Blood on the Leaves Part 30

"No. I guess I was just afraid you couldn't come to me or to anyone else with whatever was troubling you. You needed that thing more than you needed your wife."

"Most of my life I've been afraid of a ghost who I thought was out to hurt me." The corners of his eyes glistened as he spoke softly. "I finally discovered it wasn't a ghost at all, but a man who needed my help. I couldn't give it to him." He found it more difficult to speak. The words constricted his throat as he fought back tears. He looked at Cheryl, and the sight of her tears released his own in a steady stream. "They killed him, Cheryl! Mutilated that man as I held him!" His voice broke with anger and pain. "They hung him right in front of me and put a knife into his heart, and I couldn't do a d.a.m.n thing about it!"

She held him, and they both wept.

He slept throughout the day and most of the night. Cheryl called Sinclair, who immediately requested a forty-eight-hour delay in the continuation of the trial. Tanner agreed and notified the jury and all the partic.i.p.ants of "the unfortunate automobile accident." The judge went on to say: "We're all pleased that Mr. Reynolds wasn't severely injured, and I'm happy to report he'll be able to continue with us in two days. I've been told he'll be a little sore, but that'll make it easier for me to control him. Now, if I could just find a way to do the same with opposing counsel, oh, what a world this would be."

The jurors and courtroom spectators laughed except for Matheson, who studied the jury's reaction and focused on Aubrey Munson, who for some reason needed to take notes.

CHAPTER 56.

THE BIG MOMENT had arrived. Reporters, unwilling to risk losing the precious seats that ent.i.tled them to a ringside view of the "event," ate sandwiches, shared chips, and guzzled sodas that they had managed to sneak into the courtroom. Politicians and dignitaries had flown in from around the country and tried to use their influence or connections to gain admittance, to no avail. Court spectators chatted in excited antic.i.p.ation and told jokes to release the tension. It had all the appearances of a champions.h.i.+p fight or a superstar rock concert. Even the jurors dressed for the occasion, with new blouses and dresses for the women and freshly pressed jackets and ties for the men. Something special was about to take place, and everyone knew it, especially the two opposing lawyers and the witness who'd just taken the stand.

"State your name for the record," requested the court clerk.

"Martin Samuel Matheson." The professor sat down at the precise moment his attorney asked the first question.

"Dr. Matheson, did you kill Earvin Cooper?"

"I did not."

"Have you killed anyone?"

"No."

Miller walked near the jury box and attempted to make eye contact, but they were all focused on Matheson. "Why did you teach a course on civil rights history focusing on unsolved murders, *unpunished murderers,' as you called them?"

Matheson turned toward the jury, and immediately several of the women improved their posture. "People sacrificed their lives during a turbulent period in this nation's history." He spoke carefully and clearly. "If we remember them, their blood is in our veins. If we forget them, their blood's on our hands. We've forgotten them, which is why so many young black men find it easy to destroy each other." Matheson looked at Reynolds, who sat motionless at the prosecutor's table. "I tried to teach my students that black life is valuable-that you shouldn't be able to take it without consequence."

Miller glanced at the jury. "I have no further questions."

Tanner placed his hand over his mouth, which had unexpectedly dropped open. The jury shared the judge's shock that the testimony had ended so abruptly.

Miller strode to his table and confidently sat down.

Reporters wrote furiously in their notebooks.

"Mr. Reynolds, it seems as if it's your turn," remarked Judge Tanner. "I a.s.sume you wish to take it."

"I do, indeed; thank you, Your Honor." Reynolds's voice echoed inside his own head, and he thought he heard his heart beat rapidly. He rose and wondered if his jacket was rumpled or his s.h.i.+rt collar crooked or if the jury could tell his legs shook. "Good afternoon, Professor Matheson." He wanted to be respectful without appearing friendly. Direct without being hostile. He wasn't sure how he sounded.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Reynolds. I'm sorry about your . . . accident."

The professor's attempt at concern snapped Reynolds back into reality and allowed him to focus on the matter at hand. "Dr. Matheson, how could you be so certain the persons you put on your list were guilty of any crimes?"

Matheson nodded as if approving of the question and eager to answer it. "Based on my research, there were a great many people who deserved to be placed on my list. However, I selected only those where there was irrefutable evidence of guilt, including individuals who'd openly bragged about committing the crimes. Even in those cases I relied on eyewitness identification or information contained in court records."

"In compiling and publicizing your list, you were placing dozens of lives in jeopardy. Did that ever bother you?"

"What might happen to them in the future troubled me far less than what they'd done in the past," Matheson replied matter-of-factly.

"You're aware, are you not, that in the last few years several men involved in some of the most notorious murders committed during the Civil Rights Movement were finally convicted of their crimes?"

"I'm aware of that, with particular emphasis on the word finally."

Reynolds kept his focus and continued the questioning. "Yet you chose to advocate a campaign of personal hara.s.sment against the men on your list instead of using the research you uncovered to seek justice in the courts."

"Using the judicial system to penalize criminals three and a half to four decades after they commit their crimes isn't justice, Mr. Reynolds. It's a mockery of justice, and an insult to the victims' families."

"You didn't believe prison sentences would be sufficient." Reynolds moved closer to the jury. "Would that be a fair characterization of your att.i.tude?"

"If your child had been viciously murdered and the person responsible allowed to enjoy his freedom, travel, socialize, lead a full and complete life until he reached the twilight of his years, would you be satisfied using your tax dollars to provide his retirement housing?" Matheson touched his mouth with the tip of his index finger and waited for Reynolds to respond.

"I'm sorry, Professor, this isn't one of your cla.s.ses where you get to ask the questions. That's my role." Reynolds maintained his cool demeanor. "I take it your answer to my inquiry is no?"

"My answer is a definite no."

"So you felt they needed a more severe form of punishment?"

"I did."

"Something similar to what they allegedly did to their victims."

"That would be impossible to achieve."

Reynolds inched closer to the witness. "You mean you'd never be able to make them suffer enough?"

Matheson directed his reply to the jury. "The crimes they committed were not simply against individuals. They were allowed to terrorize an entire race of people. Blacks were confronted with incontrovertible evidence their lives didn't matter. That they had absolutely no value."

Pointedly Matheson continued without turning back to face Reynolds. "The victimization of the black community left deep and permanent scars. We see the effects of that psychic damage every day in the way that black youth treat each other. They have no respect because they were never respected. More important, they've come to believe they never deserved to be." He made eye contact with each individual member of the jury. Some nodded their heads, acknowledging they agreed or at least understood.

Reynolds thought about cutting off the lecture but preferred to let Matheson share his philosophies. With luck, he'd say a bit too much.

"If you punish a murderer within a reasonable time after the crime," continued Matheson, "there's a possibility of healing. In a strange sense, it provides an opportunity to recognize and embrace how precious and fragile life is, to gather strength from pain and forge it into a renewed sense of optimism and hope." He folded his hands together and placed them on the edge of the witness stand. "But if that life's taken without the slightest chance of achieving justice, then your view of yourself and the people around you becomes distorted and ultimately abusive to those you love, a.s.suming you're capable of loving at all." He finally looked at Reynolds. "You're correct, Mr. Reynolds. I could never make them suffer enough for their cowardly acts or for the lasting effects their crimes had on a community forced to act cowardly."

"I surmise by your response that I'm likely to have difficulty in getting you to answer a question with a simple yes or no?"

Matheson smiled. "I apologize. When I took the oath, I a.s.sumed you wanted me to give as complete and thorough an answer as your question deserved, particularly since you won't accord me the right to ask my own." He smiled more charmingly. "But I do admit my years as a professor have caused me at times to take the longest distance between two points in order to make two more. I'll try to be brief in the future."

"That's quite all right, Dr. Matheson; please take as much time as you need. After all, you're on trial for capital murder, not your teaching style."

"That remains to be seen, but I appreciate your patience." Matheson poured himself a gla.s.s of water.

"Why did you use your students to achieve your rather unique brand of justice?"

"I'm not sure I know what you mean by *use.'"

"Well, let me try and clarify it for you." Reynolds took a step toward the jury. "In your personal crusade to correct past injustices, rather than rely on impressionable students, did you ever make an effort to enlist the support of black leaders?"

Matheson took a sip of water. "Mr. Reynolds, I avoid people who fill in the words black leader under the category marked occupation." He placed the gla.s.s of water on the ledge in front of him. "I generally find they charge too much and accomplish too little."

"Isn't your father a black leader, Professor Matheson?"

"My father's a minister and a fighter for civil rights. Since you were, until very recently, a member of his church, you're fully aware he's never had any interest in inflating his ego at the expense of the people he tried to help."

"I'm aware of a great many things about your father, but I'm far more interested in having the jury learn more about his son," Reynolds said with the first real sign of hostility.

"They say the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree," replied Matheson.

"They also say the apple was Adam's downfall, and we all know where that obsession led the world." Reynolds spoke with less animosity, but there still existed an edge to his words. "Speaking of obsession, would that describe your behavior in dealing with Earvin Cooper and the other men on your list?"

"I object, Your Honor." Miller stood and addressed the court. "Dr. Matheson is a scholar, but his expertise isn't in the field of psychology."

Tanner turned toward Matheson. "Did you understand the question?"

"As well as its implication," replied Matheson.

"Then you may answer," ruled Tanner.

"Obsession's a disorder which has, happily, never afflicted me." Matheson leaned back and relaxed. "As to my behavior in dealing with Earvin Cooper and the others, that would depend in large part on whether or not they were alive. Since Mr. Cooper is deceased and I'm charged with his murder, I'm not as interested in revealing his guilt as I am in proving my innocence."

"Did you find it odd that you suffered an a.s.sault on the same evening Earvin Cooper fought and struggled with his a.s.sailant?"

Matheson leaned forward and displayed a slight degree of irritation. "I find a great many things odd, Mr. Reynolds, including that J. Edgar Hoover's name is plastered all over a building which purportedly represents law and order and justice."

Reynolds glanced at the jury and noticed that Aubrey Munson wasn't too pleased with that remark, but he remained in the clear minority.

"And since you brought up the subject," continued Matheson with a slight shrug of his shoulders, "I also find it odd you sustained so many injuries from just one fender bender. But I'm not a medical doctor, so I'll have to take your word for it."

Reynolds silently counted to five, then ten, then five more. "Since you've indicated you're not a medical doctor, by any chance do you consider yourself G.o.d?"

Miller stood. "Your Honor, I object."

"Actually," remarked Tanner, "I'm kinda interested in the answer. Overruled."

"No, Mr. Reynolds, I don't believe I'm G.o.d, although in many cultures each individual might be viewed that way. I imagine one could do worse than treat others with the respect and love reserved for a deity."

"Perhaps, but wouldn't we risk wors.h.i.+ping false idols?"

Matheson smiled. "That might not be as bad as it sounds. There was a time when G.o.ds weren't nearly so envious. You'd pray to the sun in the morning, a golden calf in the afternoon, and the G.o.d Jehovah at night."

"And when did all that change?" Reynolds hoped the more Matheson talked, the greater the chance the jury might see his secret bas.e.m.e.nt.

"With the creation of the Bible," Matheson answered casually. "After the appearance of that great book, the penalty for wors.h.i.+ping multiple G.o.ds resulted in floods, pestilence, and other catastrophes." He looked at the jury and smiled warmly. "In that regard, religion isn't terribly different than government-if you challenge their authority you're likely to face disaster."

Reynolds sought to unnerve Matheson, throw him off stride, but it hadn't happened. He glanced at Blaze Hansberry and hoped, if nothing else, the professor's view of more than one G.o.d might have offended her. Instead, she appeared to be enamored. He faced Matheson and calmly asked, "Could you tell the jury about Bigger Thomas?"

"Your Honor, we just covered psychology and theology, and now Mr. Reynolds wants to move on to literature. I thought this was a murder trial, not a liberal arts seminar." Miller looked at the jury in feigned bewilderment.

"You have an interesting way of raising objections, Mr. Miller. I'll be sure to record your methods and share them with my law students as glaring examples of what to avoid doing before a judge." Tanner ignored Miller and turned his attention to Reynolds. "Counselor, I a.s.sume you have a sustainable reason for your inquiry of the witness?"

"I'll establish it, Your Honor."

"You'll have to. And within the next three questions." Tanner looked down from the bench at Matheson. "You may answer."

The professor addressed Reynolds informally. "Bigger Thomas was a fictional character in a novel written by Richard Wright, called Native Son."

"He was a black man who murdered the daughter of his white employer," stated Reynolds.

"He also murdered his own girlfriend, who was black," interjected Matheson. "That seldom gets as much attention."

"You wrote that Bigger Thomas was a creation of a society that ignores the hatred and bigotry which produce rage."

"That was published about a year ago."

Reynolds retrieved an academic journal from his table and read to the jury. "*The Bigger Thomas of the future would be neither ignorant nor frightened. Instead, he would be deliberate, methodical. Would seek to maintain honor by overcoming the rules of a system designed to deny him power, self-respect, and justice.'" Reynolds stopped reading and addressed Matheson. "The Bigger Thomas of your article would desire retribution. Condemned as a murderer if he fails. Exalted as a hero if he succeeds." He closed the journal and studied Matheson. "Did I quote you accurately?"

"You've captured the gist of it."

"You believe in revenge, Dr. Matheson?"

"I believe in justice. That you must be willing to pay a price for it."

"Your father devoted a lifetime to teaching nonviolence, did he not?"

"My father is a deeply religious man, as I believe you know. In the tradition of Jesus, he teaches his congregation to love their enemies and forgive them their sins."

"You don't agree with his philosophy?"

"I turn my love inward, and whenever possible I forgive myself. If you can master the art of forgiving yourself, you can accomplish anything."

Several black members of the jury smiled. The rest continued to be riveted to the proceedings.

"Did you spend much time reviewing the photos in your collection?" asked Reynolds.

"It was difficult to study them."

"Did they affect you? Make you angry?"

"We all have the capacity to deaden our pain, become numb when confronted with unrelenting brutality. It didn't take long before the pictures all started to seem the same. Black-and-white photos of death, mutilation."

Reynolds walked in front of the jury and considered Matheson's response with obvious skepticism. "The photos you collected, studied, hung on the walls of your home, and distributed to your students-one day they simply became interchangeable? Is that what you'd like this jury to believe?"