Guilt by Association

by Kelvin L. Reed

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Tenika knocked on the door to Jayson’s office and stepped inside. “I just heard something on the radio about the Stone case,” she exclaimed. “It’s going to be on the five o’clock news on Channel Nine, I think.”

  Jayson arched his eyebrows. He had been reviewing his first draft of a legal brief. Actually, he had been holding it while staring at the July calendar. In four days he would have to meet Leslie. He checked the clock on his desk. “Five o’clock? That’s in ten minutes. Are you sure it was Channel Nine?”

  Tenika rolled her eyeballs to the left, then to the right, apparently trying to replay the voice on the radio. She nodded. “Um-hmm. I’m pretty sure the man said Channel Nine.”

  “Do you know what it’s about?”

  “I didn’t catch that. Something about Stone’s apartment.”

  Jayson pointed at the outer office. “Tell Connie and Victor to join us in the conference room.”

  Tenika closed the door behind her. Jayson slid his chair closer to the desk and reached for the mouse to his computer. He located the television station’s Internet web site, but could find nothing about the Stone case on the news page.

  A few minutes later he, Connie, and Tenika sat at one end of the conference room table watching the sharp picture on a twenty-inch television. Two recently hired temporary helpers had gone home for the day, leaving several piles of papers stacked at the other end. Victor stood next to the television, ready to record the news program. Connie and Tenika speculated about the possible content of the segment.

  Precisely at five o’clock, Victor pressed the record button and sat down, and the Channel Nine male-female anchor duo appeared. Both were white, with the woman at least ten years younger than the man. They alternately read lines introducing the first story about a four-alarm fire at a manufacturing plant in a town twenty miles north of Boston. Jayson watched the story, which ran for several minutes, with moderate interest. Connie expressed her sympathy for the people who would be out of work. After the fire story had concluded the camera focused on the attractive, dark-haired female part of the anchor team.

  “Who’s doing that girl’s hair?” Connie asked. “And look at that ugly outfit.”

  “Shhh,” Jayson said.

  The anchorwoman, her face stern and her voice serious, read the teleprompter’s words about “shocking new revelations” concerning items found in accused murderer Brian Stone’s apartment. Next, the scene switched to the front exterior of Stone’s former residence. A pretty Eastern Indian reporter barely thirty years old pointed at the twelve-unit apartment building and gave the address. Jayson listened to her introduction and jotted down a few notes in case the program didn’t record properly.

  “Brian Stone used to live here,” the woman declared, “but his neighbors had no idea that the quiet, reserved man had a dark side.” As she spoke of “unnamed sources familiar with the investigation,” the cover of a paperback book appeared on screen. The bold yellow title on a plain green background read The Threat of the Negro Race.

  Jayson ground his teeth.

  “Uh-oh. This isn’t good,” Connie exclaimed.

  “You don’t think so?” Tenika quipped.

  “Hush!” Jayson ordered.

  The now unseen reporter offered a deduction. “Stone seems to have taken a particular interest in this book because several passages were underlined, including these…” Black words in quotation marks against a white background flashed on screen while the reporter read the text: “‘The threat of the black man against the white woman must be eliminated at all costs if the United States of America is to regain its dignity and honor.’”

  The reporter reappeared and presented two other books containing similar passages Stone had apparently underlined. Eventually, she wrapped up the story. “No date has been set,” she declared, “but Brian Stone’s trial is expected to begin sometime this fall. Many legal experts believe his lawyer, Jayson Cook, himself an African American, has a very uphill battle.” With those final words she signed off and the anchor duo announced they would return with an update on a Boston City Council skirmish.

  Victor stood and approached the television. “You want me to turn it off?”

  Jayson nodded. “Yeah.”

  Tenika rose also. “The phones are going to ring in a minute,” she said. “Every time your name is mentioned in connection with the Stone case we get a bunch of angry callers.”

  Jayson shrugged. “Goes with the territory,” he said and waved at Tenika. “You go on home and let the voice-mail take the calls. Tomorrow, you know the drill. Take down anything threatening and give it to the police. I’ll lock up the store myself.”

  Tenika nodded and hurried out of the room.

  Connie jumped out of her seat and faced Jayson. “Any of that information new?”

  Jayson shook his head. “You kidding? Not one word. Samira and Omar have had that stuff from day one. They leak out a bit every now and then to affect the jury pool.”

  “How about a motion for a change of venue?” Victor suggested.

  Jayson shook his head again. “Not a chance. There’s no trial date yet. If I filed the papers tomorrow we wouldn’t get heard for a month. By then the story would be out of sight—enough to deny the motion—but not out of mind; just like they want it.”

  Connie nodded. “A good plan, I’ll give them that. Anything you want me to do?”

  “Yeah,” Jayson said. He stood. “Go home. Victor and I’ll lock up.”

  Victor shrugged, but his facial expression indicated surprise. “Sure,” he said.

  Connie walked to the door connecting the conference room to the waiting area and hesitated. “I can stay, Jaymeister, in case Victor, I mean you and Victor, need some help. I’ll just—”

  “You’ll just go on home like I said,” Jayson commanded with a slight smile. He made a shooing gesture with his hand. “Goodnight, and close the door, please.” He watched Connie back up and slam the door, which made him wince.

  Victor grimaced. “What’s wrong with her?”

  Jayson didn’t answer. He sat down again and reached for the telephone on the table. He put the receiver next to his ear and punched numbers. “You’re going to be at the office all day for the next couple of days, right?”

  “That’s right,” Victor answered. “Why?”

  Jayson motioned for him to sit. “I want you to go with me to—Hello, Michelle? Jayson Cook…Yeah, I saw the program.” He pointed at Victor as though speaking to Michelle in person. “Victor’s standing right here next to me. He says hello.” Jayson studied Victor’s face but couldn’t judge the young man’s reaction to his words. He swiveled in his chair and focused on the wood grain on top of his conference table. “First, anything on those two police officers?…No?”

  Victor placed his palms against the arms of his chair. “I’ll give you some privacy.”

  Jayson gestured with his free hand for Victor to stay and continued his conversation. “Well, the reason I called is this: I’d have a few restrictions, but how would you like to be the first to land an exclusive interview with Brian Stone?”

  •

  Two days after the airing of the Channel Nine news story and two days before his appointed date with Leslie, Jayson sat on a metal folding chair alongside Stone in the visiting area of the Suffolk County Jail. The large room, on the second floor of the building, could accommodate sixty people. The sterile, mostly brick-walled room offered little natural light but did have two small windows overlooking the Charles River. Michelle Ling sat directly across from Stone reviewing the notes sitting in her lap. A burley redheaded male jail officer stood a few yards behind Stone out of the camera’s eye.

  Jayson squinted and fought two bright lights to make out the outline of Victor standing behind one of the two camera operators. They adjusted the positions of their lighting umbrellas and cameras perched on tripods. One operator, a fortyish white male, focused on Michelle. The other, a young black male, aimed his camera a
t Stone. Jayson had chosen a gray suit for the occasion. He had convinced the jail superintendent to allow Stone to wear street clothes. Stone wore a light blue dress shirt and navy blue tie that Jayson had bought for him.

  Jayson realized allowing Stone to be interviewed constituted some risk, but he understood a paid attorney’s pronouncements alone would not be enough to counter the impact of the Channel Nine story. He had laid out the ground rules to Michelle, and she had agreed. Before the interview she had expressed her gratitude to Jayson for refusing her station manager’s demand that the interview be conducted by one of the senior news reporters. “Ms. Ling is very fair. My client will only agree to be interviewed by her,” Jayson had insisted. He suspected Michelle wouldn’t forget his loyalty.

  Jayson had spent an hour the previous day prepping Stone for the interview. He explained the ground rules again to the twenty-four-year-old: “The purpose of the interview is to portray you as a human being instead of a monster…It’s TV, so keep your answers short…Ms. Ling’s not to ask any questions about your alleged involvement in the death of the girl or the trial…If she asks you something and I object, you’re not to answer it, period…When I say ‘thank you Ms. Ling’ to conclude the interview, you say ‘thank you’ and nothing else.…”

  The interview began a little after one-thirty in the afternoon. Michelle, wearing an olive suit with a matching skirt, introduced her guests, then opened with an expected question. “Brian, why did you agree to this interview?”

  Stone scratched his head. “Well, I’ve heard all kinds of things said about me from people who don’t know me at all, and I thought I better go and speak for myself.” He smiled. “I know me.”

  We’re off to a good start, Jayson thought. Stone’s baby face, quiet demeanor and even his southern drawl would be an asset. As the grandmother in the elevator had done in his case, people were inclined to judge others by their appearance. Some viewers would see Stone and declare, “He seems like a nice enough young man.”

  Michelle knew she didn’t have much time so she had apparently decided to bolt right into the speed lane. She leaned forward. “What about the items that were found in your apartment: the books, magazines and videos? Why do you watch and read that stuff?”

  Jayson took a deep breath.

  “I–I’m not sure why I took an interest in that stuff,” Stone replied. “I never had many friends. I guess you could say I was searching for some way to understand my life.”

  “Do you understand that most people would find books like The Threat of the Negro Race offensive and racist?”

  Jayson balled up his fist.

  “I guess,” Stone admitted, “but having a book doesn’t mean someone believes it.”

  Michelle glanced at Jayson and smiled, silently and reluctantly complimenting him for preparing his client well.

  Jayson returned her smile. This wasn’t a court of law. No rules existed against coaching someone about to be interviewed on television.

  Michelle returned to Stone. “Do you believe in what the book says?”

  Stone shrugged. “I don’t know what I believe anymore, ma’am.”

  “How do you feel about the death of twelve-year-old Veronica Bradley?”

  “Stone closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. “I think what happened to that poor child was just terrible.” He paused. “Terrible.” He seemed on the brink of tears.

  Jayson knew he couldn’t control Stone’s reaction to the girl’s death. More than once the young man had attempted to speak to him about the matter but each time Jayson had cut him off, insisting that his job consisted of aiding him in his legal battle against the state, not to serve as his priest.

  “Do you believe in God, Brian?” Michelle asked.

  Stone nodded enthusiastically. “Oh yes, ma’am. I sure do.”

  “Do you believe God punishes people who sin, especially murderers?”

  Stone shrugged again. “I believe God forgives people if they ask for forgiveness.”

  Jayson couldn’t help but feel satisfied about his preparation of Stone. His client came across as a gentle, thoughtful, intelligent person. Jayson preferred not to consider what demons lurked beneath the surface.

  “You were a member of Gregory Morgan’s Church of the True Savior, weren’t you?”

  Uh-oh, Jayson thought.

  “Well, I went there. I was never a member.”

  Michelle gazed at her notes. “Did you accept the teachings of Mr. Morgan and the Church, including the parts about stopping all immigration from Latin America, Jews secretly controlling the United States government, and recommending re-establishing laws keeping blacks and whites from marrying?”

  Stone paused. He glanced at Jayson, but Jayson had cautioned him before the interview that once the cameras started rolling he would be on his own unless Michelle violated one of the ground rules. She hadn’t. “Well, um,” he began, “I don’t think I fit in real well there because I kept questioning things.”

  “Which things?”

  “Um, kinda like all of them.”

  Jayson relaxed in his chair. Not bad. Not bad at all—for a man responsible for the death of a child.

  Michelle changed the topic, peppering Stone with numerous questions about his background. Jayson could see Stone’s pain as the young man relayed his story about his difficult upbringing. Michelle seemed very interested in the details of Stone’s personal life, which suited Jayson just fine. The tale would bring tears to the eyes of the viewing public, especially women.

  After a few minutes, Michelle pointed at Jayson. “Brian, what was your reaction when you first found out Mr. Cook would be your lawyer?”

  Jayson glanced at his watch. They had been sitting for about fifteen minutes. He would end the interview after Stone answered the question, which they had also anticipated.

  “Well,” Stone said, “I’m glad to have Mr. Cook as my lawyer. He’s a real good lawyer. He just wants to make sure I get a fair trial. Anybody who would be unfortunate enough to be sitting where I am would want the same thing—a fair trial.”

  Jayson held up his hand. “Time’s up, Ms. Ling.”

  Michelle nodded. “Can I ask you one question, Mr. Cook?”

  Jayson maintained a cordial expression. He had negotiated the boundaries of questions posed to his client, not to him. With the cameras rolling he couldn’t decline to answer Michelle’s inquiry without potentially tainting the interview. He smiled. “My client is the one being interviewed, but I’ll answer one question, just one,” he said, with his voice going up the way it did when answering Jennifer’s request for a cookie an hour before dinner.

  Michelle leaned forward again. “Can your client get a fair trial here in Boston?”

  Michelle’s question put Jayson in a tough position. If he said yes, he would forever forego any chance of petitioning the court for a change of venue. However, if he said no and the trial took place in Boston, those registered voters selected to be on the jury would certainly resent any pronouncement he had made questioning their fairness. He remembered Seth Greenberg’s admonition: “Eighty percent of your case is won when you seat the jury.” Jayson chose his words carefully. “The people of Boston are a very fair-minded people. I believe with the proper safeguards we’ll be able to select an impartial jury, just as the Constitution of the United States requires.” He stood. “Thank you, Ms. Ling.”

  Stone voiced his thanks as well.

  Jayson shook hands with Michelle. Stone did likewise. After the two men removed their microphones the jail officer escorted Stone to the door leading back to the detainees’ area. Stone turned around. “How’d I do?” he whispered.

  Jayson recognized something in Stone’s voice he hadn’t heard before—a desire for validation. He raised his index finger and made eye contact with the jail officer. “A moment with my client, please?”

  The officer hesitated, then nodded and remained by the door. Jayson and Stone took three steps sideways, within sight of Ston
e’s escort but not within earshot if they whispered. Jayson patted Stone on the arm. “You did just fine, Brian.”

  “I was real nervous,” Stone confessed.

  “Well, it didn’t show,” Jayson said. “You conducted yourself very well.”

  Stone smiled a bit. “Jayson, I–I wasn’t just saying that stuff. I’ve been talking to this priest who comes to the jail and doing some serious think—”

  “That’s good, Brian.” Jayson said and patted him on the arm again. “I really have to go.” He nodded at the officer, who responded by taking Stone by the arm and leading him out of the room.

  Jayson returned to where the interview had been conducted. Michelle and Victor whispered and laughed like a couple of high school sweethearts. Their obvious comfort with each other made Jayson uncomfortable. He liked Michelle but he didn’t want to see Connie hurt. Ultimately, he decided, his intern’s personal life wasn’t his business and decided to ask about the interview.

  “Well, Ms. Ling, you think you can use any of it?”

  Michelle slung her huge purse over her shoulder. “Are you fucking kidding me?” she exclaimed, clearly elated. “It’ll be on the five, six and eleven o’clock news tonight. Another coup like this and that weekend anchor chair’s as good as mine.”

  Jayson smiled but said little else other than to exchange promises with Michelle to keep in touch. He dragged Victor away and the two men waited until they reached his car before they discussed the interview.

  “It went real well,” Victor gushed. He strapped on his seatbelt and pointed at himself. “The guy almost had me in tears with his childhood bit.”

  The two men continued their conversation while Jayson drove back to the office. Eventually they shifted to discussing cars, baseball, and legal history; three of Victor’s obvious passions. With less than five minutes remaining before they would reach the office, Jayson retrieved his mobile telephone from his jacket pocket and switched it on. It rang immediately. Fear crept up on him like Canadian air in the winter. Perhaps Tenika would report that “Miss Thang” had called, and Leslie would increase her demands or bump up the date for her expected “gift.” Jayson excused himself. He read the tiny data screen on his telephone and recognized his office number. “Hello?”

  “It’s Tenika. How’d it go?”

  “Real good,” Jayson replied. “We’re almost at the office. I’ll tell you about it when I get back.”

  “Judge O’Hare’s clerk just called.”

  “Yeah?” Jayson asked.

  “Yeah,” Teninka answered. “She said the judge insists that you and Samira Rahmani and Omar Anderson meet him in his chambers at eight-thirty tomorrow morning or he will issue a bench warrant for your arrest.”

  Jayson laughed. “Come on, Tenika. What did she really say?” He listened but heard nothing. “Tenika, can you hear me?”

  “I heard you,” Tenika replied solemnly. “What I told you is what she told me.”

  Jayson said goodbye and hung up.

  Victor could read the look of discomfort on Jayson’s face. “Trouble?”

  Jayson nodded. “Sure seems to be following me around these days.”

  * * * * *