The man was about my age, wearing an ill-fitting suit coat that didn’t cover his belly. Not a local white guy, or I’d know him. And he’d know better than to act out in my courtroom.
Voices began buzzing in the benches, people exclaiming as they shifted in their seats, turning toward the speaker. I had to put a lid on the disturbance. If I didn’t, it could become explosive.
Grabbing the wooden gavel, I struck it three times, to ensure that I had everyone’s attention.
My bailiff was in position. Ross Carr had made his way to the aisle where the incorrigible citizen stood, and he was waiting for me to say the word. I pointed the gavel directly at the disrupter. ToRoss, I said, “Bailiff, escort this individual out of my courtroom. Immediately.”
The guy appeared compliant, but the process was slow. In part, because the bench was crowded and the man was stout. A woman cried out when he stepped on her.
But also, I suspected that the shouter was in no hurry to depart. He wanted to air more of his opinions before he left the courtroom. As he lumbered past the people packed into his row, his statements were audible, even where I sat. “Everybody knows she done it. I saw it on TV! The girl’s mother told the reporter what happened!”
That sent the room into another buzz of reaction. Apparently, lots of folks watched the interview. I didn’t catch the broadcast, but Luna told me about it. She said that Nova Jones’s mother had permitted a TV news reporter into her home. They didn’t show Nova, but Starla was willing to be interviewed. The reporter recorded Starla Jones with his phone, and she’d had a lot to say.
Unbelievable. I wondered whether the DA had known about it in advance. Surely not. It was unethical to try the case in the press before it went to trial. In my opinion, it reflected poorly on the prosecutor, whether he had plotted it or not. The DA should have his witnesses under control.
The bigmouthed out-of-towner had finally reached my bailiff, but he still wouldn’t shut up. “We all know that doctor done it. She can’t take it back now!”
Dr. Gaines’s face twisted. Bowing her head, she edged lower in her seat. The courtroom spectator was robbing her of the dignity she’d fought hard to maintain.
“That’s it,” I said, rising. I’d been itching to jump out of my chair since he first opened his mouth.
I hurried down those steps and out onto the courtroom floor.“You are in contempt of court, sir, for disrupting these proceedings. Bailiff, take the man to the county jail.”
It was a gamble. A contempt citation ordinarily would dump cold water on courtroom misbehavior, and everyone would simmer down. Folks would get the message. No one wanted to be the second person sent to jail.
But the current climate was hard to predict. Taking a hard line against the dude could incite sympathizers to jump to his support, and then I’d be screwed. Because we were not prepared for a major revolt. We were understaffed. My miscalculation. I had failed to predict that a brief arraignment would command this level of response.
Ross got the big guy out of the aisle and under control. When the bailiff cuffed his hands behind his back, it took the wind out of him. I stood in front of my bench and watched until the two men disappeared through the door.
Then I walked down the center aisle of the spectators’ gallery and addressed everyone present. “Due process of law is guaranteed in this courtroom. I don’t know what your prior experience has been in state court in Alabama. Tell you the truth, I don’t care. Don’t care what you’ve seen before, or what you watched on television, or what you think the legal system should be. The Fifth Amendment states that no person shall be deprived of life, liberty, or property without due process of law. That’s a sacred guarantee.”
I was just warming up, honestly. When I got on a roll about the constitutional rights of the accused, I could go on indefinitely. I’d made my share of closing arguments as a trial lawyer, and the words rolled out with ease. And I thought this gathering of citizens could benefit from hearing what I had to say.
But as I reached the very last bench in the courtroom, the one near the exit, I spotted a familiar face. It was that journalist, thearrogant young TV reporter who’d crashed Saturday breakfast at my farm.
Reese Wilson. With WYLR in Birmingham.
He was recording my Fifth Amendment lecture on his telephone. Smirking at me while he did it.Son of a bitch.
It threw me, seeing him holding out that phone. Phones weren’t allowed in my court; they were supposed to be collected when people went through the metal detector. More security gaffes. I broke off midsentence. Turned on my heel and walked back up to the bench. Scooted back into my chair. During my return, the murmur of voices in court started up again. I silenced the whispers with a polite tap of the gavel.
I glanced down at my file, trying to recall where we’d been in our stage of proceedings, before things got out of control.
My handwritten notation steadied me and triggered my recall. “The record will reflect that the defendant has entered a plea of not guilty to the charge.” I paused to glare at the courtroom spectators, daring them to act out. My bailiff had returned with miraculous efficiency, providing backup.
Other than the rustle of scores of bodies shifting on hard wooden benches, the courtroom was quiet.
To the attorneys, I said, “I see that the defendant is currently out on bond.”
Reeves, the DA, stood. “I wish to address the matter of bond, Your Honor.”
After I gave him a nod, he stepped away from the counsel table. Which indicated that he was about to put on a show for the benefit of the citizens gathered in the gallery.
Reeves said, “The district judge set an initial bond amount of ten thousand dollars, which the defendant easily met. The judgedidn’t seek my input or recommendation when he let this woman out with such a ridiculously low bond. Why he didn’t consult me, I can’t guess.”
Oh, I could. I knew I was able to correctly guess the reason. I folded my hands on the bench. Gave him another minute to talk.
“This defendant has been charged with an offense that carries a penalty of ninety-nine years to life imprisonment. She is a flight risk, Your Honor, because she has the motivation to flee and the financial means to do so. Moreover, this woman is a danger to the community. The crime she’s been charged with is akin to murder, the taking of human life!”
