A huge thank you to Lilith and Ficfangirl. They make this story so much better. All errors are mine. Can't stop the nitpicking.
Thank you taking the time to read, review and PM me. Almost all of the characters are in place and then connections will be made.
~ J *+* D ~
"Every man is surrounded by a neighborhood of voluntary spies."
~ Jane Austen ~
Chapter 8
Up to and after Edward Masen's trial
Esme
During the months leading up to the trial our life changed dramatically. Carlisle spent his time sending out letters of introductions to hospitals from California to Maine, Washington to Florida and all major cities in between. Many responded positively, but nothing could be cemented until the trial was over. I tried to continue my normal daily routines. But, once Carlisle's termination from the hospital and his determination to testify on behalf of Mr. Masen was known, everything took a turn for the worst.
Simple acts such as shopping at the grocers became a nightmare. Couples with whom we previously socialized snubbed me. One gentleman became so belligerent by Carlisle's audacity to defend a murderer that he actually confronted me. "What's wrong with Carlisle? He not only helps the infirm, but now he feels the need to help criminals? Is he trying for some form of sainthood? You'd better tell him to watch his back, is all I'm saying." The truth of the matter was, at least he was honest. He spoke his mind, while others spoke with actions.
My work with various charitable foundations soon came to an end. At first, I was merely ostracized. This I could handle as long as people were benefiting from my presence. But, when meetings were persistently interrupted by catty remarks and vicious slurs on my character and Carlisle's, it soon became apparent that nothing was to be gained from my continued support.
What had me at my wits end though, were the anonymous letters with death threats. Unbeknownst to Carlisle, I started carrying a small pistol in my handbag. I hid the letters from him knowing he would protect me first and foremost, to the detriment of Mr. Masen.
I had weekly meetings with Rose. Carlisle assumed I was still attending my charity meetings. Instead, I would present her with the new letters in the hopes she could ferret out the sender. She also informed me of Mr. Uley's request for permission from Judge Banner to view Mr. Masen's cassock for possible new evidence. A day later, a letter was received from the judge stating that the cassock was somehow misplaced. As soon as it was found, he would ensure Mr. Uley was given the opportunity to see it. Both she and Mr. Uley were furious. I didn't have the heart to tell Carlisle.
Two days before the trial a small box was left on our front porch. I was instantly suspicious. It didn't feel right. I picked it up and slowly lifted the lid only to slam it down again. Inside were two dead rats, which I immediately threw away in the rubbish can.
The morning Carlisle was set to testify, he found two black roses wrapped in newspaper sitting on the front porch. I walked out of the front door only to come to a standstill. I knew some Victorians considered it a symbol of death. From Carlisle's furious expression, I knew he understood the meaning as he glared at the offending flowers he held in his hand. His features soon changed to that of horror and his complexion turned ashen as he seemed to have worked out an answer to his own question. "How long?" he whispers. When I didn't answer him right away he became incredibly agitated as he spit out, "How long has this been going on, Esme?"
I close my eyes and clench my fists tightly as I try to keep my frustration and tears at bay. After all this time spent protecting him from the vile letters and personal threats, this had to happen right before his day in court. "How long, Esme?" he snaps again.
And even though I try to withhold the words I've kept inside for so long, it's just no use as they yearn to be set free. When I open my eyes, I glare at him and the words escape in a fit of anger, "How long has what been going on, Carlisle? The letters with death threats? The dead rats? The snubbing by our friends or the smear campaign? How long do you think it's been going on?" I retort, lashing out at him because I tried so hard to keep the scare tactics away from him and it was all for naught.
Carlisle's anxiety is slowly and visibly replaced with fear and sadness. "I didn't know," he whispers, speaking more to himself as my words settle in. Shaking his head, he looks lost as he asks, "Why would you keep this from me? I had a right to know."
"What would you have done, Carlisle? What would you have said? 'I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Masen, but I won't be testifying on your behalf. Your life is not near as important as my own or my own peace of mind.' Or would you have said, 'Esme, let's leave now. Let's run and let the ignorant fools with their threats win.' Really, Carlisle, tell me what you would have done." My sarcasm is riding high as I take in huge gulps of air, trying to calm down.
After a few moments, Carlisle shakes his head in defeat. "No, I wouldn't have done anything differently in regards to Mr. Masen." His eyes are misty when he lifts them to mine. "But, I could have been there for you, to help ease your troubles." In a rare bout of rage, he balls up the roses in the newspaper and throws them over the side of the porch railing. He walks over to me and wraps me in a tight embrace as he whispers in my ear, "Esme, my brave, strong, beautiful girl. My love, I should have known. Thank you, but don't ever keep me in the dark again."
"Then you should know one more detail," I mumble into his chest. He pulls away slightly so he can look at me. "Mr. Masen's cassock has vanished and Mr. Uley and Rose can't use the button or material as evidence," I sniff.
Carlisle's eyes flash fire and then he pulls me back into his arms, this time for me to comfort him.
~ J *+* D ~
By the time Carlisle completed his testimony and was dismissed from the witness stand, I was seething. When he came and sat by me in the gallery, he took my hand and I could feel the tension shaking through his body. Both of us were ready to erupt at the prosecutor's callous disregard of his observations and conclusions. I know he's angry with the twisting of his testimony about Miss Mallory's last words. He's irritated at the hospital for their dismissal of his opinion and position. He's livid at himself for letting Mr. Masen down.
Once court recessed for the day we made our way out of the courthouse. People line the streets as they have for days since the trial began. However, today is different. Many yell at us. Some even throw rotted fruit and vegetables. Suddenly, we are surrounded by officers who shield us as we make our way to our vehicle. One insolent constable suggests, "You've done enough now to possibly allow a vile man his freedom. I won't be around next time to give you safe passage. I'll just let the crowd have a go at you." Then he and two others walk away laughing.
Two remain, while one speaks, "Not everyone agrees with him. Personally, I think Mr. Masen is being railroaded. Why? I have no clue. But I don't think he did it." Then he tips his hat and both walk away. It seems the city is divided.
~ J *+* D ~
Neither of us get any sleep, but we're determined that we won't let the crowd bully us into not appearing for the closing arguments. We need to show a united front. We're strong in our beliefs and the crowd be damned. We watch the jurors intently as we listen to both sides try to sway the jurors in their favor with their words. In my opinion, Mr. Uley and Rose presented a strong case. I'm pleased the jurors are taking the case seriously. I feel they are leaning toward the defense. Some even slightly smiled at Mr. Uley towards the end.
The last minute surprise of the Judge allowing a lesser charge has me confused. Carlisle immediately stiffens in his seat. I watch Mr. Uley's face change from satisfied to incredulous disbelief. Rose looks hostile, with her brow furrowed as if wondering if the judge can do this. Apparently, he can, seems to be Mr. Uley's silent answer. The jurors' self-assured attitude has diminished. Once again the court is recessed, this time to wait for the jury's verdict.
We arrive at the courthouse one last time. Sleep again eluded us, but it wasn't in fear of the crowds. It was from the anxiety of awaiting Mr. Masen's fate. Carlisle explained to me the meaning of the addendum to the original charges. Rage once again ran rampant through both of us. I have never believed in a man's innocence as much as I believed in that of Mr. Edward Masen. The jury looked dejected and miserable when they re-entered the courtroom. Dread coiled in my stomach. Part of the tension was released when he was found not guilty of first degree murder. I held my breath when the second charge was read. When the verdict was revealed, tears sprang to my eyes as I quietly wept for the young priest. But, when the judge spoke of sending him to Alabama as part of the convict lease program my spine stiffened and I felt the fury consuming me again. I prayed for him, and silently vowed, then and there, that if I ever got a chance to help that young man, I would.
When Carlisle and I leave the courtroom, the crowd is jubilant. I vaguely hear the noise and the threats. Once we return home, we are still in shock and remain silent, lost in our own thoughts.
Finally, I break the silence. "Carlisle, I don't know why, but I think for right now, I'd really like to go home to the Platt Plantation. I know you have offers out West, but I would really just like to be back in Alabama."
"Well, I think I do know why you want to go there. It's probably for the same reasons I want to also. We need to leave this place. We'll only pack what we need for the time being," he murmurs. Then his mood changes lightning quick, as he smiles. "Let's go. Maybe Rose and Mr. Uley will find a way to free him and he'll need a place to recover from this ordeal away from here. We'll tell Rose where the plantation is located and she can even stay there if or when she comes to visit with Mr. Masen." Then he reaches for my hand, kisses it gently and pulls me into his warm, comforting embrace.
~ J *+* D ~
"Remember upon the conduct of each depends the fate of all."
~ Alexander the Great ~
After the trial of Edward Masen
Sam
I'm sitting alone in the empty courtroom trying to come to terms with the outcome of today's debacle. I was outraged yesterday when Banner added the lesser charge for the jury to consider. Banner and I had always had a good working relationship. Granted, I had never tried a murder case before, but I know deep in my soul, Edward Masen would have been set free. I'm positive of it. There wasn't enough evidence to convict him of murder. Evidence. I snort into the silent room and it echoes off the walls. It's very convenient how his cassock vanished. I know we would not have found a match to the material or button. Even without confirming the lack of damage to the lost article of clothing, this case was still won.
What really bothers me is Banner's failure to tell us of the lesser charge prior to closing arguments. I could have worked it in as part of my speech. But, I wasn't given the opportunity. Last night I reviewed case after case where a judge took this action. In those cases, it didn't really change the outcome of the case. It just lightened the sentence. This was different. This was a murder case where it mattered if an innocent man received the death sentence or if he was set free. It was a black and white case. It was crystal clear until Judge Banner muddied it himself.
Today, when the verdict was read, I knew the outcome before I heard it and I was livid. The body language of the jurors was not subtle. Most were uncomfortable and I can understand why. It's not just the idea of a priest accused of a murder. It was as if Judge Banner himself had decided to play God with this young man's life, which made them uncomfortable. He knew the jury wouldn't convict on the more severe charge. He steam rolled them into making the decision he desired. But why? What does he gain?
I mentally list the multiple reasons which instantly come to mind. One, Banner is up for re-election. Maybe he feels it will give him leverage if he puts away a murderer, a priest no less, showing his constituents he means business. Proving the point of no one being above the law. Two, Banner was paid off or owed a favor to someone. But here again, who would pay him off or who would he be protecting? Three, he was well informed about the need for inmates in Alabama. I know for a fact that judges earn a 'finder's fee' from the state for sending inmates their way. How much could he have received to warrant him sending an innocent man to jail? What is his price?
What bothers me the most, were the jurors. Only one seemed upset about not finding Mr. Masen guilty of first degree murder, but was satisfied with the lesser conviction. Rose had pointed him out to me. She told me he nodded to Banner upon entry into the courtroom. Had he informed Banner the jury wouldn't convict on the greater charge? If so, was Banner protecting him or did Banner put him in the jury box so he would know which way the jury was leaning and could take the appropriate action to get a guilty verdict to a charge which would lead to a prison sentence? We need to get his name and investigate his possible connections to the judge.
Edward was exhausted when he entered the courtroom. When he passed out after hearing his fate, I wanted to leap across the desk and pummel Banner as he laughed out loud at Edward's unconscious form sprawled on the table.
I remember glancing over at Rose who was trying to offer comfort to Edward when he was revived. She promised him we wouldn't give up on his case and would appeal his sentence as he was being led back to his jail cell. It's a promise I completely agree with. She left, disgusted with Banner and needing to reorganize her thoughts. I will lay odds she is already trying to figure out who the juror was. She is tenacious and won't let this rest.
I silently vow to the empty walls of the courtroom, we will figure out who the master manipulator is. Banner be warned, you will see your own judgment day.
~ J *+* D ~
"I love the name of honor, more than I fear death."
~ Julius Caesar ~
After the trial of Edward Masen
Charlie
I never thought I would admit it to myself, but the simple truth is, I've become disillusioned. The corruption I've witnessed in the past seventeen years on the force was surpassed today. My desire to right wrongs and keep the peace was nothing more than a fanciful dream.
When I first enlisted, I assumed there would be moments when I would have to face the possibility of losing my life. I wasn't naïve enough to think there wouldn't come a time when I would be facing the wrong side of a gun or getting caught in the cross fire of a shootout. In my youth induced 'I'm immortal' haze, I may have even welcomed it. If you stood on the side of right and might, no harm would come to you.
I knew life and death situations came with the territory. It was a given. The first eight years were spent settling disputes in every imaginable situation. Since officers didn't earn a salary, we were paid by services rendered. The number of citations issued. The number of papers served. The number of arrests made for everything from disturbing the peace to capturing those with bench warrants. It wasn't a well-paying job by any stretch of the imagination. However, some rewards are priceless. The joy received from a little girl's hug after her kitten is rescued, from reuniting a lost child with his or her parents, to saving a life. It's those moments which made wearing a badge worth the effort and low pay.
What I never expected was my inauguration into the seamier side of law enforcement. This happened when I was partnered with Felix. Even thinking his name sets my teeth on edge. His territory was on the outskirts of Houston in the low rent district. He had recently lost his partner when a habitual thug decided it would be interesting to watch an officer dance to the bullets of his gun – aimed at his feet. Until he took a potshot at the officer's head when the thug tired of the entertainment. At least, this was what was written in Felix's report after he shot the thug.
Felix had been on the force for fifteen years, so who was I to question the validity of his words? It wasn't until I had been working the streets with him for nine months that I started to see things differently. It had started easily enough. Felix would go into various shops, bars and such, asking me to wait outside while he went in to ensure all was well. He would say that two officers entering a business tends to make the customers nervous. Again, I can't believe how naïve I was.
One particular evening close to midnight, a man came racing out of a bar with blood on his face. He took one look at me in uniform and sped away even faster. My knee jerk reaction was to chase him down the street, which I did for two blocks until he cut in between two apartment buildings. He heaved himself over a fence and landed badly on an ankle. I was over the fence and straddling his body within seconds.
"Please, please don't hurt me. I promise, I'll have the money tomorrow. You don't need to harm my family. I beg you. Please, don't hurt my family," he mumbled through his swollen lips, fear evident in his eyes. Momentarily stunned, I then hear the sound of pounding footsteps nearing from the other side of the fence. The man's terror heightens tenfold and he begins to speak again. I cover his mouth with one hand and lift my other in a sign to stay quiet. The footsteps follow along the fence line and, at one point, I can see Felix's head over the top searching in the distance for someone. Luckily, we can't be seen up against the fence in the shadows.
When I'm sure Felix has left the area, I release my hand from the man's mouth. "Who do you owe money to?" I sharply whisper, not sure if Felix was looking for me or this man.
"Constable Batista. Each month he comes into my bar and I pay him $200 for keeping my place safe," he murmurs as he looks at me like I'm crazy and don't already know this.
"Safe? Safe from what?" I question, because he was just not making sense.
"Safe from him," he huffs. Now he looks at me with contempt. "If I don't pay him, he will come in and bust up my place. He's done it before when I've been late. But, he's never threatened my family before. Tonight, I told him to go ahead and bust up the place. I don't have the funds right now. I have to feed my wife and kids," he chokes up when he speaks of them. "He told me he would give me a little taste of what he would do to my family." He points to his battered face.
I'm at a loss. I think back to the many months I've been paired with Felix and our routine during that time. Our routine has been to make our way through various establishments on different days or nights. I always noticed how people were deferential to him, but I chalked it up to being appreciative of him keeping the neighborhood free of crime.
I'm still sitting on his chest when he mumbles, "I can't breathe." I immediately lift myself off him and shift to lean against the fence.
"Does he do this to other shop keepers?" It's unfathomable to me that an officer of the law could do this.
The man looks at me and snorts, then he quickly lowers his eyes in apology. He nods his head. "Yeah, every business owner I know on this side of town pays him off."
My mind is chaotic as I remember all the places he goes to each day. He visits at least three establishments a day while I stay outside. If he's extorting money from each of them, then he is raking in the dough. I start doing the math. Fifteen in one week. That's sixty potential businesses he's extorting money from each month. If all are paying $200 for "safe keeping," that's $12,000 a month. Close to $150,000 a year. I'm stunned by the racket he has going for himself. Then my mind deviates and I wonder what he'd do if he found out I knew. I remember his last partner was killed by a street thug, but did it really happen that way?
The man still hasn't changed his prone position, as he seems to be watching my features not knowing what he might be in for next. He grabs his courage and states, "You didn't know, did you?" I can only shake my head, no. He's quiet for a few more moments, "Are you going to tell him I told you?" Fear again rearing its ugly head in his features.
"No. No, I'm not. I'll tell him I saw you run, but you were over the fence and I couldn't find you," I promise. Then I go for broke and ask the question I'm not sure I want to know the answer to, "Can you tell me, do you know what happened to his last partner?"
"Word on the street is, Batista hired a homeless man to do the job. The man bragged how he received $100 up front and would soon be collecting $900 more. Then his partner, Aro, was killed and so was the homeless man. Anyone could have told him that Batista wouldn't part easily with his money. He holds it too close to his chest," he answers, as he finally sits up. His words ring true. My mind is spinning in all directions. What do I do? I can't confront Felix. I might end up like Aro. How did an officer of the law become so corrupt? Was it wide spread and I never realized it? The man moves again and I focus on him. What will happen to him and his family? He's already tried to run. Does Felix know where he lives? My eyes widen at the thought.
"What's your name? Does Felix, I mean Constable Batista, know where you live? How long did he give you to pay him?" My questions fly out of my mouth faster than bullets from my six shooter.
"The name's Liam. I have until tomorrow to pay him. He'll be back at the bar early in the evening. If I'm not there, he will come to my house. He knows where we all live. That's part of his demands to keep us on the up and up," he sighs. "I don't have the money." I can hear the fear in his voice.
"My name's Charlie Swan. You can be assured I won't tell him what you've told me. But, if you don't have the money, you need to get out of here tonight. I know he has other friends on the force and there's no telling if they might be into the same racket. You need to get home, pack only what you can carry and get out of town, quickly," I suggest, as I try to come up with a plausible excuse why I've been missing for so long.
"We don't have anywhere to go. I have very little money stashed away at home. I could rent a motel for maybe a week and then what? Live out of my truck with my family!" He's becoming more distraught by the minute.
"Calm down. I have a house on the coast in a small fishing village. It's large enough for a small family. You can stay there. I only go down there once every couple of months or so to make sure all is right," I offer. What I don't tell him is that I haven't the heart to sell the place. It's still decorated the way Renee left it. I still keep hoping that someday a miracle will occur and somehow I'll see her there again, happy like she was in the early days of our marriage. My heart aches when I think of her and Bella. Here in Houston, I live in a studio apartment. I only need a place to sleep and bathe. The worst part is, for the first time, I feel as if I should never have taken this job.
I end up giving Liam the directions to the beach house and tell him where a key is hidden. As I watch him limp away, his actions give me an idea. I hoist myself back up and over the fence and purposely sprain my ankle. I eventually limp my way back to Liam's bar to find a anxious Felix pacing the sidewalk.
When he spots me, he shouts, "What the hell happened to you. I've been waiting here for half an hour and was about ready to send out a search party."
As I get closer, my limp almost feels natural. "Some guy ran out of the bar like the hounds of hell were after him. I yelled for him to stop, but he kept going. I chased him down about four blocks and then over a fence. I landed wrong and it took me a while to go around the fence to get back here," I spoke as if I was tired and in a bit of pain while exaggerating how far I actually ran. "Not my finest moment." I tried to laugh it off, to convince him it was no big deal.
"So, you never caught the guy." Felix has an edge to his voice.
"No, as soon as I landed, I knew he won the race." I give a self-deprecating shrug. "Do you know who he was?"
"Just some clown trying to start a brawl. He got hit a few times and then high tailed it out of here." Felix grins, enjoying himself. I laugh with him as if it's a great joke.
"I think it's time I call it a night. I need to rest my ankle. You okay here by yourself or are you heading in, too?" Our shift is almost over, so I hope his little protection scheme is done for the night.
He smiles as he agrees it's time to call it a day. We return to the station and he offers to drive me home. I decline as politely as possible. I want to have my own vehicle nearby. Even though I don't think he can see me, I continue my charade of gritting my teeth in pain as I shift gears and even moan a few times as I'm driving. He's following behind me for a few blocks until he finally turns right. The hairs on the back of my neck are still standing on end. I'm not sure he believed me, so when I finally arrive at my studio, I make a big production of limping harder and cussing a bit as I slowly make my way up the stairs.
I hear footsteps down below as I'm midway up. I know he's here watching from the shadows. I feel it. I arrive at my door and limp my way in, shutting the door and move to the lamp. Turning it on, I make my way over to sit on my bed, slowly moving my ankle up and pulling a pillow over to prop it up. My window has been open all day and eventually I hear footsteps walking away and an automobile engine start. I still don't move. Felix is a smart man. Whether he believed my story or not, I was not taking any chances. Now I need to figure out what to do.
Eventually, I told a trusted superior my story. An undercover operation was set in motion and it took ten months to bring him down. I was still his partner during that time so none of the business owners could finger me as the one who helped bring him to justice. However, Felix tried to pin the whole operation on me, until it was learned he had been working these people over for five years. They raided his home and found one bedroom filled with nothing but safes. Once they were all opened, over half a million dollars was tallied. The shop owners demanded restitution and the funds were divvied up. A few were brave enough to hire a lawyer and tried to sue for more. I didn't pay attention to how that played out.
Liam was the only victim who knew what I did. A more appreciative man, I have never met. He and his family were able to return to their home safely. His bar had been trashed by Felix so it took time for him to repair the damage. He asked me to attend his reopening and I did. He led me to a booth and set down a mug of ale. I picked it up, ready to toast his good fortune, when I noticed the initials CS were inscribed on the glass. I looked up at Liam and he grinned. "That's your glass, Charlie. You can leave it here or take it with you. But as long as my family owns this place, it will always be filled for free. It's the least we can do for what you gave back to us. Thank you."
~ J *+* D ~
These years after Felix's conviction opened my eyes as never before. Gone was the allure I had initially held for the job. In its stead, the fascination was replaced with disgust and intolerance for the corruption which ran rampant throughout the force. I've seen firsthand a man wearing a badge use unnecessary force when arresting a felon, for the sheer pleasure of watching him suffer. I've seen them use prostitutes for their personal gratification without payment. But this last week, when I witnessed an innocent man, a young priest no less, sent to prison was the straw that broke the camel's back.
One of the conditions required of those on the force is the need to sit on a jury at least twice a year. The premise is for officers to fully understand the legal process to completion. It also reminds us of the need to be diligent in getting the information correct the first time. I've always enjoyed my time in the jury box. Watching the two opposing lawyers spar with each other using words instead of boxing gloves. Most times, both sides give compelling reasons why their client was or wasn't at fault or owed compensation for whatever necessitated a trial in the first place.
When my time rolled around for box duty, I learned it was for the trial in the death of Miss Mallory. I have to admit from the onset, guilty was weighing heavily in my mind. The prosecution was presenting a good case against Mr. Masen. Evidence was presented and the time line was acceptable for the crime in question.
When the time came for Mr. Masen to take the stand, my first impression was of an articulate and well-mannered man. As his version of the events unfolded, he reminded me of the first time I actually listened to Liam's account of Felix's deeds. There was an inherent honesty in his words. The compassion he felt towards Miss Mallory was remarkable. He never wavered from his tale under cross examination. Even when confronted with the knowledge that the hangman's noose was waiting to claim his life, he never recanted.
When Dr. Cullen took the stand, we learned that his belief in Mr. Masen's innocence was confirmed by Miss Mallory's last words. We hear his view of Constable Apep's repeated accusations against Mr. Masen and how his assertions poisoned the staff's opinions. Most telling was his admission that he lost his position at the hospital because of his unwillingness to accept Constable Apep's professional assessment. It was his firm commitment to the view that Mr. Masen was a victim of circumstance that caused me to agree that an innocent man was fighting for his life. Why Constable Apep was so insistent Mr. Masen was the perpetrator of the deed was beyond me. At this point, I knew Mr. Masen would be set free and he would continue to do God's work and serve his community of parishioners.
When court recessed for the day, we jurors were sent to a separate room. We had a soft vote as to the guilt or innocence of Mr. Masen with 10 out of 12 voting not guilty. A member of the jury, Eric Yorkie, started complaining about how yellow livered we were. "What, do you fear the wrath of God? Do you think because he is a priest, he can do no wrong? You all are like a bunch of sheep!"
"Were you in the same court room as me?" I retorted. "That young man is no more a criminal then a newborn baby. The prosecution has only circumstantial evidence with no witnesses. It would be the same as saying no one should attempt to help someone in distress because you will find yourself with a noose around your neck," I argue, using the simplest illustration to prove my point.
"I'm not saying not to help someone in need. I'm saying here is a priest who has the backing of the church to say he never went to the refectory. What if he did go to the refectory, took the knife when he saw the young lady by the alley, lured her into it, stabbed her, felt remorse and forgot about the knife that was found by her body?" He sneers as he continues, "Men of the cloth are taught to hide their emotions. They hear confessions and absolve sins every day. A few hail Marys' and all is forgiven. If I were a priest and did the deed, I'd feel confident taking the stand and lying my ass off."
I can feel the mood in the room changing. The other jurors are listening to him. "For one, we are only supposed to consider the evidence presented to us. For another, your comments pertain to the beliefs of the church and its community. They are not on trial. I've been in law enforcement for seventeen years and have been in the jury box over thirty times. I know people and I understand evidence. Mr. Masen is not a criminal. He doesn't need to be absolved for this sin, as you put it." I try to sway the jurors back to the only reasonable outcome. Maybe it's wrong to play the heavy, but Mr. Masen deserves his freedom.
"You really don't know much about the Catholic Church do you. They are the richest by far and have a long history of violence and torture," he smirks. "Go ahead and believe what you will. I know he did the deed and they are banking on trusting fools like you to believe they can do no wrong." Then he got up and walked out of the room. I can only stare at the other jurors. Many have scowls for his distrust of the church and some are confused and weighing his words.
"This case is not about the church. It's about a young man accused of a crime with only inferred evidence. The man we saw take the stand in his own defense is not a criminal hiding behind a cloak," I sigh. "This is my opinion from years of experience in dealing with truly evil people. It's up to you to decide what you believe." I rise from my chair and follow Yorkie out of the room.
~ J *+* D ~
After the closing arguments were heard, I was convinced the rest of the jurors were back on board to issuing a not guilty verdict. Then we were completely blindsided when the judge issued a lesser sentence to be considered. I've never heard of such a thing. My gaze immediately lands on Yorkie who is trying to stifle a grin. He wasn't doing a very good job. Then I glance at the other jurors who are completely dumbfounded.
We are ordered to the deliberation room, where I'm elected foreman and immediately questions fly. It doesn't take Yorkie long to explain the additional sentence. It's as if he's been tutored to give the appropriate answers. He starts in again about the church and its history.
I don't know anything about the church's past, but I do know about corruption in law enforcement. I truly believed it stopped with those who wore the badge and the few odd lawyers. Now I'm learning it also infects judges. Yorkie had to have told the judge how the vote was looking. Why is the judge out to imprison this young man? What does he gain? What does Yorkie gain?
I stay quiet through the long evening unless I'm asked a direct question. I listen to all of the conversations, opinions and arguments. The judge created a maelstrom within this room. No one sleeps. The stress from the potential guilt of punishing a priest is taking its toll. The death sentence is off the table. Many are riding the fence though, with the lesser charge. Yorkie hammers on about wolves in sheep's clothing, the church and an eye for an eye. Chairs are swapped around the table, one side for guilty and the other side for not, as the sun announces the dawn.
Finally, I'm asked once again my view. "It's not changed. I've listened to each and every one of you. Whether it holds weight or not, I've seen the darker side of man. I know when someone has committed a crime. I wouldn't have lasted all these years if I didn't know my job and do it well. I've witnessed the worst and the best in this town. Mr. Masen is innocent and I disagree with the additional charge being given so late in the trial. In my opinion, it's wrong. Do what you will with it." I close my eyes while rubbing my hands across my face. I can only hope I convinced some of them to my side of the fence.
"I think I should remind you all that Apep is also in law enforcement. He was at the scene of the crime and he believes Mr. Masen is guilty." Yorkie points out. I want to reach across the table and knock his lights out. He's a fast talker, I'll give him that. "I think it's time we cast our votes again for the lesser charge," Yorkie sighs. Even his voice sounds weary. Finally!
After I receive everyone's vote, I sort them into two piles. This time, there is a majority. I look around the table. Everyone is exhausted and just wants to go home. "Which verdict is the majority?" Yorkie demands.
I level my eyes on his as I say one word, "Guilty."
"Yes! I'm happy to see most of you have the good sense to see some justice served," Yorkie smirks. I know the insult was directed at me alone. He turns and knocks on the door to let the bailiff know we reached a decision.
~ J *+* D ~
After my jury duty was served, I went straight to the station house and told my superior I needed a leave of absence. I was emotionally and physically drained. I had never felt such animosity for our legal system as I did right now. I was ashamed to call myself an officer of the law.
I went to my apartment, packed my clothes and headed out to the beach house. Disheartened by all I had witnessed, I sat and watched the waves lap against the shore for hours, trying to pull my mind away from the look of anguish on Mr. Masen's face. I feel righteous indignation about Judge Banner's relief and his smug attitude. I try not to think about Apep's boasts to the press of how he knew the jury would come through. How proud he was to help Miss Mallory rest in peace by ensuring a guilty verdict against her murderer.
Clearing my thoughts, I gaze at the blue waters and watch the fishing boats bob up and down. I remember the thrill I used to experience when I would bring in a large haul onto the ship. I let my mind wonder to Renee. I should have listened to her. I should have honored her wishes and put her and Bella first. That was in our wedding vows. I was so cock sure she would follow me anywhere. And I'm sure she would have in any other profession, but law enforcement. I knew her feelings and I disregarded them. And, by doing so, I disregarded her. I miss the fishing, but more importantly, I miss her and Bella.
I kept hoping against hope she would come back. After receiving the divorce papers, I was shattered. It was that day I knew it was a lost cause and put every effort into being the best I could be for the job. For no other reason than to prove her wrong.
After the Felix debacle and my first taste of bitterness for my occupation, I hired a private investigator to look for them. He found them and I was informed of their location. I was told Renee was married to a lawyer. Bella was eleven and she was safe and happy. Truly, it was the most I could wish for, so I stayed away to let them live in peace. The knowledge of Renee married to another man cut deep into my soul. I lost the right to have a say in her choices when I signed onto the force and the lines on the divorce agreement. I never asked the private investigator to look for them again.
My little Bella isn't so little anymore. She's nineteen now, going on twenty. I bemoan the loss of all the years watching her grow into the beautiful young woman I know she must be.
The more I think about the two of them the greater the need to see them. Maybe Renee wouldn't have anything to do with me, but I could at least apologize to Bella for never being around and watching her grow. Maybe she'll allow me into a little part of her world.
My spirits rise with this new found conviction, I want to see my daughter and possibly Renee. I get up, walk inside and over to my desk. I know exactly which drawer the envelope is locked up in. I've opened it and read the words each time I've come here over the last eight years. I wonder if they still live at the same address. Only one way to find out. I start making plans to visit Florida.
~ J *+* D ~
