Part 33 (1/2)

”I hear the judge isn't much better.”

They watched as Strauss approached Fielding and the two began talking. For adversaries, they seemed rather friendly.

”Word is they party together after work at some pub on Montague Street,” Connie said.

”Why am I not surprised?”

The door to the judge's chambers opened, and out stepped the honorable Bernard Wilkens, a short, emaciated old man, with thinning white hair, a crooked chin, and a bulbous nose. He ambled up the podium stairs, and sank, slowly, into his chair.

”I wonder if the judge joins them after work,” Joshua asked.

Connie giggled, causing eyes to turn their way.

Fielding shot Joshua a disapproving glance, but Strauss didn't seem to recognize either of them.

Joshua kept a straight face. He was no longer afraid. Once he had decided to visit Thompson the night before, he had prepared himself for the worst.

”He doesn't recognize you,” Joshua said to Connie, referring to Strauss.

”He will, next time he sees me.”

The judge coughed up some phlegm and cleared his throat. ”Okay, bailiff, call the next case,” he commanded.

The bailiff announced the case and charges. Two guards escorted Willie and his shackles through a door in the front corner of the courtroom, and sat him at the defense table next to Fielding. The judge took the file from the bailiff and began perusing the papers, as a large group of people suddenly paraded into the courtroom. Black people. The judge looked up from his desk. Fielding and Strauss also turned around.

There must have been about fifty of them, all attired in suits and dresses, all observing decorum, quietly entering the room and finding seats. The last to enter was Professor Alvin Thompson. At his side were two white men, also in suits. One of the white men held a large sketch book, the other, a note pad.

Fielding and Strauss looked at one another, then at the judge. Willie turned around and spotted Joshua smiling. He didn't seem to understand what was happening.

”Mr. Fielding,” the judge opened, ”can you explain what's going on in my court room?”

”No, your honor, I can't.”

”Mr. Strauss?”

”Sorry, your honor.”

”Okay then, Mr. Thompson,” the judge called out, looking directly at the professor, ”perhaps you can shed some light on the matter.”

It wasn't surprising that the judge recognized Thompson. Over the years, the professor had gained quite a reputation. His charisma had turned his small following of cla.s.sroom zealots into a popular movement, and his face frequented both the tabloids and television.

Thompson rose from his seat. ”Your honor, I, and these fellow citizens, and these members of the press, have come here today with the simple and pure purpose of observing this great court and witnessing how justice is performed.”

”He should have been a preacher,” Joshua whispered to Connie.

The judge appeared dumbfounded, as did Fielding and Strauss. He called the lawyers up to the bench. The room stilled to overhear what was being said.

”What kind of s.h.i.+t case is this, Mr. Strauss?” the judge asked the DA, pretending to whisper, but knowing the crowd was listening.

”Your honor, the defendant was found...”

”I don't give a rat's a.s.s where he was found. There's no evidence connecting him to the crime, is there?”

Fielding remained silent.

”Your honor, he was dressed similarly to the a.s.sailant, and has a past record...”

”A past record of what, Mr. Strauss?”

Strauss stood there, embarra.s.sed. The judge looked at Fielding. ”And you, Mr. Fielding, what kind of advocacy is this, offering to plead your client in a case as flimsy as this?”

”Your honor,” Fielding began to say as the judge interrupted.

”Step back gentlemen!” the judge commanded.

The lawyers returned to their tables. Fielding conferred with Willie for a few seconds, but the kid still didn't understand anything. He listened to his lawyer and nodded.

The judge cleared his throat again, sipped from a gla.s.s of water, and said, ”Okay, Mr. Fielding, does your client wish to enter a plea as to the said charges?”

”Yes, your honor,” Fielding answered hesitantly. ”My client pleads not guilty.”

Professor Thompson smiled with approval as the courtroom broke into applause. Judge Wilkins called for order. ”Mr. Thompson,” he admonished, ”you and your entourage will not make a mockery of this courtroom. Am I clear on that?”

Thompson rose again. ”Abundantly, your honor. I apologize for this slight outburst. It's just that there has been speculation in the community that a young man was going to be railroaded in this court today, plea bargained for a crime of which there is no evidence against him, deprived of his right to a fair trial and an impartial jury of his peers. These rumors were concerning, your honor. They frightened the people into believing that there is not equal opportunity under the law for both black and white, and petrified them into imagining that a young man's life might be sacrificed in the name of expediency. And now, your honor, the people have witnessed that justice does indeed prevail, that there is equal access under the law for all. I do apologize if they display their grat.i.tude too intemperately for your honor's liking. I apologize profusely.”

Next to Thompson, the white reporter with the notepad seemed to be recording every word of the professor's speech. The sketch artist appeared busy as well.

”Boy, this guy's good,” Joshua whispered.

Connie smiled.

”I appreciate your sentiments, Mr. Thompson,” the judge said, ”but this is a court of law, not a place for grandstanding. In the future you will limit your soliloquies to appropriate forums!”

Thompson smiled.

”And as for the concerns of the community,” the judge continued, ”this court is always occupied with justice. No one, regardless of race, religion, or anything else, gets railroaded inside these walls. No one!” The judge waited a few seconds for his words to be absorbed. ”Now, regarding the matter of the State vs. Willie Johnson, trial will be set for...” He stopped to consult his calendar. ”February 20th.”

A six month delay was not unusual considering the court's schedule, but most of the people in the room didn't know that. They grew restless at the idea that Willie would have to sit in jail awaiting trial for that long. Thompson, however, didn't protest; he knew six months was typical, and he was also confident of his ability to raise money for Willie's bail. He figured that the time would only help Willie's case. Tempers would calm down in the Hasidic community, and maybe he could even pressure the police to do some real investigating.

Strauss rose to his feet. ”Your honor, in the matter of bail...”

Wilkins: ”Save it, Mr. Strauss. This matter has taken up enough of the court's time already. In consideration of the state's case, which is rather weak at this moment, I am setting bail in the matter of five thousand dollars.”

Strauss: ”Your honor...”

Wilkins: ”That's it, Mr. Strauss!”