Cast the First Stone (Red Lake Series Book 2)

by Rich Foster

  “I refuse to blame my God, for your choices. I choose to try to forgive if only so you cannot hold me enslaved to hate. I may wish you dead, but I choose to try.”

  Robert was nonplussed, a little of his pleasure evaporated like smoke in the air. How could she forgive? He wanted to know that someone else hated as he hated. That was what made him feel linked to her. He tore up the note in disgust. She was like him; he knew it! Stripped of their hypocrisy every man and woman was like him. Within the heart of everyone lay a killer.

  But then he thought of the preacher who took his daughter in. He couldn’t understand it. His worldview was being shaken.

  June moved into Lucas’s house. Though relieved to be out of the medical facility, life was not always easy. As with all foster children there was implicit suspicion in the relationship. When would their benefactor tire of them? When might they be cast out? June’s experience with adults was not conducive to unqualified trust.

  For Lucas’s part, it was an adjustment to have an eight year old around the house. Being the gregarious uncle was one thing, being the disciplinarian and father figure was something quite different. His well ordered home and neatly organized life were put in turmoil. But gradually they found a peaceable and agreeable existence. Lucas discovered delight in his ward.

  *

  January rolled on into February, storms came and went. Bitter cold was followed by thaws. The days were short and the nights long, but they passed quickly as Lucas and Calley spent many an evening before the fireplace.

  Calley dropped words of hate from her letters to Goodman, not by intent but as a natural result of her altered heart. She continued to describe her sense of loss, but increasingly her letters contained news of June and her life. Goodman responded by writing back expressing his own anger and sense of betrayal by society and the church.

  One day she realized she actually felt some of Goodman’s loss, a small insight into the anger he must have felt upon seeing his wife and daughter, dead. They were killed because Jason put, well meant, intentions above safety. She moved from a purely empathic view of Goodman’s loss to a sympathetic one.

  As for Goodman he took the first steps toward understanding compassion. For the first time in his life he felt a twinge of sympathy for another human being. From this small seed, grew regrets for the choices he made. He had no doubt, he had killed the wrong people.

  Lucas noticed the change that slowly came over Calley. It was subtle, like the coming of spring. Her laughter blossomed and the tension that habituated her face melted away. She treated June like another daughter and Lucas loved her for it.

  For Lucas and Calley, a hand squeeze, a shoulder hug, or an air kiss on the cheek, slowly changed, along with their growing affection, to holding hands, embraces, and first kisses.

  Gossips talked, as people noticed their developing relationship. Wiser and more mature minds told those gossiping to bite their tongues. Soon Lucas and Calley’s engagement was announced from the altar. They were to be married in a month. The congregation applauded.

  *

  Elizabeth Mannering entered into a plea bargain with the District Attorney’s office. She was sentenced to eight years for second-degree murder. She would be eligible for probation in four. Without a trial, the court no longer needed Robert Goodman’s testimony; his execution was rescheduled for April 5th.

  Civil rights groups rallied to his defense. Pictures of him, bound and gagged, in court were duplicated as they worked to crank up the propaganda machine. Large letters cried, “Is this justice in America?” No one cared about the particulars of his case; he was merely a tool, a rallying point for fighting the death penalty.

  Brent Carlson found himself a celebrity. He gave interviews and was quoted in the press. His legal career found new life. He reveled in his fifteen minutes of fame. The capital punishment opponents use him, later they just as quickly dropped him.

  The media focused upon the story of a killer being judged guilty and sentenced by a killer. There was no percentage in trying to paint Goodman as an innocent. They questioned what was wrong with the judicial system and in print indicted the whole process. Liberals painted Goodman as society’s child, a victim himself. Conservatives decried them, demanding blood for blood.

  Robert followed the stories in the press. He sensed he was being used. His innate cynicism kept him from believing his own press. He knew he was no more a victim than most people were. There was no doubt his life had been a mess but he knew it was his mess. He resented those who wanted to use him.

  To the consternation of those who rallied around him, Robert withdrew all appeals. Brent Carlson refused to file the papers, so Robert fired him and represented himself before the courts.

  The first week of March, he stood before Judge Huffman who represented the dwindling judicial staff in Red Lake’s Superior Courts.

  “You are representing yourself, Mr. Goodman?”

  “I am your honor.”

  “And you realize that by dropping your appeals your execution will occur as scheduled?”

  “I do your honor.”

  “Then so be it. Having dropped all appeals, execution is hereby affirmed for April 5th, the warrant valid as of 12:01 AM on that date.”

  Protestors in the crowd cried out. In front of the courthouse, people from distant places picketed against the death penalty. Shouting matches developed between them and locals who had no proclivities against a quick execution. Shouts led to pushing matches, punches were exchanged and a small melee broke out. Deputies made several “show of force” arrests. Things quieted down.

  Within hours civil rights groups filed papers requesting a stay on the execution until Goodman could receive a mental health assessment.

  The Appeals Court heard the petition on a fast track one week later. The court ordered a stay of execution until such time, as mental health professionals could evaluate Mr. Goodman. As the assessing clinician before the trial, Dr. Urvadi was appointed to review the case for the second time in six months.

  At the State Penitentiary, Robert’s demeanor surprised him. The combativeness was gone. The shrewd calculating animal seemed to have evolved into something that was no less dangerous, but was more emotive.

  “Do you want to die, Mr. Goodman?”

  “It’s not something I’m eager to do, but once it’s done it’s done. I won’t be around to regret it.”

  “Do you believe in an after-life?”

  “It’s a nice thought, doc. But I’ll be more surprised than anybody if there is.”

  “Then you don’t believe in God?”

  “No God, no karma, no fate. We all get a little fucked up by life. Some people cope with it better than others. I made my choices. I’ll pay the price.”

  “Do you regret what you did?”

  Robert paused in deep thought. “Yea, I do. Shooting those people changed nothing. I was angry and it made me feel better for a little while. Given the choice today, I wouldn’t shoot those people. But we don’t get to have do-overs, do we Doc?”

  “”There are people other people you would shoot?”

  “Hell yes, I just got it wrong!”

  “I’m curious sir, what changed your mind?”

  “Because a mother whose daughter I murdered in cold blood forgave me and a man who’s uncle I executed took my daughter in. I thought every stinking human being was on the make and working an angle. These two showed me that it’s not always true. The motto I lived by was screwed up.”

  “You know that I will have to tell the courts you’re sane and that you will die?”

  Robert nodded his head. “I know Doc, but if the people I shot could stand up and take it, so can I.”

  Dr. Urvadi sent in his report. It was an amazing turnabout in human behavior. He wished there were time to study the man.

  The Appeals Court resumed their hearing on the motion. Dr. Urvadi testified that Goodman was capable of understanding right from wrong and understood the consequences of dropping his a
ppeals.

  The lawyers for the Civil Defense League claimed that this was nothing more than suicide by State and that as a consequence the judicial system should have no part of it.

  Goodman, representing himself rose to make his argument.

  “Judge, I could tell you I dropped my appeal because I don’t like these liberal do gooders and that would be partly true. I don’t like them trying to use me. Hell… pardon me, Heck I killed four people, shot them in cold blood. What kind of moron would want someone like me around? What kind of fool would fight for my life? This hearing isn’t about me; it’s about politics. It’s about power, and who gets to make the rules.

  As for the death penalty, I sure can’t argue against it. I doled it out. I acted as judge, jury and executioner. I was wronged, and I made people pay. It is all about power, fear, and respect. People won’t screw with you if they fear you. So, I figure, if I can give someone the death penalty, I reckon this court has the right to give it to me.

  But, the fact of the matter is I was wrong. The church treated me like crap, but not the people I killed, and for that I am sorry. I’ve been writing with the mother of the little girl I killed, and Your Honor I learned something. I learned about other people’s pain and I learned regret. I truly regret what I did, but that doesn’t mean the State should get all pansy waist and not execute me.

  In prison, I’ve read a lot of books. I was never a great reader, but jail gives you plenty of time to practice. One book was by this Russian guy, Crime and Punishment. And I could sympathize with the guy in the book. I want to be punished. Like a damn kid who’s done something wrong, I want to take my beating and be done with it.

  I’d like to think that my dying might stop some other fool from doing something stupid. That seems unlikely. Guys like me won’t listen and most of us never learn. As for those who say my trial was not fair because Judge Mannering is a killer…”

  “Alleged, Mr. Goodman, she has yet to be sentenced,” the judge interjected.

  “Well, the alleged killer had a gun in her hand when she shot Kellner’s old lady.”

  The appellate judge realized his error in trying to educate Goodman in the nuances of legal propriety. “Go on, sir.”

  “A shrink may be crazy but that doesn’t mean he can’t help crazy people. So, I figure a killer could probably judge another killer fairly. It takes one to know one.

  In either case, I agree with that Socrates guy, who said society has a right to judge. So, take your pound of flesh, Your Honor”

  Robert sat down. Dumbfounded silence hung in the room like a vapor, until the lawyer for the Civil Defense League leaped up to demand a side bar. He was denied.

  The next day, the Appeals Court handed down it’s ruling. They denied the Civil Defense League’s petition and lifted the stay on Goodman’s execution. They returned the case to the lower court with instructions to set a new execution date. Judge Huffman set May fifteenth as the day of execution. The time clock on Goodman’s life began ticking down again.

  *

  It was an early spring. The sun melted away ice and snow, leaving the air damp and pungent with the scent of the warming earth. Shoots of grass pushed up from the ground. Leaf buds began to push out on the trees. Logging trucks resumed running up into the hills, returning caked with mud and laden down with logs.

  Lucas and Calley’s wedding day arrived. Friends decorated the church. Flower garlands bunted down the ends of the pews, a white runner ran up the center aisle. Calley wore a creamy white cocktail dress. Lucas was in a navy blue double-breasted suit. June and Sarah were flower girls. Grandma Grace kept Jacob and Caleb out of trouble.

  The church was packed. Even those who had walked away from the church came, forced to admit that something wonderful had happened in their town since the killings. Besides, it was spring and people were longing for a chance to celebrate. Downstairs, in the fellowship hall, a feast of potluck dishes awaited the reception.

  The minister from the Baptist church officiated over their vows. Standing only a few feet from where so much misery played out, the two were joined in marriage. The service was short, followed by a heartfelt round of applause as the minister said, “I hereby pronounce you husband and wife, go in peace, may God be merciful to you. May I present to you Lucas and Calley James.”

  The reception went on into the early evening hours. Toasts were made. People danced. A joy permeated the air that had been absent under the late Lester Leeds. By eight, Lucas and Calley were at the door. Lucas cringed as he saw the Just Married painted on his Porsche.

  Grace gave Lucas a hug and Calley a kiss on the cheek. She told them not to worry as Calley’s children clustered around her. They’d be just fine while Calley was on her honeymoon.

  People followed them out of the parking lot, honking their horns, while cans clattered at the back of the newlywed’s car. When they came to the edge of town Lucas put the pedal down. The Porsche shot away, leaving the well-wishers far behind. Deftly wheeling around the curves, the trailing headlights soon fell away.

  “You don’t have to get us killed, dear.”

  Lucas glanced at the speedometer, it read ninety-five. He stepped firmly on the brakes as he came to a small side road. Down shifting he took the turn fast and then goosed the engine. A hundred yards later he killed the headlights. A moment later they saw the lights of the pursuing cars pass by.

  Lucas turned to Calley, “Kiss me Mrs. James. I love you.”

  Spring might have come early to the Forks, but it was nothing like the azure skies and aqua marine water of their Caribbean honeymoon.

  They took a bare boat charter. The boat was a 48’ cutter rig. Lucas liked her lines. The cockpit was fully canvassed to protect them from the tropical sun. Elsewhere the wood decks were hot underfoot. She pointed up hard when tacking to windward, but was gentle off the wind. They sailed easily, the lines set taunt enough to move the boat, without heeling hard. Lucas taught Calley how to trim the sails by watching the air moved past the telltales.

  Watching her stand at the helm, the wind rustling through her hair, and her skin turning a light bronze left him with an ache in his gut. He could not describe the intense feelings she stirred in him.

  At night, they nosed into sheltered coves where they dined by candles and oil lamps. Later, they would snuggle down on the cockpit pads, after rolling back the canvass cover. They watched the panoply of stars passing overhead, while gently rolling on the slight Caribbean surf that would rock them to sleep.

  The only thing that mildly annoyed Lucas was Calley’s habit of wondering how the children were doing. She would mention them at the oddest times, causing him to feel she was not fully there. He was not unacquainted with this complaint about mothers. Married male friends had mentioned it after weekends away. Once, he almost complained of it, but checked his tongue. After all, it was not a year since Ruth died. Given that loss, being absent would cause any mom anxiety. He put his irritation aside as best he could.

  It was permanently put to rest when one afternoon Calley said, “Hello? I was talking to you.”

  Lucas grinned sheepishly, “Sorry,” he said, “I was wondering how June was doing.”

  They returned to Mason Forks tanned and relaxed. The children clamored for attention at their return. Gifts were passed out amongst squeals of delight. The older girls wanted to know what the islands were like. Jacob and Caleb played “pirates” and took turns “walking the plank” off the living room sofa.

  Grace, who watched the children while they were away, went home shortly after they arrived, saying, “It’s been great. But I’m fifty-six. I’m ready for some alone time.”

  She gave each of the kids a hug. Lucas carried her bag out to her car. She waved as she drove down the drive. At the end she u-turned into her own.

  The new family filled the house until it bulged at the seams. “There’s no way we can all fit in this house,” Lucas said to Calley. “Something has got to be done.

  The children were se
nt off to bed. Sarah and June slept in one room. The boys were in Lucas’s office on a fold out couch. Calley and Lucas snuggled in the master bedroom beneath their down comforter.

  “It good to be home.” Calley murmured in his ear.

  Lucas stroked her hair and pulled her closer to him.

  “We’ve got to add on,” he said.

  “Tell me about it some other time.” And she began to kiss him.

  In the middle of the night, Calley snapped awake. She wasn’t sure what was troubling her. Perhaps it was a bad dream. She listened to the night noises of the house. The faint sound of whimpering came to her ears.

  The air was cold, as she slipped out of bed. She padded toward the children’s room. The sound came from the bathroom in the hall. Calley opened the door. June sat on the floor shivering from either the cold or crying, probably both. Calley sat down next to her and wrapped her arms around her. She felt a huge desire to protect this girl from whatever she feared.

  “What’s wrong June?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Come on honey, why are you crying? Did you have a bad dream?” June shook her head and continued to sniffle. “Is it your dad?” This seemed unlikely but Calley was baffled as to what might be causing her distress.

  “I don’t want to go!” She finally blurted out. “I don’t want to leave.”

  “Why should you leave, June bug?” Calley asked as she stroked June’s hair much like Lucas had stroked hers earlier.

  “There’s no room for me.”

  “Oh there will be baby. You’re part of the family. We’ll just get out the hammer and nails and add on.”

  Calley dried June’s eyes and got her settled down in bed. When she slipped in beside Lucas, he stirred.

  “Anything wrong?”