Sweat poured down Preston Wallace’s face. The fans blowing hot air from outside the bars didn’t help. They only served to make Wallace feel he was in an over-sized convection oven. His sport jacket was on the back of the ladder back chair where he sat. He leaned back. “What kind of deal are you offering today, Butler?” He looked across the wooden table at Bill Butler, Montgomery County Assistant District Attorney.
Butler wiped his brow. “Murder two. Twenty to life.”
“I thought you said you had a deal.”
“Best I can do. Your client is charged with rape and murder. Do you want me to send him to a halfway house? My offer is generous. I’d advise you to give your client time to think about it.”
Wallace glanced at Clive Childers, a felon who had been a guest of the state for most of his adult life, mainly on drug and robbery charges. His orange prison jump suit stood in contrast to the gray walls and dirty tile floor.
Childers shook his head. “No. Hell, no.” He crossed his arms, prison tattoos covering almost all exposed skin.
“If you had any hard evidence you’d want to go to trial without a plea,” Wallace said to his opponent. “This meeting was your idea, not mine. Your boys have been looking for more evidence for close to a year. Now you’re trying to cut your losses before you lose at trial. No dice.”
“Don’t forget about the law that’s just been enacted.” Butler said. “If the jury finds Childers guilty, they can request the death penalty, and the family of the deceased would have a large say-so in the penalty phase.”
Wallace smiled. “Two things. One,” he held up his right index finger, “you only have circumstantial evidence. You can’t place my client at the scene of the crime. And two,” he held up his middle finger, “Gladys Sims has stated she doesn’t believe in the death penalty. So the way I see it, our worst case scenario is no worse than your deal. He stood, walked to the bars, and turned back to Butler.
Butler’s brow creased. “What’re you talking about? She has said no such thing.”
Wallace took that morning’s Montgomery Advertiser from his briefcase and tossed it in from of his adversary. “Bottom of the front page. “
Butler looked at the paper. The headline took the wind out of him: Victim’s mother against death penalty.
“Read the article, counselor. Make it man-one, my client serves ten to fifteen.”
Butler read the column under Wallace’s smug gaze. Wallace looked at his client and nodded his head. Childers was drenched in the heat and humidity but didn’t seem to mind. Wallace had a good feeling about a better plea bargain.
Butler laid the paper on the table. “Murder two, fifteen to twenty five, and he serve a minimum of fifteen. Final offer.”
Wallace conferred with his client in whispers.
“What’s that mean?” Childers asked.
“If you take it, you’ll be in prison at least fifteen years. If you roll the dice with a trial, you could be up for parole in less than that if you’re convicted. If Mrs. Sims wasn’t adamantly against capital punishment, it might be different. Your call though.”
Childers nodded. “Let’s do the trial.”
Wallace stepped back o the table. “We’ll see you in court.”
The latest ‘trial of the decade’ began three weeks later. Heavy press coverage for the court appearance of the man accused of raping and killing Ashley Sims cluttered the courthouse area with traffic.
Wallace, a fifteen year veteran of local courtrooms, was confident. Butler, with eight years on the job, appeared to be self-assured as well. Wallace loved the arena. He lived for the frenzy, the publicity, the sensationalism of the high profile event. He had gotten murderers, drug dealers, and rapists off in the past, and he had no doubt this time would prove to be no exception. The proceeding started predictably. The defense would show that the local police mishandled evidence and needed a scapegoat – enter Clive Childers, a recently released prisoner who had dated the victim several years beforehand, when he was between terms for drug possession. Sure, they had his DNA, but the lab used by the police had been cited in the past for presenting evidence that would prove faulty when challenged.
The prosecution’s case was based on Childers’ earlier relationship with the victim – she had spurned him, turned him in to the cops, and he wanted revenge. They had no eyewitnesses, but didn’t need any since the circumstantial evidence would present a mountain the jury would unable to ignore.
Judge Steve Burriss, a grizzled twenty year veteran of the bench, had a reputation for not taking any crap from any lawyer in his courtroom. Wallace remembered spending a weekend early in his career in the city jail when Burriss hit him with a contempt charge. He’d keep a tight leash on the proceedings.
Mrs. Sims showed up for everyday of the trial. Whenever questioned, she reiterated her former position: If Childers was found guilty, as she believed to be the case, she would not ask the judge for an overly harsh sentence.
Testimony lasted almost three weeks. Both sides seemed confident each day. Wallace smiled the day of summations when he read Mrs. Sims’ latest interview in the newspaper. She was quoted as saying, “I believe that good exists in all people and that we should strive to rehabilitate criminals, not punish them.”
At the beginning of the day Childers asked him, “So what do you think?”
“Their case is far from airtight. There’s definitely room for reasonable doubt. But even if the worse should happen, and I don’t think it will, Ashley’s mother isn’t going to try to get the judge to throw the book at you.’
Childers smiled. “You know, I don’t know why, but years ago when I took Ashley out a few times, Mrs. Sims always seemed to like me. Must’ve made a good, what do you call it? A good first impression on her.”
“Let’s hope so, especially if worse comes to worse.”
The summations resembled the opening statements. Wallace painted Childers as a rehabilitated convict who wanted to live a positive life and be an example to others. He was simply the unwitting pawn of a police force that had bungled evidence and needed someone, anyone, to blame for a horrific crime.
Butler argued that Mr. Childers was guilty as sin and had sought out Ashley Sims with revenge as a motive.
Judge Burriss instructed the jury, announced they would be sequestered throughout the deliberations, and dismissed them.
Wallace smiled at Butler as they left the courtroom and had his smile returned. I hate it when both sides think they’ve won a case, he thought. Three days later, the statement was made: a verdict had been reached and would be announced the next morning at nine.
The courtroom was packed with reporters and onlookers. Burriss banged his gavel and said, “We have two pieces of business to attend to this morning.”
Childers leaned over to Wallace. “What’s he talking about?”
“Dammed if I know. He doesn’t know the verdict yet, either, so I have no clue.” He looked to Butler, who was also perplexed.
“But first,” the judge continued, “The verdict.” He turned to the jury. “Have you reached a unanimous decision?”
“Yes we have,” the jury foreman, an African-American man in his thirties, said. He turned his attention to a piece of paper he held. “We find the defendant, Clive Childers, guilty of murder in the first degree.”
The buzz drowned out the pounding of Burriss’s gavel. Reporters bolted out to make calls and write stories.
“Now for the other business.” Everyone’s attention returned to the bench. “I have some tragic news. You might have noticed the absence of members of the victim’s family. The family of Gladys Sims has informed me that Mrs. Sims had a massive heart attack late last night. She passed a little after four A.M. As stated in the new law governing sentencing an in capital cases, the family’s new representative to the court will speak to the court as to the wishes of the family in this matter. Since Mrs. Sims was a widow and the victim, Angela Sims, was not married, Victor Sims, the oldest son of Gladys Sims, will be that representative under the Family Privilege Act.” The buzz returned. No one had bothered to ask Vic Sims what he thought about the death penalty, but now, the fate of Clive Childers was largely in his hands. “We’ll resume with the sentencing phase next Monday at nine A.M. the jury is dismissed with the thanks of the court.”
Five days later, Victor Sims made his first public statement, and it came from the witness stand.
“My mother was a kind Christian woman. She wanted to have mercy on Childers.” Wallace didn’t like the turn of events as Sims glared at his client. “Her views did not mirror those of the rest of the family. That son of a bitch raped and killed my sister. We are asking this court to impose the death penalty at the earliest possible date.” The courtroom erupted.
“Order!” Burriss barked.
Vic Sims continued when silence returned. “And it is my understanding that I have the option of helping to carry out that sentence. I wish to do that, and I don’t want to have a painless death, since he didn’t give my sister that option. This is the desire of the family.”
“Mr. Sims, your wishes will be taken in to advisement.”
Wallace jumped to his feet. “Your honor, I object! That would be cruel and unusual punishment by anyone’s standards. Let him take part in the execution? Make it as painful as possible?You have GOT to be joking.”
“SIT DOWN Mr. Wallace. You know as well as I do that the Supreme Court said last year a convicted killer cannot be forced to endure more than his victim did, but can be made to endure the same amount of suffering as did his or her victim. And the appeals process has been shortened, so you’ll need to file your appeals as soon as possible.”
“What the hell do you mean?” Childers yelled. “What the hell are you talking about?” The buzz became a roar. Burriss cleared the courtroom.
During the appeals, Wallace tried to convince Childers that Sims would back off of his demands. “He’s taking heat from dozens and dozens of organizations who oppose the death penalty. No way he’ll go through with it. He had to talk big in from of the cameras, but he’ll back off of it, you’ll see.”
“Well he’d better back off of it. My damn life depends on it.”
Two years later, another panel of twelve gathered. This time, to view an execution; Preston Wallace and Bill Bulter among them. To their horror, a curtain opened and revealed Clive Childers strapped to a table and gagged, writhing like a bear caught in a trap, sweat leaping from his head as he squirmed. Victor Sims stood at the side of the enclosed room. Wallace couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Would Sims actually do it?
He looked on as Sims turned his head to see the clock on the wall. Midnight. A guard read the death sentence, looked at Childers, who was by this time in a hysterical frenzy, looked at Sims, and nodded. Sims removed a cloth from the small table beside him.
Clive Childers had killed Angela Sims with a large butcher knife.
Vic Sims’ request was unprecedented, but within the scope of the new law. He reached to the table, picked up the same model butcher knife, and slowly walked toward Childers.