A Time to Stand

by Robert Whitlow

  “We also want to thank Chief Ben Lockhart with the Campbellton Police Department for joining us. We met with Chief Lockhart before the meeting, and he assured us that Deshaun’s shooting is being thoroughly investigated and appropriate action will be taken in cooperation with the district attorney’s office.”

  A large, middle-aged white police officer in uniform stood and waved. The response of the crowd to the police chief was limited to scattered applause. Adisa heard a few boos. Reggie then laid out the circumstances of the shooting. Listening to him, Adisa didn’t doubt the young preacher’s sincerity, but as a lawyer she couldn’t help wondering which parts of his narrative were true and which were false. Determining the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth was an inexact science. Reggie paused for a moment to make sure everyone in the room was paying attention.

  “It’s time we brought our community into the twenty-first century and shattered the racism and oppression that for generations have stained the ground with innocent blood!”

  Applause and a few shouts greeted his words. Reggie warmed to his task. Adisa could understand why the young minister’s church was growing. He was a dynamic speaker with oratorical skills that could have easily transferred to a courtroom if he’d chosen to become a lawyer. Even though he was speaking without notes, he’d obviously given thought to what he wanted to say.

  “But we’re not going to meet violence with violence, are we?” he called out. “No! We’re going to let the righteous authority of our cause lead us to victory!”

  Several loud “Amens” greeted the minister’s words. Adisa said the same word, only under her breath. While the influence of black ministers had waned in cities like Atlanta, pastors still swayed public opinion in a town like Campbellton.

  “We appreciate the efforts of men like Chief Lockhart,” Reggie said, “but it’s our responsibility to police our own people. If you catch wind of plans for violence or see someone acting inconsistently with what we stand for, inform someone in authority immediately. There have been threats communicated to Officer Nelson and acts of vandalism at his home. This is not who we are! And it must stop!”

  There were several loud “Amens” again, but the response wasn’t universal. Clearly, Reggie was trying to pattern his message after the words of the young Martin Luther King Jr.

  The minister finished, and another man Adisa didn’t know talked about organizational efforts. People were directed toward tables in different corners of the room. Some of the opportunities included those willing to be present in the courtroom for every appearance by Officer Nelson, volunteers to call and visit elected officials, and a group to hand out information door-to-door. As people began making their way to different parts of the room, Adisa turned and slipped out the doorway.

  “Adisa!” a voice called out to her, and she turned around.

  It was a former high school classmate named Darlene Singletary. “What are you doing in town?” Darlene asked.

  Adisa quickly told her about Aunt Josie’s condition.

  “I hadn’t heard anything about it,” Darlene replied. She motioned toward the rec center building. “Isn’t Pastor Reynolds amazing? My husband and I have been going to his church for over two years. We met there the first Sunday he preached, and he married us six months later.”

  “He’s a good speaker,” Adisa replied, glancing down at the ring on Darlene’s left hand.

  Darlene wasn’t a churchgoer when they were in high school. Back then, the tall and slender girl with an abundance of hair had been more interested in locating the hottest party than in seeking out a prayer meeting.

  “And I think he’s taking the right approach to the shooting,” Adisa added.

  “You should visit Zion Hills if you’re here on a Sunday morning. You’ll be blessed.”

  “Maybe I will,” Adisa replied noncommittally.

  Stepping away, Adisa headed toward the baseball fields. In a dimly lit section of the parking lot farthest from the rec center, a group of twelve to fifteen young men were gathered around two cars and a pickup truck.

  “This has gotta stop,” Adisa heard one of the men say. “And I’m not going to count on a preacher who only cares about what’s dropped into the offering plate to do it for me.”

  As Adisa came closer she saw the glint of something metal in the hand of one of the men. She quickly changed direction to move away from the group.

  “Tell us when and where, and we’ll be there,” she heard another voice say.

  Adisa reached the infield grass and glanced over her shoulder. The men remained clustered together; however, two broke away and headed in her direction. The lights of the pickup truck came on and pointed across the ball field. Adisa knew she was caught in the beams of light and nervously began walking faster across the soft dirt between the second and third bases. Her shoes wouldn’t allow her to run. Kicking them off, she grabbed them up in her right hand and sprinted across the outfield to the fence. She was breathing heavily when she reached the gate and turned around. The lights of the truck still shone on the field, but she didn’t see anyone. Putting on her shoes, she made her way to Aunt Josie’s house, where she entered and quickly locked the door behind her.

  Adisa debated whether to call the police and report what she’d heard, but she was short on details. She didn’t know the names of the men gathered at the back corner of the parking lot, and all she could recall was that the pickup was blue and one of the other cars near them was a reddish or maroon color. Before going to bed, she turned out the lights and peeked out one of the windows at the front of the house. The street was empty, the houses dark.

  The following morning Adisa woke up early and brewed a pot of coffee in Aunt Josie’s ancient percolator. The freshly brewed coffee hit a bull’s-eye on every taste-bud receptor. While she sipped it, she called Shanika.

  “You’re back in Campbellton?” her sister asked in surprise.

  “Yeah, I’m trying to keep her plants alive,” Adisa told her sister as a diversion to keep from revealing that she’d lost her job. “And there’s unrest in Campbellton about an unarmed young black man who was shot by a white police officer.”

  “Did the young man die?”

  “No, he’s in a coma at the hospital.”

  “I haven’t heard anything about it. It won’t show up on the news around here unless protesters set a car or two on fire.”

  Adisa told her about the meeting at the rec center and her encounter with Darlene Singletary. “Darlene was wild as a bobcat in high school,” Adisa said. “Do you know who she married?”

  “No, I haven’t followed her on social media.”

  “She and her husband go to the church where the leader of the rally serves as pastor. Darlene invited me to visit.”

  “Maybe you should go,” Shanika replied. “You might meet a guy, and the preacher can marry the two of you in six months.”

  “I’ll make sure to wear a name tag announcing my availability,” Adisa joked.

  Adisa hadn’t been in a serious romantic relationship since her senior year in college. Nothing since then had progressed beyond the friendship level.

  “You didn’t meet Ronnie in church,” she continued. “It was a blind date.”

  “Yeah, but the girl who set it up knew someone who went to church with him. That way I knew he wasn’t a jerk trolling for a victim.”

  Adisa checked the time on the kitchen clock. “I need to head over to the hospital. I’ll call later this morning and let you know how Aunt Josie is doing.”

  “Okay. Ronnie is in Savannah playing golf with the big bosses at his company. I know it’s a business trip and he didn’t have a choice about going, but it’s still hard to swallow.”

  “What are the kids doing?”

  “I let them stay up too late last night and they’re sleeping in. They’ll be crawling out of bed and demanding breakfast soon.”

  Adisa was silent for a second. It would have been easy to hang up, but she didn’t.


  “I have some news about the law firm,” she said hesitantly.

  “What? Are you moving to Boston sooner than you thought?”

  “No, I’m not going at all.”

  Adisa told Shanika about losing her job. Even though Adisa knew her termination was unjustified, she was still embarrassed.

  “I can’t tell you much more because Catherine Summey finagled a generous severance package if I promise to keep my mouth shut about the details.”

  “It makes me sad and furious,” Shanika replied with an edge to her voice. “I’m sad for you and furious that a stupid article in the newspaper about something you had no way of knowing could get you fired. There’s got to be a way you could sue for wrongful termination or something. It doesn’t seem right.”

  “I’ve already started looking for another job, but I’m going to focus on firms in the Atlanta area. That way I can help keep an eye on Aunt Josie so all the burden doesn’t fall on you.”

  “What about Campbellton? If you worked there, even on a temporary basis, it would be much easier to help until she’s back on her feet.”

  “Uh, I doubt there are any firms looking for lawyers. The total membership of the bar can’t be more than thirty or forty attorneys.”

  “But I bet at least one of them would jump at the chance to get someone as smart as you are.”

  “That’s not practical,” Adisa answered. “Law firms don’t operate like temp agencies—”

  Shanika interrupted her. “How do you know without asking around? That was your problem finding your first job.”

  Adisa bristled. Shanika’s comment was a throwback to Adisa’s shy reluctance as a tenth grader to look for a part-time job. Shanika had picked up an application for a cashier position at a local drugstore and made Adisa fill it out. Shanika then took the application back to the manager and convinced him to hire her little sister. The job lasted over two years.

  “This isn’t the same as Shoemaker’s Drug Store,” Adisa said.

  “Which went out of business when all the big drugstore chains came to town, but there will always be lawyers camped around the courthouse. It wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

  “I already have a solid lead for a job with a smaller firm in Atlanta. I think the managing partner wants to hire me, and it would be a great opportunity. I could still drive up to Campbellton and check on Aunt Josie. Last night she mentioned hiring Mary Broome to care for her when she’s dismissed from the hospital.”

  “Mary Broome!” Shanika exploded. “We’d have to lock up everything in the house! Not that Mary would steal, or at least I hope not. But she’s so nosy she’d rifle through every drawer and closet in the house and then tell her cronies what she found.”

  It was a true statement and further evidence of Aunt Josie’s diminished mental capacity.

  “You’re right,” Adisa admitted.

  A child’s voice cried out, “Mama! Ronnie hit me!”

  “Gotta go,” Shanika said hurriedly.

  Adisa went into the kitchen and poured another cup of coffee into a travel mug. Conversations with Shanika could still turn into black holes that sucked her in.

  Luke and Jane sat close to each other in the reception area of Theo Grayson’s office and listened to the receptionist answer the phone.

  “Good morning, Grayson, Baxter, and Williams. How may I direct your call?”

  “They’re busy,” Jane whispered to Luke, who was staring at a sports magazine without reading the words or absorbing the pictures. “Is that good or bad?”

  “I don’t know,” Luke replied, returning the magazine to a wooden rack near his chair. “But everybody knows Mr. Grayson is the lawyer to hire if you can afford to pay him.”

  “Why didn’t he say anything about his fee when he called this morning and asked you to come see him?”

  “They don’t do that over the phone. But he asked me a bunch of questions about our finances, including if we had an equity line of credit on the house. I guess he’s figuring out the maximum amount we can come up with.”

  “Don’t forget about the money my mom inherited after my grandpa died and they sold the orange grove. I’m sure she’d help.”

  “It wouldn’t be right to take your mother’s inheritance.”

  Before Jane responded, the receptionist spoke. “Mr. Grayson will see you now. He’ll meet with you in the main conference room. It’s the second door on the left.”

  Jane grabbed Luke’s hand as they walked down a carpeted hallway to a set of double doors. They intertwined their fingers, which was their way of communicating unity. Luke gave her hand a quick squeeze and pushed open the doors. Inside was a shiny wooden table with curved legs surrounded by eight leather chairs. The walls were a creamy yellow with a chair railing and multitiered crown molding around the ceiling. Portraits of men who Luke assumed were, or had been, partners in the firm lined one wall. Included were Theo Grayson and a bald man with glasses whom Luke recognized as Harold Baxter, a real-estate lawyer who served on the board of directors at a local bank. From the changes in the style of clothes in the portraits, it was clear the firm had been around a long, long time. In the earliest painting, the lawyer had thick white sideburns and piercing dark eyes, and he wore a skinny black tie. A brass plate on the frame read “Augustus Frampton, Superior Court Judge, 1925–1932.”

  “From what I’ve been told, Gus Frampton wasn’t the kind of judge who would have been electable in the twenty-first century,” Theodore Grayson said. “But he was a legal genius.”

  Luke turned around as Grayson extended his hand to Jane. “Theo Grayson, Ms. Nelson. Please have a seat.”

  The lawyer pulled back a chair for Jane. Luke sat beside her. Jane twisted a tissue in her lap. Grayson, a computer tablet in his hand, walked around to the other side of the table.

  “Thanks for seeing us,” Luke began. “We know your time is valuable.”

  Grayson cleared his throat. “I’ll get right to it,” the lawyer began. “As you know, the DA is going to present your case to the grand jury, probably by the end of the week. The political pressure is simply too great to treat this as an internal police matter. There was a rally last night at the rec center not far from the shooting. Over eight hundred people were there.”

  “Eight hundred?” Luke asked in shock, remembering the modest gathering at the high school gym.

  “The DA doesn’t want to run the risk of public unrest breaking out, which would make it look like he was bowing to violence,” Grayson continued. “So he’s decided to let the grand jury determine the next step. If the grand jury refuses to indict, then he’s off the hook.”

  “What do you think the grand jury will do?” Jane asked anxiously.

  “It depends on how vigorously Baldwin presents the evidence. Grand jury deliberations are secret, of course, but it’s easy for the DA to telegraph what he wants.”

  “Can someone talk to him in advance and find out?” Luke asked.

  “Oh, yes, there can be a lobbying effort. That’s already going on by the people who want to see you charged.”

  “Could you do that for us?” Jane asked. “Everybody in town respects you. I know it’s a lot to ask, and we don’t have much money.”

  “Not everyone has as high an opinion of me as you do,” Grayson replied gently. “But I’m going to make a phone call to the DA on Luke’s behalf as a concerned citizen. More importantly, I’ve been working on finding someone who can step in and help as his lawyer.”

  Grayson referred again to his tablet. “Based on what you told me earlier about your financial situation, you’re not going to qualify for a public defender, and you don’t have the kind of resources to pay what most experienced criminal defense lawyers would charge. Right now I’m focusing on organizations dedicated to representing police officers charged with crimes. I have a few leads but nothing definite to tell you.”

  “Is bringing someone in from the outside a good idea?” Luke asked. “They won’t know the judges or the jurors.”


  “That’s where I can assist. My value, to you and to the attorney who ultimately represents you if you’re charged, will be behind the scenes. I can help investigate the case and sit at the counsel table when it’s time to pick a jury. I know the jury pool in Nash County as well as anyone and can tell an out-of-town lawyer who to strike and who to keep. As for the judges, I’m up-to-date with their quirks and preferences and can pass that information along, too.”

  Luke shook his head before saying, “It will be impossible for us to pay you and another lawyer.”

  “I wouldn’t charge a fee to do what I just described,” Grayson replied.

  Luke’s mouth dropped open. Jane gasped.

  “Why would you do that?” Luke asked.

  “Because at this point in my career I can do whatever I want to,” Grayson replied with a slight smile. “Lawyers are always reminded about their civic duty when they go to meetings of the bar association. This will give me a chance to prove I believe that’s true and help a police officer who risked his life every day to protect me and every other citizen of the community I love.”

  FIFTEEN

  ADISA SPENT A quiet morning with Aunt Josie. The older woman was drowsy, and when her eyes first opened, she smiled and then went right back to sleep. While Aunt Josie slept, Adisa completed two complicated crossword puzzles. She was itching to exercise, but that would have to wait until she returned to Aunt Josie’s house later in the day. Around noon, the older woman came fully awake. Adisa gave her a few sips of water.

  “I’m hungry,” Aunt Josie said. “Where’s my food?”

  “It should be here in a few minutes,” Adisa replied. “Your room is at the end of the hall, so you’re served last.”

  “Where’s the doctor? I want to talk to him about going home.”

  “If Dr. Dewberry came in this morning, it was before I arrived. I checked with the lead nurse assigned to your room, and she told me there was no change in your status or the doctor’s orders.”