A Time to Stand

by Robert Whitlow

  Bruce leaned closer and spoke in a softer voice. “That’s the other reason I stopped by. A meeting has been arranged for you on Saturday morning with Theodore Grayson. The chief set it up for you, but he didn’t want to tell you personally in case he’s asked about it later.”

  “Grayson? He’s the top lawyer in town and probably the most expensive. Is the police department going to pay him?”

  “No.” Bruce shook his head. “Grayson is doing it as a favor. That’s what the men who run this town do for one another. There’s a lot more back-scratching going on than most people realize.”

  “But if I really need a lawyer, shouldn’t I get one who’s only looking out for me?” Luke asked.

  Bruce shrugged. “I know you may not believe it, but the chief likes you and wants to help, even though at some point you may be on your own. Nobody who’s in power wants to risk their position unless there’s something in it for them.”

  “What’s the status of the investigation?”

  “Detective Maxwell isn’t talking to anyone except the chief and the DA. The investigative file is kept under lock and key in his office.”

  “Are there any rumors about what he’s found?” Luke asked.

  “Nothing that I would believe. Do you want to hear them anyway?”

  Luke glanced over his shoulder at the den where Jane was waiting to cross-examine him about the conversation with Bruce. His imagination didn’t need fresh fuel.

  “No, I guess not,” Luke said with a shake of his head. “Thanks for coming by.”

  Luke shook Bruce’s hand and the officer left. Luke returned to the den.

  “What did Bruce tell you?” she asked.

  Jane’s eyes widened when Luke broke the news that the case might be presented to the grand jury as soon as the following week.

  “Will Bruce back you up when the DA calls him to testify?”

  “I don’t think he’ll throw me under the bus.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Jane said. “Bruce and the DA are going to the top of my prayer list.”

  Saturday morning Adisa drove to Campbellton. It was a bright morning, and the uncertainties of life didn’t seem as daunting in the light of a new day. Adisa shared the elevator with a male nurse caring for a very elderly man who appeared barely conscious as he slumped over in his wheelchair. Getting old was depressing. Adisa gently knocked on the door of her aunt’s room.

  “Come in,” a female voice responded.

  Shanika was sitting beside Aunt Josie’s bed with a spoon in her hand and a container of red gelatin in front of her. Shanika was dressed casually in blue jeans and a green top. Her hair was cut even shorter than Adisa’s, a practical response to managing a household with three small children. Aunt Josie was sitting up in bed with her eyes open.

  “Look who’s here,” Shanika said as Adisa approached the end of the bed.

  Aunt Josie squinted her eyes, and for a moment Adisa thought she didn’t recognize her.

  “Child, is that you?” she asked in a creaky voice.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Adisa replied, stepping to the opposite side of the bed from Shanika.

  Aunt Josie’s eyes followed her movements. Seeing her aunt even a tiny bit like herself made Adisa’s emotions rush to the surface. She grabbed her aunt’s hand and gently squeezed it. Shanika reached up and carefully repositioned Aunt Josie’s head so she faced Adisa.

  “I was here the evening you came into the hospital,” Adisa said. “You’re doing great now.”

  “Great?” Her aunt frowned and then licked her lips before smacking them. “It doesn’t feel great to me.”

  Aunt Josie glanced toward Shanika.

  “Are you still hungry?” Shanika asked.

  “For real food.” Aunt Josie sniffed.

  “Not until you can chew and swallow without choking,” Shanika responded. “The occupational therapist is coming back this afternoon to work with you.”

  “All I need is a piece of bacon,” Aunt Josie said. “That will get my strength back.”

  Aunt Josie considered bacon the prince of meats. A bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich featuring a vine-ripened tomato from her garden was a gourmet meal.

  “I know she’s feeling better if she’s asking for bacon,” Adisa said to Shanika.

  “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Aunt Josie cut in.

  “Sorry,” Adisa replied, looking directly into her aunt’s eyes. “Now, tell me how you feel. Are you in pain?”

  “I have a headache that’s different from any I’ve had in the past. It’s more toward the front than the ones that start at the top of my neck.” Aunt Josie tried to raise her right hand, but it fell back to the sheet. She slowly lifted her left hand and touched her forehead directly above her eyes. “And my right arm and hand aren’t working like they should. My right leg feels numb and tingly.”

  “Is the left side okay?” Adisa asked.

  “Weak and shaky,” Aunt Josie responded. “I think I could do more if it wasn’t for that needle stuck in it.”

  Aunt Josie closed her eyes. Adisa waited for her to open them and continue. In a few moments it was clear that the older woman was sound asleep.

  “That’s how it goes,” Shanika said. “She’s talking away and passes out. She could be like this for fifteen minutes or an hour. Dr. Dewberry is very pleased with how fast she’s bouncing back. He verified what you said about her condition when they brought her to the hospital.”

  “I wasn’t lying about it.”

  “I know. Don’t get defensive.”

  Adisa bit her lower lip. “You should have gone to law school instead of me,” Adisa said. “I can see you baiting a hostile witness into blurting out something that destroys their case.”

  “You’re my sister,” Shanika responded calmly. “And I’m sorry for the way I’ve talked to you on the phone. I was worried and upset and frustrated because I couldn’t be here myself and took it out on you.”

  The unexpected admission of fault caught Adisa off guard. “Okay,” she said slowly. “Does that mean you’re fine with me moving to Boston if that’s what I believe I should do, even though it would leave you primarily responsible for Aunt Josie?”

  “What?” Aunt Josie asked in a creaky voice.

  “Wait,” Shanika said, putting her finger to her lips. “She may go back to sleep.”

  They sat in silence for a moment. Aunt Josie’s steady breathing confirmed she wasn’t finished with her nap.

  “You have to decide what you think is right,” Shanika replied. “It’s not like when we were kids and I could force you to do what I wanted. Both of us have lives apart from Campbellton. We’ll figure something out.”

  “Thanks,” Adisa replied. “That helps.”

  They sat together for over an hour while Aunt Josie snoozed. Adisa asked Shanika about her kids, which was an easy conversation starter. An aide brought in a tray with Aunt Josie’s lunch. As she listened to Shanika, Adisa realized it had been Christmas when she’d last visited her sister’s family.

  “I need to come see you,” Adisa said. “It’s been too long since I got a hug from Kendal and Keisha and Ronnie Jr.”

  Adisa’s stomach growled, and she checked the time. It was almost 1:00 p.m.

  “What about our lunch?” she asked her sister.

  “I’m dieting,” Shanika replied. “I picked up an extra ten pounds over the past three months, so I’m drinking one of those protein shakes every day for lunch.”

  “I’m hungry,” Aunt Josie said, opening her eyes. “How long have I been sleeping?”

  “Over an hour,” Shanika answered. “Your lunch is here.”

  Aunt Josie glanced skeptically toward the tray. “What is it?”

  Shanika lifted the lid. “Broth and other assorted liquids.”

  Aunt Josie wrinkled her nose. “Adisa, go to the Jackson House Restaurant and get me a vegetable plate with sweet potatoes, creamed corn, and collard greens.”

  “That sounds
good to me,” Adisa replied with a smile. “I ate Chinese food last night, and you know how that doesn’t stay with you.”

  “What day is it?” Aunt Josie asked suddenly.

  “Saturday,” Shanika answered.

  “No, the date.”

  “May 18.”

  “One of you needs to go to the cemetery,” Aunt Josie said, trying to push herself up in the bed. “Tomorrow is decoration Sunday, and there aren’t any flowers on the graves.”

  “Isn’t it usually closer to Memorial Day?” Adisa asked.

  “Not this year,” Aunt Josie replied.

  Adisa glanced at Shanika, who shrugged. They both knew placing flowers on the family plots was a huge deal to their aunt. She’d dragged them to the ancient cemetery every spring for the ritual.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Adisa said. “But it won’t be as nice as when you do it.”

  “No yellows,” Aunt Josie admonished. “My mama didn’t like yellow.”

  “I know.”

  “Go to Bohannan’s,” Aunt Josie replied, relaxing in the bed. “Now, I’ll try to get down some of that brown water they call soup.”

  Adisa left as Shanika pulled the rolling cart closer to the bed.

  NINE

  LUKE PARKED BEHIND the brick building where Grayson, Baxter, and Williams had their offices. Next to his truck was a new silver Mercedes. Even though he wasn’t paying for the initial consultation, seeing the expensive car made Luke’s heart sink. The monthly payment on the lawyer’s vehicle was probably more than Luke and Jane’s house payment, assuming that Theodore Grayson even had a car payment.

  Luke went to the rear door of the office and pushed a black button. A few moments later the door opened, and he was greeted by a white-haired attorney in his early sixties. Theo Grayson was wearing a starched white shirt and gray pants. Gold-rimmed glasses sat on his nose.

  “Officer Nelson,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Theo Grayson. Nice to meet you.”

  Grayson spoke with an Old South accent that dripped with antebellum aristocracy.

  “Thanks for seeing me.”

  Luke followed the lawyer a short distance down a hallway and into a spacious office with walnut paneling and original artwork. The hardwood flooring was accented by a large Oriental carpet. The lawyer’s desk was the size of a small aircraft carrier and featured a leather inlay. Grayson didn’t sit behind his desk. Instead, he directed Luke to a leather side chair. The lawyer sat across from him with a small coffee table between them. Everything about the room communicated prosperity.

  “Would you like a cup of coffee?” Grayson asked. “I brewed a fresh pot a few minutes ago.”

  “No, sir,” Luke replied, glancing down to make sure his shoes hadn’t tracked any dirt onto the fancy carpet.

  “I’m going to have a cup,” Grayson replied. “Are you sure you won’t join me?”

  Luke hesitated. He didn’t want to seem ungrateful for the opportunity to meet with the attorney.

  “Okay.”

  “How do you take it?”

  “Black.”

  Grayson left. Luke shifted in his chair. It felt awkward giving a drink order to the lawyer as if he were the waiter at the all-night diner the men on the police force dropped into at 2:00 a.m. for a caffeine jolt. In the midst of the sumptuous surroundings and old books, Luke also saw a sleek computer beside the lawyer’s desk chair. Most of the artwork on the walls featured familiar scenes from Nash County. Luke recognized the last remaining covered bridge in the area and a large white farmhouse he suspected once belonged to the Grayson family. He knew the lawyer, a widower, lived in a Victorian house in town. Jane would love spending an hour snooping around the lawyer’s office just for the history it held.

  “Here you go,” Grayson said, handing Luke a mug with the law firm name embossed on it in gold letters.

  “Thanks.”

  Luke took a sip of the rich, flavorful brew.

  “Chief Lockhart serves us well here in Campbellton,” Grayson began, “and I didn’t hesitate when he asked if I’d be willing to meet with you. But let me make one thing clear at the outset. What we discuss within these four walls is between the two of us and no one else. It’s confidential.”

  “Even though you’re not my lawyer?”

  “Yes, because there is a possibility I could become your lawyer.”

  “There’s no way I could afford to hire you—”

  “That doesn’t change the rules.”

  Grayson took a sip of coffee. Luke did, too.

  “This coffee is great,” Luke said.

  “I’m glad you appreciate it,” Grayson replied with a smile. “You can’t buy it at the grocery store. It comes from a farm in Costa Rica where they pick the coffee beans by hand at the peak moment of ripeness. Do you know what they call the pod that contains the seeds?”

  “No, sir.”

  “The cherry,” Grayson replied, taking another long sip himself before setting his mug on the table. “Often, people don’t know the whole story about things that are common in life. It’s the same with events in the news. I’ve read the newspaper accounts of what supposedly happened the night of the shooting, but I don’t believe everything I read in the paper, even though I own a small part of it. Tell me how you felt when Deshaun Hamlin approached you on East Nixon Street.”

  Luke had expected the lawyer to start with the beginning of his shift or when he received the call from the dispatcher about the robbery at the Westside Quik Mart.

  “Excuse me?” he said. “Why is that important?”

  “That may not be the perfect place to begin,” Grayson replied. “But I want to start by identifying what you felt that night. If we can do that, it will take you back in your mind to those crucial minutes and provide the kinds of details that can be critical to a legal investigation. It’s known as forensic experiential questioning; I simply call it helping people remember.”

  “Okay,” Luke said and then paused for a moment. “When I saw Hamlin for the first time in the light of the streetlamp, I suddenly had a bitter taste in my mouth.”

  “Tell me about that moment.”

  Beginning with the bitter taste, Luke relived the encounter at a depth that exceeded the who, what, when, and where scenario he’d given when he calmed down enough to prepare a statement at the police department. While Luke talked, Grayson did nothing except drink coffee and ask questions. Theo Grayson was blowing up Luke’s stereotype of a lawyer. It was the first time Luke had been able to talk in detail about the shooting without experiencing a mild panic attack or getting defensive.

  “Aren’t you going to take any notes?” he asked the lawyer at one point. “Or do you have a photographic memory?”

  “I don’t have total recall,” the lawyer said. “But if I took notes, I couldn’t properly listen to you. You were telling me about hearing the sound of your heart beating.”

  “That happened when I thought Hamlin tried to shoot me. But as you know, he was unarmed.”

  “Are you sure he didn’t have a gun?”

  “What do you mean?” Luke sat up straighter in his chair. “Bruce Alverez checked the suspect and the area around him. He didn’t find anything that could be considered a weapon except a pocketknife.”

  “Did you pat down Hamlin yourself?”

  “No. I was pretty shook up, and we were waiting for the medics to arrive.”

  Grayson nodded. “Do you know who inventoried what Officer Alverez found at the scene?”

  “Detective Maxwell. By that time it had started raining pretty hard, and I was sitting in my car waiting for instructions on what to do next. I don’t know everything Maxwell stored in the evidence locker. He took my gun, of course.”

  Grayson nodded but still didn’t take any notes. “Why did the dispatcher identify Deshaun Hamlin and Greg Ott as suspects in the robbery when it was an unknown assailant who stole the money and cut up the clerk?”

  “Those were the names the store clerk gave when he cam
e to for a few moments in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. The EMTs asked who did this to him. He mumbled something about Hamlin and Ott without realizing what they were asking him. The wrong information was reported to the police department and then to me.”

  “So the fact that you shot Deshaun Hamlin was based on incorrect information given to you by the dispatcher, correct?”

  “Yeah, when information comes in to a patrol officer, it’s not unusual for there to be a mistake, just not this big.”

  “Did you think it was wrong information at the time?”

  “No.”

  “And you acted on it because you trusted what you’d been told about who was responsible for a serious robbery.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  Grayson sat back in his chair. “Do you know what this case is about?”

  Luke didn’t hesitate before answering. It was something he’d lain awake at night analyzing. “What was going on in my head that night and whether it made sense to me at the time,” he said.

  “Exactly,” Grayson said.

  Luke didn’t take any satisfaction in giving the answer the lawyer wanted. The possibility that his future, and possibly his life, depended on what other people believed about him was scary. He glanced at his cup of coffee that was now cool.

  “Well?” Luke asked.

  “Is it okay with you that I recorded our interview so I can listen to it later?” Grayson replied.

  Luke bristled. “You recorded it?”

  “And didn’t tell you because I knew it would stifle the flow of information. If you ask me to delete it from my system, I’ll do so immediately.”

  “Where are the microphones?” Luke asked, glancing around the office.

  “There are several,” Grayson replied. “All very sensitive. The erase feature is on my computer.”

  “What I told you is confidential, correct? You can’t tell anyone else.”

  “Correct,” Grayson replied.

  “Okay.” Luke took a deep breath. “But I still want to know what you think. Give it to me straight. Do you believe the grand jury will indict me?”