by Glen Tate
Josie had fully recovered from the flash-hider puncture wound to the chest and was doing fine, although she was having withdrawals from meth.
Frankie was a mess. He had a broken nose and jaw, both of which were not set by medical staff because he was too violent, even in handcuffs, to allow them to attend to him. So his nose and jaw fused back together crooked. Right after the beating he got during the raid, his face looked like hamburger, but now was about halfway healed. He was missing teeth. His broken ribs also set at an uncomfortable angle and he needed help moving around, which was usually refused. He was having meth withdrawals, too. He was extremely depressed. He would constantly call out for Josie and she would cry back to him. They were terrified of what was coming. The three-week period between their arrest and trial was torturous. That wasn’t Grant’s intention, but he was OK with the results.
Brittany and Ronnie were uninjured, but had meth withdrawals. They hadn’t been using for as long as Josie or Frankie so it wasn’t as bad.
The worst thing for Brittany and Ronnie during the three weeks before trial was the fear. They had no idea what these people at Pierce Point would do to them. This whole jail-in-a-house thing was so different than their previous run-ins with the law. Back then, they were put in a police car, taken to jail, processed, and released in a few hours. They came back to the house, got high and stole some more, and got caught some more, but nothing ever really happened to them.
As the Collapse was building up and the government had less and less money, the authorities were not really enforcing the drug laws. They didn’t have the jail space or prosecutors to deal with drug addicts stealing things, so Brittany and Ronnie were wondering what would happen to them now. They wanted the old system back. It had worked just fine for them.
After getting an update on the condition of the prisoners, Rich said, “So, your honor, how do you want to do this?”
“We’ll need a jury,” Grant said to Ryan. “Go get me fourteen adults. Twelve jurors and two alternates. Try to get people who don’t know the defendants. If they know them a little, that’s OK, but not ideal. Once you get the fourteen, have someone quietly ask around about whether any of them have a grudge against the defendants.” Grant had Ryan do this because he had lived out at Pierce Point and knew some of the people out there.
“Will do,” Ryan said as he went off to get the jury together.
“We’ll need a prosecutor, too,” Grant said. Everyone looked at Rich.
“OK, I’ll do it,” Rich said. He had fully expected that he’d be the prosecutor.
“Don’t worry about the lawyer stuff,” Grant said. “Just ask the obvious questions your curious brain would ask them. You’ll do fine.” Rich nodded.
“The defendants can have someone represent them if they want,” Grant said. “We’ll deal with that if it comes up, which it probably won’t.”
Grant looked around the Grange hall at all the chairs and the podium. It would work for a public trial. It wasn’t a pretty court room with multimedia capabilities for presentations, fancy jurors’ chairs, and a bench for a judge to sit up on, but it would do.
“OK, let’s have a trial,” Grant said.
A crowd started to gather. Snelling and his core followers were not in audience; they were probably boycotting this “illegal” trial. But everyone else wanted to see this. Good. Grant wanted as many people as possible to see what happens to those who steal and—worse yet—hurt kids. He wanted the residents to see that they had an effective police force. He also wanted them to see that it worked fairly and that they followed the Constitution. A practical, effective, and fair justice system was a huge Patriot recruiting tool. It would cement people’s allegiance to the Patriots. It would be an example of how the Patriot approach was just plain better. Showing people a fair trial was much more effective than a thousand speeches about political philosophy.
After about an hour of getting things prepped, Rich said, “We’re ready. We have a jury.”
“Bring the prisoners in,” Grant said like he’d been doing this forever.
He paused and thought back again to college when he and Lisa talked about him being a judge someday. You’re a judge now, he said to himself. Now go do a great job. Be fair and show people that justice can actually be done. Set the example.
Yes. You’ll see why this is important later.
The outside thought gave Grant a chill. He was trying to understand how a trial of some tweakers would be important later. Grant shrugged. The outside thought had been right about everything in the past. So far, it had a 100% track record.
A few minutes later, some guards brought in the prisoners. The crowd gasped when they saw them shuffling by in zip ties. They looked like zombies; half dead. They were horribly thin, heads drooping, and weak. They looked doomed. Frankie looked the worst, with his swollen face. A guard had to help him by holding him up on each side.
When the prisoners were seated, it became very clear that this was a trial. Pierce Point was taking care of things like this on its own. This was a very serious moment.
Grant noticed a very different feeling at the Grange. The feeling at the Grange had gone from the joy and kindness of neighbors sharing food and reading their own neighborhood newspaper to the solemnness of deciding who lives and dies. It was like a funeral, but the people who were dead were sitting right there, still alive, but likely soon to be dead. No one in the Grange hall had ever looked a person in the eye who they knew would be dead soon.
Grant wanted to project confidence that he knew what he was doing, even if he was making this up as he went.
“Would the defendants please identify themselves,” Grant said. They just looked around or, in Josie’s case, sobbed. She was in a borrowed pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt that said “Princess.” It was sad.
Finally, each of the defendants gave their names, except Frankie, who refused to talk. Rich identified Frankie by name.
“Let the record reflect that we have a jury seated and two alternates,” Grant said. There was no “record” to reflect anything since the trail wasn’t being transcribed by a court reporter and wasn’t being recorded, but Grant said “let the record reflect” out of habit.
“Do any of the jurors have any personal dealings with any of the defendants?” Grant asked. The jurors shook their heads.
Grant needed to give the jury instructions. He thought he’d keep it simple because that’s all they needed. “Ladies and gentlemen, the defendants are presumed innocent until proven guilty. We’re serious about that. Listen to the evidence. You must find the defendants guilty beyond a reasonable doubt to convict. A reasonable doubt means there is a reasonable way the evidence you hear does not establish they did it. It must be a ‘reasonable’ doubt—not that space aliens did something. But if it’s reasonable, and it’s a doubt, the person cannot be convicted. All twelve of you must agree on guilt to sustain a conviction; if one of you isn’t convinced, then the defendants cannot be found guilty. Do you understand your instructions?” They nodded. Then one raised her hand.
“Do we decide the sentence or do you?” the juror asked.
Grant was truly making this up as he went. He thought a while. Under the old government justice system, the judge decided the sentence. There were even sentencing guidelines that took away almost all of a judge’s latitude. That was a joke—some bureaucrats deciding the sentences for people in all cases. This was Grant’s chance to inject a little freedom back into the system, even if it was only the system for a few hundred people out at Pierce Point.
The decisions you are making are bigger than Pierce Point. Decide wisely.
Well, if he was creating a template for the future, Grant thought, then he better inject as much freedom as possible. He wanted jurors, regular people in the community, to have as much power as possible. The old system let the judge have enormous power. They decided what the jury heard, which often meant whether a person was convicted or not.
Before the Collapse, many
judges had become distant from the people. They feared and loathed the people, especially as the government started unraveling right before the Collapse. Many judges thought that “militia whackos” were out to get them. These “whackos,” however, were anyone questioning what the judges were doing, even when they peacefully and respectfully questioned the judges. Grant had been in court before the Collapse and seen a person merely asking a judge why a particular law did not apply in her case, only to have the judge motion for the armed bailiffs to escort her out.
Before the Collapse, courtrooms started to feel like bunkers protecting the judges, not places where the public settled disputes based on fair and established rules. Courthouses were no longer the people’s building where the public’s business was conducted, but rather a place where the government reluctantly let the public in under guard so the government could do what it wanted. Many judges would not involve the public at all if they could find a way to get away with it.
But the whole point of trials and a justice system is to let the community control things, and to see what is happening to people. The judges work for the public, not the other way around. Trials and a justice system exist to carry out the community’s goals of a fair and predictable way to punish crime and decide civil disputes. It’s not for judges to run everything.
In that moment, Grant decided to come up with a better system. He answered the juror’s question by saying, “If the jury decides guilt, then the judge will provide a suggested possible range of sentences based on other cases. Now, since this is our first case and we don’t have any prior cases to base decisions on, I won’t be able to do that. But I will suggest a range in this case, anyway. The jury then decides the sentence. The jury’s sentence will almost always end up being the final sentence. However, the judge will have the power to not accept the jury’s sentence, but only in the most extreme cases. I stress that the judge changing the sentence will be very rare. It’ll happen only when justice requires it, like if a juror shows favoritism or even if there is bribery or threats against a juror. Or, if a jury imposes too harsh a sentence, like execution for petty theft.”
“But,” Grant continued, “There is a check on the judge, too. The judge is elected by the people and can be recalled at any time, so if the judge does something unjust, the people can remove and replace him or her. Quickly.”
There, Grant thought, as he leaned back in his chair. Plenty of checks and balances. Primary power was with a representative sample of the people with a check by an elected official, but with the people having ultimate control over that elected official. That’s how it should have been with the government system all along, but it didn’t turn out that way. Now was the chance to reset things. To fix them.
The jurors nodded, followed by many in the audience. Grant had come up with a good, fair, and simple system. He was the right person, in the right place, at the right time to be coming up with these things.
“Is the prosecution ready to proceed?” Grant asked.
Chapter 151
The Trial Proceeds
(June 6)
“Yes, your honor,” Rich said. “The prosecution is ready to proceed.”
It seemed a little artificial for Rich to talk to Grant that way, but he wanted to be as official as possible. People’s lives were at stake, after all, and he wanted the residents to see and feel that they had a real justice system.
“Pardon me,” one of the jurors said. He was a Baby Boomer-looking guy who was a “cabin person.” Grant recognized him as one of Snelling’s followers. Great.
Grant hadn’t wanted to tell Ryan to only pick people who agreed with him because that wasn’t a jury of the defendants’ peers. Now he was kind of wishing he had.
“Back to that part about us not agreeing with the law,” the juror said. “What if we don’t agree that you are carrying out real laws?”
Not this again, Grant thought. He realized that, despite last night’s vote, there was still a divide out at Pierce Point. He also knew he had to play the hand he was dealt.
“A fair question,” Grant said. He was trying to remember who this juror was; he was blanking on his name. He remembered that he was a soft Snelling supporter, not a loud one.
“If the jury believes that the law is unjust, or in your case, I guess, the law is non-existent, then the jury can find the defendant not guilty,” Grant said.
“So, if it takes all twelve of us to convict,” the juror said, “if only one of us disagrees with the law then they’re not guilty?”
“C’mon!” someone in the audience yelled. “You guys lost the vote. Let’s get on with it.”
Grant put his hand up to the person who yelled. “No, the juror makes a good point.” Grant realized he had an opportunity now to show the audience, and especially the soft Snelling supporters, how fair and just the Patriot system was.
“A single juror preventing us from convicting someone is one of the great strengths of this system,” Grant said to the juror. “It’s a magnificent way to protect liberty and I’m proud we have it here.”
The juror, who was polite and thoughtful, said, “Thank you. That answers my question.”
Grant was ready to proceed. He had a bad feeling that this trial was going to be a waste of time because the Snelling juror would just vote to acquit the defendants. But oh well. A trial is a process – a political process, in this case, to show the residents how fair the new system is. Even if it means dirt bags going free. Besides, Grant thought to himself, if the defendants went free, one of the residents would probably “accidentally” shoot Frankie.
“Do the defendants have counsel?” Grant asked, knowing the answer. Ronnie shook his head. The others didn’t respond.
Grant looked at Rich and said, “Please state the charges.”
Josie cringed. She was ashamed that people would hear what she did to her own daughter. Frankie didn’t care. He was a combination of catatonically depressed and fully aware he would die very soon. He just didn’t care. Brittany started to sob. Ronnie sat there, silently. He would take this like a man. He had been beaten by his father since he was a little kid and knew how to take it without giving someone the satisfaction of knowing you were hurting.
Rich had always been interested in law. He aced the legal and criminal procedure parts of his law enforcement training and had picked up a lot of law from being a cop for so many years. He and Grant had talked about the charges before the trial. He knew it probably wasn’t common for the prosecutor to consult with the judge about what charges to file, but this wasn’t a common time.
“The people charge Brittany Franks and Ronnie Williams,” Rich said, “with grand theft and, separately, with the knowing possession of stolen property. Grand theft being theft of items more than $100 pre-Collapse.”
Brittany and Ronnie looked up at Rich. They were relieved that this was all they were being charged with. Theft? That was nothing. They wouldn’t even get arrested for that by the old government. This was no big deal, until they figured out that if they wouldn’t be arrested for this in the old days, but now they were sitting in a trial, maybe the Pierce Point people took this theft thing more seriously. Their initial relief turned to dread.
“In addition to theft,” Rich said, “the people charge Brittany Franks and Ronnie Williams with felony murder, the killing of Denny Ellis during the commission of a felony, which is possession of stolen property worth more than $100 pre-Collapse.”
Murder? The crowd was stunned. Brittany and Ronnie didn’t kill anyone. Grant could see the crowd’s confusion about why thieves were being charged with “murder.”
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” Grant said, “felony murder is a common law doctrine that if a person commits a felony and any person is killed in the act, intentionally or accidentally, that the person committing the non-murder felony can be guilty of felony murder. It’s the common law’s way of further discouraging people from committing felonies.”
Grant hated the felony murder ru
le. It was overkill, in his opinion. But, it was the common law and it was constitutional. This was one other reason to have the jury decide the sentence: If they thought it was too harsh, they could find a person guilty but not impose a sentence on them. This was yet another check and balance to get a fair result instead of giving the judges, who were the government, all the power.
Well, Grant thought, the felony murder rule might be a good thing here, after all. It would probably give Brittany and Ronnie a reason to testify against their former housemates. This would mean Crystal wouldn’t need to testify. Either the jury, or Grant overriding the jury, could make sure Ronnie, or especially Brittany, would not be executed for merely stealing some property and being in a meth house when a fellow meth head got killed.
“The people charge Josie Phillips,” Rich said, “with rape of a child, grand theft, and felony murder involving the death of Denny Ellis during the commission of another felony, which is her knowing possession of stolen property.” Dang. Rich sounded like a real prosecutor.
Josie started wailing and screaming. Then her chest, still tender from the puncture wound, started to hurt as she screamed, which quieted her down.
“Frankie Richardson is charged with the same,” Rich said. Frankie just sat there.
After a few seconds, Frankie sat back in his chair. Felony murder, huh? He had heard about that when he was in the joint. The cops never charged that anymore. It was some old thing, but now these rednecks were charging him with “murder” just because Denny got shot by that Asian guy. That’s fair, he thought to himself, sarcastically. Whatever. This trial was a show for the rednecks out there. He was surprised they hadn’t shot him out at the house. He shrugged. He’ll sit through this and then they can get it over with.