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“Let’s go.” An officer gruffly commands me.
A groan leaves me as I stand. My back, and well, the rest of me, aches from barely getting any sleep all night on that damn slab. But hey, my stomach was full for once, and I knew being in that holding cell was bringing me one step closer to today.
I turn around and the officer cuffs me. I’m still wearing my suit from yesterday and look out of place in the line of other prisoners he retrieves out of the holding cells beside me to bring to the courthouse. What should be a two minute walk to the courthouse next door, takes almost ten with how slowly the officers walk everyone over.
We’re brought to the same room as yesterday, but again, I’m brought to the smaller room Terry waits inside of. There’s another suit on the chair, this time one I recognize. Someone must have gotten it from my apartment.
“Ready for today?” Terry asks.
“Again, hell no. But a little bit hell yeah. I wanna see Miller squirm.”
“Oh, he’ll be squirming, dancing, bobbing and weaving once I start questioning him. You can bet on that.” Terry chuckles. “Go ahead and get dressed. I brought you a bagel and some juice. We gotta be quick since they took their sweet time getting you over here.”
I nod and hurry to change and eat. I’m just throwing the bagel wrapper away when an officer comes in to tell us to come into the courtroom. As usual, the first thing I look at are my parents and Mariah in the rows. Mariah looks a little better today, but still not all the way herself. But still she smiles at me like just seeing me makes everything alright, and my own smile gets bigger because of it. It grows even more when she reaches into her purse and waves an envelope beside it. She got my letters. She arches a brow and smirks, and I know exactly which letter she’s making that face for. It gives me a chuckle I desperately need as I reach my chair.
I look forward then, at the empty chair that will soon be occupied by a man who will decide what feels like the rest of my life today. I have to take a deep breath to keep the nerves from choking me.
“Don’t react to anything that Miller says while he’s testifying,” Terry says low. “I have a feeling he’ll answer as many questions as he can in a way to try to antagonize you. Don’t fall for it. If he says anything you feel we can use when I question him, write it on the pad, and I’ll look at it before I begin.”
“Okay. Just... take him down.”
“I plan to.”
The judge enters, and we all rise and sit when he does. My heart begins to beat rapidly now, before the judge has even spoken a word. I was nervous yesterday, but today is even worse. Feeling so, so close to this nightmare finally being over, that Miller could be shown for the liar he is, and I can go free. It feels like I can almost reach out and touch my freedom. And that’s what makes it all the more scary. To think that I can see my freedom just on the other side, a light shining in, and that it could possibly be ripped away from me with just the slamming of a gavel. With just a few words from the judge, I can be sent right back to county, awaiting a trial that’ll start who knows when.
I want to tell my heart to calm down, but I feel it’s the least of my worries right now. Not as the judge begins the proceedings again, reading the case number, the state versus me.
“I trust officer Miller is here,” the judge states.
“He is, Your Honor,” the prosecutor replies.
“Good. Let us begin. You may call your first witness.”
“The prosecution calls Officer Miller to the stand.”
The door creaks as it opens and even that makes me clench my hands into fists. Just to know who’s coming through that door. I don’t turn around. I don’t know if I’d be able to restrain myself if I did. But eventually the thudding footsteps get closer, the sound of the gate from the seating area to where we are swinging open reaches my ears, and then I’m looking at the back of the individual who is, somehow, someway, responsible for all of this.
He walks up the few steps to the witness stand, unbuttons his suit jacket, and smiles my way like he doesn’t have a care in the world. And why would he? He’s not in jail for something he didn’t do. He’s not facing spending the next twenty-five years to the rest of his life in a box. He’s not the one sitting here with barely contained rage simmering in him, waiting for a single thing to send it boiling over.
At the touch of Terry’s hand on my fist, I realize just how tightly my hand is balled up. My knuckles are losing color. I unclench it and look over at him. He has concern written all over his face. I give him a nod to let him know I’m okay. Even though I’m far from it.
“State your name for the record,” the bailiff says.
“Henry Miller.”
“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
“I do.”
Lying already.
Miller sits down, and the prosecutor approaches him. “Do you recall having a private conversation with Stanley Phillips days before his murder?”
“I do.”
“And what was said during that conversation?”
“Mr. Phillips told me he was afraid of Mr. Lewis, and felt he was in danger.”
“What was the context of the conversation?”
“When I’d came to the work site and spoken to Mr. Phillips there, I had given him my card, letting him know if he had any issues with Mr. Lewis he could give me a call, and I would help him to the best of my ability.”
“And did you? Help?”
“I didn’t get a chance to. He was murdered before I could speak with him again.”
“Did Mr. Phillips say why he was afraid of Mr. Lewis?”
“Because he had messed up on his end of a drug deal with Mr. Lewis, and feared Mr. Lewis would harm him as retaliation.”
That rage becomes damn near all-consuming as I listen to his lies. I don’t have to contemplate for a moment if any of this is true. Everything out of his mouth is a lie. Every word he’s saying is Stanley’s is a lie. How can he get away with this?
“I’d like to enter into evidence the parking ticket issued by Officer Miller.”
As the prosecutor goes to his desk to get the ticket, I hurry to write on the pad,
Why isn’t he asking about the drug deal we supposedly did?
I slide it over to Terry, and he looks at it before holding his finger up, telling me to wait a minute. I can see Terry is taking his own notes.
“You issued this ticket, correct?” The prosecutor asks while putting it down for Miller to look at it.
“I did.”
“What was the ticket for?”
“For being parked in a no parking zone on Wilbert Street.”
“And you testify to the fact that this ticket was indeed placed on Mr. Lewis’ car on the date written, and at the time written?”
He doesn’t even look at it. “I do.”
“You placed this ticket on the car yourself?”
“I did.”
“Have you ever issued a fraudulent ticket to Mr. Lewis?”
“No.”
“Have you ever harassed Mr. Lewis?”
“I have not.”
“Do you have a personal vendetta against Mr. Lewis?”
“Of course not.”
“How many years have you been an officer?”
“Twenty-three years.”
“And in those twenty-three years, have you ever tampered with evidence in any case?”
“No.”
“Abused your power?”
“No.”
“Lied on the stand?”
“Never.”
“That’s all the questions I have for Officer Miller, Your Honor.”
As the prosecutor begins his walk back to the desk and the judge calls Terry up for his questioning, he hurries to write on the pad I slid to him before, finally answering my question of why the prosecutor isn’t asking about this supposed drug deal. If that’s what they claim was the reason, or part of the reason I killed Stanley, that he feared me, then why isn’t he diving more into that?
That pertains to the case and not Miller’s harassment. We both have to tread lightly to not cross that line.
I nod at him. He gives me a nod back while he stands. His nod isn’t one of understanding, but telling me it’s go time. This is it.
“Mr. Miller, what district do you patrol?” Terry begins.
“District eleven.”
“And how long have you worked that district?”
“Six years.”
“Is it usual for an officer to go to a different district during his shift?”
“If the need arises.”
Terry nods. “I see. And was there a need for you to be in district nine on numerous mornings?”
“I can’t recall.”
“You can’t recall. Understandable. Allow me to refresh your memory. Your Honor, I’d like to present exhibit A to the court.”
“Go on.”
Terry picks up a remote I hadn’t even noticed and points it at the TV on the table beside the witness stand. A video begins playing, and I immediately recognize it. My apartment building. Miller is in front of it, putting a ticket under my windshield wiper. He doesn’t even leave right after. No, he walks to the corner of the building, leaning against the stone, as if he’s waiting for me to come out, to see him and know I can’t do anything about it.
Then the video seems to begin anew, the same scene, Miller putting a ticket on my car, but his outfit is different. I look up at the corner to see a different date. Two days after the last video. Terry goes through ten more videos that are almost identical except for what Miller wears and the date in the corner. And I know there were more than ten days that he did that.
“Exhibit B, Your Honor,” Terry says, grabbing a stack of tickets off of the table and bringing them towards Miller. “These are the ten tickets that coincide with the dates shown on the video. Only a handful of the tickets that were placed on Mr. Lewis’ vehicle in front of his apartment building. Can you read what these ten tickets are for Mr. Miller?”
“Officer Miller,” Miller all but barks.
Terry smiles, condensation dripping from it. “Officer...Miller. Please read what the tickets were issued for.”
Miller grabs the stack of tickets, looks at one after another in silence. For too long.
“State what the tickets say Officer Miller,” the judge instructs.
“Handicap parking,” he says for the first four.
“Is there a handicap sign in front of the vehicle in the video?” Terry asks.
“No.”
“Go on.”
“No stopping or standing,” he reads for the next four.
“Is there a sign that says no stopping or standing where the vehicle is parked?”
“No,” Miller practically growls.
“And the last two tickets?”
“Speeding.”
“Going twenty over the speed limit, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Is the vehicle in the video being operated?”
Terry unpauses the video then, right on the part where Miller is putting another ticket under the windshield wiper.
“Is the vehicle speeding Officer Miller?” Terry asks.
“No. These tickets are computerized. There may have been a malfunction that input an incorrect violation when I issued it.”
“Was it also malfunctioning when you issued the other eight wrong tickets?”
“It’s possible.”
“Hmm. Was it also malfunctioning in district three? Exhibit C, Your Honor.”
Terry begins playing another video, outside the bowling alley. Miller places a ticket on my windshield. Fast-forwarding, Mariah and I come out just a few minutes later. You can see Mariah getting the ticket, us talking a little before getting into the car. And all the while, Miller watching from the door.
“I don’t see a handicap sign on that parking space either, and yet Mr. Lewis was, again, given a ticket for parking in a handicap spot. Correct?”
“I don’t recall.”
“Don’t worry, I have the ticket to remind you. Exhibit D, Your Honor.”
Terry produces another ticket, places it in front of Miller. Instead of looking at it, Miller’s eyes come to me, anger and contempt clear in them. I want to smirk so badly, but I restrain myself. Terry is tearing him apart, and I cautiously allow my hope to grow. That this will be enough to make the judge see this is a pattern, of harassment, of lies, all leading up to him falsely putting me where I now am.
“What was the ticket issued for?” Terry asks.
Nostrils flaring, Miller looks away from me to the ticket. “Parking in a handicap spot.”
On and on it goes with Terry presenting various tickets, catching Miller in the lie each time with video evidence that I was not in any violation when the ticket was given. That Miller wasn’t on duty when some were given. That while working, Miller had, on several occasions, left his district to come put a ticket on my car.
I hope the judge is realizing what I am. Miller was clearly stalking me. It’s the only way he could have even known where I was to give me tickets at certain times. When I wasn’t home or at work, he had to have been following me to have even known where my car was to put the ticket there. It’s as eerie as it is angering to have the facts laid bare before me of just how close he always seemed to have been.
“On the night of Mr. Phillip’s murder, you were on duty, correct?”
“Correct.”
“As you’ve said, you may go to a different district if the need arises. So what need was there for you to be in district six instead of where you patrol in district eleven that night?”
“I can’t recall.”
“Did you arrest anyone in district six that night?”
“I can’t recall.”
“Did you issue any other tickets than the one you gave Mr. Lewis in district six that night?”
“I can’t recall.”
“Were you in district six because you got a call from an Officer Higgins about the murder of Stanley Phillips?”
Miller freezes, and I’m not the only who notices. I see the prosecutor’s eyebrows furrow before he begins flipping through a few papers on his desk. My eyes shoot back to Miller, who still sits there in silence. I have no idea what Terry is talking about, so everything inside of me is waiting for Miller’s answer, even knowing it’ll just be another lie.
“Do you need me to repeat the question?” Terry inquires. When Miller doesn’t reply, he repeats it anyway. “Were you in district six because you got a call from an Officer Higgins about the murder of Stanley Phillips?”
“Answer the question Officer Miller,” the judge instructs when Miller remains silent.
“No.”
I can practically smell the lie wafting from his filthy mouth. And I hope it’s the lie that brings this all crashing down.
“No? Will Officer Higgins say the same?”
“Objection, Your Honor. Miller cannot be asked to speculate on what someone else would answer.” The prosecutor argues.
But the damage is done. I can see the anxiety in Miller’s eyes now. He squirms in his seat, just like I wanted to see.
“Sustained,” The judge states.
“I withdraw the question, Your Honor,” Terry says as he places a ticket in front of Miller. “This is the ticket you issued Mr. Lewis on the night of the murder. You testified that you placed this ticket on the windshield of Mr. Lewis’ car, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And you stand by that?”
“I do.”
“Exhibits E and F, Your Honor.” A video begins, of me and Mariah walking out of the restaurant we ate at the night I supposedly murdered someone at the same time I was on a date. “Can you read the license plate on that car Mr. Miller?”
“I can’t see it well enough.”
Bastard.
“I’ll read it.” Terry offers. “LE9-BNU. Can you read the license plate number written on the ticket?”
Miller’s swallow is audible through the microphone as he looks down. He reads the same license plate number.
“And the receipt, showing my client paid for his meal at 9:05pm, three minutes after the ticket was issued. Afterwards, he walked outside to his car that was parked in district ten, five miles away from where you had just issued him a ticket. So can you explain to me, Mr. Miller, how you could have then placed a ticket on that same car in district six, at 9:02pm?”
“Like I said, there’s malfunctions all the time.”
“So what is incorrect on the ticket, the time, the date, or the street?”
He’s trapped now, and the look in his eyes says he knows it too. No matter what he says might be wrong on the ticket, the time, the date, the street, any of those would remove me from being just blocks away from where Stanley was murdered, at the time or on the day he was murdered.
“I’m not sure,” Miller finally answers.
The dancing begins.
“We’ll move on, to something that can’t be attributed to faulty technology,” Terry says, making Miller scowl at him. “Have you ever harassed Mr. Lewis?”
“No, I have not.”
“Exhibit G, Your Honor.” Terry presses the remote and pictures fill the screen, shots from videos. “You have come to Mr. Lewis’ work sites no less than sixteen separate times, and that’s just what we have on video. Can you explain why?”
“I was doing my job. Keeping people safe.”
“From what?”
“From people like him,” he spits, looking at me. “From criminals who deceive people into thinking they’re innocent, when I know they’re not.”
“When you know they’re not? Has Mr. Lewis been arrested or charged with any crime in the last nine years, since he was last arrested at seventeen?”
“No. That doesn’t mean he hasn’t committed one.”
“Wouldn’t that be true of anyone then?”
“Yes.”
“So then it would be true of you?” Miller’s eyes snap to Terry at the question.
“I’m an officer of the law.”
“Hmm. And your appearances at his apartment building? And speaking with his landlords, two separate ones in fact? That was all a part of doing your job as well?”
“It’s within my district, so yes, it is.”
“Where did you meet Mr. Phillips for the conversation you had prior to his death?”
“On an empty street.”
“Which street?”
“I can’t recall.”
“And what was your response, when you claim he told you he was afraid of my client?”
“I told him I would try to help him.”
“Why not help him right then? Bring him down to the station, so he could get help, get protection?”
“He didn’t want to be seen there. He was afraid it would get back to Mr. Lewis.”
“But not afraid to be seen talking to a police officer on the street?”
“As I said, it was empty.”
“Right. And why did you wait until the night before this hearing to make a statement about it?”
“I’d forgotten.”
The bob and weave.
Terry tilts his head, but I can still see the disbelief on his face at the stupidity of Miller’s answer. “You’d...forgotten about a conversation you had with a murder victim days before his murder?”
“Yes.”
“And just to circle around, I don’t believe you’ve answered why you were in district six the night of Mr. Phillip’s murder, where you issued the ticket on a car that wasn’t there?”
“I can’t recall.”
“And again, did or didn’t Officer Higgins call you about the murder of Mr. Phillips?”
“If he did, I can’t recall.”
“Before the answer was no, and now you’re saying you can’t recall. Which is it Mr. Miller?”
“I. Can’t. Recall.”
“No further questions, Your Honor.”
“You are excused, Officer Miller,” the judge says.
I don’t know if I’m imagining the critical eyes the judge watches him with while he leaves the courtroom. But even if it is only my imagination, I cling to it. Since the prosecution declines to call anyone else to the stand, Terry does. First he calls up Ray, who testifies that while it was Higgins who came to the site with him, it was actually Miller who brought the drug arrest of someone residing at Stanley’s house to his attention. And that when he didn’t feel that warranted him going to see Stanley before Stanley came to their weekly check-in, Miller went over his head and spoke to his supervisor, which prompted the visit to my site with Higgins at his side.
Although the prosecution tries to make it seem like Miller did that out of concern for Stanley, their argument falls short when Ray states that Miller’s, and Higgins’, focus seemed to be more on making it clear me and my past were the problem than what was going on in Stanley’s house. And that their bashing me was severe enough that he’d felt the need to warn me about them.
Next up, Terry calls Carlos up, who testifies about the many times Miller came to the work site during his employment with me, asking them about my activity, threatening them about their probation being in jeopardy for working with me. He goes on to adamantly say Stanley would never have met with him because he feared Miller and his threats. I smile at Carlos as he leaves, hoping he can feel my gratitude towards him for doing this. I know, with him being on probation, it had to be a hard decision to put a bullseyes on his back by testifying, essentially, against a cop.
Lastly, Terry calls up Higgins. I expect him to lie his way through his testimony as well. But he instead takes the clueless route. He’d been called to Stanley’s house for reports of gunshots. He and his partner were the first two on the scene, the ones who found Stanley murdered. I get angry just thinking about it, that someone like Higgins, who’d taken delight in harassing Stanley would be the one to find him dead, probably felt glee in looking at his bloodied body.
Higgins admits to calling Miller from the scene, but says he only did so because of the situation that had occurred with the probation officer, that he knew Miller had an interest in Stanley’s well-being. Yeah fucking right. He denies harassing me and claims any threats he made to me at the site were merely because he felt threatened by my aggression over my defense of Stanley.
“I have no further witnesses, Your Honor,” Terry says before sitting back beside me.
The judge takes a deep breath and I straighten, knowing this is it. The judge won’t be saying he needs to review things in his chambers. Won’t be adjourning for another day so he can look at the evidence further. Something, everything is telling me this is it. This is the moment. And I can only hope this has all been enough to show him I do not belong here.
“This case disturbs me for many reasons.” He begins. “One being that the defendant clearly had an alibi, that had it simply been looked into, it would have saved the court’s time, and the defendant from being unjustly arrested. Two, that is was quite clearly shown here today, that the main evidence used to arrest the defendant was not only fabricated, but fabricated by an officer, a person meant to uphold the law. And that again, this could have been easily found if the detectives on the case had done their due diligence.
“I find nothing in the prosecution’s evidence which connects the defendant to the victim other than their shared workplace. I find nothing that places the defendant at the victim’s home the night of the murder. There is no physical evidence attaching the defendant to the murder in any way. And the ticket which was used to place him near the crime scene and the alleged statement from the victim both need to be completely cast aside when you consider the proof that Officer Miller has been essentially harassing the defendant for months.”
“Your honor,” the prosecutor interrupts him. “An officer has an obligation to perform his duties if he feels a citizen is a threat to-”
“After seeing the exhibits presented, there is no way I can agree with that. What Officer Miller was doing went far beyond his duties,” the judge says harshly then clears his throat. “What I saw in those videos and photos, and what those many falsely issued tickets showed was blatant harassment, and quite frankly criminal behavior. Therefore any evidence connected with Officer Miller is inadmissible.
“And with that being said, I do not find that there is sufficient evidence to have probable cause to proceed with the charges against the defendant.”
Right as I’m about to release my breath and damn near collapse in relief, Terry stands up.
“Your honor, I ask that, considering the circumstances of the evidence and arrest, and the way the investigation was handled, this case be dismissed with prejudice.”
The judge is silent for a few moments, his contemplation visible.
He raises his gavel. “I dismiss this case...with prejudice.”
The gavel slams down just as my heart rises up to my throat. Is this a dream? Is it really over? Am I really going home? If I wake up and I’m back in that cell, I am seriously going to beat somebody’s ass. I stand on shaky legs as Terry thanks the judge, and an officer comes over to me.
“We did it. You’re free. It’s over,” Terry says.
But my eyes are only on my family. On my mom’s eyes that are filled with joyous tears, on my dad’s face that’s filled with relief, and Mariah’s smile, much more brilliant and beaming than earlier.
“Just a few more hours,” Terry tells me, and I nod as the officer begins leading me out of the room. “I’ll be waiting for you at the jail to make sure they process you quickly.”
I change back into my jumpsuit, which feels like literally slipping a set of bars back on, and am led to the room where the others prisoners are still waiting. Just as I begin to dread that I’ll have to wait until everyone has had their hearing and the bus takes all of us back, I hear one guard tell another they’ll have to use the van to transfer me back so I can be processed out.
It’s a very long twenty minutes before two new guards arrive and escort me to the van. As we pull onto the street, I see Terry following behind the van in his car. The entire ride, my leg bounces and one shaking hand holds the other. There’s no clock in the van, so, even though I know it hasn’t, it feels like hours have passed by the time we reach the jail.
The guards take me into the jail, then to my cell, uncuffing me once I’m inside. A part of me still feels like it didn’t really happen, and they’re just going to leave me in here, close the bars behind them and forget everything the judge said. The guard assures me I’m being processed and walks away.
“So you’re leaving, huh?” John asks.
“Am I?” I question right back. “I’m still not completely sure.”
He chuckles. “That disbelieving look on your face tells me you’re definitely leaving. Congratulations, I guess”—he waves his hand—“Or whatever you say when someone gets out of jail.”
“Thanks. I... I don’t even know what to say.”
“Say you’re gonna go home and marry that girl for coming to visit you every day, and that you’re moving far the hell away from here before they get a chance to put you right back in jail.”
“Yeah,” I nod. “All that and more.”
I write my number down for John while waiting for a guard to return, telling him to call me if he needs anything. Peeking at the mail he has sitting on the desk, I make sure I’ve memorized his home address correctly. A guard finally comes back, opening the cell and motioning with his head for me to come on. I begin walking, but turn around to look at John one more time before I leave.
“Thanks,” I say. “For just being someone I could talk to. For helping me not lose my mind while I was in here.”
“Same here. Hopefully, I’ll see you on the outside soon.”
“Whether you get convicted or not, you’ll have a job waiting with me when you get out.”
He nods. “I appreciate that. Bye.”
“Bye.”
I’m walked through the halls I hope to never see again and taken to a room where I change back into the clothes I had on for my date with Mariah, what seems like, so long ago. I collect my wallet from them and then there’s Terry, waiting for me. I throw my arms around him when I get close enough.
“Thank you,” I say.
“You’re more than welcome.” He pats my back. “Now let me get you to your mother before she breaks into this jail to get you herself.”
