Absolute Power (Southern Justice #1

by Cayce Poponea

  “You know, that man and few others in this room give me hope in the male species,” Lainie spoke from beside me. Her trembling had stopped once I had reclaimed my seat next to her.

  “I, William Parker Gillman, do solemnly swear…” He repeated the same oath we all had. Somehow, his black-rimmed glasses made the mundane, extraordinary. Hell, the man could read the phone book and I would listen in earnest, as long as he wore those glasses.

  “Dr. Gillman, you understand you have been called here today for your expertise on the subject of DNA, as well as your role as the physician present the night in question?” Judge Randolph reviewed; an air of respect in his manner.

  “Yes, Your Honor.” Dr. Gillman straightened his tie and scanned the room until his eyes landed on mine. He graced me with a wink; a move I’d file away for another, more intimate occasion.

  “For the record, Dr. Gillman, would you please share your qualifications in DNA science?”

  “Of course.” He adjusted his glasses, and then placed his hands in his lap. “I graduated in the top three percentile from Notre Dame University and attended medical school at the University of Michigan. I then began a fellowship in DNA research under the supervision of Dr. Floyd Bremer. I transferred to University Hospital here in Charleston after his sudden death.”

  Dr. Floyd Bremer was considered the single most authority in DNA studies. Three years ago, he went in for a routine procedure and his heart stopped on the operating table. His doctor was unable to revive him. The entire medical community mourned his loss.

  “The Prosecution may begin,” Judge Randolph permitted, scribbling on the note pad on his desk.

  “Dr. Gillman, on the night of April seventeenth, you were on staff when the victim and the accused were transported in by ambulance. In your own words, describe the events as you saw them.” Mr. Jessup did not rise from his chair as he made his request. Judge Randolph didn’t call him out for it either.

  “We were in the middle of our shift. The patient load had been minimal. As Miss Stuart stated, we received a call over the rescue phone from the paramedics who were on their way. I asked her to get the trauma room ready for a sexual assault. Once the ambulance pulled up, I took over the care of the man who was handcuffed and, I presumed, under arrest. Since Miss Stuart was in the middle of obtaining samples and photographing any abnormalities she found with her patient, I had one of the other nurses assist me. However, before I could do any assessments on the man, he refused care and demanded to be released. Detective Morgan instructed the uniformed officers, who were present in the room, to take him to jail.”

  Dr. Gillman paused, as he seemed to consider something. I was not the only one to notice his features distort in thought.

  “Dr. Gillman, is something wrong?” Mr. Jessup questioned in genuine concern.

  “Yes, I’m sorry.” He blinked, coming to his senses. “I was just recalling the manner in which Mr. Greyson left the hospital and his declaration of disdain for Nurse Stuart.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  “Well, given his anger over the situation, I can somewhat understand his verbal lashing. However, he singled out Nurse Stuart, shouted he hated her the most, even though she wasn’t involved in his care.”

  I had nearly forgotten his departing words. At the time, they’d sent chills down my spine, but as I cleaned up Dylan’s knuckles, that fear disappeared.

  “Can you tell the court about any injuries Mr. Greyson came in with?”

  “When Mr. Greyson came in, I noticed his face and clothing were covered in grass and twigs. However, he removed himself before any formal exam could be taken. I can tell you from the nurses’ notes, his blood pressure was elevated and his pulse was racing.”

  “Now to the DNA results. Can you explain them in layman’s terms?” Mr. Jessup tried to keep a professional face, when it was apparent to anyone looking that he was trying to conceal a smile.

  “Well, in the exam which was performed by Nurse Stuart, she removed cells from under the victim’s fingernails. Those cells were sent to an independent lab in Atlanta. Cells are compared to not only tissue from the accused, but blood and, in some cases, semen. In this particular case, there is a less than tenth of a percent chance the attacker was anyone other than the accused.”

  “So, in your expert opinion, the evidence obtained from the victim is that of the accused.”

  “Yes, Sir, with extreme probability.”

  Mr. Jessup thanked Dr. Gillman and returned to his seat, a look of refreshment about him.

  “Councilor, your witness.”

  Mr. Anderson stood from his chair, the legs scraping against the wood causing that awful sound wood on wood makes.

  “Thank you, your Honor. However, the Defense requests to question Dr. Gillman following the testimony of my client.”

  Maybe this was more common than I thought—dismissing one witness for another. My only real reference was late night television when I couldn’t fall asleep.

  Judge Randolph nodded. “Very well. Mr. Jessup, call your next witness.”

  I watched as Jessup stood and smiled at the judge. “Your Honor, the prosecution rests.”

  “Then we will take a recess for lunch. We will reconvene in one hour. Bailiff lead the jury out. Court is adjourned.” Judge Randolph banged his gavel, rose, and left the courtroom.

  After what felt like a year, we were all once again seated in the courtroom, waiting for the defense to begin their case.

  “Mr. Anderson, call your first witness.”

  “The defense calls, Aiden Silva.”

  The doors in the rear of the courtroom clicked, causing many to turn around. Walking in, with his tie crooked and wrinkled jacket, was the ambulance driver from hell. Aiden firmly believed he was God’s gift to all women, regardless of their disdain for him.

  He was one of those guys who could have something ordinary happen on his way to work, only to turn it into him saving the world from aliens. He had a hero complex, wanting to have his name in the paper with lights flashing from paparazzi cameras as he groped a super model.

  “Mr. Silva, can you tell the court what you witnessed on the evening of April seventeenth of this year.” Anderson never looked at Aiden, his posture an indicator of a seasoned actor.

  “Well, I received a call around nine thirty, to the college library. Not a minute later, another call came in for an accident on one of the ramps to the bridge, multiple cars with possible causalities. I suspected this would tie up the remaining available ambulances.”

  Silva appeared to be in his element, as if he worked night and day to sit in the witness stand. His face glowed from the contentment of having the room hanging on his every word. Did he think he would be a modern day white knight, galloping in just as the villagers were about to burn the accused at the stake? Retreating with the crowd chanting his name, while the evil King cursed him.

  “When we pulled up, Detective Morgan had this man on the ground, his foot in the center of his back, telling him to shut the fuck up.” Aiden glared at Dylan, almost as if he had a personal issue with him. Or perhaps it was envy, as no doubt Dylan was living the life Aiden wanted.

  “Have you had previous interactions with Detective Morgan?”

  “Several times, both at work and on my off time.” Aiden huffed as he spat the end of his statement, the jealousy pouring off him in waves. How sad it seemed, Aiden having such unattainable admiration for Dylan, much like a sports fan with a losing team.

  “Objection, what does his relationship with another witness have to do with this case?” Jessup’s voice startled me. That was what I got for thinking such bad thoughts.

  “Sustained, stick to the pertinence of the case.”

  Anderson nodded his head, yet rolled his eyes as he turned from the judge. I wanted to call him out on it, point my finger and scream at the teacher like a child on the playground. “Was the defendant struggling or fighting when you approached?”

  Silva cocked his head to
the side, looked in Dylan’s direction, then answered with a smirk. “He was cussing…not that I blame him.”

  “Objection!” Jessup shouted a little too late.

  Judge Randolph jumped in. “Mr. Silva, leave your personal embroilments at the door. Witness or not, I will toss your behind out of my courtroom if you test me.”

  Aiden’s face appeared victorious, as if being reprimanded by a man in the judge’s position was a battle won. I wondered how he’d spin the story when he was with his friends later. What superhero would he mimic to grandeur the story? Perhaps he should join a screenwriters guild, help give Hollywood producers new ideas. On the other hand, he would only copy someone else’s creations.

  “Besides the colorful language, what did you notice, if anything, in your medical opinion, which was unusual?”

  Anderson’s question sparked something in Aiden, causing him to sit up straighter. Gone was the hero syndrome persona and in its place a look of good and just.

  “Yes, Sir. As I tried to explain to the Detective the reason behind needing to have everyone in the same ambulance, I got a face full of his alcohol filled breath when he threatened me.”

  Going back to that night, did I smell anything on Dylan’s breath?

  “Objection. The State of South Carolina does not allow non-physicians to testify to the presence of any drugs or alcohol.” Jessup stood, lightning fast, irritation at the audacity of Aiden to knowingly say such a thing.

  “Sustained. The jury will disregard the witness’s statement in reference to the presence of alcohol.”

  I always hated when a judge would say this. It didn’t matter if he gave the instruction; the words were already in the minds of the jury. My gut told me Anderson and Aiden were counting on exactly that.

  Mr. Jessup took the opportunity to lean back and listen to something Dylan and his father found important in Aiden’s statement. Mr. Jessup nodded his head and jotted something on his note pad. Dylan’s posture reminded me of how he listened when his mother gave her heartfelt goodbye during the funeral.

  Something in him was changing, growing deep and dark, and latching itself to his very soul. I might only know the rumors behind the man, a sliver of who he may or may not be. However, by the look on his face and the storm brewing in his eyes, everything for him was about to change.

  “You say he threatened you. Can you elaborate?”

  “Objection.” Mr. Jessup sounded exasperated. “Detective Morgan is not on trial here.”

  “Your Honor, the DA has introduced the character of Detective Morgan as being a decorated public servant, one who does everything by the book. I am attempting to show the truth behind the smoke and mirrors created by the prosecution.”

  Dylan didn’t move a single muscle or avert his eyes as the judge allowed Anderson to continue. “Please, tell the court exactly what the Detective said to you, which made you fear for your life.”

  “He called me a ‘dirty motherfucker.’ Said if the guy on the stretcher woke up, he would knock me the fuck out.”

  As I listened to the dramatic reading of Aiden’s perception of what happened, I was certain, given the little I’d seen of Dylan in action, that his disregard for politically correct terms and no fear, self-assurance he emulated with every step he took, didn’t make him a bad cop. Some of it was true, but the rest was contrived fiction Aiden invented as he played video games on his cell phone.

  “I have nothing further, your Honor.” Anderson strutted in front of the jury and, with a sly grin, tossed to Jessup, “Your witness.”

  “Pardon me, your Honor.” Jessup stopped in his tracks before asking a question, and turned abruptly to face the bench. “Could you please ask the court reporter to recount the witness’s answer to the question of what he saw when he first arrived at the scene?”

  Judge Randolph spoke into the microphone, “Mrs. Miller, can you please read the item in question?”

  An older lady, maybe in her late fifties, sat in a chair just to the right of the clerk. Her small machine rested on a skinny stand, a long sheet of white paper traveled out the back and into a large box, which rested on the floor. She reached forward and pulled the paper toward her, reading until she found the section in question.

  “Mr. Corbin Anderson, “Was the defendant struggling or fighting when you approached?” Mr. Aiden Silva, “He was cussing…not that I blame him.” She placed her hands in her lap and looked to the judge.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Miller.”

  Jessup turned to the witness stand. “So, which is it, Mr. Silva? Was he conscious and cursing, or knocked out cold?”

  Aiden looked first to Anderson, then to Dylan, his eyes wide and gasping for his next word.

  “I’m not…I mean…” Aiden was stumbling so much a tiny sliver of me felt bad for him, but the vast majority of me silently danced in my seat. He was a douche bag, much like the guy whose eyes hadn’t left the floor or his fingers since his handcuffs were removed. I wasn’t sure even my daddy would hang with the likes of them.

  “I apologize, Mr. Silva, perhaps something a little simpler for you to answer. How long have you worked for the city of Charleston?”

  “About eight years, give or take.” Aiden shrugged.

  “About eight years?” Mr. Jessup repeated, bobbing his head from side to side. “In that eight years, have you ever been reprimanded?”

  “Sure, nothing serious.”

  “Nothing serious?” Mr. Jessup questioned with disbelief in his tone. “According to city records, you’ve been reprimanded seven times in the last five years. Three of which you called in your union rep.”

  I knew of one of those occurrences. One of the guys he worked with found a bunch of medical items on an auction website. When they had performed a routine inventory, those items listed in the auction were missing from the stockroom. Shortly after, Aiden came strutting in with new rims on his car. They did an investigation, but couldn’t link the auction to Aiden. Just as suddenly though, some of the items were located and brought back to storage and the website was gone.

  “So tell us,” he quipped. “When, as you say, Detective Morgan threatened you, did you file a report?”

  All ears waited as Aiden’s face began to pale.

  “Careful how you answer the question, Mr. Silva, city records are only a mouse click away.”

  “No, I did not file a complaint.”

  Mr. Jessup ignored the murmuring voices from the jury. “You chose not to file a possible criminal complaint against the man who, in your own words, “affected me so much I had to take a couple days of vacation to process it.”

  Aiden hung his head, not saying a word.

  “Detective Morgan isn’t the real issue here, is he?” Mr. Jessup looked to Anderson, something passed between them, some secret they shared. “Mr. Silva, how many times have you filed a lawsuit against the city of Charleston?” He spun back around to face Aiden, crossing his arms while sending him a penetrating gaze.

  “Objection, Mr. Silva isn’t on trial here.”

  “Goes to character, your Honor.”

  “I will allow, but make it quick.”

  “Twice, Mr. Silva. You have filed two workers’ comp cases against the City for a back injury you claim occurred while on duty.” Mr. Jessup had moved to stand directly in front of Aiden, eyes locked as his words hit their intended target.

  “Both cases were thrown out, were they not, Mr. Silva?” Jessup’s voice was menacing, sending chills down my spine. “After your direct supervisor found you competing in the Highland games last fall.” He wasn’t finished, again ignoring any voices in the room. “In fact, your employment with the department is conditional, based on the results of the appeal your attorney filed on your behalf, isn’t that correct?” His voice had started to escalate, certainly he, as the DA, would have some dealing with any actions taken against the city. “Which makes the real reason you are testifying for a known criminal as clear as the nose on your face. Public record indicates Mr. Anderson ha
s been your legal representation in both cases.”

  “Objection”

  “Withdrawn.”

  Again the judge instructed the jury to ignore the statement, but it was too late. Aiden’s credibility was tarnished; he had lied under oath. He was excused and as he left, his head hung in shame.

  “Mr. Anderson, you may proceed.”

  “The defense calls, Frances Greyson.”

  The officer, who had been standing not far from Mr. Greyson, made a motion for him to get out of his chair. His bright orange jump suit reflected the rays of light, which streamed through the high windows behind the bench.

  If I had been in Mr. Greyson’s shoes, I would’ve been on my best behavior, scared to death of the possibility of spending a single second in jail. Mr. Greyson, however, must love being incarcerated, as he was trying the patience of all involved. Shaking his head and outright laughing as Miss Grace swore him in.

  “Mr. Greyson, you stand accused of attacking a young woman in the breezeway between the college library and the media building. Can you tell the court how you came to be in that particular area on the night in question?”

  Mr. Greyson sat slumped in the witness chair, one arm draped across the back edge, while his other sat limply across his open legs.

  “I had been with a buddy of mine, helping him change the spark plugs in his pickup truck. We couldn’t get it to fire right and had run outta beer. He gave me money, so I walked to the store beside the library. As I was cutting across the yard, I noticed this chick leaning against the wall, smoking a joint.” His eyes, like chunks of old coal resembling the characteristics of his heart, glared in Lainie’s direction. Her hand gripped mine tighter as she squared her shoulders and gave him back an equally cold stare.

  “She called me over and asked if I knew where she could score some coke. I took the joint out of her hand, took a long toke, and then kissed the shit out of her. She got pissed off and slapped the shit out of me.” He laughed as if he was a stand-up comedian on some cable network. “She pulled me back, took my hand and shoved it into her jeans. We started kissing again and ended up on the ground. Next thing I know, her boyfriend comes yelling from the sidewalk, hits me upside the head, screaming if I wanted to fuck her it would cost me sixty bucks.”