Self Defense Plus
From what I've heard I had an idea, an insight into Johnny's character that might explain why he killed someone. And it would explain it in a way that the jury would understand.
On the surface it makes sense. They were drowning Ponyboy and threatening to hurt Johnny. Self defense, plain and simple. But there was more than that. He killed someone with a knife, it wasn't like he shot him, one shot and bang! Dead. A knife. It isn't all that easy to kill someone with a knife.
I thought it was an overreaction. And I thought he had overreacted to the threat of violence, overreacted enough to kill someone because he was an abused child. He had a sort of post traumatic stress disorder, I'd have to get a psychiatrist to confirm this, shouldn't be a problem.
It was perfect. The jury would feel badly for him and it explained why he killed someone. Self defense plus. It wasn't his fault. That's what I wanted the jury to think, to know, to believe.
But I wanted to discuss it with him, his parents and the abuse but I was a little nervous. I wasn't a counselor, psychologist, psychiatrist. I had my dealings with these things as far as clients went, had to have some working knowledge of the psyche, but it wasn't my forte, my area of expertise. That was the law.
But I had to probe a little, see what he'd say, if he'd say anything. Some don't. Like those war veterans who won't say a word about combat and then fall apart if a car backfires.
We were outside, out back so cops or passers by wouldn't see us. They were all smoking. They smoked a lot for kids. I'd never picked up the habit myself.
"Johnny," I said, and he looked at me, a sideways glance.
"Can we talk about your parents?"
"My parents?" Defensive already.
"Yeah, um, what are they like?"
"Why?" How to proceed? I cleared my throat.
"I'm your lawyer. I'm going to defend you, and it is a serious charge. You've got to trust me. I think your parents may have some bearing on this case."
I was in over my head. I hated this, trying to get abused children or spouses to talk about the abuse. But it could save his life, it could drum up sympathy from the jury. We wanted their sympathy and empathy, not their contempt.
He hung his head, sighed, "What do you want to know?" he said.
"Do they hit you?"
"My old man does,"
"What about your mother?"
"She just screams at me, or ignores me," He wasn't looking at me, his eyes fixed firmly on the ground. At least he was talking.
"How often does he hit you?" He shrugged.
"Ever been in the hospital because of it?"
He was quiet, not moving. I didn't think he'd answer anymore questions. You can only push these types of kids so far. They clam up.
"Once," he said.
"What happened?" He closed his eyes then opened them slowly.
"Well, he was drunk, and I, I did something to piss him off but I can't remember what it was. He punched me and kind of shoved me and I cracked my head on the edge of this little table..."
He was staring at the ground but Ponyboy was staring at him. Dallas was gazing coolly at me, something sinister just below the surface of that gaze.
I thought that was all of the story we were gonna get but he continued.
"It wouldn't stop bleeding and I kept puking and I was real dizzy, I kept seeing double. I guess my dad got scared cause he brought me to the hospital, said I got in a fight at school. It was a, they said it was a concussion,"
This would help us. Hospitals kept records and schools did,too. I was pretty sure he didn't get into fights at school.
I made the list in my mind. Get a psychiatrist to talk to him, get the records from the hospital and his school file, talk to teachers who have seen his black eyes and bruises.
Now I'd have to prepare them for turning themselves in.
From what I've heard I had an idea, an insight into Johnny's character that might explain why he killed someone. And it would explain it in a way that the jury would understand.
On the surface it makes sense. They were drowning Ponyboy and threatening to hurt Johnny. Self defense, plain and simple. But there was more than that. He killed someone with a knife, it wasn't like he shot him, one shot and bang! Dead. A knife. It isn't all that easy to kill someone with a knife.
I thought it was an overreaction. And I thought he had overreacted to the threat of violence, overreacted enough to kill someone because he was an abused child. He had a sort of post traumatic stress disorder, I'd have to get a psychiatrist to confirm this, shouldn't be a problem.
It was perfect. The jury would feel badly for him and it explained why he killed someone. Self defense plus. It wasn't his fault. That's what I wanted the jury to think, to know, to believe.
But I wanted to discuss it with him, his parents and the abuse but I was a little nervous. I wasn't a counselor, psychologist, psychiatrist. I had my dealings with these things as far as clients went, had to have some working knowledge of the psyche, but it wasn't my forte, my area of expertise. That was the law.
But I had to probe a little, see what he'd say, if he'd say anything. Some don't. Like those war veterans who won't say a word about combat and then fall apart if a car backfires.
We were outside, out back so cops or passers by wouldn't see us. They were all smoking. They smoked a lot for kids. I'd never picked up the habit myself.
"Johnny," I said, and he looked at me, a sideways glance.
"Can we talk about your parents?"
"My parents?" Defensive already.
"Yeah, um, what are they like?"
"Why?" How to proceed? I cleared my throat.
"I'm your lawyer. I'm going to defend you, and it is a serious charge. You've got to trust me. I think your parents may have some bearing on this case."
I was in over my head. I hated this, trying to get abused children or spouses to talk about the abuse. But it could save his life, it could drum up sympathy from the jury. We wanted their sympathy and empathy, not their contempt.
He hung his head, sighed, "What do you want to know?" he said.
"Do they hit you?"
"My old man does,"
"What about your mother?"
"She just screams at me, or ignores me," He wasn't looking at me, his eyes fixed firmly on the ground. At least he was talking.
"How often does he hit you?" He shrugged.
"Ever been in the hospital because of it?"
He was quiet, not moving. I didn't think he'd answer anymore questions. You can only push these types of kids so far. They clam up.
"Once," he said.
"What happened?" He closed his eyes then opened them slowly.
"Well, he was drunk, and I, I did something to piss him off but I can't remember what it was. He punched me and kind of shoved me and I cracked my head on the edge of this little table..."
He was staring at the ground but Ponyboy was staring at him. Dallas was gazing coolly at me, something sinister just below the surface of that gaze.
I thought that was all of the story we were gonna get but he continued.
"It wouldn't stop bleeding and I kept puking and I was real dizzy, I kept seeing double. I guess my dad got scared cause he brought me to the hospital, said I got in a fight at school. It was a, they said it was a concussion,"
This would help us. Hospitals kept records and schools did,too. I was pretty sure he didn't get into fights at school.
I made the list in my mind. Get a psychiatrist to talk to him, get the records from the hospital and his school file, talk to teachers who have seen his black eyes and bruises.
Now I'd have to prepare them for turning themselves in.
