***
SUSIE AND RODNEY met with Luke and his team in a private room across from the courtroom at seven o'clock Monday morning. I arrived at about seven thirty and took a seat on the pew behind the defense table, saving seats for Rodney, Susie, and Lilly. Susie told me that Marianne and Dr. Warner were coming Wednesday night because Luke thought they would testify on Thursday.
At seven fifty-five, Susie rolled Rodney into the courtroom, which was filled with spectators. She parked his wheelchair in the aisle next to the first pew and sat on the end next to him. Lilly sat next to her, then Mr. and Mrs. Thibault, then me. Rodney was dressed in a dark suit, white starched shirt, navy, red, white, and pink tie, and gold cufflinks. He looked handsome and sophisticated. Susie was her ever-beautiful, classy self in a navy suit with a white silk blouse and multi-colored scarf. I wondered what the jury would think of them, whether Susie and Rodney would garner sympathy or make those who were prejudiced more apt to want to let Thevenot off with a slap on the wrist.
Luke ignored me when he walked into the courtroom behind Peter Swan, and they joined the rest of their team seated at the prosecution's table. My eyes bored a hole in Luke's back when he sat down and faced the judge's bench. It had only been a few days, but I was miserable without him. I had to think of a way to get him to talk to me.
The bailiff cried out, "All rise. Hear ye, hear ye! The Judicial District Court in and for the Parish of Toussaint is now opened according to law; the Honorable Edward DeYoung, presiding. Silence and order are commanded. Please be seated."
Judge DeYoung entered through the door behind the bench with some files under one arm.
"You don't have to stand every time I enter the courtroom." The judge stood behind the bench and smiled at the gallery, then at the lawyers. The fourteen jurors came through the main door and walked in single file down the aisle, through the swinging gate, between the prosecution and defense tables, and into the jury box, which had seven seats on the bottom row and seven on the top. The judge told them that they were to sit in the same seats at all times as they would be numbered—Juror #1, Juror #2, and so on.
The judge took his time giving the jury instructions. He told them that the prosecution, which was called, 'The State,' was represented by the attorney general and that The State would make an opening statement to outline their case and the evidence they expected to present.
"After The State gives their opening statement, the defense may give an opening statement, too, but they are under no obligation to do so." DeYoung explained that the opening statements were not evidence, only what the lawyers expected the evidence would be. He reiterated that it was up to the prosecution to prove that Mr. Thevenot was guilty and that the defense was not required to call witnesses because Thevenot was already considered innocent until proven guilty beyond a reasonable doubt.
"As jurors, you are the sole judges of the facts of this case." He paused and looked each of the fourteen jurors in the eye. "You must rely on your memory, you may not take notes. It is very important that you give this case your close attention."
I watched the faces of some of the jurors. Mr. Bourbon kept nodding his head as though he understood what the judge was saying. Jesus, aka Blanchard, looked fidgety and anxious, as though he needed a cigarette. Mrs. Jones’s eyes were closed, and her hands folded in her lap as though praying. Mr. Moore from Oregon looked confused.
"From this point on, during breaks and any other time until the trial is over, I'm going to ask you to refrain from reading any newspapers, watching any TV, or listening to any radio stations." He looked down at his notes and back up at the jurors. "Also, do your best not to discuss this trial when you go home, not with your significant others or friends or family members."
After the Judge completed his introduction, Tucker Thevenot's attorney, John Perkins, called for a bench conference and asked that the witnesses be sequestered. The Judge ordered all witnesses to leave the courtroom. Susie and Rodney were not required to leave since they were the victims in the case, but Susie took the opportunity to push Rodney in his wheelchair into the hallway, and Lilly followed them. Susie later told me that they didn't want to hear all of the testimony, and that sitting through the trial would be physically difficult for Rodney. He and Susie both wanted to save their strength for their own testimonies later in the week. I had not been subpoenaed, so I remained in the gallery with Rodney's parents.
*
Luke walked to the podium and put his legal pad on top.
"On June 30, 1984, a retired army major, a JAG officer who served our country for ten years, who did a tour in Vietnam and returned to Louisiana to marry the girl he had loved since he was sixteen years old, was shot and almost killed." Luke paused and looked at the jury. "When the couple walked out of the church on their wedding day at one ten in the afternoon, shots rang out, and a blue truck with license plate 37L402 sped north on Jefferson Street.
"Major Thibault, who is military trained, used his quick reflexes when he saw the shooter. The major immediately turned to protect his wife, shaving a split second off the time it took for the bullets to reach the couple, thereby taking both bullets himself. The first bullet went through the major's arm, exited and entered his back, lodging near his right lung. That bullet was meant for his wife, Susanna. The bullet meant to strike the major between his eyes, entered above his right ear.
"Major Thibault's quick thinking took Susie to the ground, which was a concrete platform in front of the church. He landed on top of her. The back of Susie's head split open when she hit the pavement, and she suffered a severe brain injury. She was first taken to Jean Ville Hospital, where doctors took her to surgery and placed a drain in her head to minimize the fluid build up.
"Major Thibault was taken by ambulance to Alexandria Regional Hospital, but due to the severity of his injuries was immediately airlifted to Ochsner Medical Center in New Orleans where he lay in a coma, hovering between life and death for weeks. He spent months in the hospital, having to learn all of the basic things we learn as children: how to make words, how to hold a fork, how to button a shirt and tie a shoe.
"Sadly, Major Thibault is still unable to walk. You will see him when he testifies. His speech is slow and sometimes slurred. He is in a wheelchair.
"Maybe African Americans are raised to believe it is their lot in life to be brutalized by white people. Maybe you believe that, too. If you do, I ask you to open your minds. This is 1984, not 1864. We have a Constitution that says, 'All men are created equal and are entitled to certain unalienable rights.' Remember this when you hear the testimony. If any of you believes that a person who does such an atrocious thing to a white man ought to be punished, but if he does this to a black man he deserves a pass, you should tell the judge of your prejudices now and be excused. If you cannot sit in that jury box and see all of these people, witnesses, defendant, and victims as God's children, people who deserve the same things that all American citizens deserve, you should not be on this jury.
"Mr. Thevenot shot the major and his wife with intent to kill them. He planned the shooting in advance—premeditated. Mr. Thevenot never served in the military, never went to Vietnam, he didn't fight for you. He…never…fought…for…you." Luke said the last five words very slowly and emphasized the word, never.
"Remember that as you listen to the evidence and hear the witnesses. Thank you." Luke nodded at the jurors, and I presume he smiled at them with his charming grin, the one that had captured my heart. He went back to his table and sat down, his shoulders slumped ever so slightly as though what he'd said had taken a great deal of energy. I wanted to hug him.
*
John Perkins strolled to the podium with a swagger and the arrogance of someone who believes he is right and everyone else is wrong. I wondered whether the jurors would respect him, fear him, hate him, or love him.
"Ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for your service." He put his legal pad down, took a pen from his pocket, and clicked the top a few times. "Once The State has presented its evidence, I think you will agree that it is inconclusive. They cannot prove that the bullets that hit Mr. Thibault came from my client's gun, nor can they prove that my client pulled the trigger. All they can prove is that a blue truck stopped in front of St. Alphonse's Catholic Church and someone in the cab, maybe the driver, maybe a passenger, shot twice and the truck sped off. There will be no eyewitnesses who can say with 100% accuracy and assurance, that my client shot a gun from that truck.
"The State will tell you that the truck belongs to a man named Keith Rousseau, who is a friend of my client. They will tell you that Rousseau and my client have been known to terrorize black folks. The State will try to make you believe that my client and Mr. Rousseau have used violence against black folks in the past. Don't be fooled by The State's spin on things—even if they are able to convince you that my client terrorized black people in the past, they will not be able to convince you, beyond a reasonable doubt, that my client shot a gun at Rodney Thibault.
"Yes, they will show you evidence that my client has a gun like the one the bullets came from that injured Mr. Thibault. They will bring witnesses who will say they have seen my client in Mr. Rousseau's truck from time to time." John Perkins paused. I thought about how I had seen Tucker Thevenot riding in Keith Rousseau's truck and that they had been at my brother's house together. I felt a dark cloud of gloom settle over me and wrap around me like a rough blanket.
"The State will call witnesses who will tell you awful things that Mr. Thevenot has done in the past in hopes of showing you that my client has violent tendencies towards black people. None of this…I repeat, none of this is evidence that proves, beyond a reasonable doubt, that my client was the one who shot Mr. Thibault.
"Thank you." John Perkins sauntered back to his seat and sat down hard. He stared at the jurors without blinking.
*
"Ladies and gentlemen, that concludes the opening statements." Judge DeYoung leaned forward on his desk to get closer to the jurors. "We will now begin with the presentation of evidence, first by The State. Mr. McMath?"
Luke strolled to the podium. "The state calls Catherine Saucier."
A young white woman about my age, with dark, curly hair came through the door and walked up to the witness chair. I recognized her from somewhere but couldn't place her. I tried to think of her ten years younger without the dark, frizzy hair, but rather with long, shiny black hair that hung down her back. I finally remembered her as Callie Smith. She was from an area outside of Jean Ville known as Bayou Boeuf.
My skin began to burn as I remembered being with Warren and his friends one night at a football game. We were drinking beer in the parking lot when we heard a ruckus and ran through the gate in time to see Tucker Thevenot and Keith Rousseau grab a girl who I later realized was Callie. They pulled her under the bleachers, and I watched, statue-like, as Keith held her down and Tucker pulled a gun out of his pocket and got in her face, yelling, "You better keep away from that nigga-boy, you hear? Or you'll be sorry." He pulled at her clothes, and I thought he was going to rape her, but instead, he rammed his pistol between her bare legs and said, "The next time won't be a warning. We don't accept our white girls fooling around with no black boys, you hear?" Then he hit her across her forehead with the gun.
She cried for help, but none of us lifted a finger.
She had been a beautiful girl, slim with big boobs and a gregarious personality. When I realized the woman in the witness box was Callie, I felt sick to my stomach. What kind of person had I been back then?
I barely heard her testimony as she described being fourteen years old when Tucker and Keith grabbed her. "They pulled me under the bleachers and that guy over there," she pointed at Thevenot, "He pulled my shorts off and stuck his gun between my legs and threatened to blow up my private parts if I ever so much as spoke to a black guy." She spat the words out quickly, like tearing a Band-Aid off with one swift pull—acute but short-lived pain. She must have held her breath because her face was red, and her lips were pursed together. I held mine too, and after she said, "gun between my legs," I shut down and barely heard the rest until Luke asked her whether she was married now and she said she was divorced and had three children.
"I'm a nurse at the Baptist Hospital in Alexandria," she said, and I thought that, if she could survive what she'd been through, maybe I could, too. But would I survive being a witness to something so cruel without trying to help her when she needed it?
"What he did, well it changed me. It has haunted me all these years, and I've been to counseling and tried to move on, but the trauma, the way he did it and left me there under the bleachers, half-naked, bleeding, humiliated. There was a crowd that had gathered to watch. They saw it all." She looked up and I felt as though she stared at me, accusing me of being in that crowd and not helping her. She had every reason to hate me. I hated myself for what I'd done, or hadn't done.
She started to cry, and the judge made a sign to his clerk, who left the bench and took a box of Kleenex to the witness. Callie pulled three tissues out of the box, blew her nose, and dabbed at her eyes.
"Ms. Saucier, you said something that I'd like to follow up on." Luke resumed his professional tone. "You said you were bleeding. Can you tell me why?"
She took a deep breath and, once again, spoke as though ripping off a Band-Aid. "He hit me in the eye with his gun. It split my cheek open."
*
"Does the defense have any questions for Ms. Saucier?" Judge DeYoung made a note on a pad then lifted his chin and looked at John Perkins.
"Yes, Your Honor." Perkins got up and went to the podium. "Good morning Ms. Saucier. I'm John Perkins, and I represent Mr. Tucker Thevenot. You said that your encounter with Mr. Thevenot took place ten years ago. Is that right?"
"Yes, sir." Callie looked confused.
"Are you the same person you were ten years ago, Ms. Saucier?"
"I'm not sure what you mean, sir."
"Well, have you changed over the past ten years? Matured? Grown wiser? Become more empathetic, less self-centered, since you had children. Stuff like that?" Perkins had his hands in the pockets of his slacks, his suit coat pushed back behind his arms.
"Yes. Of course." Her look of confusion was replaced with a defiant expression.
"Do you think that happens to most people? That they grow up and mature after they are out of high school?" Perkins had a lilt in his voice as though he'd won a prize.
"I suppose so." Her forehead wrinkled, and her eyes squinted as though she were trying to bring Perkins into focus.
"No more questions, Your Honor." Perkins walked back to his table.
"Any redirect, Mr. McMath?" Judge DeYoung asked.
"No, Your Honor." Luke seemed satisfied with whatever had just happened. He returned to his table, sat down, and leaned back in his chair, the back of it extended like a recliner.
"Ms. Saucier, you are free to go, but make sure somebody has your number in case you're called back." Judge DeYoung smiled at the witness.
*
Luke and his team stood and stretched. Detective Sherman left the room, and Luke and Peter Swan talked to each other. I hoped he would look my way so I could wink at him, but he never did. I reminded myself that this was the biggest case he'd ever been assigned as lead attorney and he needed to stay focused.
"The State calls Rella Moran." Luke stood behind the prosecution's table and spoke loudly. A young black girl, probably eighteen or ninteteen years old, entered the courtroom and stood next to the witness box. The bailiff swore her in.
"Do you know the defendant, Mr. Thevenot?" Luke asked Miss Moran.
"I don't know him, but I've seen him before." She looked afraid and glanced into the gallery as though looking for someone. I followed her eyes and saw a woman about thirty-five or forty years old, who was probably the witness's mother. The older woman nodded and smiled at the witness.
"Can you tell me where you saw him and what happened?" Luke stood on the side of the podium with one arm resting on the surface, the other hand in his pocket, looking casual and non-threatening.
"Well, it was at a football game five years ago. I was thirteen, in the eighth grade. I was walking to the concession stand during half-time, and that man right there," Rella Moran pointed at Tucker Thevenot, "He grabbed me and pulled me way up under the bleachers and pulled a pistol out of his pocket. There was another guy who held me down while that man started yelling at me to stay away from the white guys on the football team. He called me a nigga and said girls like me ended up dead. He hit me with his fist and beat my head with his gun. I guess I was knocked out, because when I came to, my mama was bending over me, pouring water over my face. The game was over, and everybody was gone."
"Did you report this crime to the police?"
"No, sir. My mama took me to the hospital, and they examined me." She looked down at her hands that were folded in her lap. She spoke so softly, I could barely hear her, and twice the judge asked her to speak up. "Then the doctor called the police, and they came to interview me. My mama went to meet with the district attorney. He recommended we drop it."
"Was there another reason you didn't file charges?" Luke asked.
"Yes, sir. I was scared of what Tucker Thevenot would do to me. He threatened to shoot me if I went to the police."
"Did you believe him?" Luke took one step back towards the podium and looked at the judge, who grinned. "Did you believe that he would shoot you?"
"Oh yes." She looked up at Luke with a furrowed brow. "He held a gun to the side of my head and clicked back the trigger. It scared me to death."
"Do you know what kind of gun it was?"
"Yes, sir." She nodded her head as if to emphasize that she, indeed, knew about guns. "My dad has one. It was exactly like my dad's. A 45-caliber Smith and Wesson."
Luke said he had no more questions, and the judge asked Perkins whether he had questions for this witness.
*
Perkins strolled to the podium and introduced himself.
"You said that your encounter with Mr. Thevenot took place five years ago. Is that right?"
"Yes, sir." Rella inhaled. "I was thirteen."
"Do you remember if Mr. Thevenot said anything to you?" Perkins put his hands behind his back and cupped them together.
"Yes, sir. He told me he would shoot me."
"Anything else?" He stood with his legs apart, cocky.
"Let me think." Her nose lifted, and her brow wrinkled. "He told me I was pretty."
"Do you remember what you were wearing that night? At the football game?" Perkins was going somewhere with his line of questioning, and I was interested in how he would make it look like beating and tormenting a thirteen-year-old child with a gun was okay.
"It was hot. I think I was wearing shorts and a T-shirt." She kept glancing into the gallery at her parents.
"Would they have been very short shorts and a cropped T-shirt?"
"I don't think so, no." She talked slower, as though she had to think about what she said before she said it.
"Are you known to dress indecently?" Perkins said it quickly because he knew there would be an objection. Luke was on his feet before Perkins completed his question, then said he was done with the witness.
"Any redirect?" The judge looked at Luke.
*
"Briefly." Luke stood up behind the table, didn't go to the podium. "Just for the record. Do you remember what you were wearing that night, Miss Moran?"
"I don't remember exactly, but I think it was shorts and a T-shirt." She was much more relaxed with Luke's questions than with Perkins's.
"Were you at the game alone or with friends, and what were they wearing?"
"I went with my parents and little brother. Some of my friends were there, and two of them went with me to the concession stand. We were all dressed the same. I remember we called each other before the game to talk about what we would wear, so we all dressed alike, uh, not the same colors, but we were all in shorts and T-shirts."
"Would your parents have taken you to a public place if you were dressed indecently?" Luke was still standing behind the table. He had a pen in one hand that he was tapping on the palm of his other hand.
"Oh, no, sir. My daddy is very strict about that stuff." She shook her head side to side and looked into the gallery and smiled. "He makes sure I dress like a lady."
"So you don't remember how you were dressed, but you are sure your dad wouldn't have taken you to the ball game in short shorts and a cropped shirt, right?"
"That's right, yes."
"No more questions, Your Honor."
The judge told Rella Moran she could leave, but to make sure the court knew how to contact her if they needed for her to return.
"Next witness." He looked at Luke and nodded.
*
"The State calls Billy Buras."
Billy Buras was a big, burly man with a potbelly and a full beard. I wouldn't have wanted to be caught in a dark alley with a wooly-booger like him; he gave me the spooks. He stated his full name as Billy Bob Buras. Who'd name a kid that? I mean, at one time he was a kid, right?
He said he was thirty-five, divorced, and had four children, "That I know of." He laughed at his own joke as though everyone caught it. He said he knew Thevenot—that they used to go in the woods hunting together.
"There would be a crew, like maybe six or seven fellows." He put his hand in the air, palms towards Luke, and raised six fingers, then seven. "Sometimes a couple off them would go off with Tucker and Keith. They said they were going to chase women, but I didn't go with them, except one time."
"Can you tell me about that one time?"
"Me and Tucker went to this nigger joint in the Quarters near the Indian Park." He scratched his beard and pulled on it, like a caveman. "We waited until a couple of those jiggaboos came out of the bar and got in their car and we followed them. Tucker was driving Keith's old truck, and when we got down that dark road, he got close up behind the niggas and started hitting the back of their car with his front bumper. At first, it was kind of fun, but then he took out his pistol and started shooting at the car. He shot out a tire and their car peeled off to the side and went in the ditch. Tucker put the truck in park and jumped out. I watched because it was like a movie, and I was like the audience."
"What did you see?" Luke stepped to the side of the podium as though he was very interested in the story Buras told.
"Well the niggas got out of their car and said, 'What the hell,' and Tucker, well, he started shooting at their feet and yelling at them to dance." Buras took a deep breath and stared at Luke. "And they did. Man, I couldn't believe he could shoot that many bullets at their feet and not hit one of them."
"Did he?"
"Well, at first he didn't, but after a while, one of them fell down screaming and holding his leg." Buras scrunched his mouth as though he remembered something distasteful. "I saw blood, but Tucker, well he jumped in the truck and peeled out. I didn't get to see how bad they was injured."
"Did Mr. Thevenot say anything to you after that incident?" Luke took a step backwards, towards the podium. The judge smiled.
"He said, 'That was fun.'" Buras took a breath. "I asked him if he'd ever done that kind of thing before and he said, 'All the time. Where you been?'"
"Do you know what he meant by that?"
"The next day I asked a couple of my friends who went with Tucker on chases, and they said where did I get the idea they was chasing girls when they was chasing darkies."
Perkins said he had no questions for Billy Bob Buras and the judge excused the witness, then called for a recess. The clock on the back wall said twelve thirty. I wondered whether I would be able to convince Luke to have lunch with me. I walked into the hall and followed Lilly into a private conference room where Detective Sherman and Lt. Schiller were talking to Susie and Rodney. He looked tired, and they were trying to decide whether they could let him go home for the afternoon. Luke walked in with his team, and they sat around the conference table. He ignored me, as though I were invisible standing next to Susie.
Luke told Susie that she and Rodney could go home, that he wouldn't call them until later in the week, and he would give them advance notice so they would be ready. Luke sat in a chair he'd pulled in front of Rodney's wheelchair and leaned forward. Susie sat next to her husband with her hand on his knee. "I want to call you closer to the end when you'll have the most impact, Rodney."
"Thanks, Luke." Susie patted Rodney's knee. "He's very tired. He hasn't been up this long."
"I understand." Luke shook Rodney's hand, then held the door open while Susie pushed Rodney through it. Lilly followed them out, and I followed Lilly.
*
After lunch, a black man named Wade Dolan took the stand. He said he was twenty-one years old, and testified that just last year Tucker Thevenot and Keith Rousseau chased him through the outskirts of town in an old blue truck. He said Keith drove and Tucker hung out the window and swung a rope, like a lasso.
"He throwed the rope over me, and they sped up, and the rope was tied around my waist, and I couldn't keep up with the speed of the truck. I fell, and they dragged me a ways. I was all scratched up, and the seat of my blue jeans was worn through." Wade Dolan had a high forehead and wide-set eyes. He had large lips, and a wide nose with big nostrils that flared when he talked. His hair was cropped short, almost in a crew cut, and his ears stuck out like Dumbo. He was tall and skinny and didn't look like he was strong enough to fight a two-year-old, much less two strong Cajun boys.
"What happened next?" Luke stood behind the podium and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
"They stopped the truck and that guy over there," Dolan pointed to Thevenot. "He got out and had a board in his two hands, like a piece of lumber you use to build a barn. And he come after me with it, but as soon as that truck had stopped, I wiggled out of the rope and took off running. That guy there started to run after me, then he stopped, and when I turned around I didn't see him or the blue truck no more. So I slowed down and walked through the alley between Mr. Joe Coulon's store and the Feed and Seed. When I come out on Chenevert Street, soon as I walked out of the alley, I felt something hit me across the face, and I seed stars. I fell flat on my back, and when I squinted my eyes open, I saw that man over there holding that board and laughing. He threw the board in the bed of that old blue pickup, and they sped off, tires squealing on the blacktop road."
I marveled that these kinds of things could still happen in 1984, and there were no repercussions. It was a small wonder that bigots like Thevenot and Rousseau went on the rampage. They could get away with anything they did to black people. I was disgusted as I sat there and listened to the brutal things white people did to African Americans, and recalled witnessing similar events and thinking nothing of them. I hated myself, and I hated the town I grew up in.
*
Another black man, named Ron Bevy, said that the same two guys ran him down only a few weeks ago. The judge asked Mr. Bevy if he remembered the date.
"Yes, sir. I sure do because it was my little girl's birthday." He smiled and had large white teeth that seemed to catch the light and shimmer like snow in sunshine. "She turned four, and I'd gone to town to buy her a doll for her birthday present."
"What was that date, Mr. Bevy?" Judge DeYoung wrote something down and motioned for one of the deputies to come to the bench.
"It was May 15, sir." Mr. Bevy had light skin, with big freckles on his nose and cheeks. His eyes were small, and he had thick eyebrows. His nose wasn't overly large, nor were his eyes, but they were wide-set, and he had frizzy hair and a large forehead.
Judge DeYoung looked from the defense table to the prosecution, and I could tell that something was amiss. All four lawyers went to the tall desk in the front corner of the room. They bent their heads together for about five minutes. Perkins banged his fist on the Judge's desk once, and the Judge pointed a finger at him. My lip reading wasn't very good, but I could swear the Judge told Perkins he would hold him in contempt if he pulled another stunt like that. Perkins backed away from the bench a few steps. A few minutes later, the lawyers returned to their places.
"Proceed, Mr. McMath." The judge bent to the side and said something to his clerk, who nodded and wrote on the legal pad in front of her.
"Tell the jury what happened."
"Well, sir. That man over there," Bevy pointed to Thevenot. I wished I could have seen the defendant's expression because Bevy didn't seem the least bit afraid of Thevenot. "He come after me that day when I was walking home from town. I had my little girl's present with me. I'd even paid the lady at the Five and Dime to gift wrap it."
"You say he went after you." Luke looked up from the podium at Mr. Bevy. "Was he on foot, on a bicycle, in a car? And where exactly were you?"
"I was on Roy Street headed to my house near the Indian Park when I heard a motor come up behind me and I could hear it idle like it was going real slow, following me. I moved into the ditch so they wouldn't run over me, but I didn't look back. Before I know it, there's a rope around my waist and the vehicle, now I know it was an old blue truck, it takes off in front of me and starts to pull me along. That man over there, he was holding the end of the rope out the window on the passenger side and was laughing so hard I couldn't see his eyes." Bevy took a breath and said something to the judge. The judge said something to the clerk, and she left the room.
"Go on, Mr. Bevy." Luke took a couple of steps to the side of the podium and glanced at the Judge, who was writing something on his pad.
"Well they start to speed up, and I couldn't keep up, so I fell in the ditch, and the present that was under my arm came a-loose, and I started screaming, not because I was being dragged, but because of the present. You understand?"
"Yes, sir," Luke said. "I understand."
"Well, they was dragging me through the mud and dirt, and it had rained the night before, and I was filthy, and there was mud and stuff in my mouth and nose, and it got to where I couldn't breathe. Then the truck stopped, right in the middle of the road, and that man jumped out holding the end of the rope. But by the time he got to me, I had gotten loose and was on the run. I'm little, and I'm fast." Bevy laughed at himself. He was short and slim, and could probably run like lightning.
The bailiff appeared with a paper cup and handed it to Mr. Bevy. He drank almost all of whatever was in the cup. He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve.
"Did you get away?"
"I thought I did, but when I was almost to my house, that blue truck caught up with me, and that man was swinging a long board out the window, trying to hit me upside the head." He put his hand on the side of his head and shook it back and forth as though he couldn't believe what he was saying. "But I ducked like a boxer, and when he swung it again I caught hold of it and pulled and it out of his hand, and I dropped it and ran the rest of the way to my house."
"What did you do next?"
"I went inside and locked the door, and I called the police." The way he said police sounded like 'PO-lease' with an accent on 'po.' I wanted to laugh, but I knew I'd cause a scene.
"Did the police come to your house?"
"Shore did." He nodded his head to emphasize he'd actually called the cops and they'd actually showed up. "They come to my house, and I tole them what happened, and I got in their car, and we went back and looked through the ditch for my little girl's present. It was all torn up and muddy, but we cleaned up the doll, and it was okay, except one arm was missing."
"What did the police do?"
"They took me down to the station and took down my story." He grinned as though he'd just won the lottery. "They believed me because of the doll. They said they would go looking for the blue truck, but I never heard from them again."
"So there's a police report?"
"Shore is."
"And were you able to identify the men who attacked you?"
"I didn't know their names, but I gave some good descriptions." He nodded again. "And I memorized the license plate while I was being pulled behind that truck through the mud. 37L402. So, I know the police could locate it somehow."
"Thank you, Mr. Bevy." Luke went back to his seat. "No more questions, judge."
"Any redirect?"
"No, Your Honor, but I reserve the right to recall Mr. Bevy if necessary." Perkins stood up behind his table and addressed the judge.
"Of course." The judge dismissed Mr. Bevy with his regular instructions about being available. “We’ll adjourn for the day.”
The jury left the courtroom, followed by everyone in the gallery.
I waited for Luke outside the courtroom, and when he came through the door, he was talking to Peter Swan and walked right past me as though he didn't see me. He didn't nod or smile or acknowledge me.