At 8:30 AM, two uniformed officers came to Andrew's cell and unlocked the door.
"Okay, tough guy...time for your day in court," one said, entering the cell, yanking Andrew's arms roughly behind his back, then slapping a pair of handcuffs on his wrists.
"May I take my jacket off?" Andrew ventured softly.
"What's the matter, kid? Does the sight of the blood of your victim bother you? A child-killer like you?" the older officer, still outside the cell, scoffed. "I think we'll just let you wear it. You know...like that red letter "A" the lady wore in that old book..."
"The Scarlet Letter," the officer now moving Andrew unceremoniously out of the cell supplied.
The older officer snorted. "Since when did you go literary on me, Kowalski?"
The younger officer shrugged, as they closed the cell door and pushed Andrew down the holding cell aisle. "I just remember it from Senior English in high," he replied.
They walked past the admitting desk, then out to the parking area, where they put Andrew into a squad car. It was a fifteen-minute drive from the precinct station to the county court house. Andrew's mind was reeling with pain from his headache and the confusion he continued to feel. SURELY, he thought again, there IS some reason for this! But, it was getting harder and harder for him to hang onto that belief.
The courthouse interior was decorated in dark woods and maroon draperies. The judge's bench was of a heavy walnut wood, and behind it was the state flag and the flag of the country. Thick chords of maroon silk, ending in golden tassels, hung to the sides of the draperies, and the jury box...off to the judge's left side, was of a like-colored wood, with 12 uncomfortable-looking wood chairs inside.
Andrew was taken to one of two tables reserved for the defendant and the prosecution. His table would be to the right of the judge, as he sat at the bench.
Already, the counselor for the prosecution, and his assistant, had arrived. He sat at his seat, shuffling through his papers, and cast Andrew a quick glance as the officers walked him over to the opposite table. The younger assistant also looked at Andrew, but for a longer time, his eyes seeming to take the measure of this man accused of murdering a child. More years of experience would take away his curiosity, but, for now, he wanted to assess this criminal visually.
The elder of the two officers removed Andrew's handcuffs and pushed him down into the chair reserved for the defendant. They took seats directly behind him. Andrew worked his way out of the soiled suit jacket, letting it fall around the back of his chair. He then took stock of the courtroom, his eyes searching for a familiar face: for Tess, Monica...for anyone who might be there for him. There was no one. Still, he was alone in his ordeal.
In the back of his mind, in a dark and fuzzy corner he could not bring to clarity, as hard as he tried, Andrew knew that he HAD seen Elsie's murderer, yet he could recall nothing of the face, sex, or age of the killer. He could hardly tell Carla that he SAW the murderer, when he could offer not a single descriptive clue.
WHY had he forgotten this, he wondered. He reasoned that it was probably due to the fact that he was now a mortal, and that the trauma of the incident, the shock of becoming human, and his sudden feeling that God had - for what ever reason - forsaken him, had caused his human memory recall to be abolished. Remembering ANYTHING of the killer could be enough to make a case for him. Yet, he remained unable to do so.
The court bailiff entered, taking his place beside the judge's bench. Next came the court recorder, and took a seat at her steno-machine, smoothing her skirt carefully over her legs, making certain that she was appropriately covered.
Andrew became aware of someone coming up beside him at the large desk, and he looked to see Carla Leigh carefully placing her coat over the back of her chair, and her briefcase on the table. Looking over, Ms. Leigh saw Andrew looking at her. She slipped into her chair, and unzipped her case.
"Anything you want to tell me, Mr. Doe?" she asked, glancing casually at the paperwork she pulled from the briefcase.
He shook his head, a forelock of blond hair falling casually over his forehead. "Nothing that we haven't already covered."
Sighing, Carla replied, "Then, I have to tell you, I don't think we have a chance to have the charges dropped."
"If that's God's will," Andrew said.
Carla looked at him, her dark eyes snapping with annoyance. "You think that God wants you to be arraigned and forced to stand trial on the charge of first degree murder? Is that the reason that you refuse to defend yourself, or to help ME defend you?"
Andrew hesitated. In the position he was in, he knew that telling the counselor he was an angel...or, at least used to be...was not in his best interest. Choosing his words carefully, he replied, "I believe that God's will is done in the vast scheme of things, and in a person's life. Yes, we have free will, but I don't believe that free will can change the course of God's plan, in the long run."
Carla rolled her eyes, and sat back in her chair. "A religious fanatic," she scoffed. She then looked back at Andrew. "Look, Mr. Doe...I'd keep all of that religious malarkey to yourself." She advised. "You're already on thin enough ice. For an alleged child-killer to start spouting stuff about God and free will...well, it just won't play well in this setting. Trust me!"
Andrew fixed her with his haunting eyes and said, "Excuse me for contradicting you, Counselor, but I think that God 'plays' in any setting."
Carla had nothing to come back with. There was something unsettling, disturbing about this man. There seemed to be nothing of a violent, sociopathic or psychopathic nature about him. His words all rang true and sincere, and he was certainly not overtly violent...he seemed actually gentle. That he could have cold-bloodedly killed a little girl was almost incomprehensible. Just looking into his eyes aroused a feeling of sadness and pathos inside of Carla, that she wasn't used to experiencing. She just couldn't seem to get a bead on John Doe, and that was truly bothering her.
"I don't even know how to plead you, Mr. Doe!" she then said.
"I'm not guilty, " he told her emphatically.
"Shaking her head, Carla said, "I think we might have a chance of getting a lesser charge if we plead guilty. The trial would go directly to sentencing, and you might get 20 years...tops. You'd be out in 10 to 15. If you plead 'not guilty', this will go to trail and you don't have a chance in a million of getting off. You might even get the death penalty!"
"I didn't do it, Ms. Leigh," Andrew said again, "and I won't stand up in this court of law and lie -- under an oath to God -- to get a lesser sentence. I won't...I can't!"
"You're determined to lose then?" she challenged.
"I put my trust and my fate in the hands of my Father," Andrew replied softly, but firmly.
A few observers filed into the courtroom, taking seats. The bailiff then called, "All please rise! This is Superior Court 563, the Honorable Judge Moira Kerry presiding."
The door just behind the bench opened, and in walked a tall, blacked-robed woman, in her mid fifties, with fire-red haired twisted on top of her head. She took a seat behind the bench, glancing at the pile of folders in front of her.
"All be seated," the bailiff instructed those present.
The judge had finished her perusal of the case files, and said, "I have before me case #3488...in the matter of the State of Maine vs. John Doe. Will the counsel for the defense and the counsel for the prosecution please stand."
The prosecutor and Carla rose to their feet.
"Please have your client stand as well, Ms. Leigh," the judge added, and Andrew rose and faced the bench.
"Mr. Doe, you are accused of having killed the female child, one Elsie Marshall. How do you plead?" The judge looked at Andrew without discernable expression.
Ignoring the urgent, pleading glance from Carla, Andrew said, "I plead not guilty, Your Honor."
The judge frowned and looked at Carla. "Counselor, did you discuss your client's plea before trial?" she queried.
Carla nodded. "Yes, Your Honor."
"Very well," the judge replied. She then looked at the attorney for the prosecution. "Counselor, please present your case for the prosecution."
****************************
The prosecuting attorney called Sergeant O'Neil and the two arresting officers to the stand. They give their testimony about their findings upon arriving at the crime scene, and the testimony was straightforward and damning. They had interrogated Andrew at the precinct, the night of his arrest, and he had given them the same answers as he had provided Carla Leigh with the morning after. They had taken this as lack of cooperation, lies and evasions. The judge then heard the testimony of the ballistics expert, who swore that the weapon found in Andrew's hand was the gun that had murdered Elsie Marshall, and the forensics expert, who identified the blood found on John Doe belonged to Elsie Marshall. Carla had nothing, but the word of her client, to contest what the officers said on the stand, and that turned out to be, as she had thought, not sufficient.
The judge ordered Andrew to be moved to the county jail, and held over for trial...without bail.
Almost immediately, county Sheriff's officers moved to take charge of Andrew. They not only handcuffed him, but also shackled his ankles.
Carla Leigh stood and watched as the man with the sad and gentle eyes was dragged out the side door to the Sheriff's van, waiting outside the building to transport the prisoner to the county jail. She felt strangely helpless, and surprisingly emotional. The evidence pointed to the fact that John Doe had, indeed, committed the murder of Elsie Marshall, yet, so far, all the evidence was circumstantial...no one had seen John Doe pull the trigger!
As Andrew was taken to the waiting van, the group passed a mother with her young child - an eight-year-old girl named Lisa Sumner - who looked at Andrew with eyes wide and disbelieving.
"Mommy!" she cried pointing to Andrew. "Where are those men taking that angel?"
The mother looked at her daughter in surprise, then endeavored to take her away from the procession, as she replied, "What are you talking about, Lisa? That is a bad man, and they are taking him away to jail. He's not an angel!"
"Yes he is, mommy!" the girl protested. "His name is Andrew. He came to me that day I almost drown in the swimming pool at Auntie Helen's house. When I opened my eyes, the firemen were standing over me, and so was that man! He told me not to worry, and that he was an angel, sent by God, to watch over me. When I looked at him...I wasn't afraid any more."
"Lisa!" her mother scoffed. "For heaven's sake!"
"It's TRUE, Mommy!" the girl argued. "He was all glowy-like, and he leaned over and kissed me...right here..." she pointed to her cheek. "I felt warm and happy. I wanted to go with him, but he told me that I had a long time to live, and that I would see him again one day."
"Sweetie, you were in shock...you were not thinking straight, or seeing straight. You just imagined..."
"No, Mommy! I SAW him. That's Andrew, and he's an angel, and I don't know why those men are taking him to jail!"
Losing her patience totally, the mother grabbed her daughter's wrist, and pulled her towards their car. "That is quite enough of that foolishness," she said emphatically. "That man is NOT an angel, and I think I've heard enough of your stories for one day."
"But..."
The mother opened the car door, and guided her protesting daughter inside. "That's all I want to hear about this, missy! Your imagination is out of control!"
The door was closed and Lisa fastened her seatbelt, tears pooling in her blue eyes. "I know it was you, Andrew," she whispered softly. "I love you, and I'll pray for you."
