I hadn’t realized how much I’d counted on that Bullock County jury doing the right thing.
A person might argue that as a judge, I shouldn’t have been naïve. Judges have a front-row seat to the jury process. We know how wrongheaded the jurors can be. Just takes one or two strong personalities in that box to turn everything upside down.
The DA hadn’t taken me at my word, apparently. He was still on his feet. I repeated the order, louder this time.
“Sit. Down.”
He sat.
But the courtroom still buzzed with reaction: whispers, sobs, some laughter. I was not having that. I refused to speak until the room was silent.
Looking out at the spectators, I lifted my right hand, palm up. Put my left index finger to my lips. Shook my head. Hoped myeyes were scalding the offenders with a look that told them they should not be messing with me.
I caught a glimpse of Bria Gaines. No tears. Just the appearance of someone who was shattered. Who had lost everything.
That was when the inspiration struck. I knew what would come next, what I’d do. It felt like that emoji where the icon’s brain blows up. But in a good way.
When the courtroom was quiet, I spoke to all of the people assembled before me.
“In the case ofState of Alabama v. Bria Gaines,the jury has returned a verdict of guilty against the defendant. After the verdict is returned, Alabama law states under Rule 20.3…”
The DA was sitting at the counsel table with his head cocked and a confused expression on his face. But his co-counsel was sharper; she could see what was coming. Eleanor Lindquist lunged out of her chair.
“No! Your Honor, I object!”
I raised that voice of mine. It soared like a jazz singer’s, drowned the other woman out. “Under Alabama Rule of Criminal Procedure 20.3, after a jury verdict, the court on its own motion may grant a judgment of acquittal. I’m taking the action authorized under Rule 20.3 in this case, setting aside the guilty verdict and entering a judgment of acquittal.”
The noise from the gallery was rising. I smacked the gavel to give a warning.
“The defendant and her attorney shall rise. Please.”
Bria Gaines exchanged a look with her lawyer as she and Benjamin Meyers pushed their chairs back and stood.
I said, “It is the decision of this court that Dr. Bria Gaines is acquitted—found not guilty—of the charge against her. I havethat authority by state law in Alabama. The rule says, and I quote: ‘After a verdict or the entry of a judgment of conviction… the court, on its own motion, may grant a judgment of acquittal.’ Are we all clear on that?”
It appeared that a large number of people in that courtroom were not clear. I said, “Just so everybody understands. Rule 20.3 of Alabama Rules of Criminal Procedure means that when a jury hands down a guilty verdict, the judge has the power to do whatever she thinks is right in the case. The judge has the right to throw out a jury verdict. That’s what I have decided to do in this case. I’m throwing out the guilty verdict. And I’m finding the defendant not guilty. This is a final judgment and may not be appealed or overturned.”
To drive that point home, I stood and pointed at Bria Gaines with my gavel. I said, “Dr. Gaines, you are free to go.”
Journalists were scuttling down the rows of benches and running out of the courtroom, eager to be the first to break the story. The general public remained in court, raising their voices to weigh in on my decision. Some shouted in protest, others in triumph. The noise level grew to a cacophony of sound that blistered the ear.
But I was watching Bria, seeing her transformation. The shattered posture changed first to disbelief as she absorbed the import of my words. Her lawyer whooped and grabbed her in a victory hug; her head tipped back and I saw that expression of joy. Her body sagged with relief when the full impact of the decision struck. Her lawyer was holding her up, keeping her on her feet.
Seeing the joy of freedom wash over Bria Gaines was a profound experience. Gave me tremendous satisfaction. Made me proud.It was worth it,I thought.
But a price would be paid. By me.
My judicial career was over.
CHAPTER
80
STONE FAMILY FARM BULLOCK COUNTY, ALABAMA
The autumn season was hot that year. Second summer stretched all the way through October. That spell of dry fall weather would be a big help for a political campaign. Plenty of good weather to go politicking door-to-door, put up yard signs, hold a local rally to drum up enthusiasm.
But I wasn’t campaigning. It wouldn’t accomplish anything, other than wasting my time. And wasting money, when I didn’t have much to spare. The insurance on the farmhouse didn’t begin to cover the replacement of everything I’d lost in the explosion and fire.
