Silent Son (43 page)

Gardner had not expected it to be this easy, with King and Jacobs almost speechless, and Judge Hanks so accommodating. They
were actually going to give him a chance to pull it off.

Judge Hanks pounded her gavel and was about to leave the bench when King spoke up. “Not so fast, Judge!”

Hanks paused.

“We have to discuss logistics. Mr. Jacobs and I have some concerns about the witness’s contact with our clients.”

Judge Hanks sat down again. “What do you mean, Mr. King?”

“I mean that we do not want the thing set up so there will be unfair suggestiveness,” King replied. “The whole case hinges
on identification. If the boy comes in and sees a traditional setup, defendants up front, et cetera, he’ll be tipped off as
to whom to pick…” He looked at Gardner. “Mr. Lawson may try to pull something. I move that my client be allowed to mingle
with the audience. I don’t want him isolated up front, sticking out like a sore thumb.”

“I ditto the request for my client,” Jacobs said.

“That sounds reasonable,” Judge Hanks replied. “What’s the state’s position?”

Gardner crossed his arms. He’d maneuvered well, but the defense had countered brilliantly. Maryland law allowed defendants
to hide in a crowd so that the witness could not assume that the person next to the lawyer was the one to choose. “Object,”
Gardner said weakly. There was no legal way to stop it.

“Overruled,” Judge Hanks said. “The procedure will be permitted.”

She was about to rise when King spoke again. “One more thing, Judge…”

Hanks settled down in her chair. “What?”

“I would like to substitute another person at the counsel table for my client.”

Gardner groaned inwardly. It was bad enough to move the defendant away. But to substitute another person doubled the chances
of a misidentification, especially if the substitute looked anything at all like the defendant himself. Again, the countermove
was deadly.

“I join that request,” Jacobs said.

Judge Hanks looked at Gardner. He was at a loss for words. Upon request, a look-alike
could
be seated at the counsel table prior to a witness’s entry into the courtroom. “Objection,” Gardner repeated.

“Overruled,” Hanks said. “Counsel will be permitted to scat nonparticipants at the counsel table. Now I want to meet the bailiff
and the sheriff in chambers to discuss the physical arrangements for tomorrow. We’ll need tables and folding chairs. I want
the place set up and ready for trial by nine
A.M
.… Court’s adjourned!”

King and Jacobs left the courtroom.

After they’d gone, Gardner slumped in his chair. “I think I screwed up,” he said to Jennifer. “Granville’s not going to be
able to do it. Not under these circumstances…”

Jennifer touched his arm. “Why don’t you wait then. You can still change the order of witnesses.”

“I could…” Gardner mumbled, “but—”

“Maybe Brownie will come through,” Jennifer interrupted. “He’s convinced he’s on the right track.”

“What track?” Gardner said, “He’s never clued us in as to what he’s looking for. Instead, he’s off to New York, and we’re
no closer on that end than we were before. And now we’re committed—”

“We?” Jennifer touched his chin and raised it.

“We. Me. Granville. This is the end of the line. He’s either going to do it, or he’s not. The more we wait, the worse it gets…”

It was 9:00
P.M
., and Gardner had tucked Granville in bed. The boy’s head peeked out of the fold in the sheet, and Gardner sat beside him.
He had on a pair of Space Raider pajamas, and his baseball glove lay on the night table. “Try to get some sleep,” the father
said.

“Not sleepy,” Granville replied grumpily. He had been told what was going to happen tomorrow, and he was scared and restless.

“Try closing your eyes,” Gardner said.

Granville kept them open.

“Don’t fight me, Gran.” Gardner needed him rested. A bleary look at the mixed-up courtroom would be disastrous. “You have
to go to sleep.”

There was no movement in the eye department. “Dad…”

“What, son?” Gardner could sense another “do I have to?” question.

“What’s gonna happen?”

Gardner smoothed the blond hair back from his son’s forehead. “You mean tomorrow?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I told you,” Gardner said softly. “We’re going to go out to Bowers Corner.”

Granville blinked.

“And we’re going inside…”

The eyes blinked again. then clamped shut.

“And Miss Jennifer is going to ask about the day when you got hurt…”

The eyes squeezed tighter.

“And if you remember anything… or if you recognize anything, or
anybody,
then you tell the judge. That’s it. I’ll be right there…”

Granville opened his eyes. “But what if I can’t…”

Gardner stroked his son’s head. “That’s okay. If you can’t, you can’t…”

“Will you be mad?”

Gardner peered down into Granville’s widened eyes. “No. Of course not. You do the best you can do. That’s all. I’m not gonna
be mad, no matter what.”

“But the bad guy,” Granville whispered. “Will he get away?”

Gardner’s pulse began to race. Granville had never said anything about a bad “guy” before. “What do you mean, Gran?”

The boy shut his eyes again. “If I don’t remember, then the judge can’t put the bad guy in jail.”

Was it a question or a statement? Gardner didn’t know, but the context was correct. If Granville could not make an ID, the
killer would walk. “Oh, no,” Gardner lied. “The judge is gonna hear from some other people. They’re gonna help too.”

“So why do I have to do it then?” Granville was back to the eternal why. The best question of all. If the bad guy was going
to be punished anyway, why did Granville have to go back to Bowers Corner?

“Because I want you to,” Gardner said. “You have to try to remember, so you can forget.” That was the clinical prescription.
Dredge it up. Get it out. And then forget it.

“Huh?” It was too advanced a concept for the boy.

“The bad dreams. The scared feelings you’ve had. Once you remember, they’ll all start to go away.”

“But…” Granville was still fighting it. “I’m still gonna be scared.”

“Maybe,” Gardner said, “but it won’t be as much. And slowly, it’ll all go away. And then you won’t be scared anymore.”

Granville closed his eyes again, and this time there was a more peaceful cast to his face.

“Ready to go to sleep?” Gardner asked.

“Can you tell me a story?” That was a sign that the answer was yes.

“I suppose so,” Gardner said. “Which one do you want?” There was a well-stocked arsenal to choose from.

“The ant,” Granville said.

“You mean the ant and the flower,” Gardner answered.

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay.” It was one of the boy’s favorites. “Once upon a time there was a little worker ant who lived in an ant colony in a
big, big garden. The ant’s name was—”

“Ralph,” Granville said. He was sinking deeper into his pillow now.

“Right,” Gardner said. “And Ralph the ant became attracted to a beautiful red flower that grew just above the entrance to
the colony. The flower’s name was—”

“Alice,” Granville whispered sleepily.

“Correct,” said Gardner. “Anyway, each day the ants went in and out of their ant hole, and only one ant stopped to speak to
Alice. ‘Good morning, Alice,’ Ralph would say. ‘Good morning, Ralph,’ Alice would answer. And this went on and on all summer…”

Granville was breathing heavily now.

“Well, there was a terrible drought. No rain for weeks. And Alice began to droop. She was thirsty. Sooo very thirsty…”

“So Ralph brought water,” Granville said. He was still listening.

“Right. Bucket after tiny bucket of water from an underground stream he brought. And finally Alice began to perk up—until
one day she was brighter than any other flower in the garden. This attracted the attention of the owner of the garden, a lonely
old woman who lived in the house. She came over to investigate this strange bright flower, and when she did, she found the
ants. ‘Oh my goodness,’ she exclaimed, ‘nasty little ants.’ She ran back to the house to get her ant poison, and when she
did, Alice began to cry. The old woman was going to hurt Ralph, the nice little ant who had saved her. She cried, and cried.
So hard and so much that she dried herself out. Now she looked as droopy as all the other flowers, and the old woman couldn’t
find her again. So……Gardner waited for Granville to say, “So Ralph and the ant colony were saved!” But he had gone over the
edge. Deeply, and peacefully, it appeared, asleep.

“And so Ralph saved the flower, and the flower saved Ralph,” Gardner said, “and they all lived happily forever after.” God.
if it could only he like that, Gardner thought as he kissed his son on the forehead and turned out the bedside light. Tomorrow
was Armageddon. The old woman was coming with the poison. And all the tears in the world couldn’t keep her away.

The night was over, and the day dawned warm. A crew of sheriff’s deputies and court clerks had worked around the clock to
convert Bowers Corner into a makeshift courtroom. Shelves were moved out, tables and chairs moved in. And by the time the
sun had found its way to the base of the ridge line, the job was complete. The scene was set, and all they needed now was
the players.

Gardner arrived at 8:30 to meet with the judge and review the deceptive manipulations of the defense attorneys. A crowd had
already gathered outside the gabled building when he got there. Word had spread through town as to what was to happen, and
there was a rush to queue up for a peek. The jurors were being held in a bus outside the store, but there was no hurry to
get them inside. Their seats were reserved.

Judge Hanks came in through the rear door and took her place at a desk on a raised platform that they’d rigged as a bench.
King, Jacobs, and their clients were already seated silently at the folding counsel table. Gardner nervously took up a position
on the prosecution side. He hadn’t slept a wink, and it showed. His face was puffy and his eyes were bloodshot.

“How do you propose to situate your clients?” Judge Hanks asked.

King and Jacobs stood up. “We have to bring in the spectators, Judge,” King said. “Then we can make the substitution.”

Gardner said nothing. The procedure was preordained. There was no way he could stop it.

“Very well,” Judge Hanks said, motioning to the bailiff at the door. “Bring in the public.”

There was a noisy commotion as the crowd entered and picked through the folding chairs that had been set up as a gallery.

“Mr. King?” Hanks turned to him for the next move.

“Please allow my client to be seated in the crowd,” he said, walking to the front, “and allow this person to take his place
at the counsel table.” King led a young man in the door and brought him toward the bench. He had dark unkempt hair, light
eyes, and was dressed in jeans and boots. His bare arms were emblazoned with tattoos.

Jesus, Gardner thought. A ringer from King’s gallery of rogue clients. There was no facial resemblance to Roscoe, but the
other characteristics were almost a perfect match. Gardner swallowed against the lump in his throat.

“Take a seat there,” Judge Hanks told the substitute. “And
you,”
she pointed to Roscoe, “you may he seated in the audience.”

Gardner tensed as Roscoe took a seat in the third row of the audience. By contrast, King had scrubbed him up, cut his hair,
and put him in a suit. He looked like a college student, here to learn the workings of the law.

“Mr. Jacobs?” It was the New Yorker’s turn to make a substitution, and his ringer was at least as effective as King’s. Another
clean-cut, pale-eyed, dark-haired man in his late teens or early twenties. Calm and poised. Dressed in a coat and tie. As
refined in appearance as Starke himself. He took his place next to Jacobs as Starke hid far back in the fourth row.

Gardner tried to calm himself, but he couldn’t slow his heart rate or stop the flow of perspiration. If Granville could even
come close to making an ID, it would be a miracle.

“Are we ready now, gentlemen?” Judge Hanks asked.

King and Jacobs checked the setup. Their clients were neatly camouflaged, and the decoys were in place. “Ready,” they said.

“Very well. Bring in the jury.” Judge Hanks made a few last-minute adjustments with her note pad and gavel, and the jurors
marched in and took their seats to the side of the witness stand. And then they were ready.

“Call your witness, Counsel,” Hanks told Gardner.

The prosecutor stood. “Call Gr… Granville Lawson to the stand.” He barely got it out.

The bailiff went outside. Jennifer and Granville had followed in the other car. Their orders were to wait until sent for.
Then they could come in.

A hush fell over the room as the door opened and Jennifer slowly entered, gently pulling Granville behind her by the hand.
The boy’s face was white, his eyes clearly frightened. He was dressed in his Sunday school best. Blue blazer. Gray pants.
White shirt and tie. He looked like a country gentleman. Gardner swallowed again. His heart felt like it was going to burst
out of his chest.

Somehow they made it up to the witness chair. Jennifer told him to raise his right hand.

“Do you swear or affirm under penalties of perjury that the testimony you are about to give is the truth, the whole truth,
and nothing but the truth?” the clerk asked.

Granville glanced at Jennifer, then at Gardner. Each gave him an encouraging “go ahead” with their eyes.

“Uh, yes,” Granville answered.

“Very well,” Hanks said. “Be seated, and state your name and address for the record.”

Granville sat down, but said nothing.

Jennifer walked over to the witness stand. She was wearing a red cotton suit and a string of pearls. As usual, she looked
both professional and beautiful at the same time. “What is your name?” she asked softly.

“Granville,” the boy replied.