Silent Son (34 page)

Finally, it happened. A barely audible knock-knock on the massive oak door. Jennifer opened it and ran in.

The place looked like a bomb had hit it. The men were in shirt sleeves, and there was the odor of perspiration in the air.
Two women in the back row were red-faced and sullen. And the foreman looked as if he’d just lost a heavyweight bout. He handed
Jennifer the indictment sheets with a frown.

“Sorry,” the foreman said. He was a fiftyish businessman with lightly salted brown hair. “I pushed as hard as I could.”

Jennifer tore through the documents. On the third page, six charges had been crossed out in ink. She glanced at the top of
the page. It read:
State v. Starke.

“There was a concern about the degree of proof necessary to charge him with the actual crimes,” the foreman said wea-rily.
Then he jerked his chin in the direction of the troublemak-ing housewife.

Jennifer looked at the dragon lady. “Participation at the scene in any degree, coupled with flight, is evidence of com-plicity,”
the prosecutor said. “I told you that before I left the room.”

The woman shook her head. “But you never told us exactly what Starke did! How could we decide?”

Jennifer went silent. Starke
was
involved in the crimes. Up to his neck. They all knew that. And every honey-coated word out of Joel Jacobs’s mouth underscored
his guilt. But they had no hard facts. And it was obvious that until they did, Starke would get off easy.

Jennifer put the indictments down on the desk and went back to page one. They’d had no problem with Miller. Murder. Murder.
Murder. Attempted murder. Robbery. Assault. Bat-tery. Roscoe Miller had been charged with all proposed counts.

But back to page three, and it was a different story. On Starke, hardly anything had been left. No murder. No attempted murder.
Not even assault or battery. The only charges they’d agreed on were the counts of accessory before the fact, a misdemeanor
that carried a maximum of five years in jail.

Jennifer thanked the jury and dismissed them. It only took a few minutes for the room to clear.

The foreman lingered outside the door and came back in when the others had faded to murmurs down the hall. “Ms. Munday, I
really
am
sorry,” he said. “You don’t know how hard I tried.”

Jennifer managed a wan smile. “I’m sure you did.”

“We knew he was guilty of something,” the foreman contin-ued. “But without evidence, we couldn’t in good conscience endorse
the charges. I hope you understand.”

“You did the best you could,” Jennifer replied.

“I hope you can get him…”

“Huh?” Jennifer’s mind was trying to come up with a way to break the news to Gardner.

“I hope you find some more evidence on that guy before you go to trial.”

Jennifer nodded listlessly. “Me too,” she said. They’d gotten the Miller indictments by painting his evidence in the most
favorable light, but it wasn’t that good. Most of it was sure to unravel in court. If Starke had been hit with the full list
of charges, there was still a chance he could be turned against Roscoe, offered a lesser charge in return for his testimony.
But now that couldn’t be. Starke’s maximum exposure was five years, and there was no way they could deal that down. With Miller
overcharged and Starke undercharged, their dilemma continued. It was the worst of all possible scenarios.

Gardner was seated at the counsel table when Judge Cramer returned from the recess. Sullen and silent, Gardner looked like
an English schoolboy who’d just been caned for misbe-havior.

Carole had stepped down from the witness stand and joined her attorney. Her expression was as bitter as her ex-husband’s.
The tears had dried, but the pain remained.

Judge Cramer looked at Bieman. “Any more testimony, Counsel?”

The Baltimore lawyer whispered to his client, then stood to address the court. “No, Your Honor…” He had decided to pull her
off the stand before she went to pieces again and destroyed her motherly image.

“Any other witnesses, then?” Cramer asked.

“No, Your Honor, but we would like to be heard in argu-ment.”

“Very well,” the judge said. “After Mr. Lawson presents his case.” He turned to Gardner. “Any witnesses, Counsel?”

Gardner stood up, his face still red. “Just me, Your Honor.” He walked to the witness stand and raised his hand. The oath
was given, and he sat down.

“What do you have to tell me?” Cramer asked.

Gardner leaned forward and placed his mouth near the black gooseneck microphone. “This case isn’t about custody,” Gardner
began. “It’s about survival.” He looked at Carole, and she avoided his eyes. “I love my son, Judge,” he continued. “Uh, maybe
love
is not a strong enough word for how I feel. He’s my only child. The one thing that Carole and I did right—”

“Objection!” Bieman roared. “He’s doing the same thing he accused my client of.”

“Noted, Mr. Bieman,” Judge Cramer replied. “Overruled.”

“I’d never do anything to hurt him,” Gardner continued. “Never…”

“So why are you pushing him so hard?” the judge asked.

“Objection!” Bieman was back on his feet.

The judge glared at Carole’s lawyer. “You have a problem with my question?”

“Not the question, Judge. The
questioning
.”

Judge Cramer smiled. “The man’s got no lawyer, so I’m going to fill in.”

“That’s not fair, Your Honor!” Bieman was getting frus-trated.

The judge’s smile turned sardonic. “Nothing’s fair, Mr. Bieman.” He turned back to Gardner. “Why are you forcing the boy?”

“I’m not,” Gardner said.

“Ms. Meyers and your wife, uh, I mean your ex-wife say you are.” The judge was being patient with Gardner, almost parental.

Gardner looked into Cramer’s eyes. “He’s got to deal with it someday—”

“No he doesn’t!” Carole yelled, jumping up from her chair.

“Mrs. Lawson!” Judge Cramer did not want to repeat the earlier scene.

“
Please!
Please sit down and let me handle this!”

Carole sat down and grabbed her counsel roughly by the arm, whispering angrily in his ear.

“Please!” Judge Cramer begged. “Let’s try to relax and get through this.” He looked at Gardner again. “You
are
pushing him, aren’t you, Mr. Lawson?”

Gardner didn’t respond. The answer was “yes with an expla-nation” but no one seemed to care what the reason was. If he pushed
Granville to learn the truth, he was a bad father. And if he didn’t, and that allowed two murderers to go free, that made
him worse.

“Mr. Lawson?” The judge was waiting for his answer.

“He’s my witness, Judge,” Gardner said forcefully. “My only witness. As State’s Attorney I’m entitled, no,
required
by law to ensure that a witness appears at trial and testifies. If anyone,” he glanced around the room, “I mean
anyone
interferes with that process it is a crime. Witness tampering. Or obstruction of justice—”

“Objection!” Bieman sensed that Gardner was about to score a hit.

“Overruled.” Cramer was listening intently.

“I am the boy’s father, that is true,” Gardner continued, “and as his father, I do not want
any
harm to come to him. Physical. Psychological. Any kind of harm. But I’m also the elected prosecutor of this jurisdiction.
I can’t shirk
that
respon-sibility just because it touches me and my family personally.”

“Your Honor!” Bieman sounded almost hysterical. “This is out of order!”

Judge Cramer looked at the attorney calmly. “As I said before, Mr. Lawson is entitled to present his point of view.”

“But he’s trying to hide behind his so-called prosecutorial privilege. He’s already
admitted
to forcing the child against his will…”

A light seemed to flash behind Cramer’s eyes. He turned to Gardner. “What about that, Mr. Lawson? By what authority do you
suggest that the prosecutor’s rights supersede parental responsibilities?”

Gardner had researched last night and found the precedent. “The common law says that the right of a State’s Attorney to proceed
with a prosecution is unrestricted. Not even a writ of mandamus can interfere. If I wanted to, I could keep my witness locked
up until trial and deny access to him by
anyone.
“

“This is outrageous!” Bieman was up again.

“But Mr. Lawson,” Judge Cramer interjected. “Do you really
want
to do that? Put your own child under that kind of pressure?”

Gardner glared at the judge. “No! Of course I don’t
want
to do it. I’d do anything not to have to. But I have no choice!”

The judge nodded and folded his hands. This was a tough one. The law the prosecutor had cited was good law. A State’s Attorney
could
guard a witness like a mother hen, and no one could interfere. On the other hand, a father could not psychologically abuse
his child. That was grounds for loss of custody. But what happened when the father and the prosecu-tor were one and the same?
Which law took precedence?

“Anything further, Mr. Lawson?” Judge Cramer asked.

“No, Your Honor,” Gardner said sadly. Then he stood up and left the stand.

Judge Cramer took another short recess to consider his options. In a sense, he was in the same position as Gardner. A ruling
in either direction was bound to hurt someone. The bottom line was which would do the least damage, not which would do the
most good.

When the judge returned, he’d made his decision. He mounted the stand with a bounding leap, and banged the gavel. “I want
to hear from the boy,” he said.

Gardner and Carole stared at each other in shock. This was unexpected.

“Is it really necessary?” Carole quaked.

“Afraid so,” the judge answered. “If you want a ruling on your petition.”

Carole went pale and nodded listlessly.

The judge turned to Gardner. “Can you bring him down?”

“If you order me to,” Gardner said. He was not happy about this either.

“I am,” Cramer replied. “Please bring him in now, and do not discuss the case with him on the way. That’s an order too.”

The prosecutor excused himself and left the courtroom. He ran back to the State’s Attorney’s office and retrieved his son,
leading him quickly along by the hand.

“What’s goin’ on, Dad?” Granville puffed, trying to keep up.

“Judge wants to talk to you,” Gardner replied as they reached the courtroom door.

“Why?”

“He’ll tell you,” Gardner said as they went in. “Just be good and answer his questions.”

Granville saw his mother, smiled, and waved. She smiled tearfully and waved back.

Gardner guided him up to the witness stand, and lifted his right hand for the oath.

“That’s okay,” Judge Cramer said gently. “We’ll do this informally. I don’t need him under oath.”

Gardner released his son’s arm and stepped off the stand.

“You can sit down,” Judge Cramer said. His voice was grandfatherly, soothing.

Granville sat in the leather chair and all but disappeared behind the witness box rail. His blond head was the only thing
showing above the carved wood.

“There’s nothing to be scared about,” Judge Cramer said. “I just want to ask you some questions, that’s all.”

Granville fidgeted nervously in the large seat. He had no idea what was going on. He only knew that Mom and Dad were having
an argument. But he really didn’t understand why.

“How are you today’?” Cramer asked.

“Okay,” Granville said, his voice hardly a whisper.

“If you talk into that gizmo there, I can hear you better,” Cramer said, pointing to the microphone.

Granville scooted forward and put his mouth against the muzzle.

“Okay,” he repeated. This time the words echoed in the speakers overhead.

“I understand you’ve been staying with your dad the last few days,” the judge continued.

“Uh-huh.”

“Everything been okay?” Judge Cramer was leaning over the side of the bench, practically into the witness box itself.

Granville glanced over at Gardner, as if he wasn’t sure what to say. “Uh-huh,” he finally answered.

“And before that, you were staying with your mom. Right?”

“Uh-huh.” Granville was getting into the rhythm.

“Now, I guess you know that your mom would like for you to come back and stay with her.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What do you think about that?”

Granville stretched up so he could see Carole, then he moved his mouth back to the mike. “Okay.”

“You would like to do that?” The judge was leading some-where, but no one in the courtroom knew where.

“If you say I have to,” Granville answered.

“But do you want to?” Cramer asked. “Do you want to go back and stay with your mom?”

“Uh-huh…” Granville said. “After…” He fell silent.

“After what?” Cramer was trying to draw him out as gently as he could.

“After I help Dad,” Granville said.

Judge Cramer looked over at the counsel tables. Both Gard-ner and Carole were as immobile as sculptures. There was no pain
or triumph on either face. Only emotional shell shock.

“Do you know what your dad wants you to do?” Cramer continued.

“Uh-huh.”

“And what is that? What does your dad want you to do?”

“Remember,” Granville said, his voice dropping to a barely audible range despite the boost of the speakers.

“And do you know what he wants you to remember?”

Granville bit his lip, and for a second it looked like he was going to cry. “Sumpthin’ bad.”

Carole was beginning to stir. Cramer knew he’d have to wrap it up soon. “Okay,” he said. “I just have one last question. You
know that your dad wants you to remember something. How do
you
feel about that? Do you
want
to try to remember?”

Granville’s lip started to tremble, and tears were approaching rapidly. “Don’t know,” he whispered, his lip twitching.

“Okay. Okay,” Cramer said, reaching down and patting Granville on the shoulder. “You did just fine. I don’t have any more
questions. You can go back with your dad now.”