Courting Death - Carol Stephenson [3]
“We did love each other,” Trevor protested. “We were going to get married as soon as we graduated.”
“Mr. Jordan, Ms. Williams was…” The prosecutor’s voice trailed off as she looked at the judge and her café au lait skin.
Fascinated, I leaned back and folded my arms. Thank God the state had assumed the hot seat. If Connie asked about the interracial aspect of the relationship, would she be playing to or against the judge’s sympathy?
Connie apparently decided not to go down that rocky road for what was amounting to, at most, a misdemeanor case. “I have no further questions, Your Honor.”
“Oh really?” Amusement glinted in Judge Fanning’s dark brown eyes. “Well, I have some questions for Mr. Jordan.” The judge turned toward the witness box.
“Mr. Jordan, what the state—in its infinite wisdom—decided not to point out is that you’re white and Ms. Williams was African-American.”
“Yes.” Trevor swallowed.
“I take it the parents on both sides wouldn’t have approved of your dating.”
“My dad would have tarred me within an inch of my life,” he admitted.
Understanding flickered across the judge’s face. “Yes, I imagine he would. And what about Felicia’s parents?”
My client shot a guilty look toward where the Williamses sat frozen in disbelief.
“Felicia didn’t want them to know.” A muscle flexed along Trevor’s jaw. Then it was as if an emotional dam burst free inside him. “After she was killed in that car accident, I couldn’t go to her funeral even though it broke my heart. I couldn’t talk to no one.”
He lifted a hand and wiped away the tears now running down his face. “But I wanted, no, needed to say good-bye to her. It didn’t seem right that I couldn’t even mourn her in public.”
Bitterness grew in his voice. “I knew I could never visit her grave on a regular basis, so I went online and figured out how to make a tracing. After I got the materials, I waited until I knew my dad would be out of the house. I bought a rose and took a bus to the cemetery. After placing the rose on her grave and saying a few words, I made the tracing.”
Suddenly, the storm spent itself and he dropped his head. “Now I don’t have the tracing. The police took even that away from me.”
The judge picked up a photograph the state had placed into evidence. For the first time during the proceeding, my tension eased. In glorious color the photo showed one red bud rose lying atop the marker, a poignant symbol of young love. For a long moment the judge studied the image before setting it aside.
“Ms. Sanchez. Doesn’t the state have better things to do than prosecuting this case?”
Connie started to rise.
“Don’t bother answering that question. I’m dismissing the charge on the basis the state has failed to make a showing of malicious intent. Mr. Jordan’s tracing is to be returned to him.”
I approached Trevor, who remained seated, looking down with his shoulders slumped. “Are you okay?”
He lifted his tear-stained face. “What’s going to happen to me now?”
“You’re free to go. The charges are dismissed.” No thanks to me.
The courtroom door opened and Bailiff Scott walked back in. I extended my arms as if my wrists were handcuffed and he nodded. I bit my lip. When I’d been a prosecutor, my role concluded with the verdict. Facing me was a scared teenager whose only parent was now under arrest. Should I do something? Or simply shake hands and escape? I cleared my throat.
“Do you have any family members who can help you?”
Trevor shrugged. “My uncle…but he’s like Dad. You don’t need to worry. I’ll call my grandmother on my mother’s side. She said I could come live with her until graduation. I’ve already signed up with a recruiter to join the Army. Thought it was the best chance I had to get some education and training.”
I looked at the half teenager, half man and smiled. “Then all I can do now is to wish you the best of luck.”
I shook his hand, wished him well and watched him walk away, a solitary figure. The way I figured it, he’d been alone a good portion of his life. Maybe now he could catch a break.
I’d certainly caught