The Fence - Dick Lehr [153]
It was 3:45 P.M. when the jury took their seats in the jury box.
“Madam Forelady,” Judge Young said, “has the jury reached a unanimous verdict?”
“Yes, we have.” Carol Goslant handed the verdict slip to the clerk.
The clerk took the paper. The jurors stood up in the jury box.
“On the use of excessive force theory,” the clerk read, beginning with the jury’s ruling on Question One, “We find for Michael A. Cox against David C. Williams and James Burgio.”
Continuing reading for the jury, the clerk then announced Burgio had committed an assault and battery on Mike. And that Burgio and Williams had been deliberately indifferent to the use of excessive force. And that Ian Daley had been deliberately indifferent to Mike’s medical needs.
The clerk’s voice carried throughout the courtroom, but the rulings weren’t registering with Mike. He thought the clerk was saying the jury had decided for Burgio and Williams, that they were not liable. “I didn’t hear it right.” Maybe it was because he was so conditioned to bad outcomes. “Nothing had gone well since that night.”
Mike sat frozen in his seat. But in a few more seconds the truth began to sort itself out, and once that happened, once Mike could feel the truth sinking in and taking hold, he came undone. The clerk was completing the reading of the judgment against Burgio, Williams, and Daley. Mike Cox leaned forward and covered his eyes. He wept.
The judge dismissed the jurors, and the courtroom cleared. In the days to come, Carol Goslant would take her daughter to one of Boston’s holiday traditions—a performance of Tchaikovsky’s Nut-cracker Suite. She saw officers directing traffic in the city’s theater district and wasn’t sure she’d ever think of Boston police in the same way. “It scared me a little.” Mike Cox stayed with her. She wrote him a holiday card with a nondenominational greeting: “Peace and Good Will to All.” Inside she wrote Mike was a “man of high integrity” and “courage.” She wished him well.
Inside the courthouse, word of the verdict had spread quickly, as reporters scrambled to catch up to a breaking story that would be front-page news in the next day’s Boston Globe and Boston Herald.
Willie Davis had immediately called Fran Robinson. “It’s okay,” he announced happily. “It’s okay.” Robinson tracked Kenny down. He was working out at a gym in Southie and had heard the good news on the radio. Kenny took some deep breaths. He was still facing prison—this jury’s verdict didn’t change that. But something felt very different. He’d had his day in court, and when he was given the chance to tell his side, a jury backed him.
Steve Roach, Rob Sinsheimer, and Robert Wise led Mike out of the courtroom and onto the elevator. The mood was restrained. “What for me was a high level of professional achievement was for him, at best, bittersweet,” Sinsheimer said. They’d won, but Mike was far from feeling this was “a champagne popping moment.” They took the elevator to the second floor, where they got off and began walking down a sweeping stone staircase into the lobby of the grand courthouse. The lawyers planned it that way. Television lights and cameras awaited them. There were more media than at any point during the trial about the worst case of police brutality in the city’s history.
The attorneys stepped up to the microphones. “Michael Cox and his family are pleased that the jury saw through the code of silence,” Steve Roach said. Roach did most of the talking. Mike made only a few comments. “I just told the truth.” His eyes were still wet, and he struggled to gain control of his emotions. “I just told the truth.”
Mike was feeling “happy in a sad kind of way.” He stepped past the cameras and the frenzied media bustle, and headed for the door. The hour was barely five o’clock, but outside it was twilight. Snow would soon begin to fall, replacing the day’s fog and rain. Mike walked out the door and into a city ablaze in holiday lights. He just wanted to get home,