Witch Ball (17 page)

He spoke at length on the "incomparable character of Coach Lewis Russell." He was an asset to the community, with ten years as a member of the board of the Historic Preservation Commission. He was a respected educator, much loved by collogues and students alike.

The District Attorney sounded like he was about to cry when he told how this man's life had been cut short
, in his prime, etc., etc. Oh my god! By the time he was finished listing the coach's assets, I was beginning to feel overwhelmingly sad about the loss of this wonderful man, even though I had never met him.             

His argument for a guilty verdict was that the defendant was the leader of a gang of delinquents. They had motive
—
that they hated the coach. They had opportunity
—
having been inside the victim's house on the night of the murder. Eric's fingerprints were found at the crime scene. And, they had a history of violence, as witnessed by the brutal mugging of Mr. Florenz Thomas, Mr. Trillian Bacakus, and Mr. Algonquin Sabine.

He walked to the jury box, staring intently into the eyes of first juror, then another, and another. "Ladies and gentlemen, I implore you to find this man guilty of murder in the second degree." His voice was so stern. If I had been a jury member, I would have voted any way he wanted.

"I rest my case."

That was a hard act to follow, to be sure. I felt sorry for Mr. Adams. Could he possibly save Eric? I had my doubts.

He took the floor and dropped his eyes before starting his defense. When he raised his head to face the jury, a strand of hair fell across one eye. I got the impression that Will Rogers was about to address the court.

"Ladies and gentleman," he began, "we have a young man on trial for murder, the very brutal murder of Lewis Russell. The District Attorney would have you believe that the victim was above reproach, a pillar of the community, a devoted husband. Yet he had abused members of the track team for years."

"I object!" The D. A. jumped up. "There is no proof of that!"

Judge Sanders said, "Strike that from the record."

I don't get how striking things from the record does any good at all; everyone has already heard it. 

Mr. Adams was not flustered. He went on about how Eric has never swayed in his testimony that the coach was dead when he and his "young friends" arrived. This was no gang, just three boys who had run track together,
hanging out on a Friday night.

He tried to debunk the evidence piece by piece. Yes, Eric's fingerprints were found at the scene; however, that was not incriminating since he had often visited the coach. The fingerprints of almost every boy on the team were also found at the crime scene.

As to the attack in the Huddle House parking lot, that was unfortunate, but certainly does not prove murder. "My client has confessed to that incident, and is deeply remorseful," he said in a quiet voice. "You understand that does not make him guilty of murder. Acquittal is the only verdict that makes sense."

In truth, I did not have a good indication as to how things would go. The expressions of the jury
members were unreadable.

Court was recessed so that the jury could deliberate.

"This could take a long time," Dad said. "We should just go home."

 

 

 

 

 

 

N
ext morning, the weather held a hint of autumn. It wasn't cool enough for a sweater or jacket, but the slight relief from oppressive heat gave me a small sense of optimism.

Mom and Dad and Fleur and I went downtown. We sat in Mr. Adams' office, across the street from the courthouse. Both Dad and Mr. Adams tried to warn us that this could take days.

"I am feeling a bit more positive this morning," Mr. Adams said. I wished he would elaborate, but that was all he shared with us.

The two men talked together about other cases, particularly ones that involved children. I was surprised at how interested Dad was in the lives of strangers. His years in the Court Clerk's office gave him a real understanding of the law. He made comments that impressed his friend, and suggestions about ways to approach some of the cases.

I didn't understand how they could be so calm. Mom flipped through the magazines in the office. Anyone could see that she was not really reading, or even letting the photographs register in her brain. Fleur stared out the window and I studied the pattern of the wallpaper. Around noon, I had counted over five hundred tiny gray stars between narrow blue stripes on the wall. The phone rang.

"This is it," Mr. Adams said when he put down the phone. We gathered up our purses and went to the courthouse.

The jury must have reached a verdict sooner than anyone expected. There were fewer seats filled today. Like Mr. Adams, everyone must have thought this would take much longer.

The families were there, of course, and about twenty reporters. All the media outlets were there too
—
newspapers and television. Some had come from as far as Starkville and Tupelo.

Judge Sanders entered. His face was flushed, like his blood pressure was raised. You would have thought he was the one on trial. When the clatter of voices died down, the judge asked for the jury's findings.

The foreman stood up and said, "In the case of Eric Alexander, on the charge of aggravated assault, we find the defendant guilty. On the charge of murder in the second degree, we find the defendant guilty."

Clementine let out a howl. She sounded like an injured animal. There was a lot of whispering and shuffling around. The judge banged his gavel twice. "Quiet!" he said.

Judge Sanders faced Eric and said, "Will the defendant rise." Eric and Mr. Adams stood next to each other.

From the back of the room came a sound that was unrecognizable as being human. It was a
screech, or a scream, or maybe a bark. Johnny D. stood up and stumbled over the knees and feet of the people in his row. He ran to the bench, just as two policemen grabbed his arms.

"
Your Honor," John shrieked. "That boy is innocent! I killed the bastard!"

The judged hammered the gavel so many times the courtroom sounded like a construction site. No matter. The room could not be quieted.

Johnny stood before the judge, head hung, sobbing. The officers on each side held him up.

Judge Sanders said to him, "Mr. Daigle, are you confessing to the murder of Lewis Russell?"

Now, his voice was scarcely audible. "Yes, Your Honor, I killed him."

It was all over. The judge gave Eric ninety days in jail for the assault on Fleur and her friends, then suspended the sentence and released him. Butch and Greg were released as well, with a future court date scheduled for their part in the aggravated assault. 

John Daigle was taken into custody.

There was so much commotion on the steps of the courthouse. Reporters vied for interviews. Everyone was talking and yelling at once.

I wanted to congratulate Eric but couldn't get near him. He was the center of a raging storm of well-wishers.

Mr. Adams gave a statement to the press. He came over to us and said, "This calls for a celebratory lunch. Do ya'll want to go to the Café on
Main?"

"No," Dad said, "they don't have a bar. Let's go to Zach
ary's."

"I'll get Eric, and Grandpa, and Clementine." I was wondering how I would get close to them, but I finally pushed my way through and dragged them to the place where the rest of us were standing.

Hunter Alexander was with them. Mom stepped behind me and Dad. Hunter dropped his eyes. He and Mom did not speak.

Gran
dpa's eyes met Mom's. "No, thank you," he said to the invitation. "I had better get Clem home. This has all been real hard on her."

"I need to be with my Maw Maw," Eric said. "Mr. Adams, thank you." He shook his lawyer's hand.

Clementine was crying. She hugged Mr. Adams, rubbing her wet cheek against his jacket.

My mom looked at her father. A crease formed between her brows. She stared at Clementine, then back at her father. They walked away together, with Eric and his father following.

"I will have to decline as well," said Fleur. "I need to lie down." Then she said to Mr. Adams, "I will call you in a few days. I want you to draw up a will for me."

"Well, it's just us chickens," said Mr. Adams.

Mom said nothing, but followed as we walked to the diner.

I still wasn't sure if I could eat. I ordered a
pulled pork sandwich. Dad let me take sips from his beer, which settled my stomach and my nerves.

Mom was silent, picking at her salad but not looking at the rest of us. That didn't matter, because the two men apparently had a great deal to say.

"You know, Tom," said Mr. Adams, "you have a real grasp of the law. Have you ever considered going to law school?"

"Ha! Don't you think I'm a bit old to start a new profession, especially one that involves so many years of study?"

"Maybe not," said the lawyer. "Lots of people start a second career later in life."

"You must be kidding. I would have to go to college first. Then law school. By the time I finished, I would be, I don't know, close to sixty."

"I thought you might say that." Dad's friend must have given this more that a little thought. "Have you considered being a CASA volunteer?"

"What's that?" I asked.

"They are regular people, appointed by judges to watch over and advocate for abused and neglected children. They go to court with the children, keep them from getting lost in the system." Mr. Adams certainly knew a lot about it.

"Yeah, I have heard of that program." Dad twisted his napkin, weaving it between his fingers.

"Of course, there is some training, but not years, like law school." He turned a book of matches over and over on the table. 

"I might think about it."

"Can we think about it later? I want to check on my aunt." Mom was disturbed. Maybe she didn't want Dad to have another career.

Dad had driven his own car, so Mom and I left to go to Fleur's house.

 

 

 

 

 

 

F
leur took a long time to come to the door. She had taken off her wig and had a silk scarf tied around her head like a turban. The scarf had wildly colored flowers and green leaves printed on it. All she needed was an arrangement of fake fruit hanging onto her forehead and she would have looked exactly like Chiquita Banana. I could tell she was tired by the way she
collapsed heavily onto her armchair, so I offered to make the tea.

"How are you feeling?" Mom put her arm around Fleur's shoulders, gave her a squeeze, before sitting on the sofa.

"Kay, I am much better." She didn't sound or appear better. "The important question is, how are you? I got the impression that this trial took as much out of you as anyone."

"I don't know. It was all so confusing." Mom stirred her tea slowly. "I just don't understand why Daddy was so attentive to Clementine, and to Eric. I can't get over the fact that Eric hurt you so badly, just can't forgive him. Yet, my daddy, your brother, acted like
they
were his family, that they needed his protection."

We were all
quiet. I remembered seeing Grandpa Hyrum and Clementine together at the river. After that, I had tried to ask Mom about their friendship. She did not seem to know anything about it. In fact, she acted as if I she didn't believe me.

Fleur got up from her chair and sat next to Mom on the sofa. "Kay, I think there are things that you need to know. It's not my place to tell you, but..."

She was interrupted by the ringing of the phone. "Truly, will you get that?"

"Aunt Fleur,
pleeeze
don't say anything 'til I come back."

She nodded.

I went to answer the extension in the kitchen. When I picked up the receiver, a deep voice said, "This is Judge Sanders, may I speak to Florenz, please?"

I ran into the living room to tell her. She went into the kitchen and seemed to be there forever.

When she came out her skin was drained of color. "That was the original Jimmy-James." She looked at Mom and said, "There is so much that you do not know. I just couldn't tell you. I phoned Hyrum. He will be here soon."

I went back into the kitchen and put the pot on again. Five or six witch balls hung in the window, glistening in the late afternoon sunlight. Through her back window I could see Michael
-Ray's grave. Grass now covered the raw earth where we had buried him last summer. An ivy vine had begun to twist around the cherub figurine. It looked like it was trying to embrace the little angel so it wouldn't fly away.

Gran
dpa Hyrum came within minutes. I think we were all surprised to see Clementine and Eric with him.

"I had a strange call from the judge," Fleur said. "He and I were friends long ago."

Grandpa snorted.

"He said some very personal things to me, things that made me feel better than I've felt in a very long time. But, there was something else, something you should all hear."

We waited for her to continue. I picked up my mom's hand and held it tightly. Although I had started to figure out a lot of what was going on, I was pretty sure that she was still unaware of some of her family's secrets.

"James felt that he owed me a debt. He told me that he would never have given Eric life
—
or even very many years in prison—because of his relation to me."

Grandpa rose from his chair. "Sit down, Hyrum," Fleur said. "Do you want to tell your daughter? Please do not make me do it."

"I ain't got nothin' to say."
He plopped down without protesting again.

"Have it your way. Kay, your father and Clementine have been lovers for years. Ruby was your half-sister. That means that Eric is your
nephew, and my great-nephew as well."