by R.M. Haig
Directly from the conference room, Jake and Donnell marched into courtroom 2-A. Soon after they were seated, Judge Eldon Casella took the bench and called the proceedings to order. Two cases were heard before Chucky's, both involving matters related to prostitution. They were only initial hearings as well, so the Judge breezed through them in no time at all.
"Next before the Court is the matter of The State Of Indiana versus Charles Edward Murphy," Casella said, stone-faced.
Doors on the far side of the court swung open, Chucky emerging and being pulled along by the same officers that had extricated him from the conference room. A cacophony of clicking and popping erupted, a myriad of flashbulbs exploding around the room the moment he appeared and continuing as he was led to the defense table. Photographers and videographers bobbed and weaved to get a better angled shot of the alleged savage, the vicious child killer who stood before them now as a powerless, downtrodden defendant bound in chains and painted with the scarlet letter of inmate orange.
Jake was stunned at the outburst, amazed that so many members of the press had turned out to witness this event. They were rabid in their determination to snap that perfect shot, as rabid as any of Chucky's imaginary monsters lurking in the depths of Booger Woods, as rabid as any Butcher who preyed upon the children of Burlwood past, as rabid as Ron Boudreaux behind the facade of a badge.
Seeing the intensity and purpose with which they operated erased any lingering illusion that this wasn't as much of a witch hunt as it seemed. Boudreaux sought nothing less than Chucky's head, to jam it upon a pike and put on display, perhaps right next to the Elsmere County Welcomes You Home sign... a sign on which the population of Burlwood could be indelibly declared as two thousand five hundred and seven minus one. Minus Charles Edward Murphy, minus the Butcher Of Burlwood, past and present, minus the shadow of any doubt that Sheriff Ron Boudreaux always gets his man and rules his roost with an iron fist.
Casella pounded his gavel futily, pounded the drum of justice in absentia. He called for order where none was present, called for the uniformity and procedure of practiced law in a courtroom filled with people of the opinion that the verdict was already decided before a single witness had been deposed, before a single expert gave his testimony, before a single objection to the proceedings had been raised by the counsel for the defendant. Before anyone had a chance to figure out that Chucky just wasn't capable of doing a thing so heinous.
The bailiffs positioned Chucky at the table reserved for the defense, a table that was rather dull and simple as compared to the glorious wooden lectern and desk, carved brilliantly of maple or some other richly textured wood, which would serve as the hub for the prosecution -- for the almighty State. The desk from which the hammer of the gods would pull back and strike the molten steel of public opinion, would forge a sword as magnificent as Excalibur for the hooded executioner to wield in the public square, was a hub of power with District Attorney Richard Hagan manning the helm with visible pride.
Donnell approached his client, pushing and shoving his way through the press, and sat beside him as chaos ensued around them, Casella ceaselessly hammering his gavel with growing sincerity. The atmosphere was such that Jake expected to hear a rousing chorus of boo exploding from those gathered, expected to see thumbs turning down and jeering those who would stand side by side with the monster as he was paraded around the gallows.
Jake stayed in the last row of spectator benches, barely able to see anything as the gathered masses swirled and swirled, swirled like memories of better days, swirled like hope and promise around the bottomless drain of damnation that would swallow them whole.
Eventually, the passionate pounding of Casella's gavel won the day and brought an orderly hush over the room -- though the reporters still held their microphones high in the air to record any words that might be spoken into the annals of history.
When Casella called for the parties to identify themselves for the record, Richard Hagan declared himself as appearing on behalf of the people of Indiana. Donnell answered the charge and declared himself as Chucky's counsel. It would've come as no surprise to anyone if, at that moment, Michael Buffer had appeared from the Judge's chambers to announce that it was time to rumble, but Casella spoke instead in language suited to the situation, reading the indictment aloud and in excruciating detail.
As Donnell had said, the judge recounted the fact that bail was off the table and asked if either side had anything to say in answer to the charges. Donnell raised his concerns with Chucky's competency to stand trial, asking politely and professionally that the court assign specialists to evaluate his mental faculties. The prosecutor fired a salvo back, citing Chucky's independence in living alone and holding a job at Our Mother Of Sorrows for nearly two decades. Donnell reminded him, in response, that Chucky was merely a part-time custodian -- his role limited to the polishing of pews and cleaning of floors. Undeterred, Hagan argued that the request for evaluation was no more than an effort to stall the wheels of justice and cause an unnecessary delay. Casella sided with the defense, ordering psychiatric testing to remove any shadow of doubt in the matter. Donnell seemed to take this as a minor victory, as hollow as it may be, and thanked the court.
With that out of the way, the Judge issued an Omnibus date of October 31st. A quick Google search revealed to Jake that this was the date on which all evidence -- that presented by the state to implicate and that by the defense to absolve -- must be declared and admitted or challenged by either side. Casella explained that he had allowed extra time for the competency evaluation, apparently more time than Hagan felt was reasonable, which he noted in an objection. Casella overruled immediately, announcing his intention to see that a case as serious as this be adjudicated with due diligence, whether the timeline was satisfactory to the prosecution or not. With a final strike of his gavel, he closed the hearing and remanded Chucky to the custody of The Elsmere County jail.
Everything was over just as quickly as it had begun, the bailiffs seizing Chucky from the table again and leading him back out the door he had come through initially. There was another blitz of photography, this one not nearly as intense as the first, and Donnell marched his way back to Jake. With a nod, he led him out of the courtroom -- then out of the building altogether.
Once outside, in the blinding light of day, Donnell sighed heavily in decompression.
"I've been involved in some high profile shit, Jake," he said. "But I've never seen, felt or heard of anything like the charade I witnessed in that courtroom today in all my life! This is crazy, man, it's crazy! They've got Chucky's cell ready for him in the death house, and they're in a hurry to see him file a change of address card and move in. I've never heard a prosecutor object to a minor delay like that, it's usually the other way around! It's usually the defense arguing against a delay while the state tries to flesh out their case -- is very rarely the opposite. We're gonna need some kind of a miracle here, man, this deck is stacked! The only reasonable person in that whole courtroom was Judge Casella, and I'll bet dollars to doughnuts that Boudreaux tries to have him recused before it's all said and done!"
Jake considered this, recounted in his mind everything he had witnessed since walking into the courthouse. It was overwhelming, but seemingly not insurmountable. There was evidence of Chucky's innocence out there, somewhere, he knew there was. There had to be. Maybe Hagan feared a delay because, with time, that evidence could come to light -- could cloud the matter, make it more difficult to secure a conviction. Murder will out, that's what they say... that's what he hoped. The real child killer was still out there, The Butcher Of Burlwood was still at large... and it was incumbent upon Jake to find him before -- before -- before double indemnity, for him... not for Chucky.
"You hungry?" Donnell asked.
"A little," Jake lied. He hadn't been hungry since he'd woken up in the parking lot of Bottoms Up, even though he knew he needed to eat... would eventually have to force himself to eat.
"Let's go to lunch, then... my treat."
FOURTEEN