Scott Pratt - Injustice for all

“Don’t apologize. I probably would have fallen on my sword by now.”

Ray turns toward me. His eyes lock on to mine briefly, then drop toward the ground.

“Do you remember a couple of years back?” he says, his head still down. “I think you’d just started at the DA’s office. Judge Glass had charged Sheriff Bates with contempt over something stupid, and your office refused to prosecute. Didn’t you handle that in court?”

I remember it vividly. Judge Ivan Glass, the cranky, seventysomething judge, was presiding over an afternoon hearing two years ago when a question arose about a policy at the sheriff’s department. Judge Glass told a bailiff to telephone Sheriff Leon Bates and order him to come to court to testify and clear up the matter. Sheriff Bates politely told the bailiff he was busy. Judge Glass told the bailiff to call back and tell the sheriff if he didn’t come to court immediately he’d be charged with contempt. The sheriff told the bailiff to tell the judge to kiss his biscuits, and the judge filed the contempt charge. When the day came for the hearing, I went into court, and on behalf of the district attorney’s office, told Judge Glass he had no authority to order the sheriff into court, that the charge had no basis in law or fact, and that the district attorney’s office refused to prosecute the case. The courtroom was packed with Bates’s political supporters, and Judge Glass was forced to back down and drop the charge against the sheriff.

“Yeah, I handled it,” I say.

“I hate to ask you, but what are the chances of your doing the same thing for me? I have to go in front of the son of a bitch on Monday.”

“Who? Judge Green?”

“Plea deadline on the contempt charge. All you’d have to do is go in there and say the DA’s office refuses to prosecute. It’s a bullshit charge and everybody knows it.”

“I’ve already talked to Mooney about it. I begged him. He doesn’t want to get involved.”

“Why?” Ray says. “What’s the difference between me and Bates? What’s the difference between Glass and Green?”

“Think about it.”

Ray flips the ashes off his cigarette and puts the butt in his pocket. He pauses for a long moment.

“Oh, I’ve thought about it. Believe me.”

“Bates is probably the most popular sheriff we’ve ever had in this county,” I say. “Mooney helped Bates out, hoping it would benefit him politically somewhere down the road. That’s all it was.”

“And Green has already announced he’s not going to run for another term, assuming someone doesn’t kill him before this term expires. So there’s no upside for Mooney if he gets involved.”

“Exactly. I’m sorry, Ray.”

“Forget it.”

“Take it to trial. Surely a jury will see what’s happening and do the right thing.”

“I appreciate the advice,” he says, “but if you can’t help, I’ve got something a little more dramatic in mind.”

“Like what?”

“You’ll see on Monday,” he says, and he turns and walks back into the house.

“Aren’t you coming to see the show?”

I look up from an attempted murder file into the face of Tanner Jarrett. He’s wearing his perpetual smile.

“What show is that?”

“Ray Miller’s in court. Judge Green sent word that he’s going to call Miller up first thing.”

“Yeah, I was planning on coming down.” I’ve been thinking about what Ray said, about his doing something dramatic, all weekend.

“I hate this,” Tanner says. “It’s a lousy case, and Miller seems like a good guy. Being the new kid on the block sucks sometimes.”

“Why don’t you just walk in there and tell Green there’s no case and refuse to prosecute? Show everybody you’ve got some balls, son.”

“Mooney and my dad would both cut them off as soon as I walked out of the courtroom,” Tanner says. “I’ll leave that kind of stuff to you old guys.”

I stand and smile at Tanner. “Is Mooney coming?”

“He took a week of vacation.”

“You’re kidding. He went to a conference last week. He didn’t say anything to me about going on vacation this week.”

“He’s the boss. I guess he can do whatever he wants.”

Tanner and I make our way downstairs to the courtroom, and I take a seat in the jury box. The place is full of defense lawyers and prosecutors, most of whom have no business with the court; they’re there just to see if a battle erupts. There are about thirty people in the gallery, two television news camera crews, and a smattering of reporters. The atmosphere is tense and subdued. I look around and see Ray sitting in the back row. Toni isn’t with him. Ray won’t let her come. He’s told me he’s too ashamed.

Judge Green enters the courtroom and his clerk calls the case of State of Tennessee versus Raymond Miller. Ray walks slowly, almost unsteadily, toward the front, wearing a black suit, a black shirt, and a black tie. His hair, which has grayed significantly over the past six months, is pulled back tightly into a ponytail. His forehead is deeply lined, his eyes dark and intense. His back looks to be as wide as a sheet of plywood. He attempts to stand straight at the defense table, but I notice he’s swaying slightly. He stares at Judge Green. Tanner silently rises from his seat at the prosecution table.

“Mr. Miller,” Judge Green says, “you’ve been charged with contempt of court in the presence of the court based upon your failure to show up at the appointed time and your failure to notify any court personnel. You’re here today for a plea deadline. I see you haven’t hired counsel.”

“I don’t need counsel,” Ray says curtly.

“You know what they say about the man who represents himself in court,” the judge says. “He has a fool for a client.”

There is a lingering silence in the courtroom, and as I sit there watching, I imagine that the entire building is shuddering, as though it’s trying to shake off the tension inside. Ray’s jaw tightens, and his chin juts forward. He begins to speak, very slowly.

“Because of you, I’ve lost nearly everything I’ve spent my life working for.” His speech is almost imperceptibly slurred. Only someone who has spent as much time with Ray as I have would notice. He continues, “I’ve also lost my livelihood, my reputation, my-”

“Anything that’s happened to you, you’ve brought on yourself,” Judge Green interrupts.

“ I’m not finished! ” Ray roars, and Judge Green, suddenly intimidated, seems to sink in his high-backed leather chair.

“What you’ve done to me is inexcusable. I’ve done everything in my power to try to put a stop to it, but you just won’t quit. You’re a pathetic excuse for a man, an embarrassment to the judiciary, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to stand here and let you call me a fool!”

“You’re in contempt again,” Judge Green says, trying unsuccessfully to look brave. “Bailiff, take Mr. Miller over to the jail.”

“You’re right about that.” Ray lets out a sardonic chuckle. “I have more contempt for you than you could ever imagine.”

Ray’s right hand slides quickly inside his jacket. When it reappears, it’s holding a revolver. Without saying a word, he points the pistol at Judge Green.

Boom!

The shot is deafening in the confined area of the courtroom. I see smoke pour out of the gun barrel and I freeze, unable to believe what I’m witnessing. Ray pulls the trigger a second time, and another ear-splitting roar reverberates off the walls. I glance at Judge Green. He’s scrambling to get beneath the bench. I’m conscious of women screaming, men yelling, bailiffs dashing forward. I start climbing over the two rows of seats in front of me, yelling Ray’s name.