Silent Son (32 page)

Every conceivable fact was laid out, whether they could get it admitted in court or not. Gardner had finally convinced Jennifer
to blast it all at the Grand Jury. It was their only chance to get a formal charge. They’d included the ID of Starke in the
truck, Granville’s ID of the tattoo, and the partial print on the shell that killed Purvis Bowers. It was all there. Everything
they had so far.

“Miss Munday, I have a question.” A female juror in the back row raised her hand. She was a housewife who watched too many
TV cop shows. She knew just enough to cause problems.

“Yes, ma’am?” Jennifer said cautiously.

“I think I understand how you say this happened,” the lady said, “but can you tell us who actually shot the people at the
store? Which one of the two suspects?”

Jennifer swallowed. That was the sixty-four-dollar question. The one that not even the prosecutors had the answer to. “In
a joint venture,” Jennifer said, “the person who actually, physically commits the act that constitutes the crime is no more
culpable than the one who doesn’t. They are both principals, and are chargeable with the highest degree of the crime. In a
bank robbery, for example, the getaway driver is just as guilty of robbery as the man who enters the bank. And if someone
is killed inside, the driver is just as guilty as the person who pulled the trigger.”

The back-row lady frowned. Jennifer’s answer had not helped. “But where’s the proof of what the Starke suspect did?” she asked.
“Did he go inside or did he wait outside?”

Jennifer took a breath. She hated this kind of halt-baked logic. “Ma’am,” she said deliberately, “I just told you it does
not matter if he was inside or outside. The guilt and the charge are equal.”

“But what if he didn’t know what was happening? Maybe he didn’t know what the Miller guy was doing?”

Jennifer crossed her arms. Several other jurors were nodding their heads in agreement, as if the inquiring mind were on to
something.

“You have to look at what happened before, during, and after the crime to be able to assess that,” Jennifer said. “Starke
never reported anything to the police. He had ample opportunity to disassociate himself from the crime, and he did not do
it. One would have to assume, therefore, that he was part of it.”

That seemed to shut the lady up, but the expression on her face said she was still troubled.

“Any other questions?” Jennifer asked, praying there were none.

The jurors were quiet.

“Very well, then,” Jennifer said. “You know the procedure. Sergeant Brown and I are going to leave the room, and you will
vote on each count in each indictment. When you have concluded, please have the foreman sign the indictments and come outside
to get us.”

Jennifer and Brownie turned to leave when a voice rang out, “Miss Munday!” It was the back-row lady again. “What if we can’t
agree?”

Jennifer looked her in the eye. “If you all take reasonable positions, I’m sure that you can.” Then she walked out and left
the jurors alone, crossing her fingers tightly as she shut the door.

At the custody hearing, Carole’s attorney had called Nancy Meyers to the witness stand. As petitioners, they had the burden
of establishing that it was in the best interests of the child to remove Granville from his father. Meyers was a so-called
neutral party. Her only allegiance, presumably, was to her young client.

She was on direct examination by Bieman. “Ms. Meyers, how many meetings did you have with Granville Lawson prior to today?”

“I met with him five times,” the therapist said.

“And during that time did you have occasion to form an opinion as to his physical, uh, check that, uh, as to his mental condition?”
Bieman was looking at his notes as he spoke.

Meyers smiled. “Yes, I did.”

“And can you tell His Honor, Judge Cramer, what that opinion is?”

“Yes, sir—”

“Objection!” Gardner jumped to his feet. “This witness is not a medical doctor, a psychiatrist, or even a certified psychologist.
She’s not qualified to give an opinion!” Nancy Meyers was merely a certified “social worker” with a degree in psychology.
She’d never taken the boards to become a qualified psychologist.

Bieman smiled coldly. “She’s got the experience to give an opinion, Judge. Counsel has already stipulated that she’s been
a therapist for ten years. That alone qualifies her.”

“But not to give a formal diagnosis!” Gardner argued. Anyone who had seen Granville since the shootings could say he was withdrawn
and moody. But Nancy Meyers should not be permitted to give his condition a clinical name.

Judge Cramer squeaked forward in his chair. “If she’s got no other credentials, Mr. Bieman, I’d be inclined to agree with
Mr. Lawson.”

“We’re not going into some complex evaluation here, Judge,” Bieman said calmly. “We just want her to acquaint the court with
his general condition.”

“I think we can permit that,” Cramer replied. “Just a general overview. But no specific diagnosis.”

“But Your Honor…” Gardner argued.

It was too late. Cramer had ruled, and that was it.

“Tell the court the nature of the boy’s problem,” Bieman said.

The therapist nodded. “Disassociative behavior, due to severe trauma—” she said.

“Object!” Gardner yelled, springing back to his feet. “How much more clinical can you get?”

Judge Cramer looked annoyed, as if his directive had been disobeyed.

“Sustained! Ask another question, Counsel.”

Bieman looked nonplussed. “Miss Meyers, you cannot characterize Granville’s condition in clinical terms. The judge has ruled
that. Please simply
describe
his demeanor during the times you saw him.”

Judge Cramer nodded as if to say that question was okay.

“Very turned in on himself,” Nancy Meyers said. “Noncom-municative. Withdrawn.
Very
reluctant to participate in any interrogative aspects of therapy.”

“And did there come a time that you prescribed a course of treatment for this condition?” Bieman continued.

“Yes, sir.”

“And what was that?”

Meyers glanced at Carole, and then at Gardner. “I decided that play therapy was the best course. Allow him to communicate
through play and art if he wanted to, but no direct questioning, and
no pressure.”
She flashed another glance at Gardner when she said the last part.

“And did you discuss this course of treatment with the parents?”

“Yes, sir.” Meyers looked at Gardner again.

“And what reaction did you receive from the parents?”

“The mother, Carole Lawson, was totally cooperative.”

Now Bieman stared at Gardner accusingly. “And the father?”

“I had no problem with him either, at first…” Her voice trailed off.

“But later?” the attorney prompted.

“Later he disregarded my advice. Tried to force his son to answer questions about the crime.”

“Objection!” Gardner said. “She doesn’t know that.”

Judge Cramer twisted his seat toward Gardner. “What’s the basis of your objection, Mr. Lawson?”

“Hearsay, Your Honor,” Gardner answered. “She has no personal knowledge of that fact.”

“Did you actually see him do this?” Judge Cramer asked the witness.

“Uh, no, sir.”

“Then how do you know it happened?”

Nancy Meyers looked at Carole. “Mrs. Lawson.”

“Hearsay,” Gardner repeated.

“Objection sustained,” said the judge.

Bieman went on with the therapist’s questioning for another half hour, emphasizing the fact that Granville’s appearance as
a witness would cause irreparable damage to his psyche. Gardner knew that, it was said. He’d been told of the consequences,
but he forged ahead anyway.

Finally, Gardner was permitted to cross-examine. He rose and walked to the witness stand. “Just a few preliminary questions,
Your Honor.”

Judge Cramer nodded okay.

“Ms. Meyers, are you familiar with the murder case against Roscoe Miller and Wellington Starke the fourth?”

“Object!” Now Bieman was standing. “Beyond the scope of my direct.”

“Background, Judge,” Gardner countered.

“I think she can answer,” Cramer replied.

Bieman sat down.

“I’ve heard about the case. Yes, sir,” Meyers said.

“And then you must know, as it has been reported, that Granville has already communicated some important facts about the case.”

“The drawings,” Meyers said.

“Right,” Gardner replied. “Contrary to your testimony that the boy is reluctant to communicate, he
has
in fact communicated an important clue as to the identity of one of the murderers.”

Before she could answer, the door to the courtroom opened and two men walked in and sat in the back row.

Gardner shot a furtive glance in that direction. Kent King and Joel Jacobs. Together! Gardner tried to get his mind back to
the task at hand, but seeing King and Jacobs momentarily sent him into a spin. King had tried to stab Jacobs in the back,
and the old bastard didn’t even know it! And now they were cheek to jowl, on a joint spy mission. They took seats on Carole’s
side, like family at a wedding.

Gardner stepped back from the witness stand for a moment to gather his thoughts. King and Jacobs had a vested interest in
unnerving him. If he faltered in his presentation, the ruling could go against him. The judge could take Granville away and
forbid any contact. And the murder case would be over.

“Uh, can I have a moment please, Your Honor,” Gardner said.

“Very well, Counsel,” Judge Cramer replied.

Gardner walked to the rear of the courtroom and leaned over the seated attorneys. Without acknowledging Jacobs, he looked
directly at King. “I’ve been thinking about your
offer”
he whispered. If they wanted to play games, so could he. This one was divide and conquer.

King smiled wanly, and Jacobs didn’t stir. “Good,” King whispered.

Gardner gave Jacobs a wink. “Real loyal partner you’ve got here.”

Jacobs remained immobile. Either he didn’t get the innuendo, or the whole thing was a setup from the start, cooked up to torment
the prosecution. “I’m surprised you can sit in the same room, after what
he
just did.” Gardner cocked his head toward King.

A thin smile crossed Jacobs’s lips. “I have no problem with Mr. King,” he said casually. There was still no sign he understood
what Gardner was trying to communicate.

“You don’t?” Gardner said through his teeth. It was time to give it a name. “He just tried to sell your man out!”

Jacobs didn’t flinch. “There’s nothing to sell,” he said calmly.

Gardner glared at King. The defense attorney grinned sheepishly and shrugged his shoulders. He’d obviously covered his tracks
with Jacobs. Warned him that the prosecutor would try to split them apart with false accusations. King was always a step ahead.

“Mr. Lawson!” Judge Cramer called from the bench. “Can we please get back to business?” The witness was still on the stand.

King and Jacobs looked like Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum. Gardner’s attempt to shatter the alliance had failed.

“Don’t turn your back on him,” Gardner told Jacobs. Then he spun around and headed toward the stand.

“Uh, Ms. Meyers,” he said, trying to refocus, “did you not tell me at one point that it was therapeutic for my son to confront,
actually
confront
what happened to him?”

The witness brushed her gray hair to the side with her hand. “No.”

Gardner’s eyes widened. “No? Was the play therapy not designed to give him the opportunity to express himself? To get it out,
as it were?”

The witness had to think about that one. Her prior testimony contradicted the answer. “That could be a result, but it was
not
designed
for that purpose.”

“What was it designed for?” Gardner glanced at the judge, who was hanging over the bench, listening attentively.

“Play therapy is a nonadversarial treatment course that allows the child to proceed at his own pace…”

Gardner looked at the judge again. “That answer is not responsive to the question. What is the ultimate goal of play therapy?”

“To make the child comfortable,” Meyers replied.

“In order for the child to be able to do
what?”
Gardner asked.

“She’s already answered the question!” Bieman hollered, leaping to his feet. “Objection!”

“She has not given an answer!” Gardner argued.

“Answer his question, Ms. Meyers,” the judge instructed.

“Uh, what was the question again?” Meyers asked.

“What is the ultimate
purpose
of the play therapy?” Gardner said.

The witness hesitated. She was supposed to be neutral, but her bias was starting to show through. “To release tension. To
provide a calming atmosphere…” Her voice trailed off.

“In order to enable the child to do
what?”
Gardner was running out of patience.

“Objection!” Bieman yelled angrily.

“Overruled!” Judge Cramer said firmly. “Please answer the question, Ms. Meyers.”

The witness fell silent, as if she knew the answer, but could not bring herself to utter the words.

“I’ll answer it for her,” Gardner said. “Play therapy sets the stage for remembering. That’s what it’s all about. Let the
child relax, so he can remember!”

“That’s not a question!” Bieman yelled from the other counsel table.

“Isn’t that right, Ms. Meyers. You let them play to stimulate their memory?” Gardner continued.

Meyers looked down. “Uh-huh,” she said under her breath.

“You’ll have to speak up,’” the judge said.

Meyers raised her chin. “Yes,” she said, “that is correct.”

Gardner smiled and turned toward the rear of the courtroom. King and Jacobs were gone.

Jennifer paced nervously outside the Grand Jury room. It had been over an hour since they’d made the presentation, and the
jurors still had not agreed on indictments. What was taking them so long? The usual procedure was a three-minute rubber-stamping
of the State’s Attorney’s proposed list of charges. But today, they were hung up.