisms for the maximum-security prison at Rudyard.

  'No,' says Tommy, 'no, what did you do for Hardcore in the gang?'

  Recognizing her mistake, Lovinia's eyes plunge to her shoes. 'Kinda like scramblin,' she answers softly.

  'What does that mean?' 'Sell.'

  'Sell what?'

  'Mostly smoke and crank. Sometimes blow.' Crack and speed, occasionally powder cocaine.

  'You mean you sell dope for Hardcore?'

  'Leading,' says Hobie, as Lovinia says yes.

  'As long as he's clarifying previous answers, I'll allow it.'

  Tommy nods. One for his side.

  'And do you sell for Hardcore in any particular location?' 'Round T-4. Mostly by Grace Street and Lawrence.' 'Across from the IV Tower?' 'Kinda there, uh-huh.'

  'All right,' says Tommy. Feeling somewhat steadier, he leaves the prosecutor's table and travels a few steps along the carpeting.

  'Now, Ms Campbell, do you know a man named Nile Eddgar?'

  'Uh-huh,' she says. She gets a smile, this girl, this accomplice to murder, and is at once her age, happy, even a little silly. She looks askance. 'I be knowin Nile for a long time.'

  'And do you see him in the courtroom? Point him out please and say what he's wearing.' Although all eyes in the courtroom are already turning toward him, Nile, in another of his odd moments, seems unselfconsciously merry. He has turned himself fully about in his black bucket swivel chair, his worn cowboy boots – cowboy boots! – planted on the carpet. He sports an absolutely foolish grin, as if this young woman were here to entertain him. Lovinia is not quite able to meet his eye, even as she lifts her hand.

  'He over there, by the big fella,' Bug says. This description of Hobie brings down the courtroom. The laughter resounds, even from me. Caught by the outburst while her slender arm is still midair, Bug once more drops her head abjectly. Like most of the homegirls, she wears a plastered mass of straightened hair, dulled wisps, stiff as a hedgehog's, that go in one direction, another shiny patch of bangs shellacked in place with spray. The Afro, the do of liberation, is long gone, one more forgotten fashion of the disrespected past.

  'Ms Campbell,' I say, 'he is a big fella. You didn't say anything wrong.'

  Hobie stands grandly. 'I'll stipulate to that, Your Honor. Bigger than I should be.'

  Lovinia nods, somewhat mollified by all this reassurance. She is, as so many of these children turn out to be, a nice kid, without much protection at the core.

  Tommy resumes. 'Now how do you know Nile?'

  'He round,' she says, 'he hangin.'

  'Around where?'

  ‘IV Tower,' she says.

  'When did you first see him around the IV Tower?' She rolls her eyes again to the ceiling and guesses it was about March.

  'And how often after March did you see Nile around? Once a week? Twice?' asks Tommy. 'Seem like.'

  'Judge Klonsky,' says Hobie, 'he's leading.'

  Tommy tries again, asking simply, 'How often?' Bug can't really say. Tommy's eyes close briefly. He says something to Rudy, seated just beneath him, and Rudy shrugs. I imagine they're debating whether to go after her, to remind her that she said something different before. But that is always the last resort for the state. Once they attack the witnesses they've called, they're admitting they have no direct road to the truth. Tommy decides to venture on.

  'And did Nile tend to be with anyone when you saw him?' 'Seem like he kickin it with Hardcore.' 'He was with Hardcore?'

  Something darts through her expression and her eyes flash away, perhaps toward the defense table.

  'You know, seem like he be checkin out lotsa different cuzes,' she adds.

  Tommy frowns. He leans down and confers with Rudy once more, then opens a file folder on the prosecution table and stares into it for a moment.

  'Ms Campbell, do you recollect ever characterizing Nile as, quote, "Hardcore's road dog"?'

  Lovinia passes off the question with a vague gesture.

  'Isn't a road dog a best friend?' Tommy insists.

  'Don't know nothing bout no road dog,' says Lovinia.

  At the table, Rudy waves his long slender hand. Move on, he's saying. It's a small point, and she already gave the answer Tommy wanted before. But Molto stares darkly at Lovinia another second before accepting his younger colleague's guidance.

  'Let me call your attention, Ms Campbell, to September 6, 1995. Do you remember having a conversation with Hardcore?'

  Hobie makes a standard hearsay objection. He and Molto debate at length whether a preliminary showing of a conspiracy has been made, but given Nile's fingerprints on the money, I rule in the end for the state.

  'Do you remember that talk with Hardcore?' Tommy asks, starting again.

  'Kinda,' she answers.

  'Kinda,' Tommy says. He raises his eyes to God. He's strolling now. 'Where did you speak to Hardcore?' 'Seem like in the crib on 17.'

  'In an apartment on the seventeenth floor of the IV Tower?' 'Uh-huh.'

  'And what did Hardcore tell you?'

  'Said next a.m., real early, man, we was gone ride down on some dude on my corner.'

  'What kind of dude? Did he describe the dude you were going to ride down on?'

  'White dude.'

  'He said your set was going to ride down on a white dude?' 'Uh-huh.'

  'Did he say who the white dude was?'

  'Said somethin bout some kin to Nile, seem like.' 'What kin? Did he say what relation the white dude was to Nile?'

  She
tosses her head around uncertainly. Across the courtroom, Molto is still, his lips drawn into his mouth. He knows for sure now. She is going to do it to him. Rudy knows, too. He has already picked up the file folder Molto had before. When Tommy gets back to the table, he takes it from Rudy and snaps it open.

  'Ms Campbell,' he says. 'Do you recall talking to police officers on September 12? And September 14? And September 29? Do you remember that?'

  'Seems like I be talkin to the police all the time.'

  'Do you remember on September 12 that you spoke to officers Fred Lubitsch and Salem Wells at Kindle County General? And on September 14, you were released and you spoke to them at the intake area of the juvenile home? And you saw them there again on September 29? Do you recall all of that?'

  Her shoulders rise and fall in mild resignation.

  'And do you recall saying on each of those occasions that Core said you were going to ride down on Nile's father?'

  'Maybe I say it be some kinda kin like his father.' In this brief interchange, Lovinia's youth has left her. The girl shamed by the courtroom laughter and intimidated by the setting has disappeared. Her street mask is on now. She sits straight in her chair.

  'Ms Campbell, didn't you meet with Mr Turtle two weeks ago?'

  Hobie rises immediately. 'Your Honor, what's the insinuation here?'

  'You'll have to let me hear the question to know.'

  'And wasn't it only after meeting with Mr Turtle that you suddenly began to say that you couldn't recollect which kin of Nile's it was Core said you were going to ride down on?'

  'Can't only say but what I 'member. You done to' me that a bunch of times,' she says to Tommy.

  ‘I ask you again: Didn't you tell Officer Lubitsch repeatedly that Hardcore said you were going to ride down on Nile's father?'

  Tommy has rolled up the police reports in one hand and he brandishes them for a second. He has shown her those reports often by now. There have been a dozen impassioned sessions in the little attorney interview rooms at Juvenile Hall, with their barred windows and peeling radiators. In menacing tones, he's reminded her what the cops say she told them and he's put it to her: she flips him, her deal' s out the window, she' 11 be tried as an adult, do murder time, maybe even some perjury time, too. Molto waits, while the unspoken memory of these threats is summoned.

  'I don't hardly 'member,' says Lovinia. 'Might be I been sayin that.'

  'Okay,' Tommy says. He's finally getting somewhere. He straightens his coat and finds his notes. 'Did Hardcore tell you who was going to ride down on Nile's father?'

  'Objection to "Nile's father,"' says Hobie. 'We still don't have such testimony.'

  'Overruled.' Hobie's being a pest. Judging from the opening, the state has plenty of proof that Eddgar was the intended target. But Hobie, I surmise, messed with Lovinia's testimony on this point anyway, just to throw down roadblocks for the prosecutors. I still can't quite make up my mind about Hobie. He's already done some memorable things: the way he snuck up on Montague or courted Lovinia here. But there doesn't seem to be any overall purpose or strategy. Stew said it yesterday: it's all diversionary tactics. For all his craft, I see Hobie as another charming courtroom blowhard, ad-libbing and always onstage, more interested in causing a constant commotion than conducting a symphony.

  'Gorgo, he said. Said some white dude gone roll up and be askin after Hardcore. And how it be, I'm s'pose to say I'm gone go get Core, then I'm s'pose to shout out for Gorgo instead.'

  'How were you supposed to shout out?'

  'On my flip.'

  'You had a cell phone for the dope business?' 'Uh-huh.'

  'And what was the number?' She gives it.

  'And after you called Gorgo, what were you supposed to do?' 'Jam,' she says. 'Get out of there?' 'Uh-huh. Leave out.'

  'And was there a further plan? Were you supposed to do anything else?'

  'Uh-huh,' she says. 'After they done burned a cap in him and all, then Core say like I oughta get back up to the car and put a seam on him.'

  'And by "a seam" you mean a little foil packet of narcotics?' 'Uh-huh,' she says. 'Blow.' Cocaine.

  'And did Hardcore tell you that the idea was to make it look like this white man had been killed in a drive-by while he was buying blow?'

  'Objection. Leading.'

  Caught, Tommy slumps a bit. Lovinia continues on her own.

  'Hardcore, he like, "Gone be like GOs come bustin up while this dude was coppin." '

  'Were you supposed to tell the police that? That this was done by the Gangster Outlaws?'

  'Uh-huh.'

  Pleased with himself, Tommy struts back to Rudy, who reminds him of one further question.

  'And by "busting up" and "riding by" and "capping," did you understand that Hardcore was telling you this white dude was going to be murdered by gunfire?'

  'Uh-huh.'

  'All right now, Ms Campbell, now after Hardcore had explained all of this to you, did you have any further conversation with him, there in the crib on 17?'

  'No, sir. Not so I 'member.'

  Tommy breathes once, sharply, through his nose. 'Did you ask him why it was necessary to kill this relation of Nile's?'

  She shakes her head, with far more vigor that she has mustered until now.

  'Didn't he tell you he was doing this killing for Nile?'

  'Objection!'Hobie lumbers to his feet. 'Objection, Your Honor! There is no good-faith basis even to ask that question.' He raised the same point – at similar volume – during Molto's opening. Tommy is looking back at Hobie with awful hatred. His view is obvious: Hobie suborned her. At a point so critical, I decide to take over. I lean down toward Bug.

  'Did you hear Mr Molto, Ms Campbell? He says Hardcore told you he was doing this for Nile. Did he say that?'

  'Nn-uh,' says Lovinia. 'I ain never be sayin nothin gainst Nile.'

  The courtroom is at a standstill. Tommy's witness has gone over the border. Prepared for this, Molto is resolute.

  'Did you not state on September 14 to Officer Lubitsch, and here I quote, "I asked Hardcore why we had to be doing like this with Nile's father and he answered, quote, 'We-all are doin it on account of Nile.' " Did you say that?'

  'Nn-uh,' says Lovinia.

  'Do you recognize this statement?' Tommy approaches her, flourishing the papers like a flag.

  'I didn't write that. That ain my writing.'

  'That's Officer Lubitsch's writing, isn't it? And didn't he write down your words exactly as you spoke? And didn't you then sign this statement? Isn't that your signature right here?'

  'That be what I wrote, just here, my name. I din't write none the rest.'

  'Isn't this your signature under all these words?' 'That just be my name.'

  'And right before your name, it says, "I sign this statement freely and voluntarily, under no coercion of any kind, and swear that the foregoing is true and correct." '

  'I don't hardly understand that,' says Lovinia, her beautiful dark eyes quite wide. Buckwheat could hardly improve on her performance.

  'And, Ms Campbell, wasn't it only after your meeting with Mr Turtle that you suddenly disavowed this portion of your statement, where you said that Hardcore told you this was being done for Nile?'

  'I don't understand what you saying now neither.' 'I'm saying you're lying.'

  'Nn-uh,' says Lovinia. 'This here, what I be sayin now, this the swore truth. And I ain never been sayin nothin gainst Nile.'

  'Didn't you say again yesterday, Ms Campbell, in the presence of Mr Singh and Detective Montague and myself, when I met with you at the Juvenile Hall, didn't you in fact say again that you now recalled Hardcore saying this was being done on account of Nile?'

  'Is that when you-all was trippin on me, how I tricked on you and I was gone away for M-1?' Murder one.

  Tommy stands still in the middle of the courtroom with his eyes closed. The trial lawyer's bad dream: major witness giddyap and gone. At the defense table, Hobie is making notes madly. Behind him, his go
ofy client remains fixed on the girl with the same erratic grin. Bug, in this idle moment, becomes aware of Nile's attention and again looks toward her shoes.

  'Lunch?' I ask Molto.

  With evident gratitude, he nods.

  Annie knocks her gavel once to announce the recess and the spectators rise, voices racing with the trial's first taste of excitement. I stay on the bench to write a few more notes in the bench book about Bug, not certain yet what I think of her or the way the attorneys have dueled over her testimony. Marietta appears with the files on two new custodies, both State Defender cases. They are scheduled for bond hearings at 2 p.m., but Gina Devore has grabbed Rudy Singh in the hopes of doing them now. She has a suppression hearing before Judge Noland this afternoon. I oblige Gina, and the keys rattle and doors clank as the transport deputies head back to retrieve the prisoners.

  We immediately reach the Crime of the Day. Rogita Robbins slouches out of the lockup, small and overweight, with orangish hair and many black marks on her face. I am almost sick listening to a description of this case. Rogita and her man, Fedell, are Gangster Outlaws from Fielder's Green. They had a date with their homegirl, Tawnya, who was safekeeping the night's entertainment, multiple doses of dust. When they arrived at Tawnya's apartment, Fedell found both Tawnya and their PCP gone, and in reprisal exorcised his fury by sodomizing Tawnya's children, a boy eight and a girl nine. Fedell was apprehended months ago. Nailed on DNA and fingerprints, he pled out for sixty years before Judge Simone, whose call I inherited when he transferred to Chancery. Rogita has been at large, and was taken into custody on a shoplift. She will probably not deal, Gina and Rudy explain, since the state is light on her. The PAs have only the boy and girl to testify against Rogita. A mother of two, Rogita aided Fedell by holding both children down.

  'A million full cash,' I say.

  Gina looks at me. $100,000 would keep Rogita behind bars. 'Full,' I repeat.

  She gives her wavy high-school hairdo a churlish toss, but I doubt if we changed places the ruling would be different. I like Gina. She's a tiny, athletic woman, a gymnast at one point, if memory serves. It's always impressive to see her, barely five feet, even in her big high heels, standing in the lockup, reading out her clients, who hulk over her. Yet last month she cried in my chambers. She'd spent hours she didn't have cobbling together bail for Timfony Washington, a decent young man being held for setting fire to the back porch of his girl's apartment. Gina talked the contractor who employed Tim as a laborer into making a $1,500 cash advance on some overdue workmen's compensation benefits and, late Friday, handed the money to Timfony's mother and sisters with instructions to post bond at the jail at 8 a.m. Monday morning. Instead, it was gone after the weekend – spent, stolen, disappeared, you could guess whatever you liked based on the four or five different stories the family told. In the jailhouse, Timfony accused Gina of ripping him off, and became so abusive he had to be restrained.