Part 4: Trial & Aftermath
Trial concludes: fabricated eyewitness Justin identifies John as the killer; not guilty verdict; the family returns to Nueva Casa then Baja Leai; Jesus writes.
“Please state your name for the record,” Instructed Dupree.
“Justin Jack Earnest,” replied the musician.
“Can you please recount the events that you witnessed on November 17th of last year?” “I was walking from a friend’s apartment to a bar in Upper Manhattan when I heard a gunshot from an alley to my right. The Ridgeland Posts’ offices were on my left, and I was walking south, to give you an idea of where I was. When I turned, I saw a man in all black holstering a gun and making his way behind the building,” Justin said.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing, I didn’t want to get involved.”
“You didn’t call the police?”
“No,” He said, “When you grow up where I’m from, you don’t call the police every time there’s a gunshot.”
“So, you kept walking?” Dupree said.
“Yeah, I kept my head down and thought nothing of it until two weeks ago.”
“And what happened then?” Asked Dupree.
“I heard on the radio that someone was going on trial for murder. When they described the time and location, I realized that it might have been the same murder that I witnessed last year, so I went to the police and made a statement.”
“Can you describe the man that you saw that day?”
“Yes, I remember him clearly. He was white, late twenties or early thirties, average build, curly hair and glasses.”
“And the gun? Did you get a good look at it?”
“No, not enough to see anything besides it being a pistol of some sort,” Justin said, “There’s something else, though.”
“And what is that?” Dupree led. She knew what was coming. Jesus knew what was coming. It was a dirty trick, and it would be their trump card.
Less than two weeks ago, Andrea had ran into Justin Jack by chance while buying groceries. The coincidence of them meeting again in a totally different city, let alone a different country, was so astronomically low that they decided to get coffee later, where Andrea told him all that had happened since last time they met, leaving out a few key details. While Jesus and Andrea were working in the big city, Justin was hitchhiking his way across California and Texas, playing his music wherever someone would stop and listen. At the time of the murder, he was hiding out in Des Moines, Iowa with a goth heroin-addicted jazz clarinetist. It wasn’t until September of 1970 that he had rolled into town, strung out and broke, with hopes that New York would solve one if not both of those problems. As luck would have it, the big apple did, landing him a regular gig at a western-themed cowboy joint playing country music Tuesdays through Thursdays during happy hour, because the house band’s bass player had a baby.
He did so well that he took over the bass player’s spot in the band, and started leading the band along with a middle aged Persian Mormon named Hassan who, despite not even liking country music, sounded exactly like Hank Williams. He started living with a Mexican waitress who had an apartment in lower Manhattan, conveniently not too far from the site of the murder, which he, of course, had never seen. She would corroborate his story if need be, and after that juncture, he had agreed to help get back at John Letters for playing dirty with a few lies of his own.
You have to fight fire with fire.
“The man I saw is sitting here today,” Justin said. A murmur arose from the audience.
“Can you identify him for us?” Dupree said.
“Yes, I can,” Justin said. He stood and pointed at John Letters.
“Objection!” Shouted Reid, but the judge ignored him. The courtroom was exploding with shouting. People were out of their seats, talking loudly as the bailiff handcuffed the adamantly protesting John. The place was a madhouse before the judge finally restored order, and Dupree resumed her line of questioning.
She questioned Justin about what he saw leading up to and following the murder. His answers were not illuminating. The artificial crux of his testimony had already passed.
Reid attempted to undermine his credibility, but Justin had already been coached to avoid talking about drugs, alcohol, sleep deprivation, stress, or anything that the state could use against him. In fact, it was the first the state had heard about Justin. After he filed a police report, he supposedly contacted the defense counsel directly, and by the miracle of hubris and plain old investigative laziness, Reid had managed to overlook his testimony completely. The defense knew none of this, and were prepared for a full scale attack on his credibility, which never occurred.
“The defense rests its case,” Announced Dupree, signaling to the judge that he was her last witness. The judge called for lunch, and Jesus was led back into a holding area where he was given a sack lunch. Dupree met with him a half hour later.
“How are you doing?” She asked.
“Fine, I guess. You did a good job out there,” Jesus replied.
“I think that they were taken off guard by Justin’s testimony, but it isn’t a done deal yet.” “What happens now?” He asked.
“Now,” She said, “They have a chance to respond to our case. They have several witnesses on their list, so it’s hard to say who they’re going to call for sure, but I think that we’ve got them up against the ropes. Their case was damaged greatly by the last witness we called. They might be desperate.”
Jesus considered this as Dupree wrapped up.
“I need to review a few things before we reconvene. They should start up again in half an hour.”
Then, Jesus was alone again, alone with Himself. He could feel him pacing, biding his time in the shadows.
“This is it, then.” Jesus said to Himself. It didn’t respond.
Instead, Andrea responded, “I hope you’re not doing this for me.”
“I’m not.”
“Then, who are you doing it for?”
“Our son,” He said.
“Our son,” She replied sarcastically.
“Don’t play games.”
“Either way, it’s over. The boy won’t have his father in his life, just like you. You’re no better than Winston was.”
“This is different.”
“Different? Jesus, you’re a murderer. Nothing could be more similar.”
Who am I?
“You ready?” Asked the guard.
“Just one more minute.”
“Tough luck. It’s time,” The guard said, and led him back to the courtroom. All eyes were on him as he made his grand reappearance.
The first witness that the state called up was Alverez, the owner of the pawn shop where Jesus had bought the .357 that was the supposed murder weapon. His demeanor was tight lipped and rigid, and his answers were short and to the point, like a man who didn’t want to say more than absolutely necessary. Jesus suspected heavily that he had been subpoenaed by the state to testify, and was by no means present by his own free will.
Whenever Reid asked him a question that could be avoided, he would simply respond, “I do not recall,” When questioned about his inability to recall anything, he cited a head injury from his military service.
“Luckily, we have records of all the receipts of sale and phone calls from your store during the seven days leading up to the murder,” Reid said, handing him as well as Dupree a stack of papers.
“Will you please tell me what is on the highlighted section of page twelve?” Reid said.
“Let me see that,” Jesus whispered to Dupree. She handed him the papers. She already knew what they contained. A nagging voice told Jesus to look for himself. They contained receipts of payment and sale for gold earrings, power tools, a trumpet, a pair of collector’s gloves, a racing bicycle, records, necklaces, radios, and …
“A .357 magnum, sold November 15th to Jesus Castillo,” Alverez read out.
“Only two days prior to the date of Leroy White’s murder?” Reid said.
“I would have to check my calendar,” said Alverez dryly.
As the two continued on, Jesus thumbed through the old receipts until he reached the end of the document. He had almost closed it back up and handed it back to Dupree when he spotted a list of phone numbers, with designations for either outgoing or incoming calls. They were all local, except for one outgoing call, a Chicago area code. Jesus squinted at the number. There was something familiar about it.
“I need that,” Dupree said, and took the document back to begin her cross-examination. She pointed out flaws in the ledger, citing inconsistent spellings and missing amounts, as well as the fact that, according to this ledger, he had spent $200 more than he profited.
“It was a bad week,” He offered in response.
The next witness was Dana White. His testimony mirrored Waters’.
“This is just in response to Richard Baxter’s testimony,” Dupree told him quietly, “It means we got something. This is good for us. It highlights the existing conflicts of fact.”
Dana conducted himself professionally, if somewhat dryly. His testimony was considerably less aggressive than Waters’ but was designed to essentially reinforce Waters’ main points.
It occurred to Jesus how contrived the entire trial was. Nothing was genuine; it was a great game of chess, and Jesus was the king.
The state moved out their rook, and Lucas took the stand. Jesus was surprised to see him. They had discussed Jesus’ case very little. He hoped that Lucas would backfire and help his own case, but that didn’t happen. Instead, Lucas flipped.
He looked somber and sunken eyed as he recited what was clearly a practiced routine, “On December the 21st, Jesus told me that he killed Leroy while we were playing cards.”
Lucas had done it. He had lied, no doubt to facilitate some type of deal on his own end, but it was a bomb of damning evidence that his defense couldn’t take back. Jesus seethed with anger. How could Lucas do this to him?
There’s no honor among thieves.
Dupree tried again for damage control, but it was useless. He had been coached. For the first time since the beginning of the trial, he felt truly hurt. The betrayal cut deep.
The state continued their bombardment by calling Abraham Faber, the head orderly from Jesus’ ward in Green Mountain to the stand. Abraham didn’t make eye contact with Jesus or even look in his general direction as he testified that Jesus had suffered from severe hallucinations and psychosis. Another betrayal, but this time truthful. For a moment, Jesus found himself wishing that he had tried the insanity defense.
Find your focal point.
“How’s it looking now?” The Other whispered in his ear.
“You’re going away for a long time,” John said, “And as soon as you do, I’m going free.”
Leroy just stared. He shared his piercing, knowing stare.
“Leroy says, Leroy says, Leroy says … ”
“Time to face the music,” Justin said, “I did the most I could.”
“It’s over, kid,” Said Rodrigo.
Find your focal point.
The Other was close now, close as ever, sitting next to him in the chair to his right as a tall, fair woman wearing heavy makeup took the stand. She was beautiful, in a scandalous sort of way. She introduced herself as Amy Blime, and said she knew Leroy from her job. She worked at Air, Leroy’s exclusive flagship club with Andrea.
“Andrea and I started working together at the end of September. The first time I saw her leave with Leroy was in November. It happened to everyone who works there eventually. Leroy had a special way with women, and if he didn’t, they would find their way out the door,” She said.
The state pressed on, “Did you know that Andrea and Jesus were dating at the time?”
“I knew that she had a boyfriend she lived with. Most of us did. It didn’t matter,” Amy said.
Jesus took a deep breath and unclenched his fists, which had been unconsciously balled up.
Focal. Point.
“Do you think that Jesus would have had any reason to be angry at Leroy White?” Reid asked.
“Objection, your honor. Speculation and leading the witness,” Dupree interjected.
“Sustained. Try to keep the questions to matters of observable fact, Mr. Reid,” Bolton said, but the damage had already been done. It was a low blow, which is why the state had waited until their rebuttal to use her testimony.
After Blime, the state rested their case. Dupree asked the judge for a short break, which Bolton granted. As Jesus was led back to the holding area, he thought about his impending life behind bars. He might get out in twenty, even ten years on good behavior. He tried to rationalize it, telling himself that it wouldn’t be that bad, but deep inside, he was laughing at his own petty explanations.
The defense had nothing. They had fired all their shots at once, and now they didn’t have any guns left. Sure, they could rehash some of the old testimony, possibly taking Tony Ferguson back to the stand, but that would only serve to reinforce the observation that their case was weak at best, and hinged on one eye witness testimony and circumstantial evidence collected by a paid private investigator.
Maybe, just maybe, they could get a mistrial with their current case, but Jesus doubted it. Doom and despair haunted him as the defense prepared to make their final stand.
Then, to his surprise, Dupree called Andrea to the stand. She walked slowly and deliberately, with purpose. The words she had told Jesus during her last visit in his head.
Will she?
“Please state your name for the record,” Dupree said. In that moment, a great ringing came into Jesus’ ears. It pierced through him, like a migraine. He instinctively covered his ears with his palms, trying to block out the noise, but it was ineffective — the sound was coming from inside his head. He put his hands down and tried to focus on Andrea through the storm of noise. Eventually, the sound began to quell and form into discernable words.
“Leroy says, Leroy says, Leroy says … ” She was repeating into the microphone, like a broken record.
No! Not now!
Jesus focused on the words, looking behind the sounds to find his undertones that carried truth.
At first her words were garbled and mangled, cutting in and out like a detuned radio set somewhere between talk radio stations, but Jesus focused further, ignoring the intermittently spliced words and delving into the white noise. The ringing in his ears was the white noise.
Find your focal point.
His focal point was the white noise. Somewhere, very far away, he knew that Andrea had finished her testimony, and was being cross examined by Reid.
He tried to discern his words, but the ringing returned. It was all Jesus could do not to scream, to cover his ears and shout for all that was good and right in the world to come down on him and end his suffering. The pain was immense, nearly unbearable, but Jesus gritted his teeth and maintained his composure. He could feel The Other’s cold, long dead nostrils breathing frigid air onto his neck. The ringing was deafening and all consuming.
I must … keep … composure.
“Thank you, your honor. The State rests,” and with that, the storm had passed. Jesus could hear again, and he could discern what was going on around him. He had managed to miss Andrea’s entire testimony. What had she said? Had it changed anything? These questions rocketed through Jesus’ head as the defense called their last witness to the stand.
“We call Scott King to testify,” Dupree announced.
Winston rose from the witness’s pen and walked to the stand. Even through the tailored suit jacket, Jesus could see his massive corded muscles moving, like an animal. He stalked his way to the stand and adjusted the microphone to adjust his short stature.
“Is what Andrea said true, that you and her were both paid sums totaling $25,000 each to stay quiet about what you knew?” Dupree began.
“That is correct, yes,” Winston replied.
“And what is it they didn’t want you to tell the police?”
“On the morning of November 17th, John Letters came to Jesus and Andrea’s apartment and offered Andrea $8,000 to plant a weapon inside their apartment. She showed him where Jesus kept his gun, and John took that.”
“I see. And how did you come to be paid?”
“Seven months later, she confessed to me what happened, guilty about becoming an unknowing accomplice in murder. I had a hard time believing her because she had already spent the $8,000,”
Winston said. “I knew John Letters personally, so I paid him a visit at work. He begged me not to go to the police, and offered to pay me $42,000, which he did over the course of several months. I collected secret photographs of the transactions, which always occurred by exchange of briefcase outside of The Rooster.”
“That’s a pretty tall tale. Do you have the money with?” Dupree said.
“Yes, I do.”
“And are you prepared to turn it over to authorities?”
“Yes, I am. Every last penny of it.”
Dupree produced a series of photographs, marked with dates and amounts, showing Winston and John exchanging briefcases on the block of The Rooster.
“If your honor approves,” Winston said, “I would like to turn over the money at this time.”
“Go ahead,” Said Bolton, too shocked to object. No one, even he had seen anything like this.
Winston handed over a suitcase full of cash to the bailiff, who didn’t bother to count it.
“Please state for the record what just occurred,” Dupree said.
“Mr. King has turned over what appears to be a suitcase full of cash used as bribe money.” The defense had a heyday with Winston, accusing him of accepting bribes, racketeering, and impeding investigation. He demanded that Andrea and Winston both be arrested on the spot, though neither request was fulfilled.
Winston had managed to, with Andrea’s help, instill a series of events that would likely land John Letters in a lifetime prison sentence. No amount of questioning could undo that.
The state’s closing statement was long and drawn out; Reid desperately tried to respond to all of the defense’s points, coming off as disorganized and flustered in his attempt to rationalize the shocking testimony that ended the trial. There was an air of electricity in the room, none of which was going Reid’s way. Letters was still in cuffs, being held outside the courtroom in an adjacent holding cell.
Dupree’s closing statements were short and to the point, touching on the same subjects she had promised to address in her opening statements. Now, more than ever, Jesus felt confident and happy with his decision to fight.
It took the jury only twenty minutes to come back with a verdict of not guilty. For the first time in ten months, Jesus felt like he could breathe again.
Jesus wasn’t freed immediately after the trial, but he was released late that night from county, dressed in the same clothes he was arrested in. Finally, around 11:30pm, a black Cadillac pulled up to county jail. Jesus got into the front seat with Winston.
“Andrea’s at home with the kid,” He said, seemingly reading Jesus’ mind, “You hungry?”
“I’ve been in jail for ten months, you tell me.”
“Let’s hit a diner where we can talk,” Said Winston.
Ed’s diner seemed like the type of unassuming, general purpose place that would suit their needs at well past midnight on a weekday. The “D” in “Diner” had lost its illumination, so the sign just read “Ed’s iner.”
Their waitress made no attempt at sugar coating her words.
“Coffee?” She began. She was in her mid-thirties, black, and skinny. Pretty enough to work at a better place, but she probably didn’t have the right attitude.
“Yeah, two,” Winston said, without asking Jesus.
“Actually, I think we both know what we want?” Jesus said.
“And what’s that?”
“Steak, medium, eggs, scrambled, with whatever else comes with it,” Jesus said.
“Hash browns and toast okay?”
“Whatever comes with it.”
“And for you, honey?” She said, turning to Winston.
“The same,” Winston said.
“Sounds good, sweetie. I’ll be right back with those coffees.”
Jesus and Winston sat in silence until the waitress brought them their coffees, then waited for them to cool, sipping intermittently. A long time passed before Jesus finally spoke up.
“So, $42,000, huh?”
“All Mexican counterfeit. Still worth a great bit.” Winston replied.
“I bet.”
They both sipped their coffee.
“We need to skip town,” Winston said, “At least you and Andrea and the kid. I’ve made up my mind about coming with.”
“I figured,” Jesus said, “What do you have in mind?”
“Well, we could go home. Take you guys back to Nueva Casa, rebuild the orphanage. I’ve got enough money that I won’t need to work again.”
“Wish I could say the same,” Jesus said.
“You can. I figured I would leave you with enough money that the kid will be taken care of. I’m going to Baja Leai,” Winston said.
“Typical,” Jesus said, “You think you can just throw money at a problem and make it go away.”
Winston shrugged.
“Ok, so what’s in Baja Leai for you?”
“Thought I would settle down, start a family.”
“You and Layla?” Jesus asked, connecting the dots in his head.
“Yeah, me and Layla,” He said with a hint of a smile.
“That’s a lot of house for two people.”
Winston didn’t say anything.
“How about Andrea and I come with you. I’ll finish college, and Andrea will have some help with the kid.”
“I’m fine with it.”
“So when do we leave?”
“In the morning,” Winston said, “The bags are already packed. We were just waiting on you.”
That night, Andrea and Jesus laid in bed together with their son in between them. The infant son slept soundly while the couple intertwined fingers and spoke softly. Andrea had gained weight during her maternity, and her features appeared softer and rounder than Jesus remembered as he stared into her eyes, as he had done so many times before.
She liked to talk about the baby. Jesus listened contently to her speak quietly about their son’s habits, quirks, and idiosyncrasies. It felt right to him, as if everything in the universe was in its place.
They conversed into the night, careful not to wake the child, falling in love with each other all again. Jesus told her about his last days in jail, and Andrea told him about raising their son and how glad she was to have him back.
Eventually, the conversation took a turn, as Jesus and Andrea both knew that it needed to.
“That night at the party … ” Jesus began.
“I know what you’re going to say,” Andrea said. The baby stirred. “I was really, really drunk. In fact, I think I was drugged,” She said.
“Why? Why did you do it?”
“I don’t know, the coke, the way he talked. I was sure that you were cheating on me, so I justified it.”
“I wasn’t,” He said.
“I know. I don’t ever want to do that again.”
“Andrea?” He said.
“Yes?”
“I forgive you. And I love you.”
“I love you too. And I respect what you did.” She said.
“What do you mean?” He said.
“Well, the story makes sense. John manipulating you, the whole way to get what he needed. Not the story you told in court, but the ‘real’ story, that John must have broken into the apartment while we were at the party, taken your gun, and planted it again when he visited the day after the murder.”
“That’s the best I can make sense of what happened,” Jesus said.
“Well,” She said, “There’s one thing that doesn’t fit. You told me that you bought the gun after the party. There’s no way that John broke in after that, and before the murder. We were at the apartment the whole time. Besides, how would he know?”
Jesus just laid on his back, staring at the ceiling, thinking. After what seemed like a very long time, he said, “I don’t know. That’s a good point.”
“So did you do it?” She said.
“Do what?”
“Kill Leroy?” She said, barely a whisper.
“No,” Jesus said, “At least I think not.”
They all fell asleep after that. In the morning, the long journey to Nueva Casa would begin.
When the four of them finally did arrive in Nueva Casa after what felt like an eternity of airports and planes, the weather had warmed considerably from the frigid New York temperatures. September in Nueva Casa was comparable to summer in New York. The beautiful Mexican weather was a welcome change from the dreary overcast of New York.
Jesus was rejuvenated to step foot back in his home town after so long away. All the memories rushing back temporarily made him forget his exhaustion from the journey. Setting foot in Nueva Casa once again was a return to a past lifetime. He would never be the same boy that left on a bus bound north on new year’s day, what felt like decades ago. His childhood innocence was long gone, washed away into the soundless Pacific Thorazine oceans of Long Island.
Their first stop was Osito’s house. Winston had phoned ahead, and found that Osito was fortunately home from his business travels. He, his wife, his two daughters, and Carmen were overjoyed to see Jesus and Andrea. The women doted over the baby while Winston pulled Osito aside to have a seemingly more serious discussion. The rest of the day was a blur of greetings, reminiscing, and polite niceties. Christian and Miriam’s child was almost a year old, a girl they named Rosa. She was beautiful and healthy, and Christian and Miriam appeared to be perfectly happy couple. Small town life in Nueva Casa had normalized.
On the night of their arrival, everyone associated with the orphanage had dinner together at Oscar’s taqueria, followed by drinks and music. Winston announced that the orphanage and the bakery would be rebuilt much larger than it was before, and Nueva Casa would become a home for deserted children. The news was met with cheering and applause. Jesus and Andrea retired early to Oscar’s spare bedroom, sleeping with Jesus Jr. in the same bed that Enrique had stayed in before he left to join the army.
They stayed in Nueva Casa for six days before boarding a bus that would ultimately take them to Baja Leai. When they arrived at Layla’s boarding house, they found the dog and garden much as they had left them. Layla, however, had a different air about her. She seemed younger, more energetic and joyful than when Jesus and Andrea had stayed there before. She was in love with Winston, and Winston with her.
Together, they cleared out the room that Jesus had stayed in with the other travelers to make room for Jesus, Andrea, and their child. Gone were the days of Layla’s boarding house. It was simply Layla’s house now.
Winston found work managing a local gymnasium. He didn’t need the money, but it afforded him a free gym membership. Jesus re-enrolled in Baja Leai University, much to Mr. Zuniga’s chagrin, this time without the assistance of a scholarship. He took a light course load to accommodate his need to be a father to his son. He promised himself that he would never abandon his children like Winston had abandoned him.
As days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, the five of them tried to forget about everything that had brought them to this point. Jesus began work on his first book, Hypo-Notic: An Exploration of Consciousness, using his experiences affected with schizophrenia as the basis for his hypothesis about the human mind. The Other had not bothered him since the trial. In fact, all the split parts of his mind that had plagued his existence of the past year or more were strangely not present. They all took it as a blessing. The road ahead was clear and long, stretching far into a Pacific sunset.