Blood on the Leaves

by Jeff Stetson

  “Why did you try to get away from the police?”

  “Mr. Miller, as I told you, I simply panicked. I knew from reading the papers and listening to the media there was a lot of pressure to find someone responsible for killing the people on the professor’s list. When I saw police heading for me, driving the wrong way down a one-way street and cutting across the lot, I assumed they were pretty hyped and angry. I thought it best to get out of there.”

  “Did you fear for your safety?”

  “I don’t know any black man who doesn’t fear the police.”

  Reynolds started to object but knew challenging Brandon’s assertion wouldn’t go over too well with this jury.

  “Brandon, you’re obviously a very powerfully built man—a star athlete—and yet you’re telling this jury you feared for your safety?”

  “It’s precisely because of how I look that police feel threatened. Their anxiety about my size and strength places me at particular risk.”

  “And you’ve felt this way about police for how long?”

  “Since as long as I can remember.”

  “Did your belief about how the police respond to black men contribute to your behavior on the afternoon in question?”

  “The only reason I did what I did was because of those beliefs. I had every intention of reporting to the police, but I planned to do so in a more controlled environment, in the presence of either my parents or legal counsel. As it turned out, I made a foolish mistake that led to a dangerous pursuit. I could’ve very easily been killed or wound up seriously hurting someone else.”

  “What happened to you at the end of the police chase?”

  “My head struck the windshield or the steering wheel, I’m not sure which. I remember the police screaming at me to put my hands over my head.”

  “Did you obey their commands?”

  “Yes.”

  “What transpired next?”

  Reynolds stood and sought Tanner’s attention. “Your Honor, I have to object.”

  “What grounds?” asked Tanner.

  “Relevance. Mr. Hamilton’s arrest has nothing to do with these proceedings.”

  “Mr. Miller, you care to respond?” Tanner’s body language appeared to signal support for the objection, although with the judge’s girth and his propensity for ruling in favor of the state, it was hard to tell.

  “Your Honor, first, the state just moments ago objected to my question suggesting Mr. Hamilton was arrested for murder. But the evidence will show the police acted in a fashion consistent with pursuing and capturing a felony suspect. Second, I intend to establish the nature of the relationship between the witness and Professor Matheson after Mr. Hamilton’s arrest, which further reflects my client’s true character.”

  “I’ll overrule the objection for now, but I expect you to conclude this portion of the testimony within the next two minutes.”

  “Your Honor, I expect to be finished with this witness within that time frame.”

  “Mr. Miller, please restate your question to the witness.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor. Brandon, could you tell the jury what occurred to you after the car chase ended?”

  “I was removed from the front seat of the vehicle, tossed on the ground, and cuffed. A few officers hit or kicked me several times in the back and kidney area. My face was pushed into some broken glass and steaming hot water that leaked from my car’s radiator. I tried to lift my head to avoid it.”

  “Were you successful?”

  “For about a second; then I was struck by a police baton. That’s all I remember until I woke up in custody.”

  Miller paused again. Reynolds knew he wanted the jury to envision the assault and picture Brandon lying helplessly on the ground, surrounded by vicious police beating him half to death.

  “Were you ever charged with any criminal violations, and if so, what sanctions were imposed?”

  “I pled no contest to several traffic violations and had my automobile license suspended for a year. I also agreed to pay restitution for any property damage caused as a result of the police pursuit. In return, charges of resisting arrest and fleeing the police were dropped, and I was placed on three years’ probation.”

  “How long were you in jail?”

  “Three of the longest weeks of my life. I’d probably still be there if it weren’t for the professor.”

  “What did Dr. Matheson do to assist in your release?”

  “He posted bail and also retained you as my legal counsel.”

  “Did I do a good job?”

  “I hope you do as well for the professor.”

  “That last comment will be stricken from the record,” ordered Tanner. “The witness is reminded he’s here to provide answers to the questions posed, not to editorialize or offer his personal best wishes.”

  “I’m sorry, Your Honor,” apologized Brandon.

  “I have only a few remaining questions,” interjected Miller. “Did Dr. Matheson ever suggest that the men on his list should be murdered?”

  “No.”

  “To your knowledge, did he ever advocate violence against any person on that list?”

  “I attended virtually every class he taught on the subject, and I never heard him advocate violence, not once.”

  “Brandon, were you aware that Professor Matheson mortgaged his home to provide bail for you?”

  The question affected Brandon. He lowered his head for a moment and regained his composure. He looked at Matheson. “No,” Brandon said softly. “No, I wasn’t aware of that, but it shouldn’t have surprised me.”

  “No further questions, Your Honor.” Miller sat down and quickly glanced at the jury. Every single juror had his or her attention exactly where Miller wanted it: on his client.

  “Mr. Reynolds, your witness,” said Tanner.

  Reynolds stood but remained at the prosecution table. “Good morning, Mr. Hamilton,” he said in a friendly voice.

  “Good morning,” replied Brandon.

  “You have a great deal of admiration and affection for the defendant.”

  “Yes, sir. I do.”

  “But, no matter how much you admire or respect or even love an individual, you can never know with absolute certainty whether or not that person committed a crime. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I suppose I would.”

  “And as you sit here today, you have no way of knowing if the defendant committed this or any other crime, isn’t that true?”

  “I believe I know the type of person Professor Matheson is, and what he’d do or wouldn’t do.”

  “Really?” Reynolds looked at the jury for a moment. “Did you know yourself well enough to predict you’d ever lead the police on a high-speed pursuit causing thousands of dollars in property damage and endangering the lives of innocent people?”

  Brandon lowered his head. “No. I never saw myself as that type of person.”

  “Did Professor Matheson ever comment about what happened to Earvin Cooper or any other murder victim on his list?”

  “No.”

  “Did he ever express concern or regret that Mr. Cooper was murdered?”

  “No.”

  “Did he ever tell you or students in any of his classes he didn’t condone murdering people on his list, and that such activity was wrong and should be discouraged?”

  “We discussed why each person was on the list. Once we finished reviewing that, they were never mentioned in class again.”

  “Were you ever told what to do to Mr. Cooper or others on the list?”

  “We wanted to make their lives miserable, but Professor Matheson never had to tell us that. It was something we understood.”

  “Did you understand Mr. Cooper was supposed to be killed?”

  Miller started to rise, but Matheson signaled not to.

  “No,” answered Brandon. “That was never stated nor implied.”

  “I have no further questions of this witness.” Reynolds walked to the prosecutor’s table and sa
t next to Sinclair.

  “Mr. Miller?” asked Tanner. “Do you have any redirect?”

  “No, Your Honor.”

  “Mr. Hamilton, you may step down,” Tanner informed the witness.

  Brandon left the courtroom with the same grace with which he’d entered, maybe more.

  “Mr. Miller, are you ready to call your next witness?” asked Tanner.

  Miller stood. “The defense calls Delbert Finney.”

  Reynolds watched Delbert amble to the witness stand. He wore a pair of baggy pants and a plaid flannel shirt. His quiet nervousness contrasted well with Brandon’s confidence. He spoke with a slow country drawl as charming as it was believable. He told the jury about his family and that he’d been the first one to go to college. He described his small town, where everyone knew and trusted each other but pretty much kept to themselves. His eyes brightened and he spoke with more energy when he discussed visiting Dr. Matheson’s home, and he choked up when he revealed the books the professor had given him.

  “It wasn’t a holiday or my birthday or nothin’ like that. He just out-and-out gave them to me.” He smiled proudly and informed everyone in the court that the volume of poetry “had a genuine soft brown leather cover, and the pages were bound or stamped in gold. I’m not sure of the term, but I can tell you it was the prettiest book I’d ever seen.”

  Reynolds waited for Tom Sawyer to show up and talk about the professor helping him to paint his fence. He studied the jury and knew they loved this kid, and when Tanner finally asked him if he had any cross, he stood and smiled. “No, Your Honor. But I’d sure like to borrow that volume of poetry from Delbert one day.”

  The witness grinned, the jury laughed, and Tanner announced a twenty-minute recess.

  CHAPTER 54

  MILLER ENDED THE day with a witness who combined the best attributes of Brandon and Delbert and had the advantage of immediately being embraced by all the jurors for her beauty and elegance.

  “The defense calls Regina Davis,” Miller announced proudly.

  She wore a conservative dark brown outfit, and as she passed the jurors, she flashed a smile that melted their hearts. She raised her right hand, and Reynolds thought the Statue of Liberty couldn’t have made a better impression.

  “Ms. Davis, is it all right if I call you by your first name?”

  “I would prefer that.”

  “Thank you. Regina, how long have you known Professor Matheson?”

  “Almost five years. Dr. Matheson was the reason I minored in African-American history. I took eight or nine of his courses before my junior year and became his teaching assistant as a senior. When I enrolled in graduate school, I maintained the position.”

  “Regina, could you evaluate the teaching style or effectiveness of Professor Matheson, particularly as he impacted or influenced his students?”

  “He gave us a sense of pride and self-respect. We became more confident because of him, believed more in ourselves and each other.” She turned and faced the jury. “I used to have problems looking at people. Making direct eye contact. A lot of the students did. He used to tell us if you can’t look at a person eye to eye, you can’t face yourself.”

  “What else did he tell you?”

  “That we didn’t realize how beautiful we were. But by the end of his class, we’d know.”

  “Did he ever teach you to hate white people?”

  “No.”

  “Did he ever advocate violence against white people?”

  “No.”

  “When he showed you photos of black victims, did he ever once tell you to seek revenge?”

  “No. Never.”

  “Thank you, Regina.” Miller walked to his seat and glanced confidently at Reynolds.

  “Mr. Reynolds,” barked Tanner. “You have the floor.”

  “Miss Davis, why did Professor Matheson give his students the names and addresses of those suspected of murdering black people during the Civil Rights Movement?”

  “He didn’t want us to buy groceries from them.”

  “He didn’t want you to buy groceries?” he asked curiously.

  “He used to tell us the Jews traveled all over the world to bring justice to those who murdered their people, but that we were expected to buy groceries from those who murdered our fathers and brothers. He thought that wasn’t an honorable use of our time.”

  The rest of the questioning didn’t go any better. Regina remained poised and self-assured without coming across as snobbish or defiant. Reynolds knew these students were painting a portrait of their professor that would be nearly impossible to alter for the jury. Three very different young adults had provided a magnificent representation of the man who’d taught and inspired them. He would have had an easier time convincing twelve nuns to find Mother Teresa guilty of war crimes.

  Reynolds ended his cross-examination of Regina, and Tanner promptly adjourned the court for the day. Tomorrow everyone would learn whether Matheson intended to take the stand and testify in his own behalf. Reynolds never doubted he would, which caused him both to desire and dread the upcoming morning.

  After Regina’s testimony Miller met with his client in the small holding cell in the basement of the courthouse. He once again tried to dissuade him from taking the stand, but to no avail. “The state’s proven nothing, and you’ve got absolutely no reason to take the stand,” he pleaded.

  Matheson responded calmly. “When a defendant doesn’t testify in his own defense, it raises suspicions regarding his innocence.”

  “The jury is specifically instructed to ignore any such inference.”

  “I’m not talking about a jury of twelve.” Matheson became testier. “I’m concerned about the public. If I don’t take the stand, they’ll wonder what I have to hide. If I was truly innocent, there’d be no reason for me not to testify.”

  Miller sat in the chair next to him and leaned close. “If you’re concerned about what radio talk show hosts are gonna say, you might as well decorate your cell and plan on stayin’, ’cause you won’t be leavin’ it for a long while.” He moved back and studied his recalcitrant client. “That’s what you risk by taking the stand. Don’t underestimate Reynolds. He’s damn good. He’s been dealt a weak hand, but don’t give him any more cards to play.”

  Matheson left his chair and moved away from Miller. “This isn’t a card game, and the stakes are a lot higher than whether or not I leave here!” he proclaimed angrily.

  Miller matched his anger with his own passionate intensity. “This isn’t about proving your innocence! You want a public forum to express your views. That’s what you’ve always wanted. Lead actor performing center stage in a trial you’ve controlled from the very start.” He approached Matheson, and the two men stood inches apart. “Well, I don’t gamble with the lives of my clients to feed their egos or political ideologies. I don’t know if what you’ve done is right or wrong. I don’t even know if you murdered Cooper or anyone else. But my job is to defend you to the best of my ability and prevent the state from frying your arrogant ass in an electric chair that has your name on it. I intend to do that with or without your help.”

  He started to walk away, but Matheson forcefully placed his hand on his attorney’s shoulder. For a moment, Miller feared the man more than he’d ever feared any convicted felon.

  “You’re to put me on that stand,” Matheson said, then removed his hand.

  The two men looked at each other in silence before Miller made one last unconvincing effort. “Martin, listen to me, no one on that jury is going to convict you for the murder of Earvin Cooper based on the evidence before them. But throughout this trial we’ve been dealing with an undercurrent of all those other men on your list who’ve been murdered. And while nobody has said it, you can bet your life every member of that jury knows not one single other murder has occurred since your arrest. Now if you take that stand, you’re going to resurrect all those dead bodies. And a jury is a funny thing. If their gut tells them something different th
an the evidence, they’ll believe their instincts just about every time.”

  Matheson slowly retreated to his seat. He sat down and spoke without looking at his counsel. “This isn’t a request. It’s not an option. And from this moment on, it’s no longer negotiable. I’m going to testify and I’m going to vindicate myself and my students, and neither you nor anybody else will prevent me from doing that.”

  Miller shook his head and surrendered. “There are a lot of inmates serving time in prison because they wanted to prove just how innocent they were. There are a lot of guilty ones who are free ’cause they kept their big mouths shut. I don’t know which category you belong in, but we’re about to find out. I’ll notify everyone I’ve got one last witness to call. I hope he doesn’t hurt our case.” Miller signaled the guards.

  “You only have to ask one or two questions, then get out of the way. This is between Mr. Reynolds and myself. It’s time we settled it once and for all.”

  “Be careful what you ask for—you might get more justice than you can handle.”

  A guard unlocked the door and entered with another deputy. Miller turned to Matheson. “Your friends are here to give you a ride home. And that’s precisely what it could become for you—your permanent home.”

  Matheson stood and prepared himself for the handcuffs and ankle shackles. Miller watched him until the leg irons were secured, then left.

  CHAPTER 55

  SINCLAIR AND REYNOLDS spent another late night in the DA’s office. She started putting away her files, but Reynolds retrieved a new stack of materials and began going through them.

  “I think Matheson could get a lot of votes if he ran for office,” Sinclair said. Wearily she grabbed her briefcase and purse.